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Jedi Republic Communication Thread
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Oops! Read below!
[Message Edited]
          
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Part III: the Colosseum
Sparks rang off the flashing saber blade as Wild Wombat strove for an early advantage. Sirian had come to regret agreeing to act as referee, as the two combatants initial charge was so fast that he'd sustained an nasty gash to his left leg and lost three fingers on his right hand. Wombat glanced up at the penalty box and saw Sirian, writing slowly with his left hand, already up to page five on his match report. Wombat just knew the post-game interview was not going to go well.
He circled warily around Yoda, seeking any opening, any sign of weakness. The small green one seemed to limp and shuffle slightly, although Wombat had always attributed that to injuries sustained in his previous career as a muppet. His Iron Paw nestled into the grip on the military saber. He loved this saber; built to his own design, it made a howling sound as he swished it through the air - great for disturbing the concentration of opponents, and besides it looked absolutely fantastic on slow motion replays.
He knew, however, he could not afford to underestimate the great master. He thought back to the time Yoda had invested him with honourary Jedi membership, when he had to wear those platform heels just to seem taller than Wombat, when everybody has that strange habit of reversing the letters of every word: Arkd Dorl of the Shit really suffered that day. How did it come to this? How could he be in mortal combat against a trusted friend and ally?
Ah yes...the money. And the merchandising; ahh, the T-shirts, they were the sweetest plum...and Special Forces had made some extensive side wagers on the outcome of the combat. Even now, he knew Quack was out there, drumming up business, taking names...if they could pull this off, they could restock the bar at the Party Tavern for a MONTH without doing another mission. Wombat also had Harel...his ace in the hole. The Israeli sharpshooter was poised somewhere high above the arena, with laser rifle and scope, ready to...influence...the event should things not look good. Wombat was sure he had asked Harel only to wound the great Yoda, but Harel was...enthusiastic...ah well, no use worrying about that now.
Suddenly, an opportunity presented itself: Wombat noticed a pool of Sirian's blood in a corner of the ring, and Yoda seemed to be moving towards it, unaware of the chance that he might stand in it. Wombat feinted to the left, Yoda moved to the right...his right heel suddenly slipping in the pool of blood...he began to fall backwards...and Wombat LUNGED....
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ok you've had your fun SF  my turn
PART IV: The Battle Rages On
DINGGGGGGG The bell told of the end of the fifteenth round. The two fierce combatants were vulnerable to a toddler at this point. Each had met his equal opponent and neither had gained any true ground yet. In their corners the Emperors prepared for round sixteen...
Humph! Very strong he is, but also very foolish.. full of himself, ha.. his downfall it will be.
In the opposing corner, Wombat tended to his wounds.
That little brat packs a punch sir.
"Phuah! Scrawny little thing... huh.... couldn't beat... a ... SQuirle huh" Wombat said between pants. The extended battle was taking its tole on both combatants.
DING DING The Sixteenth Round began
Once again the two stepped out into the ring. Once again the Rainbows and the Little Green Ears cheered. Word from the sidelines was that the purse for the victorious bet was well over two million credits.
Weapons were drawn and battle ensued, light energy clashing with the pulsing protection of sound.
"Hmm! A Vibroblade you wield.... hmmm ha ha"
"What are you talking about... (clak clak clak the two weapons met) you crazy elf?!"
"Hmph An elf I am not! Strong you are, but my ally is the force, and a Powerful ally it is."
"We'll see..."
The two exchanged strikes, always searching for opprotunities to take advantage of some hidden weakness. Finally, Yoda found one for himself.
"hmmmHHHMmmmm! Interesting this is... to cheat were we planning? Humph!"
the wombat ignored Yoda's squieling, he talked constantly, by now he had tuned him out.
Up in the banisters of the arena, out of sight, was a hidden menace, Special Forces Harel sat waiting, sipping a nip from time to time from his bottle of JD never far away. From his high perch he observed the battle below, when suddenly Wombat slipped and fell in the middle of the arena. Yoda Force-Pushed him against the wall, deadly laser energy surging through the energy fence above to keep... enthusiastic-- spectators OUT of the pit.
Harel snapped to action, grabbing wildly for his carbine. In his haste, Harel knocked off the bottle of booze from its nearby rafter, sending it falling into the arena below. Wombat had fought Yoda back, but was in dire straights. Harel aimed, but the bottle landed in a crash just as he fired off a shot.
Yoda, with his force amplified senses, skirted out of the way of the bottle; but Wombat froze, and as he did the laser bolt struck him in his right ankle.
The crowd screamed and a chaotic river of people made their way to the exit. Harel realized his mistake and jumped down from the ceiling above. His JetPack slowed his descent, but that just added to the confusion and terror of the crowd.
Wombat limped to the sidelines, Harel had in deed set the weapon to stun.
As the crowd continued to stream out of the arena, the bell sounded the end of the Sixteenth round.
DINGGGGG
    
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Episode V: A New Recalc
Meanwhile, in a particularly seedy section of downtown Coruscant...
The most infamous dive on the street was known, simply, as "The Cantina." Three humanoid figures hunched over their drinks at the bar, watching the oversized viewscreen. One was dressed in a white samurai's robe; one, in a similar black robe, but with frost riming its edges; and the third in a gray military uniform with Admiral's insignia on the lapel. Though different in appearance, they were oddly matched in the number of empty glasses in front of them, and their rapt attention on the sports spectacular on the viewscreen...
"Welcome to Foxboro Stadium, for today's AFC title matchup between the New England Patriots and the Indianapolis Colts!"
A figure dressed in flannel and denim tried to slide up to the bar. Kryo, annoyed, turned around. One could say that he froze in surprise when he recognized the newcomer; but he was, after all, quite cold already.
"DarkPaladin! What are YOU doing here? This isn't a college game!"
The Midwesterner twitched. "Well, Indiana is Midwestern..."
Ben eyed the farmer suspiciously. "You know Surther would be upset if he saw one of his boys watching a pro game. It's against MWC bylaws."
Sherbert twirled his Shirley Temple thoughtfully. "Which is worse - being caught on a spy mission to Coruscant, or watching pro football?"
DarkPaladin drew himself up, angrily. "I'm not here for either. I came to watch the big matchup between Yoda and Wombat!" He reached for the remote control.
Throughout the bar, there was an ominous chorus of sounds...lightsabers being ignited, swords being drawn, pistols being cocked. The bartender sighted down the barrel of his Death Ray Zorcher.
"This is a title game. Touch that remote, and die."
Meanwhile, back at the arena.
Sirian pushed his way to the center of the ring, fighting the panicked crowd. He grabbed the microphone. "LADIEEES AND GENTLEMENNNNN...please, return to your seats. The next round will begin after a slight delay for cleanup."
Yoda stumped angrily forward. "Cheated, they did, HMMMMM? An assassin was present. Victory is mine. MINE, MINE, MINE!"
Sirian gazed down at Yoda. "RB rule number 7892, subparagraph 'D.' Reloads are permitted in the event of a crash. This...man..." he indicated Harel, who was sitting in the front row, absently polishing a rifle, "'crashed' into the mat, disrupting the match. A reload to the beginning of Round 16 is authorized according to RB bylaws. You picked me for a referee. Deal with it."
"But FIRED a WEAPON, he did -"
Sirian shook his head. "Immaterial, as such occurrences by third parties are not specified as being germane to the match. For all we know, he could have been up in the rafters for a better view and fired accidentally. In the absence of conclusive proof, the match continues at the point of the reload."
Sirian waggled a finger at the Jedi Master, who backed up a touch nervously. "And the agreed-upon rules for the match stated, 'NO Force Powers.' You're lucky we're reloading here or I'd have to dock you points for illegal tactics."
Wombat saw an opening and limped up. "Hey, you just said he cheated -"
Sirian glared. "I said, the round has been reset. As far as I'm concerned, it never happened. Next time you get a sharpshooter, make sure he doesn't miss. And while we're at it, reconstructive surgery on my hand comes out of the pot before anybody else gets a cut."
Sirian, ever subtle, keyed on his throat mike. "Better raise the shields around the ring, or EVERYBODY'S going to start shooting this time."
Yoda sulked. Wombat glared. Sirian...wrapped another bandage around his hand and moved out of the ring. More quickly, this time.
The bell rang.
Keep it clean, fellas... 
  
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Hmmm? Me? What story? I'm down here at the bar watching the game...or will be, when it starts...
That's why I REALLY suggested the match; I needed to get to Coruscant, because "The Cantina" has a satellite dish capable of catching the network feed. The SF tavern apparently just gets rubgy matches. "Ben, that's the 'ball.'" 
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