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Post by Jazzman Crothers on Apr 9, 2013 1:35:25 GMT -5
Present Day.
Above the planet of Cybertron, home of the Transformers and the stage of many the conflicts fought between its inhabitants orbits the head of the God of Chaos. Unicron. Deep inside the massive steel bulk that serves as the planets moon is the secret army known only to some as the Renegades. Protectors of Cybertron and the surrounding universe. Here only those who have the best strength, cunning and skill of their kind allow them to be part of the elite force. But even with all their talent and all the advance warfare technology at their disposal, it isn't enough.
The combat area of Unicron's floating head. The relentless sound of metal crashing against metal in the form of warriors clashing against one another echo through the artificial moon. Every warrior is tested here, through hand to hand combat, melee weapon training and sharp shooting. The combat area is supervised by one mech. His name is Sunslaughter.
No one likes Sunslaughter. And he hates everyone back just as much if not more so. He is a merciless trainer and combat teacher. He has broken more warriors and students then anyone can remember. It is not known if anyone can match his skill in combat. Sunslaughter is a cruel perfectionist who practices on the toughest of Autobots cycle after cycle.
Today the teacher is watching over his students as they engage in an training exercise using melee weapons. Swords clash with spears, axes trying to break chains and daggers rake against shields as Sunslaugher pushes his trainees to the limit.
"Enough!" The familiar gravel voice sends spikes down the nervous relays of each robot in the area. "That will be enough for today. And it is not because I feel you have done well. It is because you sicken me because of how pathetic you all are! I'm sure that in the near future that any enemy you face will feel quite confident when confronted with someone who can't swing a sword fast enough to even slice through a static fog. Dismissed!"
Just as Sunslaughter was about to walk off to attend to some other business, someone asked a question. "Commander. Why do we need to know how to fight like this? We use heavy assault weapons that fire thousands of rounds in half a astro-minute. We have energon weapons to break down the armour of any attacking foe. Why do you train us to fight with such primitive weapons?"
As the question came out, all the students who had just finished training look on in fright, worried at what Sunslaughter was about to do. The towering combat trainer looked at the Renegade who had just asked him why he trained them this way to fight this way. The angry reply never came. Instead Sunslaughter motioned to his students and waved to them to come closer. "Come. I shall tell you why I train you to fight the way I do. And when I do remember, remember that when I tell you the story of warriors from our past who fought like no Cybertronian before and after them, that you will see that you will never measure up to the caliber of warrior that they were. Come and sit and let me tell you the tale of the Blademasters."
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Post by Jazzman Crothers on Apr 9, 2013 2:08:57 GMT -5
Millions of years ago, in Cybertron's forgotten past.
The voices of hundreds of slaves are heard yelling into the dark Cybertronian night. Each one of them calling out to the two warriors who circle each other in the gladiator pit below. Every slave is shouting and rooting for one or the other combatants to attack and slay the other. The warriors move around inside the circle, eyeing each other, sizing them up and waiting to strike. Already both combatants have marks where the other one struck them. Each wound leaks fuel and causes its owner enough pain to make that suffering visible for all to see.
It is a scene everyone knows all too well. The pits of despair where everyone who enters dies. No one controls their fate here on Cybertron. Everyone one day dies either in the pit or by the hands of the Qunitessons.
Sitting above all in a throne like chair that over looks the pit and the slaves that surround it's edge, the Quintesson known as Judge Heirodyus watches the fight in amusement. Flanked by the 'Bailiffs' who in actuality serve as the security force for the Quintesson masters, Heirodyus is quite safe from the fight and from anyone who tries to approach him.
Down below, watching the fight with the rest of the slaves, a femech leans in closer for a better view at the edge of the pit. She elbows a few overly excited slaves watching the battle so that she may watch uninterrupted and without anything blocking her view. There she sees that the current champion is defending his winning streak against the aggressive challenger.
On the other side of the ring, watching through the railing sits a younger robot. Watching in awe the young robot calls out to his friend. "H865 you should see this! Its one intense fight!"
"Fool." Is the answer the young mech receives from the gruff robot. H865 stands just feet away from the edge of the pit, looking at the fight only occasionally over the heads of his peers. "What shall it take to make you understand that this is barbaric G367? Transformer against Transformer? It is not something to get excited about."
The young robot G367 spared H865 a glance. "Then why are you here? Why do you come when ever there is a fight?"
"I only come because I am forced. That and to protect one and the others. By the way, where are they? Do you see them?" Replied H865 as he stood tall and with both arms folded over his chest.
G367 then answered back. "I see S97, she's across from us. As for N33, L926-1 and T-474 I do not know. Now please H865. You may not like the fights but I do. Leave your opinions to yourself and let me watch!"
"Fool."
The noise from the crowd grew louder as the fight carried on. Slaves were calling for a winner and for fuel to be spilled. The two warriors engaged in combat were wearing down, tired and injuried. Yet they continued as best as they could to survive the match and put down their opponent. Permanently.
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Post by Hoist on Apr 9, 2013 3:02:12 GMT -5
L926-1 was indeed at the fight, right over on the other side of the pit, just out of his fellow slaves view. If he had been with them he would have whole-heartedly agreed with his slave friend. "It IS barbaric!", protested the slave crossing his rather thick his arms. "I Just don't see the point of it - taking another bot's life, what possible satisfaction can it gain?! pondered the bot, "What sort of mech enjoys or gets kicks out of killing another brother?"
L926-1 was sat awkwardly on the old slab seating areas, legs crossed, his body twisted, trying to face away from the spectacle as best he could with both arms crossed and trying not to watch or take notice. The Quintessons were deadly and viciously savage, if you didn't attend, you would be punished, whipped and most likely tortured. He should know, it happened every day at the work camps to those their masters thought were slacking of or not working hard enough. He himself had had this happen many times, although he did work hard it was just in his master's vicious nature. a cruel and insufferable fate that all the slaves shared, but were hopeless to do anything about in their life-time.
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Post by Onix Solo on Apr 9, 2013 10:22:01 GMT -5
T-474, "Bah, curse the masters and their designations", was standing as far up in the stands as he could to the back of G367 and H865, where the light of the arena faded into shadow, and he felt comfortably oblivious from the rest of the crowd. He watch intently at the spectacle ahead, not out of joy, but because one never knew if their master would throw them in the ring next. After all, if you don't die from the work, you either die fighting in the pit, or they feed you to their pets, "either way, you die in a pit."
T-474, "curse them", was almost sure that it would be the work that got him before he was thrown into a pit, "either of them." He didn't have to see his master all that often, and when he did his master would remind him of the explosives in the device that kept everyone of the slaves in this arena obedient, tell him when to check back in and then remind him that if he wasn't punctual he'd be a scorch mark in some subterranean tunnel, "I guess you die one of four ways on Cybertron." His work was perilous, and most die within a few solar-cycles to any assortment of creature lurking beneath Cybertron. You survived by moving fast, "and hiding doesn't hurt either."
Even if he was sure he'd die underground, "hopefully next to a vital energon line so when they blow my collar they take the entire sector with it", it was never a guarantee, and so he watches, and hopes that if it is ever his turn, he lasts more than a nano-cycle.
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Post by Jazzman Crothers on Apr 9, 2013 13:29:14 GMT -5
As the fight grew intense, the crowd began to become more unruly. S97 did not like the wildness she was surrounded by. However she could not help but feel something of a raw energetic burst of energy flow through her systems when ever she watched the fight. She knew what was going on was wrong but some strange morbid curious had it's hold on her when the combat trails were conducted. S97 decided she should get away from the edge of the pits. While she did enjoy the fight even just a little, the sight of dead bodies in the pit reminded her of the better morals she should follow. As she moved away she saw L926-1 in the distance.
L926-1 and his group were S97's 'friends'. She didn't like the idea of trusting any slave but he and the others had proved to be a good crowd to stick around with in troubled times. Still S97 craved for her own personal independents. Maybe more so then freedom.
High above the pit, Judge Heirodyus watched the fight without much amusement. "Hmmmm, this final fight. I had hoped it would be so much more."
The guards next to their master merely nodded a quick afirmative. Heirodyus went on. "These slaves that have been placed in the pit as of recent, while there are indeed trouble makers that must be made an example of, they do not provide much in the way of entertainment."
Heirodyus' face then disappeared in a blurr as part of head did a quick spin to reveal a new face. "The answer is obvious. A better combatant must be chosen whether or not they have broken the rules!"
As Heirodyus finished his statement, he began to scan the crowd. With each slave that he scanned a download of information was received that included names and stats. "Hmmmm, R56, F89-23, H-81919, no too slow. J819, X98-1, L926-1, D452, R2-32, H865, U90, C63, S97, A32.... The possibilities are endless, hehehe!"
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Post by Bomblast on Apr 11, 2013 16:40:41 GMT -5
S-616 sat quietly with his arms folded. He wasn't too far from H865 and G367. S-616 was one of the few slaves that wasn't cheering. In truth, he hated being forced to watch these deathmatches, but he also knew the three rules to survival in the slave pens: Work hard, do as you're told and keep your mouth shut.
As the crowd started getting more excited, S-616 stood and moved to a quieter area, passing by H865 in the process. As he got closer, S-616 heard some of the conversation that was going on. He paused for a moment, looking around at the crowd, then looking at H865.
"Disgusting." He muttered.
S-616 sat himself down in a space that had been vacated because the occupants had decided to move closer to watch their fellow slaves rip each other apart for the amusement of the Quintessons.
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Post by Jazzman Crothers on Apr 11, 2013 23:38:44 GMT -5
As S-616 took a seat, he felt someone brush by him rather quickly. Then in a voice as loud as it could be, the words of a robot who had gone mad years ago were heard. "Foul persons you all are! Shame on you and your sparks! Butchers are the Quintessons! Enslaving Transformers, the children of Primus! Long live the freedom fighters Primus have sent!"
H865 and G367 heard the commotion. "Damn fool what is he doing? He'll bring the guard down on all of us. Quickly G367, lets catch him!"
"That religious talk will be the death of us!"
H865 and G367 caught up to the mech who was yelling and shouting, condemning the Quintessons and shouting Primus, a name the Quintessons did not like to hear spoken among their slaves. In a strong grip H865 held the loud robot hoping he would calmed down. "Damn fool! You know what will happen if you speak his name. Do you want the Quintessons to exterminate the lot of us?"
"But Primus has sent us the teacher! One of the 13 walks among us, to free us! Shame on these non-believers! I spit my last drop of fuel at them!" The mad mech continued on.
"Shut him up H865! The guards will be on us and everyone if he speaks of Gods and their original 13! You know how much the master hate it when slaves speak about cults and their superstitions!" Said G367
S97 finally reached L926-1. She tapped him on the shoulder and offered a smirk as a greeting. "L926-1. Any idea how much longer we are to endure watching the carnage below? I desire to be else where and will not remain for the after math that follows either. By the way seen the others?"
As Judge Heirodyus scanned the crowd below, he came across three mechs who seemed to be arguing amongst themselves and not watching the fight. After a quick study of their actions, Heirodyus switched his face back to the one he had before and called for the guards. "Bailiffs! Down there. It would seem that some of the slaves have decided to start their own fight rather then watch the one below. Since they wish to fight, perhaps we can assist them. Investigate!"
The guards hurried off while Heirodyus secretly hoped for an all out riot to break out. He needed anything to break the boredom he suffered cycle after cycle.
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Post by Onix Solo on Apr 12, 2013 13:20:15 GMT -5
Though the commotion was currently widely unnoticed from the fight down in the pit, "animals fighting for their masters pleasure", the crazed old mech and the two bots he knew, "only barely", were bound to draw attention. Attention is something you didn't want. Worse still was the crazed ramblings of some superior being that wasn't their Quintesson masters, "tales made up by the hopeless and desperate."
He got up and began to move away in the shadows of the upper-stands, "they're bound to feed us all to the Sharkticons just for hearing the name Primus." He decided to move around to another side of the stadium while moving away was possible, "no sense dying because I was cursed with audio sensors."
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Post by Hoist on Apr 13, 2013 5:41:57 GMT -5
L926-1 turned his head to see S97 and uncrossed his arms and legs, supporting himself on the uncomfortable seats with both arms as he looked at the match. "Well you know how these things can drag on", replied the mech, "A lot of these bots often don't like to go for the 'final kill", and I can't say I blame them. It's not enough that our masters want to see oil spilt, they insist on seeing heads roll - literally across the arena floor" he continued drolly turning to face S97 again. "I don't know where the others are, let's just hope they're safe.."
As L926-1 turned back to the fight before them he saw the judge's guards hurrying down the central ailse, "Now where the slag are they headed" he questioned in concern, "I don't like the looks of this... Not one little bit..."
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Post by Neo Calrissian on Apr 13, 2013 17:40:09 GMT -5
A latecomer to the fight, N33 slipped silently through the side entrance of the arena, hoping he hadn't been missed by the rolecall. Not so much pushing as gliding his way through the crowds, looking for small openings or gaps, he kept his optic out for a friendly face- not a common occurence, considering he spent nearly all his time in the Slag Pits, but nevertheless. Catching his slave collar painfully on another mech, he gave it a hopeful tug to prise it free, but it remained stuck fast, unrelenting and constantly uncomfortable. Sliding backwards and freeing himself, he smiled weakly and made a quiet apology, before spotting a free seat. He slumped into the rough metalwork step and sighed as he finally took the weight off his quaking legs, shutting his optics for a second to enjoy a brief moment's peace- a moment sickeningly interrupted by a howl of pain from the arena floor. N33 glanced down for just a moment, but could not bare to watch- turning away, he pulled a small datapad from his internal storage- the latest literature he had been able to glean from S666 down on the lower decks. He'd been hoping to save the book- a slim book of verse from the greatest poets of the Photians, a species whose only sensory recourse was light- for a more peaceful moment, but he couldn't think of anything else to distract him from the distressing scenes unfolding in front of him. Clicking the glowing circle in the centre of the screen, he smiled as a series of coloured lights began to flash in sequence, merging and dancing around the screen, and he desperately tried to ignore the carnage in the arena below...
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Post by Bomblast on Apr 14, 2013 16:24:29 GMT -5
At first, S-616 paid no mind the mech that was spouting religious nonsense, then it dawned on him that everyone within earshot of the mech could be in danger. S-616 got to his feet and went to join H865 in trying to quiet the mech. S-616 had only moved a few paces when he caught sight of the Quintesson judge up above. He saw a couple of guards leaving the Judge's side and entering the stadium. Silently cursing, S-616 quickly approached H865 and G367. He placed a hand on G367's shoulder and nodded towards the Judge's booth.
"Guards coming." He muttered.
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Post by Jazzman Crothers on Apr 15, 2013 0:42:15 GMT -5
G367's head swung around as he heard the word guard. He hardly took notice of his friend S-616 when he saw a group of bailiffs them pushing slaves aside as they made their way in his direction. H865 looked towards his two friends. "S-616? What in blazes is it? G367 what's wrong with you?"
H865's question was answered as a group of mechs began to push and shove each other. Chaos broke out as the guard began to fight their way towards the three slaves. H865 realized what was going on. He went to grab the insane mechanoid who started it all but wasn't fast enough. The crazy mech broke free from H865 and G367 and ran to confront the guards.
With a finger raised, the insane mechanoid began to shout. "Fools! Primus is watching! Primus' has given his children the greatest gift of all! True warriors they are and soon you see!!" Before the next sentence could leave his voice box, a spear was sent through the slave's head. No more crazy ramblings as his body fell dead while from his head only came fuel and sparks.
The crowd was now in a roaring panic. Everyone tried to run for the sake of their survival as guards shoved them aside or knocked them down with stun clubs. H865 looked around and saw that the guards were getting closer to him, G367 and S-616. As the guard who killed the mech took his spear back, H865 looked at him dead in the optic, "You should not have done that. Now my hand has been forced into action!"
H865 rushed the guard before anyone could computer what was happening. With one swift hand chop, H865 disarmed the guard making the bailiff drop the spear. H865 then took both of his hands and grabbed the guard hoisting him up into the air. With a mighty heave, the guard was sent into the air and landed on top of the guards who were behind him.
The alarms in the arena now went off.
Judge Heirodyus began to call on more bailiffs as he rotated through more faces. "Red Alert! The slaves are rebelling against the camp! I command that more guards are brought in!"
The numbers of guards began to come in faster. Soon H865 was covered in bailiffs as he used his brute strength to keep them away. G367 saw his friend in danger. "No! H865 hold on!" G367 tried to get to his friend but the guards were too many and too strong for the smaller robot to make a difference.
S-616 was also being surrounded. Some of the guards who were armed with simply stun clubs began to use them against any slave close by. They began to move in on S-616.
As N33 was soon caught up in the confusion and chaos. As guards moved in and took swipes at anyone too close to them, a stun club found a random target as it struck N33's data, breaking it in to pieces.
From higher up, S97 watched in horror as the guards were assaulting and killing slaves. "Those monsters! Its bad enough they make us fight each other and now, this is a massacre!" And with that, S97 took to her feet and began to make her way down to the rest to see what she could do to help.
And despite how well hidden T-474, the area he was in was filling up fast with panicking slaves and merciless guards just forcing themselves every where they could in to the madness.
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Post by Hoist on Apr 15, 2013 10:33:43 GMT -5
"Barbarians!", cried L926-1 after the spear went through the slaves head. "Wait S97!", he called after the bot after she went sprinting down the aisles. Without haste he followed after her to help, the masters had gone to far this time. What he just saw sickened hi yet somehow he knew this would happen, one day at least. These were "blood sports" rater than sports themselves and sooner or later it was bound to kick off. L926-1 's only regret was that it was the cost of another slave's life.
As he made his way down, the other slaves were pushing past or in the way, either running away to escape or towards the arena floor in rage, Many bots knocking into each other in the panic.
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Post by Neo Calrissian on Apr 16, 2013 16:08:25 GMT -5
N33 flinched and recoiled as a stun baton smashed the datapad he was holding, and a painful electrical charge ran up his arm. He clutched his wrist, gritting his teeth, but did not curse, and did not retaliate- he'd had worse. He scanned the crowd, looking for the cause of the sudden panic, pushing against the torrent of slaves- and saw a heavyset bot being set upon by guards. This he could handle- the bot looked fully capable of handling himself- but what he could tolerate was his small friend, a young bot he vaguely recognised, being set upon by guards, and a tall, retiring bot he recognized as S-616, surrounded by an ever closing circle of them. Something boiled inside N33. Something he'd buried since- No time for that. Move. Now. N33 took a deep breath, and began to push heavily through the crowd, as best he could with his limited strength, heading in the direction of the ruckus. He shouted fiercely and incomprehensibly, hurling discarded energon bottles and datapads at the guards, hoping against hope this would grab the guard's attention and take some of the focus off the victimized slaves- and give them a chance to escape...
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Post by Bomblast on Apr 16, 2013 16:22:50 GMT -5
S-616 began backing away from the guards advancing on him. He held up his hands to try and show he was no threat. It was then he had a crazy idea. It was definitely insane, and if he even attempted it, it would mean certain death for him. S-616 quickly rationalised that he'd be dead anyway, regardless of whether he attempted his plan or not. A small smile touched his face as he stopped backing up.
"You shouldn't have killed that slave." He muttered.
With that, S-616 did the most insane thing he'd ever though of doing. He deployed his arm blades. The two guards nearest him recoiled as the two blades appeared, almost slicing into them. S-616 had no idea what he was going to do with the blades, but he knew that they could cut through metal thicker than the guards' armour. He firmly planted his feet on the ground and prepared for the guards to make their move.
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