Age: 30
Species: Zabrak
Height: 6’1
Skin Color: Red
Hair Color: None
Eye Color: Light Purple
Birthplace: Rattatak
The repeated clattering of a hammer beating an anvil in a rhythmic fashion rang out through the dark, dilapidated pit as a seemingly endless line of downtrodden slaves were processed one after the one, brought in clad in iron shackles, only to have them removed and have a rusted blade thrust into their quivering hands - among them lambs who can’t have seen more than twenty winters, prisoners taken from raids on unlucky merchant vessels and civilian transports passing too close to the lawless world. The constant clattering of metal on metal was broken only by the braying of great beasts captured and brought from all over the galaxy in order to do battle in the great arena. Above them, the roar of the crowd, screaming for blood as another bout reached it’s gory conclusion.
The sound of the master’s staff slamming into the bars of his cage roused the Zabrak from his meditative state, eyes flicking open wide as he stared up into the wrinkled face of the Weequay Pitmaster and rose to his feet, fists balled by his side as he stared dead ahead with a scowl.
"Ahhh… last grouppa slaves only went an’ beat dey champion. Nows ya chance, lotta credits pourin’ in fer this new group, if ya know what I mean? Eheheheh…" The master waggled a keyring in front of the Zabrak who presented his hands to have the heavy iron cuffs clapped around his wrists unlocked, growling in response as they fell to the ground with a loud thud, leaving the cell and going to arm himself as a hush fell over the pits, fighters hanging around the bars of their cells to watch him.
He muscled past a group of new arrivals, shoving them aside as he approached a rack of weapons, arming himself with a wicked black metal spear, barbed on both ends with a vicious spike. He turned to walk towards the arena gates, a low pitched, rhythmic thudding starting in one of the cells.
"Ma… Ku… Ma… Ku… Ma… Ku…" An almost ritualistic chant rose up around the beating of flesh on flesh as his pace quickened, a swagger in his step as he gripped his spear tightly, gritting his jagged teeth as more and more voices joined the chanting until it overwhelmed all other noise inside the pits, resonating around the dimly lit stone walls as the would be champion jogged up the sandy-covered ramp that entered in the middle of the arena.
The roar of the crowd was deafening, the lights of the arena blinding as he ascended through a raised gate and found himself surrounded on all sides by five fighters, some of them still busying themselves looting the sands for any scraps of armour or weapons they could find, armed with an arrow of short, rusted swords and clubs, one of them wielding a giant black metal battleax, the armament of the former champion, alongside his decorative shoulderpad and plumed basket helmet. Three piers of stands allowed the many thousands of bloodthristy spectators a view of the action, the dusty red sand of the arena floor contrasting the silhouettes of the fighters even for those in the upper galleries to see and the elliptical shape of the arena carried the sounds just as well. A male Siniteen draped in regal purple robes, glimmering in the light of his lavish box with gold embroidery gestured for some quiet as he prepared to address the crowd.
"Our brave fighters have defeated their first trial - but can they survive another two and earn their freedom?! The Beast of Batuu found himself hunted and slain by the intrepid pack, but how they fare the same against a full-blooded son of Rattatak? You know him, you love him, let them know it too! Maaaaaaaku!"
With the hosts announcement the crowd became positively feral, screaming wildly, rattling the cage walls that separated them from the arena floor and threatening to topple it completely in places around the dome, the same chant that had taken the pits beginning to whip up among the crowd - thousands of voices calling out his name. Maku. He drove his spear into the red sands and took a knee, taking a handful of arena sand and rubbing his hands all over with it, drawing in a deep breath as he felt a shutter lift, a change take place within his very soul, a rage beginning to swell from his belly that threatened to burn his throat and erupt if he didn’t take hold of it.
The strike of a giant brass gong heralded the beginning of the round, the sound carried around the arena walls until it faded to nothing, making the heads of the fighters throb as all of them began to shuffle uneasily in the red sands. Maku gripped his spear and threw himself at the man on his left flank, flying through the air as his feet barely touched the ground, couching his weapon under one arm as he reached out with the other and simply cast the human’s guard aside with naught but a swipe of his hand, plunging the barbed tip of his wicked weapon into the man’s heart as he hit the sands with a dull thud. He barely had time to recover as battlecries rang out over his shoulder, pulling the spear tip out with a twist as he immediately drove the other end into the gut of a twi’lek charging his rear, catching him by surprise as he hadn’t even been looking when the blow landed, turning to meet the fading alien’s gaze with a cold grin as a third combatant attacked the Zabrak with a wild overhead strike, bringing a flanged mace down towards his head, though Maku moved with a predatory speed that the human was altogether unprepared for, letting his blow strike the sand as he sidestepped and grabbed him from behind, jagged yellow fangs sharpened to a point sought the human’s tender throat as a hand over his eyes pulled back on his head to expose it, a blinding squirt of crimson as he tore out enough to finish the man off and spat the giblets into the sand, leaving the second man impaled and leaning on his spear as he faced down the remaining fighters unarmed - the man wearing the gear of the late Beast of Batuu and his last remaining companion, both of them keeping their distance after watching the Zabraki monster dispatch three of their friends in short order.
The man who would be the beast swung his battleaxe back and forth with a cocky disposition, circling one way as his friend circled the other, closing in on their prey who adopted a low stance, hands outstretched along the sands as he awaited their attack - then it came, suddenly, both men lunging towards him with murderous intent. He rolled out of the way and turned his attention on the more heavily armoured human toting the champion’s axe, no more than a brief expression of will twisted his blow a foot and a half to the right and straight into his companion’s neck, arterial spray blinding the thin eye-slit of his plumed helmet as both men let out bloodcurdling screams accentuated by the hearty laughter of Maku as he outstretched a hand and summoned a half-buried sword to his waiting palm, curling his fingers around the hilt as he waited for the last man standing to regain his faculties, taking a moment to turn towards the crowd with a roar, thrusting his blade into the air as they roared back at him - his name on almost every pair of lips in the house as their ravenous screams threatened to blow the roof off of the arena as the sands ran red with the blood of his enemies.
"MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!! MA…KU!!"
The human tore the decorative helmet from his head with a sobbing cry, wiping the blood of his last friend from his eyes as he stared across the sands at the waiting Zabrak tapping his sword against the palm of his other hand, backing away from him and starting to beg before he seemed to find his spin, low and bowed as his teeth grit like a wild animal. Maku returned the expression, though his was more of a bloody-toothed grin as he rolled his shoulders back and charged down the sole survivor, leaping through the air to deliver a probing thrust that was parried feverishly, both men engaging in a loud, clattering back and forth of blows, counters and near misses whilst Gammoreans clamoured to stop the crowds invading the arena sands, baying like hounds as they rocked the gore slick chain-link fences from all sides. Then, the Zabrak began to take his opponent apart, piece by piece, first delivering a length ward slash to his off-hand, disabling it and forcing him to fight one handed as a trail of blood followed his limp arm. The next, a low slash across the back of his exposed heel that sent him crashing to the sands, struggling to stand up on it as he assumed as defensive a posture as one might with a battleax, his struggles finally coming to an end as he fell on one knee before the Zabrak and dropped his weapon, yielding with desperation in his eyes as the victor lowered his blade towards the man’s throat and looked towards the bejeweled box of the host for further instruction, and as if on cue he approached the edge of the box again, shouting to be heard over the bloodthirsty crowd.
"Oh no - and our heroes meet an inglorious end in only their second bout! I had a bet running on them to win all three, too!" He chuckled sadistically as the fighters panted for breath, dripping with sweat and blood on the sands as they awaited his verdict. "Oooh… what do you think? Did he fight well?!" He called out to the crowd as he hefted one hand up, a thumb outstretched horizontally, wiggling up or down teasingly as he gauged their reaction one way or the other before finally delivering a thumbs down verdict.
Maku looked down at the defeated human who couldn’t even meet his gaze, a low growling hum almost thoughtfully as he finished him off cleanly to the further amazement of the crowd, parading his head as he completed a victory lap of the arena. Little did he know just who was watching his latest bout…
Late in the night Maku was stirred from his sleep by the sounds of his master conversing with another - their voices growing louder as their muffled footsteps padded along the stone floors of the pit.
"He is… a force sensitive?" The inquisitor asked coldly.
"Ah well, I dunno nothin’ ‘bout thatta one, but ya seen his last fight! He made me a lot of money, he’ll kill anythin’ ya put in front of him!"
"So it would seem."
Both of them stopped in front of his cell, the inquisitor looked rather diminutive even stood next to his hunched master, though as he straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back with a cold, disdainful sneer he exuded a reserved, dark power that immediately got the Zabrak’s attention as he rose from his cot and stood with his head slightly bowed, chained hands presented to the front.
"Ayy, Maku! This man’s gon’ be ya new master now, eh? Made me a lot of money - don’t take it personally big guy, this is only business, huh?!" The Weequay quickly unlocked his shackles and took them away before disappearing into the shadows of the pit, followed by the tell-tale jingling of credits.
As they were left along Maku rubbed his marked wrists, lifting his head to meet the inquisitors gaze in silence, purple eyes squinting lightly as he waited for…
"I am Inquisitor Draxus of the Sith Empire - and you are the Empire’s newest Excavation Expert."
"Excavation… I am to be a miner?"
Inquisitor Draxus snorted and shook his head, a half bout of laughter even escaping him.
"Something like that. Follow me, do what you’re told and you might just survive."
"Yes, Master."
The inquisitor had already turned away, but he snapped back with a finger pointed towards the alien and a hint of venom in his tone.
"-I- am not -your- Master, slave. You have yet to earn that privilege."