Piccolo

I didn't follow the new pattern, but it's all on here. I can edit this post if a mod wants it in the exact format. Real Name: Piccolo Nickname: Captain Piccolo Daimou Age: 30 Species:Human/Trandoshan Height:6'9" Weight: 244 Hair: none Eyes: green Sex: male Homeworld: Tatooine Alignment: (Good, Evil, Neutral) Neutral Clothing: (Tendency to wear what kind of clothes) black jump suit Weapon: (Tendency to use what kind of weapon.) Blaster pistol Force User or Non-Force User : NFU Inventory: (Items the character carries most of the time.) Eclipse Model Combat armor. (Fancy name for armor built by Smash Daisaku) EMC armor coated in cortosis ore to block lightsabers. Neck collar with cortosis ore. Two blaster pistols with holsters on suit. Thermal detonator, poison gas pellets, stun whip, and metal cord for tying up captives. Grappling hook with rope attached to each wrist, sends volts of electricity through victims. Vibroblade, stun baton, and blaster rifle. Rebreather, oxygen filtration, and temperature control in suit. Blaster pack with rocket launcher attached to back of suit. Poison dart attachment with Kaminoan darts. Small blast shield attached to left wrist. Spring loaded holsters and a small built in taser on belt. Liquid nitrogen tank attached beside rocket pack. Flame thrower and Liquid nitrogen thrower built in to opposite arms. Each wrist, just above his comlink has a retractable blade. The blades have a track underneath them, so that on contact a small capsule is released into the enemy's skin. The capsules each contain an explosive charge that can be remotely detonated. Posessions: (Ships, Organizations, Droids etc) Modified Firespray Class ship named Howling Runner III. Ship has Firespray turbo lasers, and seismic charges. R2 unit and a droideka. Speeder bike. Three trained vornskyrs (Piccolo tamed these in game, I can find the posts if necessary).

Thorak Belkin readjusted the loose fitting Mandalorian helmet. He hated the feel of it. It was like sitting inside a Corellian sweat room. If this went well though he'd be able to afford a real battlesuit. Something with temperature control, infrared, all the cool stuff. But first he had to shoot a blind man. Thorak walked to a table in the back of the Cantina. The man was sitting there waiting. This was probably the easiest job Thorak had ever had, other than when someone had asked him to take out a sleeping Hutt. Thorak had promised the blind man a job as a freight worker to lure him here. Thorak couldn't identify the man's species. He was green skinned, maybe some sort of half breed. But he knew the type. There were countless spacers, smugglers and bounty hunters here, maimed from action, unable to afford the medical care to fix their condition. They wandered the streets of Mos Eisley in search of charity, knowing all the while Tatooine was the least charitable planet in the galaxy. This one looked to have lost his eyes. Thorak meant that literally. The man was actually missing his eyes. It was an unusually grotesque injury. But someone wanted him dead. And that's all Thorak cared about. "I am Piccolo, and I am here to end you," Thorak said. He pulled his sidearm and leveled it at the man's forehead. He'd spent the morning rehearsing the line in a mirror, but to Thorak's surprise, the man laughed. "Did you see that on a holo movie?" he asked. He stared straight ahead. Thorak realized sheepishly that the man couldn't see his gun. Still, he didn't like having a leech like this laugh at him. "Watch your tongue. I have my blaster pointed at your head, and in case you didn't hear, I am Piccolo. The most famous bounty hunter in the galaxy. Killer of over a hundred men." Thorak didn't usually have to explain the name. It carried weight. It was why he used it. He couldn't count the number of battles he'd won through simple intimidation. Piccolo had been gone for enough years that all most people remembered was the Mandalorian armor, but he had been around recently enough for his name to carry fear. It was perfect. "Piccolo was just a man," the blind man said. "But you aren't his caliber. If you intend to kill someone, you do it. You don't make a speech first." "That takes the fun out of it," Thorak responded. "Killing is an art. It should be efficient and clean. That is when it is most satisfying," the blind man said with some anger now. "You know when I lost my eyes, I could have had them replaced quite easily. I have the money. But I thought it was time to retire. Time to think. The art had lost its enjoyment. Then I found out some amateur was going around using my name. It pissed me off." In the moment it took Thorak to process the meaning of those words, the blind man had broken his wrist. His blaster clattered to the floor. In the time it took Thorak to process the agonizing pain, two hands were gripping his throat. His last thought was how it was still damn hot in that helmet. When Thorak was dead, the blind man dropped his body to the ground. Then he moved toward the door, a walking stick in front of him and a new Mandalorian helmet under his arm. "Hey, are you going to pay for that?" the bartender asked pointing to Thorak's corpse. "Don't worry," Piccolo said, "I'm good for it. Give me some time to find some work."

Fett was pressing the advantage against Piccolo's weak side. It was the obvious maneuver, but it was also impossible for Piccolo to counteract. He buckled his own knee as the kick hit home. This prevented his kneecap from shattering, but the injury would still immobilize him. A normal human would have found the pain insufferable. Piccolo did not feel the it however. His Bloodwrath pushed it aside. Piccolo felt the familiar rush flood his veins. Much more powerful than mere human adrenaline, it held him in thrall. It was addictive really and the explanation of Trandoshan aggression. Because Piccolo was half human he maintained more control, but he was still beholden to his heritage. Constant battle until death. Piccolo had committed himself. He would not stop fighting. He renewed his attack. Fett was better at this. There was no doubt Piccolo's formulaic sword training was no match for Fett's smooth movements. Piccolo increased his reliance on his cybernetics. He made his strikes quicker, and heavier, shaking Fett's bones with each clash of their blades. Now, he will take advantage of my weakness. As Piccolo anticipated, Fett backed off. The hunter's injured leg prevented him from giving chase quickly and allowed Fett to choose his strike point. Fett made as if to jab, before turning the maneuver into a downward slice. Piccolo tried to pivot away, but his weakened leg prevented him. The blade cut deep into his shoulder, to the bone. The hunter shrugged off Fett's weapon. The wound was not serious, but it was another injury. Fett's plan was again obvious, but insurmountable. It was a script playing out before Piccolo's eyes. He'll wear me down. The injuries will add up quickly. Already, Piccolo's parries came slower and with less strength. His shoulder ached with each movement. Piccolo was faced with a choice. Fighting this way would ensure failure. There was no doubt, really from the beginning, that Piccolo's injuries and Fett's natural advantage in this strange construct meant Piccolo was doomed. Deep down he had known this. The only question for Piccolo was whether he would allow Fett to win fairly, or . . . take the second path. Could he lose this battle? Fett likely wouldn't kill him. Accepting this loss might in some way redeem him. He had fashioned himself an honorable fighter, as if honor in battle made up for dishonor in life. Clinging to that honor was perhaps foolish, yet consistent. Piccolo already knew what he would do. If he gave in, if he acknowledged his defeat, Piccolo knew that his former self would cease to exist. His honor was inconvenient now. The only path was the one he had always known, survival and destruction. In a way, Fett helped make the decision for him. His next attack left him open for Piccolo's second option. And the hunter took it. He gave in to what he really was, a relentless machine built for the obliteration of life. Piccolo dropped his blade as Fett attacked. The hunter snatched Fett's wrist, pulling the Mandalorian's arm forward. If his intention had simply been to draw Fett close, it wouldn't have worked. Fett was just as effective at hand to hand combat. But that wasn't his goal. With all his strength, Piccolo held Fett's hand with a crushing grip and drove the Mandalorian's blade into Piccolo's own stomach. The hunter's back was to Fett now, and the blade went through piercing Fett as well, in the chest, and pinning their destinies together. Through the Bloodwrath, Piccolo could hear Fett's heart beating. He knew that he had missed the Mandalorian's vital organs. With a twist of the blade, they would both likely die in this Temple. Piccolo gripped the blade tight. OOC: I appreciate you finishing Piccolo's storyline with me. Our rivalry was a blast, and made for some great moments. Considering Fett beat Piccolo in their very first duel, it's only fitting he should be the ultimate victor in the end. End it as you please.

Piccolo had hoped Fett would attack first. But Piccolo had trained him after all, and Fett had the advantage. It was wiser for him to allow Piccolo to make the first move. The nature of this kind of combat dictated that the first few moves would likely decide the battle. Piccolo was a tactician by nature, and he could quickly formulate a battle plan. Unfortunately, his thoughts kept getting in the way. Why kill Fett? He's a better man than you, whatever you think of his hypocrisies. Your legacy will be to have a hand in training one of the galaxy's greatest champions, even if he denies you. Piccolo wanted to go that route. He wanted to lay down his weapon. Yet the power still drew him. Piccolo had been educated in the slums of Tatooine, as a slave to a cruel master. To someone who was once so powerless, the temptation was too great. That was really the tale of his life. Piccolo had served evil with honor. It was a fundamental contradiction that naturally arose from his origins. Ultimately, Piccolo wanted to prove he was the greatest warrior in the galaxy. That was what had defined him. It had been his ultimate purpose. All the plans for the Black Sun, the crusades against the Jedi and the Sith, his rivalries with Rane Scando and ShadowFett. He had excuses for them all, but Piccolo knew the real reason why he fought. It was why exploiting the weak had never appealed to him. The strong were his target. It was the reason he had to kill Fett know and take what he had. He wants you to strike first. Use that to your advantage. A drawn out fight was beneficial to ShadowFett. Though Piccolo had more endurance, he was still weak from his battle with the Imperials and the Jedi. Piccolo would need to make the first foray brutal. He struck with blinding speed. It was rare that Piccolo put his full strength into a blow, but he did so now. Of course, Fett had been waiting to parry, and their blades sparked as they crashed together. Piccolo however, did not disengage. Instead he pressed into Fett using his superior strength to his advantage. He pushed Fett onward, not giving him the opportunity to pull his blade away, lest Fett be knocked over. They were locked, and Piccolo intended to crush into Fett until the Mandalorian could hold him no more.

The place was filled with power. Piccolo could tell not merely from Fett's words, but from his appearance as well. There was an ethereal quality to his form, almost translucent in the bright light. Piccolo spoke softly, "Is this the true reason for your betrayal? To gain some secret strength?" Piccolo saw several ancient weapons held against the walls by some invisible force. He took a long blade similar to the one Fett held. Raiding caravans in the Jundland wastes in his youth, Piccolo had once possessed a rusted blade not too dissimilar from the one he held now. He knew Fett. He had trained him. It was time to see once and for all who was more powerful. Piccolo stood with his feet apart and slightly diagonal. It was the traditional Petranaki form of bladed combat. Piccolo had learned it on Kessel from a Geonisian slave. The emphasis was on sweeping vertical cuts. Fett's a self-styled Mandalorian and likely has a variety of sword combat training. But I have a physical advantage. For the most part anyway. Piccolo was still missing a hand, which made the Petranaki form slightly harder to maintain. But Piccolo was ready. The bounty hunter knew this would be the permanent end of one of them.

Hilarious Travis, and kind as well, well done.

The Force aspect wasn't even something Marc had considered as he felt Fett's thoughts. Fett would experience having used the Force with the full abilities of a Blademaster, yet be unable to access those abilities, perhaps the only person to ever be cheated in that way. Fett would almost certainly miss it. It would be an eternal hole in his soul. But the knowledge Fett would gain would be invaluable. Isolder had lived for more than a century. Fett accepted it almost without thought. I am more certain than ever he was the best person to be Moon Knight. He has given greater honor to the Mantle than anyone before him, save the Sith Hunter. Marc made the preparations. --------------------------------- Piccolo studied his cage carefully. This was not Fett's ship, or Piccolo likely would have found escape impossible. This was a common shuttlecraft, designed for common prisoners. Piccolo wondered why Fett would have left him here. It's been a while since we've fought. I've changed. The cybernetic enhancements are better than before. The mechanized arm. And Fett is distracted. Whatever drew him here must be important. Piccolo opened a panel on his metal arm. He fiddeled for some time, hoping Fett would be gone for a while. If he rushed this, it could give him a stroke or have some other unforeseen consequence. His cybernetics were connected to his brain after all. When Piccolo was satisfied, he moved close to the wall. There was of course no access panel on this side. And it would have taken the hunter hours to pound through the durasteel. He needed a short cut. Piccolo held one of the wires in his arm and placed against the smooth metal of his prison. Directly opposite where he had placed the wire was the panel that controlled the invisible force field that served as the door to his prison. Electric current of the highest voltage Piccolo could muster flowed through the wire and into the wall. The voltage surged down through the floor as well, and Piccolo felt agony as it flowed back into his body. The door faded, and then disappeared. The smell of burnt flesh emanated from the soles of his feet. But he was free. Fett's going to be upset. Piccolo repaired his arm and exited the room. It took only a few strides before Piccolo had fled the shuttlecraft. Stealing the ship was not a wise course. Piccolo could easily lose himself in the familiar Wastes of Tatooine, where Fett could not follow. If he stole the shuttle, it could be traced. The hunter stood in the frigid night air of his homeworld. Then he saw the Temple. It pulsed with energy. Piccolo could feel it, though he had no Force power. The hunter was awed. How a structure like this could exist on the sands of Tatooine he didn't understand. What he did know, was that something great must be hidden there. Piccolo had told Fett once that their feud was over. But in his heart, it could never end. Now was his chance to repay Fett. Piccolo entered the Temple of the Moon. --------------------------------- As Marc prepared, he felt a nausea the absence of a body should have prevented. He was certain Fett had felt it as well. "Someone has entered the Temple!" There was genuine alarm in Marc's voice. The power of the Moon Knight was sacred, but it had to be protected by mortals. It was possible therefore for evil to steal it. "Take a weapon from the wall, and meet him. You must destroy whoever has entered before they reach the altar."

The shade of Marc Spector was waiting deep in the Temple. He could feel Fett's thoughts. How similar they are to my own when I bore the Mantle. In the end, a new Moon Knight would arise whether or not Fett chose a successor, though the process could be delayed by centuries. The real choice for Fett was whether he would become a Sentinel. If he chose the next Moon Knight, it would be his duty to stand where Marc stood now, a spirit guide. It was not an easy task. Marc could not pass into the next world until Fett died, yet Fett's death would mean Marc's failure. And he'll die eventually. Probably in battle, as that is his Mandalorian heritage. It's my job to make sure he dies old and wrinkled, whatever he may wish. Marc wanted to sigh, but he had no breath with which to do so. Instead, he glided to the center of the room and watched as Fett entered. "It is good to see you friend," Marc said, and he meant it. "I know you have much to do, so I will make this quick. Isolder has perished in the Unknown Regions." It was heavy news given unceremoniously, but neither Marc nor Fett had known Isolder well, so Marc did not wait before pressing on. "Isolder died well, destroying a dangerous threat to this galaxy. Given the unusual way in which he acquired his powers, he was not given the choice I was, and passed directly into the next world. There is only one Moon Knight now, as it should be." So far, Marc had not explained why Fett would be summoned so urgently. He admitted it was his own hesitation that held him back. The next part would be an ordeal for them both. "We must perform the Inheritance," Marc said. "We will acquire his memories before his spirit crosses over completely." Marc did not need to elaborate. The procedure would change them both, as it had changed them both when Fett had Inherited Marc's memories. That meant emotional memory as well. Everything Isolder had felt would come through with the information. That was what made the ritual so difficult. To experience the emotions of a whole lifetime in a fraction of that time was taxing. "Step to the center of the room, and I will begin." --------------------------------------------------------- Onboard the Republic shuttle, Piccolo waited with impatience. He couldn't imagine what they were doing on his homeworld, for despite his confinement, Piccolo knew that's where they were. He could feel it. After all, he'd lived under the planet's gravity for the first nineteen years of his life. But still, Piccolo did not attempt escape. What would be the point? The Black Sun holds nothing for me now. Fett was wrong about so much, but he was right about one thing. Piccolo's first loyalty had always been to himself, and what he thought was right. In his mind, betrayal was justified when your partner broke their Contract. It was not the same as Fett's betrayal of a mentor. By agreeing to negotiate with the Empire, the Republic had shattered Piccolo's illusions. He had believed that this time they would finally crush the Empire out of existence. He had envisioned himself as the new Inquisitor of this Republic, per his agreement with the Republic. Piccolo would hunt down the Sith and the remnants of the Empire. Then, when the time was right and Piccolo had maneuvered political support within the Republic, he would destroy the Jedi. Piccolo would finally defeat the true forces of evil in this galaxy. Fett believes evil is so simple. I am evil because I kill. Yet there are far more insidious ways to destroy. Fett didn't get it, and Piccolo doubted he ever would. In a way, Piccolo was jealous. The world was so clear for Fett, clearly delineated into good and evil. He could hide behind his code, and his heritage. What could Piccolo hide behind? He was a slave by birth. Wallowing in self-pity are we? The voice within, the voice that always drove Piccolo on had finally stirred. It was faint however, and Piccolo found it easy to argue. Perhaps he was feeling rather morose at the moment, but it was with justification. There was nothing left for him to do. He'd burned his bridges in that last attack. And yet . . . Piccolo felt something he had not felt when he had been concentrating on his own failure. There was something strange about the air around him. It almost has the same feeling of being near a Jedi. Piccolo hated the mysticism of the Force. Yet he was intertwined with it. From the moment he killed the Jedi god Crimson Morpheus, Piccolo had been tainted. The allies of that dark Jedi had taken Piccolo's soul. For several weeks, it had been imprisoned away from his body before restoration by Aira-lai Kaipi. After that, Piccolo had been controlled by Kakuto Ryu, and used as a conduit of apocalypse in a bid to destroy the Force itself. Piccolo was a non-force user, but so much interaction with cosmic forces had left him with an innate sense. There's something ancient here, and powerful. Fett has involved himself with it. Which means I can steal it. Perhaps the dream yet lives. Piccolo was held with stun cuffs, but they'd had to put them higher on his arm, since his left hand was missing. Piccolo resisted against them, and they tightened. But of course no shock came. Stun cuffs had to be activated remotely, and there was no one to hold them. He smiled, and pulled with all of his might. The cuffs tightened to flesh crushing proportions. But Piccolo had one synthetic arm, constructed out of material much more expensive than the Republic could afford. The cuffs broke before the metal and bone of his arms. Piccolo's right wrist was in pain from the effort, but he was free. Or mostly free. Piccolo began to work on the problem of his cell.

As Vothe spoke, several Black Sun operatives were at work. They suited Piccolo up in his Eclipse combat armor, returning his weapons salvaged from the Citadel. Piccolo inspected each carefully for damage, holstering his blaster pistols last. A ship was being prepped. The Space Wyvern had been repaired since the attempted assassination of Deton and was waiting for Piccolo. "No," the hunter said as he fitted his helmet. His true face had returned, and stared at Vothe from his obsidian visor. "I have many old enemies, Jedi, Sith, Republic, Empire. It's time to settle up. You go see Lord Daisaku." Piccolo entered the Space Wyvern and headed for the Death Star.

The Gravebreaker emerged from hyperspace. The ship was evacuated quickly as Black Sun doctors went to work. Piccolo's consciousness was downloaded from the ship into one of his less advanced bodies. Only 50% cybernetic, this had been an earlier version of his final form. It was not ideal, but at this point, the doctors had run out of options. Piccolo had been disemboweled by his old enemy Torin. Now he awakened to life again. Piccolo was brought out of the ship, so it could be returned to its master. Saved by Ronin Wartide. The galaxy is turning upside down. It took several doctors to hold Piccolo's body up as he acclimated to it. In this weakened form, he faced Vothe. The fire in his eyes belied the inadequacies of his body. "Are you the only one who managed to survive?"

This was a great read. There was a lot of creative posting here, and even if I had not been asked to rule on this situation, I would have enjoyed it. I was asked by Aryian to rule on what would happen to his character as a result of his actions and Damon not helping to diffuse the power he had absorbed. If I understand the situation correctly, Aryian has taken in the dark energy Kari had been about to release. Aryian has asked Damon to help him, but with Damon not posting, we can assume Damon lacked the power to relieve the energy Aryian had absorbed. Aryian informed me that this has happened to his character before and the result is death, so I have taken that into consideration. Ruling: Aryian's mind has undoubtedly shattered and this has placed him near death. He can still survive the situation however, if someone can aid him quickly. Otherwise, the result would logically be death, the same as the last time he has used this technique.

Piccolo 10's Character Sheet Identity [!ident] Real Name: Piccolo Daimou the 10th incarnation of the warrior known as Piccolo A.K.A: Piccolo Homeworld: Tatooine Species: Doshan/Human Physical Description [!dscrp] Age: 36 Height: 6'2" Weight: 293 Hair: None Eyes: Green Sex: Male Skin: Green and lizardy Equipment [!equip] Clothing or Armor: Modified Mandalorian Combat Armor, coated in cortosis ore, helmet includes remote command for starship and battle droids, infrared, and AI tactical analysis, armor weapons include liquid nitrogen sprayer and flamethrower, wrist blades capable of injecting remote explosives, grapple wire capable of producing electrical shock, and belt taser Weapon: blaster rifle, two luma grenades, ten poison gas pellets, one concussion grenade, stun whip, two westar blaster pistols with spring loaded holsters, vibroblade Physical Modifications: Tapetum lucidium and telescopic enhancements inserted into eyes, left arm replaced with a mechanical prosthetic Common Inventory: two droidekas, comm, astromech droid, one pet vornskyr obtained IC Faction Information [!factn] Force User, Force Sensitive or Non-Force User Alignment: NFU Current Faction Affiliation: Black Sun Current Faction Rank: History: [!hstry] Force Side: Trained by: Ronet Farr, Smash Daisaku Trained who: ShadowFett, Big Will, Silas, among others who no longer post Known Skills: Bounty Hunting, Espionage, Body Guarding, Thievery, Soldiering, and Wookiee Hunting Background: Ship Registration [!ship] Name: Space Wyvern Class: Patrol Craft and Prisoner Transport Model: Firespray Manufacturer: Kuat Systems Engineering Length: 21.5 meters Armaments: twin rapid fire laser cannons, homing missiles, seismic charges Armor: Light, common ray shields, ship is built for speed Anti-Personnel Defenses: Programmed to obey only the voice imprint of Piccolo, ship will seal and shut down upon intrusion or remote instruction from Piccolo Appearance: Black and Red Modifications: Moderate AI capable of following preset evasion and attack techiniques, sensor mask, and jamming capability

It seems lethal violence will be necessary. Jedi are honest, brave, maybe wise at times, but never truly smart. Piccolo was at once aware, even as he thought this, that another presence was trying to pierce his mind. There had been an audience for his thoughts, and it caused true fear to grip Piccolo. His privacy was what he treasured above all else, and nothing was more private than one's own mind. It was the Jedi's disrespect for this privacy that he hated most about them. But I am familiar with this trick as well. None of you are showing me anything I haven't seen before. Only once had a Jedi ever attempted this on Piccolo, Master Adi-wan Tinova, but that had been enough to brand its memory in his mind. The Jedi Master had spoken directly into Piccolo's brain, or soul, or whereever the Jedi sent their thoughts when they invaded minds. It had been a forceful invasion, that had made Piccolo feel weak. But it had not been hostile. Adi-wan was trying to recruit him at the time, and enjoyed lording his power over even his allies. This invasion, while gentler, was hostile. It was an attempt to extract information from him. Even now, he could feel them pulling at words, like an invisible hand reaching into his pool of memories, Black Sun . . . . Smash Daisaku . . . Xae-Lin . . . Cortosis. The first three were what he had already stated, who and what he represented and his target. It would confirm his truthfulness in that much at least. But the last, the protection he wore against lightsabers, was information he did not share freely. In fact, his whole suit had been designed to fight Jedi and Sith. That could be of service to them, if they were intelligent enough. Piccolo knew if he did not react, their invasion could elicit more information. He started breathing deeply. It wasn't entirely true that Adi-wan had been the only one to enter his mind. So too had Ara-lai Kaipi. He had invited her in, when she healed his soul after the Dark Jedi took revenge against him. Piccolo remembered the words she had used to soothe him and allow her to enter his mind. He recalled those words, and now did exactly the opposite. Instead of focusing on peace and reason, he focused only on the Doshan blood that coursed rage through him, and on the cybernetics that balanced that rage. Those were parts that would be unreadable to any Force manipulator, the metal and fire that tinged his soul. The human part of himself was pushed deep down and contained. Piccolo had trained very hard to maintain self control, and he could only hope this training had forestalled their advance. Piccolo did not possess the gift of the Force, and if they were as powerful as Adi-wan, they could break his feeble barriers. Either way, he had to keep his thoughts on the battle. Perhaps that too would limit the information they could steal from him. But before he put up his walls, he left them with a powerful and burning thought, the thought that burned hottest within him as he battled. Kill. That is the thought I hear the loudest. And that is what they will hear the loudest. But as Piccolo had concentrated on rejecting this mental attack, he had allowed himself to be vulnerable to the physical. The vines would have been a small impediment on their own, but he had not noticed them. The tightened around his armored ankles. So when he moved to avoid the debris launched at him, Piccolo had lost his balance and fell to the ground. Piccolo was defenseless. The debris smashed into his suit, bruising the body within. His armor protected him from being crushed, and so did his cybernetic enhancement. But at his core, he was still flesh and blood. The debris crumbled as it struck him. He did not cry out, but he allowed himself a gasp of pain. His ribs hurt worst of all, and it was likely one of them could be cracked. He'd never had pieces of a building thrown at him. But make no mistake, they'll have to do better than throw a few pebbles. Piccolo rose, despite the weight he carried, with a single push from his left arm. He ignored the pain. In fact, his cybernetic enhancements actually dulled him from feeling pain, even in serious injury. He yanked each foot independently, snapping the vines. And then he raised his hands, welcoming the Jedi, "I have defied full Jedi Masters and the awesome power they wield. Rocks and plants are the stuff of children, or if you prefer padawans. Is this the army that defends the Jedi Temple?" Even as he said this, Piccolo's helmet identified a genuine threat. Piccolo smiled, in spite of the danger he knew was coming. It seemed they had fight in them after all. Piccolo released his pack from his back, and launched himself forward. The explosion ripped through the air, very likely endangering Xae-Lin and the students flanking her. Piccolo could only consider the oddness of a Jedi that would endanger his allies and use blasters instead of the civilized lightsaber. But he had no time to dwell on that. The gauntlet had been thrown. Trip had nearly killed him. The time for mercy ended with that explosion. Even as hot debris rained on Piccolo's crouched form, his cyber-brain did the proper calculations in seconds. Through the clearing smoke, a long cord shot nearly as fast as the blasts coming from Piccolo's stolen pistols. The cord wrapped itself around Trip's hands, relieving him of Piccolo's weapons. But the electricity that flowed through the wire, and into Trip's body was the worst of the attack. The blue tendrils enveloped Trip's body, powered by the Eclipse Armor Piccolo wore. Piccolo never tired of the sight. Hopefully they will see just how serious I am now. Piccolo whipped his hand, tossing Trip's smoking form toward one of the Temple walls. This time he made sure his toss was true. And then he was amongst Xae-Lin and the two Jedi closest to her moving with deadly speed. They were quick, especially for mere students, but their lightsabers shorted out as they attempted to strike at Piccolo. He drove his force pike into the gut of one, though he did not stop to see if the attack was fatal. Against the other, he slammed the butt end of the force pike into the young Jedi's face, feeling his nose crack. And now he faced his true enemy But instead of attacking Xae-Lin with his weapon, Piccolo pointed his arm at her. Flames burst forth from his arm toward the young Jedi Knight. They danced in Piccolo's black visor as they emerged from his battle suit. What match is invisible magic for the cleansing power of fire, thunder, and metal? Perform your tricks Jedi. I will send the elements against you. Blood was dripping from Piccolo's force pike and flames flew from his suit. The explosion still rung in his ear, as did the sight of Trip's electrocuted form. He realized at that moment just how much he had missed the thrill of battle. (2 I understand Jarin. I wasn't complaining. No worries on the delay Xae-Lin)

(Nothing like stacking the deck. But your on. I've never done a duel like this before. That will count as your first post Jarin, to make it just a little more fair, this will be my first, and then Xae's next will be hers. Still three posts a piece, then mod rule.) Meddling Jedi. I gave her fair warning, when it would not have been difficult to take her by surprise. Even Jedi can't see everything. Piccolo sighed as his blaster pistols left his hands. I suppose I'm the last person in this galaxy left with a sense of fair play. Piccolo knew his inward whining would do nothing to improve his situation. He could already tell he was rusty. Piccolo had been taken by surprise by a Jedi with a broom. It was a hard pill to swallow, and probably his most embarassing moment. Even worse than the time I was saved by a Jedi. Of course, Piccolo was no average bounty hunter. His visor and his cybernetic eyes had noticed the Jedi's swift movement a fraction of a second before the broom had struck. Normally that would have been enough time to react, but months without his daily battle training had left him taken aback by the surprise attack. He'd had to think more before he acted, and any thought in the middle of an exchange was a death sentence. It was doubly dangerous when fighting reflexive Jedi. He imagined if it had been a Sith, he'd be missing his hands instead of just his blasters. Maybe that was how he repayed my warning to Xae-Lin. Still, six on one is cowardly. The hunter needed to focus, and remember his advantages. He was part machine, part Doshan, and a walking arsenal. Piccolo may not have had the Force on his side, but he had thousands of years of technological advancement, and in his mind that was a better score for him. I guess I need to show them exactly what they are dealing with. I'll give them a show, and keep a few surprises for later. Piccolo appraised the battle scene. He noticed immediately that Xae-Lin had dashed for cover. She was his target, and only her death mattered to him. But with five Jedi surrounding him, he had more immediate concerns. Though it was evident by the idealistic tone of the one who spoke to him that these weren't very experienced Jedi. Piccolo didn't always speak during battle. He didn't like to speak in general. He found silence was intimidating. But with idealists, speech could be the greatest weapon to throw them off. "The Jedi cult teaches you prohibition against violence, yet trains you to wield a laser sword. You don't see the irony in that?" Of course, Piccolo knew better than to think his words would be persuasive. In the only thing young Jedi responded to was brute force. And Piccolo had plenty of that to offer. But he took the opportunity to press against the base of each palm. Wrist blades emerged from Piccolo's hands. He moved slowly. The hunter maneuvered himself so Trip was standing was standing between himself and Xae-Lin. It allowed the other Jedi to surround him, and give them the illusion they were in control. But he wasn't that concerned with them. Xae-Lin was his target and Trip was the boldest among them, and that told him they needed to be kept in sight as much as possible. He struck toward Trip's weapon with his wrists. His blades would likely have sliced through the broom, but Trip would likely have also expected that, and simply dodged. So instead of finishing his attack, he activated his blaster pack. He did not turn it full on, but gave it just enough spurt to launch him forward. No amount of speed could escape that. Piccolo slammed into Trip, both of them sliding along the ground. Even the short blast from his pack launched them several meters. Trip's back scraped across the hard ground, tearing at his skin. The hunter gripped the wooden weapon, as his black visor starred directly into Trip's face. Trip was looking into the face of death. But Piccolo had no interest in killing anyone but his target, to the young Jedi's benefit. At least, unless it was necessary. The Force could increase the strength of a Jedi. But Piccolo's cyber implants combined with his Doshan DNA were more than a match for a Trip. With mechanically enhanced agility Piccolo used his momentum to flip over Trip's fallen body, still gripping the broom. With all his might he flung the Jedi through the air. It was like launching a pebble from a catapult. Trip's prone form arched through the air. Piccolo did not see where he fell, but he activated the display on his visor. It kept all the Jedi in check, so Piccolo would know exactly where they were even when he wasn't looking. He was certain Trip would be coming at him again soon, that was no where near an incapacitating exchange. He would only cause real harm if he absolutely had to. Only one person here was destined to die. But he did not have much time. The hunter knew the other Jedi would be itching to advance, but he also knew they would wait for the order from the ranking Jedi. So he pumped his legs toward Xae-Lin's position, knowing he would beat any Jedi to her position. Kill her and he could escape easily. Piccolo drew his force-pike. His mechanically enhanced voice filled the air as he neared her. "I won't be merciful for long Xae-Lin. Your selfishness may cause other Jedi to die. Your death is inevitable either way. If you accept that, your compatriots may be spared." 1

Piccolo was surprised it had been this easy. This was the most likely place to find a Jedi of course. But to have her be the one to meet him was unlikely. He couldn't help sighing in disappointment. He'd hoped it would be much harder. It was the first actually hunt he'd been on in at least two years. Well, it doesn't have to be luck. Maybe I'm just getting good. Or maybe the Force was on my side. Piccolo almost chuckled at his private joke. But he made sure no sound came from behind his faceless black visor. Instead of speaking, he pressed a button on his belt. His spring-loaded holsters shot his twin blaster pistols into the air. Piccolo had designed them with Jedi in mind, but this was the first time he'd actually tried to use them. The hunter grabbed them out of the air with the muzzles pointing toward Xae-Lin. He remembered back at this moment to his first training so long ago. The dead Black Sun member Ronet Farr had shown him how to use a blaster then. He'd instructed Piccolo that precision firing was best. He'd said most bounty hunters try to fire as many shots as possible, instead of aiming carefully with a single shot. He never realized precision firing wasn't my style. Piccolo finally spoke, his cold mechanical voice emerging from his helmet once more. But it would be evident to any sensitive Jedi that the coldness was genuine, and not simply a result of the voice filter. Piccolo felt no remorse for this act. If anything, he was giving this Jedi, or himself, a noble death. To die in battle was the wish of every brave soul. Piccolo was only half-Doshan, but he'd come to believe in at least that much of the old Trandoshan religion. " Smash Daisaku wants you dead. I don't know why, and I don't care, so don't bother pulling any of that Jedi peace crap. I suggest you concentrate on defending yourself." Piccolo stared down the muzzle of his gun, and Xae-Lin's form and began firing his pistols in rapid succession. OOC: We'll have a fair duel. Three posts then a mod rule. If you want me to have the first official post, so you get the last, your next one doesn't have to count, it's up to you. Good luck.