Fɪʀᴇ ᴀɴᴅ Bʀɪᴍsᴛᴏɴᴇ
Vreegan checked the seals on his gauntlets one last time, working his fingers into fists to feel the tension in the leather before resting his hand on his rifle. The air inside the fitting room was less than comfortable, forcing the scrubbers within his helmet to work overtime to keep the foul mix of stale sweat and wet sand from his nose. That putrid stench leaked in directly from the arena floor outside, where the low murmur of an eager audience echoed off the stone walls.
The wealthy elite of the Senex-Juvex sector occupying those high seats had expected entertainment, but they were about to witness a bloodbath, plain and simple. Once the dust settled on the sand, he made a mental note to send his regards to Lady
Corazona von Ascania
for the loss.
Her noble family on Ukatis would probably build her fallen brother an ornamental shrine as soon as the body was shipped home, and Vreegan almost welcomed the thought of invading their world eventually, if only to watch that statue crumble beneath his boots just as the man was about to.
Lysander von Ascania
had at least answered his challenge, which was commendable enough for a mere Sith emissary, but answering a call and surviving it were two entirely different things. A young nobleman playing at war with a lightsaber had no real chance against a veteran Mandalorian, a fact that would soon become clear.
The iron door groaned as the pit guard finally pulled the winch, raising the gate just high enough for Vreegan to pass into the light. Stepping out onto the sun-baked sand, the blinding glare hit his T-visor as he moved toward the center of the ring.
He didn't wave to the crowd or acknowledge the sudden roar from the stands, keeping his posture relaxed and his Commando rifle held casually across his chest. He came to a stop twenty paces short of the center mark, his visor fixed on the opposite archway as he waited for the noble to make his entrance.
The wealthy elite of the Senex-Juvex sector occupying those high seats had expected entertainment, but they were about to witness a bloodbath, plain and simple. Once the dust settled on the sand, he made a mental note to send his regards to Lady
Corazona von Ascania
for the loss.Her noble family on Ukatis would probably build her fallen brother an ornamental shrine as soon as the body was shipped home, and Vreegan almost welcomed the thought of invading their world eventually, if only to watch that statue crumble beneath his boots just as the man was about to.
Lysander von Ascania
had at least answered his challenge, which was commendable enough for a mere Sith emissary, but answering a call and surviving it were two entirely different things. A young nobleman playing at war with a lightsaber had no real chance against a veteran Mandalorian, a fact that would soon become clear.The iron door groaned as the pit guard finally pulled the winch, raising the gate just high enough for Vreegan to pass into the light. Stepping out onto the sun-baked sand, the blinding glare hit his T-visor as he moved toward the center of the ring.
He didn't wave to the crowd or acknowledge the sudden roar from the stands, keeping his posture relaxed and his Commando rifle held casually across his chest. He came to a stop twenty paces short of the center mark, his visor fixed on the opposite archway as he waited for the noble to make his entrance.
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