Private Are You Not Entertained?

[Arcturus Dinn]

Petranaki Arena, Geonosis
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He'd consumed copious amounts of alcohol in the week following his reunion with Ishani. Copious. For a boy who had never really had cause to drink, it made for one heck of a whirlwind ride; he hadn't lasted long on Coruscant itself, before he began his bar hop through the planets along the Corellian Run. He'd swindled men and women alike out of small fortunes, and blown through it not too long after. Beyond just the liquor he'd found his system spiked with other, far more nefarious substances. Not intentionally, not at first at least. A little something extra here, offered up by a Twi'lek back on Denon, a world he'd not long prior sworn he'd never return to, was the catalyst. From there it truly all became a blur.​

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With no recollection of the interim, it was no surprise that when he awoke in a dusty sandstone jailcell Arcturus was understandably confused. And sore... So very sore. Welts lay here and there across his body, the only living reminders of fights he'd entangled himself in while blacked out. His mind was groggy, and his head hurt like nobody's business. Thrummed under the pressure of a migraine the size of a Wookiee. With only the door of the cell keeping him in place, it should have been an easy escape for one such as he. Should have been. Certain narcotics still lingered within his bloodstream though, and they left him feeling rather detached from that most metaphysical of entities he relied upon for most everything.​

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Sat there among the dust, he'd had no choice but wait on the arrival or some sort of authority. A Toydarian, to be exact, accompanied by a gaggle of Trandoshans with mean looking spears. Energy rippled along the tips of them; Arcturus regarded them warily. "Ah good, it is awake," the flyer muttered to his entourage, not really formally addressing the boy beyond the bars, "Get it ready to fight." The lack of acknowledgement, and the continual use of it, brought him tumbling back to an earlier time. Before he was Arcturus. Before he was even Thesh. Just a letter, just a number. All at once he felt small and insignificant again, no doubt bolstered by his inability to draw upon the Force. Like a bird with clipped wings, forced into submission. Only Arcturus was no bird, and rage seethed deep within his core.​

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The reptilians manhandled him without a care in the world. His already torn clothes were covered up with what seemed to be a crude excuse for some armour, dented and rusted with blood he felt an infection forming just by looking on it. A weapon was thrust into his grasp, and on instinct he took it. Turned it on the closest of them. Even with his mind reeling, even with the Force forsaking him, he cleaved an arm off the Trandoshan and had an eye from another before he was subdued. More time in that cell. More time for the effects to wear off...​

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When next they came for him he had sobered up considerably more. Not perfect, mind you, but it came easier to him now. Calling upon that which he'd come to rely on. Not perfect, but closer. This time he wasn't so stupid as to lash out. He complied, and bided his time. He'd seen the bodies come and go, alive one way, carted out the other. Knew somewhat what to expect. So when he was led out into the sandy, closed in arena with a thunderous crowd on all sides he wasn't entirely blindsided.​

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The spear in his hand was akin to that of his reptilian oppressors, only it held no energy of its own. Mundane... But still sharp. He made sure to stumble some as he was led toward the center and made to wait. To seem feeble, throw them off his scent. Only when the Trandoshans exited, and the arena quieted to a murmur of anticipation, did he draw upon the Force. Only then did he breathe deeply to reinvigorate himself. But what would come out of the gates when the time came? Beasts, or man?​

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Aegon of Vitria ​

 

[Aegon of Vitria]

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objective:
STAY CONSCIOUS - FIND HENCHMEN

tag:
Arcturus Dinn
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GEONOSIS / PETRANAKI ARENA / LOGE SEAT 004 / 874 ABY
TALENTSHOW I

It was the seventh day and unlike some certain imaginary friend, He did not rest. Seven days of watching games, watching individuals tear each other apart in the dusty pits of Petranaki. It was one of the biggest arenas in the Galaxy and had an excellent reputation, bringing forth even a Mand'alor in old times. The fights were bloody, the masses were raging with bloodlust and the fighters were blooded to the bones. Fighters from all over the galaxy were here, came here, were brought here to fight, most slaves, most desiring either freedom or fame and riches. Greed and hope were too very strong allies if not overdone and the eagerness, the doggedness which came hand in hand with either was making the fights entertaining. Those of equal skill. The slaughters against slaves were less interesting. The beast fights a welcome change and amusement.

Aegon decided to let Himself be treated well, acting as a rich ex-gladiator and corporate owner, He was welcomed and given all luxuries required, hinting at a possible trade deal and interested to buy some gladiators for impossible sums which made the greedy insects nearly go out of their leathery wings. And so He was served with the best food, alcohol, substances and other pleasant company as long, as much and as often as He wanted for the duration of His stay. As a master of potions, poison and Alchemy, He had the means to immediatly clear His mind, but He was welcoming the faineance once in a while.

After several days of watching fights and gladiators, Aegon definitely had laid eyes on several individuals and would not hesitate to get them after He has had His full review. The price would drop to zero in a few days either way, the warships of the Kainate were on their way already, the people here being absolutely oblivious about it. Aegon would get what He wanted and more.

A few bottles of quite refreshing Alderaanian wine in, sweet gold running down the throat and touching all senses with its mild but fruity taste, there was another contestant announced. Only clad in a white loose shirt, some leather pants and open boots, Aegon was eagerly awaiting who would come out of the gates. The arena herold was screaming, a bad microphone translating that this contestant was picked up only a few days ago, young and fresh blood. With a sigh of annoyance and boredom, Aegon would sit down and ask for some grilled meat, He would not suffer through another bloody mess of an execution without at least enjoying a meal. Fresh slaves were usually absolutely unfit, it was not interesting at all to see them slaughtered, funny, but not really interesting. Those not able to defend themselves, deserved to die, no question, but there was no sport in slaying them, it should serve a purpose.

Once the young man entered the arena, Aegon laid His eyes on him, a gaunt boy with long, fatty hair and meagre equipment, being barely able to walk was pushed into the pit. Pathetic. This lad was most likely kidnapped from a bar in the Mid or Inner Rim by some slavers and just sent here to make quick money. He would die against whatever would come out of the gate, except there were more pathetic, unarmed slaves and this was just a battle of low-lifes. But there was something which kept His gaze on the boy, narrowing His eyes as the small one waited.

A slight smirk appeared on the edges of Aegon's mouth, this guy was acting, very well. Confirmed the moment when he drew upon the Force and revealed himself to be a Dark side user. A very interesting turn of events. The boy probably did something equal to what Aego nwas doing the past week, but with a bit less control. The fight just got interesting and the announcer was just revealing what the youngster would fight against.

The gate opened and a synthetic roar was heard, joints clanking as a large battle droid, heavily modified for close combat and gladiatorial fights revealed itself, seemingly like one of the old Zakuulan god-machines from Iokath it came, facing a boy with a spear with its large vibroblade. The droid was a renowned champion from the times of the Confederation and even before and the insects and other spectators started to chant . . . .

TAR - TAR - RUS! TAR - TAR - RUS! TAR - TAR - RUS!


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[Arcturus Dinn]

The announcer droned on, and around the arena his tedious words were poorly translated into a thousand different tongues as the denizens beat fists against stone seats and steadied a heartbeat through the ground with their distinct and rising clamour.​

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Head still bowed, the boy skipped a rock into his palm from the ground. Most who could be found on a world like this were mundane, like the spear in his hand. Holding little potential, they weren't likely to notice the act at all. Eyes were hungrily locked upon that gate, after all, eager to learn who would pummel the newcomer into the red rock at his feet. Their ignorance was his boon; the boy brought rough stone to hand, and the ensuing incision had a small amount of blood pooling around the shaft of the spear, leaving an impression of his palm in its wake.​

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What he did next was, admittedly, a little harder to hide. He tried all the same, looking as though he was simply turning the shaft in his hand. Anxious, that was the front he put out there. Anxious and disoriented. Both hands now moved to the spear, and with careful precision he used stone to etch crude runes into the wood. It was dinged with innumerable imperfections, from fights of yesteryear, but it would do as a canvas in so pressing times as these.​

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Lips moved soundlessly, like he uttered a prayer to some none existent entity above, and for a second, just a second, the Force thrummed. It coincided with the raising of the gate. Serendipity, in his eyes, with any luck any who might have had a knack for noticing such would be distracted. He should have been distracted by it too, should have glanced at the opponent now stepping into the ring, but he didn't. He wasn't done yet... Just a little while longer.​

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He focused in on that blood again, and forced the lessons of one Hyrva to the forefront of his mind. An eternity ago now, it might well have been, but her words reverberated around his aching skull. This was not the best time to further his studies into such forbidden magics. This was not the best time for any of this. And yet he knew that if he didn't do something he'd never make it out of there alive.​

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Blood seeped into shaft, then coagulated at the blade. All at once it held the slightest of shimmers, largely unintelligible due to the ruddy nature of his blood. ​

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Thump thump thump, the droid approached. Heckles rained down on him from the crowd above, chants and cheers for the battle droid. A blood bath... That was what the masses wanted.​

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It was just a shame that droids didn't bleed.​

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Aegon of Vitria ​

 

[Aegon of Vitria]

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objective:
STAY CONSCIOUS - FIND HENCHMEN

tag:
Arcturus Dinn
​

GEONOSIS / PETRANAKI ARENA / LOGE SEAT 004 / 874 ABY
TALENTSHOW II

Aegon was fascinated by the boy performing an enchantment right below the eyes of masses of bloodlusting spectators, an arena filled with gore-greedy low-lifes who just wanted to see the youngster be killed by their droid favourite. But the boy didn´t care, he was just sitting there and enchanting the spear, using a stone to carve runes into the wood of the shaft. It was rushed and not perfect, but it was decent work, it was much more interesting to observe than muscled giants clashing their metal against each other.

Tartarus was an interesting name, but it would soon be forgotten when the masses would demand either the death of the boy who killed that droid or were starting to chant "THE BOY". Aegon smirked upon the thought. His drunkenness and decadence gone in a second, cleansed with the Force and focus. He would stand up and make His way to the railing, leaning on it and watching the unfolding fight.

The droid was obviously immune to pain or psycho tricks, only its programming pushing it, dead metal connected by the meagre magic of technology and mechanics. It was strong and fast, its armor thick, but those seemed to be its only advantages, one of agility and intelligence should be able to outplay this simple machine. The boy had the disadvantage of being one hit for the droid, if it would grab him, hit him or well, fall onto him, he would be done. But maybe his acting was superb and his drunkeness was gone so that he could use his smallness and swiftness to outmanoeuvre Tartarus and kill it.

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[Arcturus Dinn]

The boy did not seem to move as the one the crowd dubbed Tartarus made its approach. With blade now dealt with, he turned his focus inward and waited with bated breath, and though the chants continued it felt in truth as though the crowd also held their breath. Maybe it was just the tension he felt within himself that caused that feeling, that stillness which seemed to hold all suspended in place.​

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All save the one who thumped closer. Closer.​

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The announcer finished whatever spiel he'd spewed, and right on cue, as the gladiatorial battle was seen fit to start, that vibroblade sliced through the air toward him. It should have been a quick, clean death. It should have rend him right through the middle, a perfect example of sai tok.​

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This was not the boys first rodeo, though. He knew where his strengths lay, and he knew that overpowering that heavy handed slash would never work. Maybe for Grundark or Alina Tremiru but not for him. Not for Arcturus.​

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He dipped last second, dropping into a roll that brought him between the somewhat stiff legs of the droid. If the vibroblade took anything from him, it was nary an inch of his auburn hair which drifted languidly to the earth below. If. Arcturus didn't feel it at all if that happened to be the case.​

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With quick precision he arced back the spear wielding arm and stuck the lance through one of the mechanized legs. Where there ought to have been resistance, given the crappy state the spearhead had originally taken, the blade ripped through metal like butter. By the time he rose up on the other side of his opponent, covered in dust and panting as his chest rose and fell rapidly, some of the inner workings of that leg were on show. Sparks spitting this way and that. It wasn't a clean cut, the leg did not come apart entirely, but evidently it was more than any was expecting.​

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The boy pivoted on his heel, drew further dust into the air as he pushed out his back leg and secured it into place upon the ground for support. Centered himself into a balanced state. Though aware of its tangled circuits, the battle droid turned toward him. A little more sluggish, but far from out of the fight. It had the benefit of being wholly metal, it did not feel any pain in the hit it had taken. It pressed on.​

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If the crowd had reacted in any way the boy did not hear it. In that moment nothing else existed but he and the droid he stood in the shadow of. Blood rushed through him, causing a pounding within his ears, and as his adrenaline continued to spike the rising and falling of his chest became far more noticeable. Instinct took over.​

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He twirled the spear in his hand back to a forward grasp, and lowered his body ever so slightly to better support his stance. As though he intended to bunker down and hold off its approach. As though he thought he could withstand that hulking mass of metal.​

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Aegon of Vitria ​