Levi Solus
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Jun 2, 2019
- Messages
- 101
- Reaction score
- 23
G L A D I A T O R I A L_ P I T _—_ K O R R I B A N
Ambient
Things went from bad to worse, but it was not new to Levi, who had begun to adjust to his new life—nothing surprised him anymore, the Jedi accustomed to the hell he lived through every day. Since being captured by the Empire, he had been treated like nothing more than an animal. He'd seen dogs treated better than him, with regular meals and a place to sleep. Since Victress had thrown him into the gladiatorial pits to rot, life had settled into a mundane routine.
Every morning at the crack of dawn, he was awoken by the quartermaster, a harsh Codru Ji with more scars on his body than one could count and a missing eye, which remained uncovered. Like dawn, the gladiators, too, cracked—because of the whip they were hit with. Rising from their "beds" (the dirt floor of the small chamber the warriors were held in), they would then be lead to the armory to pick out weapons, and then they were to train in another chamber, this one slightly larger. They trained with the weapons they fought with, and it wasn't uncommon for gladiators to kill each other—on purpose or by accident—or themselves. Levi had been witness to more suicides than he could count in the few days he'd been a prisoner, and the experience was sure to mark him for life, even if he got out—though he doubted he would. He was forgotten by the Rebellion, the Mandalorians, and anyone else that he had considered a friend.
After training, they were lead back to the chamber, and the daily battles begun. The Codru Ji would usher out a few gladiators every now and again, with one or two returning occasionally, covered in some sort of injury and a lot of blood. After a few hours, the night would set and the prize match took place, usually the reigning champion fighting against someone else. The champion, of course, always won, and getting sent to fight him was considered a death sentence.
Levi had made no friends, though he also had somehow managed to avoid making enemies as well. He no longer cared for relationships, feeling disdain and contempt when he considered how all of his "friends"—Arda, Tycho, a select few others—were still alive, far away from Korriban and not forced to go through hell every day. But that was not the Jedi way. Hating others for your own predicament would not solve anything. Instead, Levi struggled with the idea that the Force was just testing him. Sometimes he believed the lie.
He did a lot of meditating, finding nothing better to do with his free time. He tended to spend all, if not most, of the day in a trance, struggling to tune out his surroundings. That was what he was doing now, as dusk slowly settled over Korriban and a gladiator—battered, bruised, and unconscious—was dragged into the room by two guards and thrown in with little regard toward his well-being. He'd fought and survived; his life was his prize. The Jedi ignored him, deep in a trance, struggling to convince himself he wasn't here.
"I'm on Jedha. I'm in the temple. I'm sitting on a tall balcony, breeze blowing softly against my face. The Empire is slowly receding to nothingness, and I am at peace. The Galaxy is at peace. Th—"
His eyes snapped open as he was yanked up by the same two guards that had thrown the previous gladiator into the room. They dragged Levi out of the room without even giving him a chance to walk on his own, chucking him onto the rough floor of the armory.
"Pick," one declared, voice gruff and spear pointing toward the wall of weapons haphazardly thrown onto one another. The guard—a Gamorrean—looked like he'd bring Levi out into the pit unarmed if the Jedi didn't hurry up. Grabbing a sword made of what seemed to be durasteel and coated in dried blood, Levi stepped back from the wall and nodded. They let him walk in front of them toward the entrance to the arena, and it was then that his heart sank as he suddenly realized he had been chosen to fight. Up until now, he hadn't been thrown into the pits to actually fight, and his entire body went into fight-or-flight as the Padawan realized this was a make or break kind of situation.
As the gate lifted and the crowd roared, he stepped forward, the muffled screams and drums beating suddenly deafening. A voice droned on from speakers set up through the arena, and boos were hurled at him, alongside rocks and vegetables. None hit, but he found it somewhat disheartening.
Night had set, which could only mean one thing. He was going to fight the champion.
"Let us greet the final scum of the day!" the announcer buzzed. "He'll fight Rak'sha the Destroyer, smasher of skulls, blood drinker, and 211 time champion of the Great Korriban Arena!"
He knew that winning mean the became the new champion and would have to fight every night for the rest of his life, but maybe there was still hope at escaping, should he land such a prestigious position. What a shithole.
@Faded Truth
Things went from bad to worse, but it was not new to Levi, who had begun to adjust to his new life—nothing surprised him anymore, the Jedi accustomed to the hell he lived through every day. Since being captured by the Empire, he had been treated like nothing more than an animal. He'd seen dogs treated better than him, with regular meals and a place to sleep. Since Victress had thrown him into the gladiatorial pits to rot, life had settled into a mundane routine.
Every morning at the crack of dawn, he was awoken by the quartermaster, a harsh Codru Ji with more scars on his body than one could count and a missing eye, which remained uncovered. Like dawn, the gladiators, too, cracked—because of the whip they were hit with. Rising from their "beds" (the dirt floor of the small chamber the warriors were held in), they would then be lead to the armory to pick out weapons, and then they were to train in another chamber, this one slightly larger. They trained with the weapons they fought with, and it wasn't uncommon for gladiators to kill each other—on purpose or by accident—or themselves. Levi had been witness to more suicides than he could count in the few days he'd been a prisoner, and the experience was sure to mark him for life, even if he got out—though he doubted he would. He was forgotten by the Rebellion, the Mandalorians, and anyone else that he had considered a friend.
After training, they were lead back to the chamber, and the daily battles begun. The Codru Ji would usher out a few gladiators every now and again, with one or two returning occasionally, covered in some sort of injury and a lot of blood. After a few hours, the night would set and the prize match took place, usually the reigning champion fighting against someone else. The champion, of course, always won, and getting sent to fight him was considered a death sentence.
Levi had made no friends, though he also had somehow managed to avoid making enemies as well. He no longer cared for relationships, feeling disdain and contempt when he considered how all of his "friends"—Arda, Tycho, a select few others—were still alive, far away from Korriban and not forced to go through hell every day. But that was not the Jedi way. Hating others for your own predicament would not solve anything. Instead, Levi struggled with the idea that the Force was just testing him. Sometimes he believed the lie.
He did a lot of meditating, finding nothing better to do with his free time. He tended to spend all, if not most, of the day in a trance, struggling to tune out his surroundings. That was what he was doing now, as dusk slowly settled over Korriban and a gladiator—battered, bruised, and unconscious—was dragged into the room by two guards and thrown in with little regard toward his well-being. He'd fought and survived; his life was his prize. The Jedi ignored him, deep in a trance, struggling to convince himself he wasn't here.
"I'm on Jedha. I'm in the temple. I'm sitting on a tall balcony, breeze blowing softly against my face. The Empire is slowly receding to nothingness, and I am at peace. The Galaxy is at peace. Th—"
His eyes snapped open as he was yanked up by the same two guards that had thrown the previous gladiator into the room. They dragged Levi out of the room without even giving him a chance to walk on his own, chucking him onto the rough floor of the armory.
"Pick," one declared, voice gruff and spear pointing toward the wall of weapons haphazardly thrown onto one another. The guard—a Gamorrean—looked like he'd bring Levi out into the pit unarmed if the Jedi didn't hurry up. Grabbing a sword made of what seemed to be durasteel and coated in dried blood, Levi stepped back from the wall and nodded. They let him walk in front of them toward the entrance to the arena, and it was then that his heart sank as he suddenly realized he had been chosen to fight. Up until now, he hadn't been thrown into the pits to actually fight, and his entire body went into fight-or-flight as the Padawan realized this was a make or break kind of situation.
As the gate lifted and the crowd roared, he stepped forward, the muffled screams and drums beating suddenly deafening. A voice droned on from speakers set up through the arena, and boos were hurled at him, alongside rocks and vegetables. None hit, but he found it somewhat disheartening.
Night had set, which could only mean one thing. He was going to fight the champion.
"Let us greet the final scum of the day!" the announcer buzzed. "He'll fight Rak'sha the Destroyer, smasher of skulls, blood drinker, and 211 time champion of the Great Korriban Arena!"
He knew that winning mean the became the new champion and would have to fight every night for the rest of his life, but maybe there was still hope at escaping, should he land such a prestigious position. What a shithole.
@Faded Truth