Junction Feast of Iron and Honor | THR & ME Junction of Nessantico & Empty Hex

[Rynar Solde]

Rynar felt the basilisk's pulse the moment he swung himself onto its armored back—an almost living hum beneath the plating, like a sleeping giant ready to wake. He let his hand trail across the edge of the controls, not activating them just yet, but familiarizing himself with the cold metal surface. The war droid wasn't just a machine to him—not with stories about their legacy burned into his childhood memories. It felt like a partner. One that chose its rider, maybe more than the other way around.

Cupcake chirped from where it sat on a small patch of sun-warmed stone near the sideline. Rynar cast a fond smile toward the creature. "Stay put," he instructed, voice low but warm. "I'll be back before you know it. Try not to heckle me if I get knocked on my back." Cupcake gave a trill that was just mischievous enough to be considered a promise.

He straightened, lifting his gaze across the field—and that's when he spotted her.

The rider across from him was already mounted, hair gathered into a loose, practical bun. Her voice echoed across the arena as she waved to the crowd with a radiant smile, all confidence and brightness. An uncommon energy for someone about to face down war droids. Rynar found himself smiling, too. Not a mocking one—just a quiet appreciation of her spirit.

He gave her a respectful nod from atop his mount, murmuring just loud enough for the crowd nearby to hear: "Good day for a ride." He tilted his head, adding a touch of wry amusement. "Try not to make me look too slow out there."

The basilisk flickered to life beneath him, its sensors glowing, posture settling into a ready crouch—like it understood, and accepted him. Rynar settled into the harness, fingers tightening around the controls, and let the thrum of the engine seep into his bones. A rush of steadying focus washed over him.

"One joust," he whispered, to himself—and to the ancient machine that carried him. "Let's give them a good one."

With a soft kick and a mechanical snarl, the basilisk strode forward. Rynar guided it into position at the edge of the field, Cupcake's golden eyes following from the sidelines. He shifted in his seat, a smirk returning as he glanced once more toward Lily's mount. No rivalry yet. Just two riders, ready to learn each other with lance and steel.

As the crowd settled and the announcer's voice began its booming introduction, Rynar lifted his lance arm in a quiet salute toward Lily. No words. Just the gesture—sportsmanship, and a promise of a good match.


The war droid trembled beneath him, eager for the charge. And Rynar, steady in the saddle, was ready too.

Lily Decoria Pillar of Perseverance

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The Feast of Concord | Featuring Basilisk Jousting
Everholt Keep | Tol Forod
Nessantico
Interacting with: Renn Vizsla

"May this not be the last forge we share, Warden Vizsla." Sibylla concurred with a soft smile that crossed her lips as she turned to look at the Warden of Roon.

"Tell me, do you have a Champion in mind for your favor?" She asked, curious, as an attendant poured a drink in a chalice for her to enjoy. She thanked the attendant, then brought the chalice to her lips and took a drink.

Of course, when the ruckus of needing another challenger came up and Bastila Sal-Soren was pointed out, Sibylla couldn't help the quiet laugh that slipped from her lips. Renn's earlier words had left her thoughtful, but Bastila's flustered plea pulled her back into the joviality of the moment. The Queen turned toward her friend with a wide grin, her hazel eyes dancing with mirth.

Without a word, Sibylla reached up, loosening the crimson ribbon woven into her braid. The silken strand caught the light as she wound it once around her fingers, then stepped closer to Bastila.

"A token, then," she said softly with amused warmth, wrapping the ribbon around the Handmaiden's wrist herself and tying it neatly into place.

"Do be careful," Sibylla added, her tone gentler now, "but also, have fun. I've no doubt you'll make Naboo and the Republic proud."

At the mention of Aurelian, her smile brightened.

"Yes, well, he should be around here..." Her gaze swept the crowd, searching for him, but instead it caught on the unmistakable white dreadlocks and freckled face of Acier Moonbound across the courtyard.

Her breath hitched. A muscle tightened in her jaw. It had been some time since Roon, and longer still since that argument. She shouldn't have been surprised to see him here, and yet the sight still struck a chord she wasn't ready to name.

He looked well. He looked... different. Hazel eyes flicked towards the woman beside him. The Priestess of House Amnem. And not alone.

Sibylla lifted her chin, masking the ache with practiced grace, though her fingers tightened around the rim of her goblet as if to steady herself. The ache in her chest was a quiet echo of what she feared she was losing -- another friend carried away by distance, by choices, to life's quiet drift. Lysander's memory was her first heartbreak. Ace's absence would be the quiet ache that lingered after the laughter was gone, friendship fading into silence she hadn't chosen.

It's fine, she told herself, but even then the words rang hollow.

He required distance and space. Alright. And while she told herself she wouldn't let herself lose another friend like Lysander, something in her chest wondered if there was perhaps something wrong with her that kept causing such fissures.

"To Bastila Sal-Soren, Handmaiden of Naboo. I present to you your newest Challenger!" Sibylla called out in a bright, joyful tone as she made a presenting gesture towards Bastila, the crowd roaring for the Handmaiden of Naboo.

Spoiler: Favor + Cheer

Plus + 1 Favor and +1 Cheering to Bastila Sal-Soren

 

[Pillar of Perseverance]

​

Feast of Iron and Honor​

Ongoing Jousting Points
Total of three passes
​

Champion	Points	Champion	Points
Siv Kryze	1,2	Knight of the Republic	1,1,
Aiden Porte	1	Tyr Mereel	2,3,
Rik Perris		Raylin Fall
Lily Decoria		Rynar Solde
Adelle Bastiel	3	Tess Wyn-Tai	1,3
Bastila Sal-Soren		Elian Abrantes

​

For those watching, remember that giving a favor ( a ribbon, a handkerchief, or whatever you want) and cheering for the Champion gives them a higher modifier!

Optional Modifiers
Add or subtract from rolls based on roleplay flavor or declared strategy

• +1 if your character has piloting, riding, or mounted combat skill.
• +1 if your character collects a favor or token from the crowd as a symbol of support and affection (Max of 2, but get all the favors, Champions!)
• +1 for strong crowd morale (roleplayed crowds loudly cheering for you) ( Max of 2. One +1 modifier per writer who roleplays cheering for your champion)
• −2 if your Basilisk takes prior damage or you’re suffering disorientation.

Spoiler: Jousting Rules

Jousting Rules
Setup

• Each jouster rides a Basilisk War Droid.
• Both start on opposite ends of the aerial arena.
• The match has 3 passes total. (Each pass is one post)

How to Play (per pass)
Each rider rolls 1d20 for their action in their post ( or copy paste rolls from discord for proof) and then add/subtract your modifier
Use this result for both your control and strike for simplicity.

1–4 → Major fail (loss of control or miss)
5–10 → Minor fail (glancing blow or off balance)
11–15 → Solid hit or maneuver
16–19 → Strong strike or impressive stunt
20 → Critical hit or spectacular display (crowd goes wild)

Result	Points After 3 passes, the player with the most points wins. If tied, roll one final sudden pass.
Major fail	0
Minor fail	1
Solid hit	2
Strong strike	3
Critical hit	4

Cheer for your Champion! Challenge Another to a Joust!
THE FEAST OF IRON AND HONOR

Who Will You Cheer For?!​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective: Jousting
Tags: Tyr Mereel Oriana Indupar
Modifiers: +1 Cheering


​

The world shrank to a line of motion and intent.

Aiden leaned forward, feeling the Basilisk respond beneath him with the raw, grace of a creature that wanted to run free. The thrum of the repulsors deepened, harmonizing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. His gauntleted hands steadied the lance against his thigh, angling it low at first, drawing the creature’s momentum into his own. Through the haze of steam and dust, Tyr’s silhouette burned like a star coming closer.

The strike came too fast for instinct alone. He felt it before he saw it, a flicker through the Force, the whisper of air where the Mandalorian’s lance cut across his armor. Aiden pivoted his mount at the last possible moment, powering through so that the blow screeched across his pauldron instead of piercing through. Sparks cascaded in a bright, brief shower.

The crowd’s roar folded around him, distant, almost unreal. He caught the Basilisk’s reins again, pulling it wide into an arcing drift. Dust sprayed from the claws as they tore through the packed earth. His breath came steady, eyes locked on the opposite end where Tyr Mereel saluted, the Mandalorian’s defiance turned into something almost poetic.

Through the comm, that deep, battle-worn voice thundered: “Come on, Jedi! Let’s see if the Forge made you as steady as the stories say!”

Aiden smiled, behind his helm.

He lowered his own lance in reply, igniting the repulsor coils along its length until the weapon glowed with contained heat. “Stories” he said with a chuckle, “Only last if they’re earned.”

“I haven’t earned mine yet.”

The Force gathered around him, a quiet pulse of focus threading through the chaos. His Basilisk crouched low, like a predator waiting for command. He exhaled once.

The signal flare burst overhead.

Aiden drove his knees into the creature’s flanks, and the Basilisk surged forward with a roar that tore through the noise of the arena. Steam and fire trailed in its wake as the two warriors thundered toward one another again, one bound by creed, the other by balance, each a reflection of the other in the burning light of the sky. Aiden charged forward, lanced aim clear and true, directed at Tyr's center

 

[Knight of the Republic]

Jousting Arena
Jousting Siv Kryze
Modifiers: +1 Riding | Total Points: 2
2nd pass total 5 - minor fail

For a great pass, Knight of the Republic is giving a Cheer +1 to Siv Kryze

Lord Velarys sat in still silence as the Mandalorian's words echoed across the arena like a challenge carried on the wind. Confidence, not command.

The truth stung more than the blow had, because it was true. The Lord had been riding the Basilisk as though it were a creature to be mastered, not a partner to be trusted. Even if it was a droid war beast, it still had the ability to react and move according to its rider.

A slow breath filled the Lord's lung and then came the roll of their shoulders under that Force imbued armor. The weight of doubt eased away. The point was to keep trying. The helm turned toward the Warden, visor catching the light, and dipped once in quiet acknowledgment.

I'll do better on the next pass.

Beneath them, the Basilisk rumbled, sensing the shift in intent. Metal sinew flexed, hydraulics hissing in anticipation. Velarys adjusted their seat, found the rhythm of the machine's steady heartbeat, and waited.

The flag fell.

The War Droid exploded forward in a surge of power, claws gouging stone as the arena thundered around them. The lance lowered, lined with purpose --

-- only for Siv's strike to hit first, a perfect collision of timing and precision.

The impact cracked through Velarys' shield like thunder, and the world tilted. Velarys barely held the saddle as the Basilisk staggered to a halt, dust and sparks swirling in their wake. For a single breath, there was only silence -- then the roar of the crowd broke it apart in a wild and electric cheer.

Velarys steadied the beast, then turned it back toward the Warden. Their lance rose in salute in a gesture of respect rather than surrender.

"Well struck," the modulator carried softly.

One final pass remained -- the deciding run.

Veralys's grip tightened around the reins, adjusting the shield and lance, resolve flexing in the line of their jaw. Whatever came next, Lord Velarys would ride with confidence and nothing less.

Let the Force decide the victor today.

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Before the festivities could begin in earnest, Cora spied a familiar head of white hair across the arena.

A subtle tug in the Force would hopefully pull Lily's attention toward her.

"Padawan Decoria," she called out, beckoning her toward the stands with a crooked finger. "A moment?"

Lily Decoria

 

[Nianuke cyt]

I arrive late enough that my old mentor would be ashamed of. I look up and see the banners for the festival. The sound of a distant, cheers of the arena.I push my way past a groups of people, I feel the dust settle on my worn boots. My eyes scan the crowd until they landed on a familiar sight a Nexu. I walk over hopefully trying to find Rynar. "Cupcake if your here....wheres Rynare at?" I ask myself and maybe Cupcake
Tags:
Rynar Solde

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Concord Feast || Basilisk Jousting
Modifiers: +1 Riding
Tags: Opponent: Tess Wyn-Tai | Open



The flag dropped. The Basilisk surged forward in a familiar, sudden acceleration. But unlike in practice, Adelle was prepared for it, leaned into it. The world narrowed down to the lanes she and her opponent charged down. The roar of the crowd replaced by her own breath in the helm. The pounding of the Basilisk's feet drowned out by her heart beat. She could feel the Force and felt the moment she needed to drop the point of her lance. In the seconds before impact, Adelle stood in her stirrups and leaned into the hit. The impact shattered the lance--tournament lances were designed that way, to avoid doing injury to the contestants.

Adrenaline flooded her veins as the Basilisk slowed before wheeling around for another pass. She could feel it start a tremble in her hands and took a steadying breath. Two more passes. It wasn't over yet. Adelle could see her opponent--Tess of Sacorria--turning around for another charge. The rail behind her was conspicuously absent one small spukami.

Phantom!

She didn't have a second to spare more thought to the feline's disappearance. Tess was already tilting and her Basilisk began its own charge. Instinctively, Adelle leaned into the motion, tightening her grip on the lance as they thundered forward for another pass.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Nessantico, Mid Rim

Everholt Keep shimmered in the sunlight, the dark shade of obsidian that lined its walls and floors, once darkened with blood and refuse, now gleamed brightly, as if the very features that had once made it horrific had become presentable. A celebration of the past, best experienced through the narrow view of a mythical time, and the willful ignorance of that which would dare to tarnish that view.

Itzhal knew his thoughts were melodramatic—a dismissal of the people who roared in joy and laughter around him, civilians and soldiers alike, brought together in celebration of their shared hopes and dreams. On another day, he would have cheered with them, even as he rolled his eyes beneath his buy'ce whenever the contestants of the jouce connected, buckling under the impact of strikes carried with the momentum of ancient war-droids for the sake of the crowd's entertainment.

Yet, for whatever reason, the Morellian found himself unable to inspire a flicker of excitement as he moved amongst the crowd, ducking his head between the waving arms that followed an echo of ear-shattering cheers, which swallowed the impact of each charge. In truth, he could not say who was jousting; his attention turned elsewhere, headed towards one of the exits and the silence that welcomed him.

It took only a few more moments before he had descended the stands, retreated from the chaos as his feet carried him away from the celebrations and instead towards the high walls that loomed, their presence overlooking the markets below as subjects scurried from vendor to vendor in an array of whirling colours and faded shouts. It was here, where the wind howled and only a few guards moved amongst the worn crenellations, that Itzhal finally came to a stop.

Tags: Open​

 

[Tyr Mereel]

THE STRIKE

Tag: Aiden Porte

The world became a furnace of sound and light.

The instant the horns sounded, Tyr and his Basilisk launched forward in perfect synchrony, metal and man, beast and will. The crowd’s roar vanished beneath the rush of wind and the thunder of repulsors. The Mandalorian’s lance glowed white-hot at the tip, its magnetic coils sparking as it locked into striking charge. Across the field, Aiden cut through the haze like a shard of gold and light, his lance leveled, the Force rippling around him in a calm storm.

For the briefest heartbeat, Tyr felt it, that strange serenity that only came before impact. The kind that separated warriors from the rest of the galaxy. Then instinct took over.

“Let’s see it, Jedi,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see your truth.”

The Basilisks collided in a shockwave that rattled the stone of Everholt itself. Tyr’s lance struck clean, his timing perfect, a downward sweep meeting Aiden’s line just as their war droids crossed paths. The impact was devastating. The crowd gasped as the Mandalorian’s strike slammed against the Jedi’s chestplate, sending Aiden spinning from his saddle. His lance went wide, clattering into the dirt as his Basilisk roared and skidded past in a shower of sparks.

Tyr’s Basilisk dragged through the dust, braking hard. The Mandalorian twisted the reins, circling back before the dust had even settled. The arena, moments ago deafened by noise, now stood in tense silence as Aiden hit the ground, armor scraping earth, his form half-lost beneath the haze.

Tyr dismounted in one clean motion, the heavy thud of his boots marking his approach. The visor’s reflection caught the sun as he knelt beside the Jedi, one gauntleted hand reaching down. His voice, amplified through the comms, was steady, neither boastful nor cruel.

“You fought well, Aiden. You ride with honor.”

His massive hand extended, not as a victor’s gloat, but a warrior’s gesture. When the Jedi took it, Tyr’s grip was iron, pulling him effortlessly back to his feet with a single motion. Dust cascaded from both of them, their armor gleaming beneath the daylight.

The crowd erupted once more, not for triumph, but for respect. Even those who bore Republic colors rose in applause, moved by the rare display of shared honor.

Tyr inclined his head slightly. “The crowd came for a spectacle,” he said through his modulator, voice roughened with exertion. “Let’s not deny them a final charge.”

He turned toward his Basilisk, the beast crouching low with a metallic growl, engines still glowing from the strain. Mounting once more, Tyr brought his lance upright and gave a nod to his opponent. “One more pass,” he said, the grin in his voice unmistakable. “For glory. For unity.”

The Jedi’s Basilisk steadied under its master’s renewed command, shaking dust from its plating. The two warriors met each other’s gaze through the glare of their visors, mutual respect crossing the divide between creed and code.

Tyr lifted his lance high, shouting to the roaring crowd,
“For the Forge and the Force both!”

The banners snapped in the wind. Steam hissed from the repulsors.

One Final Charge, To Give the Crowd What They Wished For.​

Spoiler: Still an Idiot

 

[Renn Vizsla]

Tag: Sibylla Abrantes




The roar of the crowd still rolled through the courtyard when Renn caught the faint shift, not in the air or the noise, but in her.

He had been standing at her side through the laughter and the cheers, the sunlight flashing along the rim of his visor as he watched Sibylla move with the ease of a ruler beloved by her people. She smiled, she laughed, she played her part to perfection, yet when her gaze drifted across the courtyard, that light wavered. It was subtle, the way her breath hitched, the way her hand lingered a moment too long upon the goblet’s edge. Most would have missed it. But Renn had spent too many years reading the quiet tremors that came before battle, the kind you felt rather than saw.

When she turned back, her voice was bright again, her presence whole and radiant, but the Mandalorian knew better than to take masks at face value. His own was literal, hers not, but both were forged from necessity.

He took a half-step closer, the beskar of his armor catching the gold of the afternoon sun, and spoke low enough that his words were meant for her alone, not the crowd.

“You hold the crowd well, Majesty,” Renn said, the gravel in his voice softened by respect. “But even iron bends when the fire burns too long. Forgive the bluntness, are you well?”

He paused, helm tilted slightly as if to meet her eyes through the glare of the light. “If something troubles you, the arena can wait. You’ve given this day its strength already.”

The distant cheers swelled again as the combatants took their place, the jousters circling in preparation. Renn’s attention drifted to the field, then back to Sibylla, his tone gentling further.

“You asked if I had a champion,” he said at last, breaking the tension with a low, dry humor that was rare for him. “Perhaps not for my favor. But if I were to place faith in any today, it would be in you, Your Majesty. You’ve already won the crowd.”

A faint hum of laughter from the stands filled the air once more. Renn’s hand brushed the edge of his belt, the faintest nod offered as he turned his gaze toward the riders below. Yet his attention lingered, subtle, guarded, but genuine. upon the Queen beside him.

He had seen warriors hide wounds beneath armor before. Few ever did it as gracefully as she did now.

Even The Wounds Within Can be Seen.​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

The Feast of Concord | Featuring Basilisk Jousting
Everholt Keep | Tol Forod
Nessantico
Interacting with: Renn Vizsla

Sibylla's lips curved faintly at his words, her gaze still following the riders below as the crowd's cheers rippled like waves against the stone. The laughter and color of the moment wrapped around her like a cloak, though the ache beneath it lingered for a moment longer.

Had this been a courtier in Naboo who asked her the question, she would have deflected the conversation elsewhere, indicated that nothing was wrong, and ensured that her perfect, poised composure remained in place.

But this wasn't Theed's halls. And while it wasn't Roon, with the Warden, she knew that she could be a bit more honest than she could with other Royal House nobility. Her time with the Mandalorians as their Ambassador for the High Republic taught her that much.

"I'm well enough, Warden Vizsla," she said softly, and while her tone was even, she still couldn't help how her hand tightened once more around the stem of her goblet before setting it aside. "A Queen doesn't get the luxury of faltering before her guests."

Nonetheless, SIbylla's smile deepened into a warmer now, touched with genuine gratitude as those hazel orbs glanced up toward him.

"But I thank you for your concern. It's rare to find someone who notices when the armor cracks." She relayed quietly, giving a slight incline of her dark head in that. For a moment, her eyes lingered on his visor, watching how the sunlight glinted along the beskar as the next pair of jousters thundered forward.

"Still," she added, quieter now, "you're kind to say so. I've no need for champions today. The Republic has plenty."

Then, with a soft exhale and a flicker of that composure returning, Sibylla turned back to the crowd, her voice carrying easily once more.

"Let them see strength, even if we have to borrow a little of it from one another."

Then her smile widened.

"Who out of all the Champions do you believe will be the winner?"

 

[Tess Wyn-Tai]

Jousting
TAGS: Adelle Bastiel​

Tess kicked the Basilisk into motion, and the droid surged forward with a roar that rattled her bones. The world blurred again with dust, noise, and the flash of beskar down the lane. She leaned low over the saddle, grit stinging her cheek through the visor. Her grip on the lance tightened until her knuckles ached.

The ground thundered beneath her, each stride of the Basilisk hammering up through her ribs. The distance between her and the Mandalorian closed too fast. Her heart raced to match the pounding rhythm. Just before impact, panic took her. She squeezed her eyes shut.

The collision came like a storm.

Something slammed against her lance, the shock jolting all the way up her arms. The tip of the weapon exploded in splinters, showering her visor with sparks and fragments of metal. The Basilisk bucked beneath her, howling in metallic fury, but Tess barely kept her seat this time. Her breath came in ragged gasps as the two droids tore past each other in a blur of firelight and roaring engines.

She didn't feel the hit. No pain, no jolt against her armor, nothing. Tess dared a glance over her shoulder, the remains of her lance still clutched tight in her hand. "Wait... did I?" she muttered, blinking through the dust. Her opponent's form was still upright, turning for the next run, but there was a faint scorch mark on the Mandalorian's pauldron.

A laugh bubbled out of her, half-disbelieving, half-wild. "Ha! I did tag her! Guess I ain't all bad at this!"

The Basilisk growled beneath her, circling wide again as she steadied her breathing. Her pulse was still racing, but the fear had turned into raw, reckless joy. She adjusted her grip on the broken shaft, her eyes fixed down the lane.

Spoiler

First Roll - 4/20 +1 Mod = 1 Point
Second Roll - 15/20 +1 Mod = 3 Points
Total Points: 4

​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

JOUSTING ARENA ​

Will be Jousting Knight of the Republic
Modifiers: +1 Riding + 1 from Cheer

​

PLEASE SEND FAVORS!!!​

​

The arena thundered with the echo of engines and cheers as the Basilisks broke from their second pass. Smoke and dust swirled in their wake, the scent of scorched stone hanging in the air. Siv steadied his war droid at the far end, raising a hand to signal his mount to hold formation. The crowd's roar rolled over him, a storm of excitement and praise — even the Republic stands joining the chorus.


He caught his breath, the edge of his visor glinting in the light. "Didn't think I'd ever hear a Jedi crowd cheer for a Mandalorian," he muttered dryly, the faintest hint of amusement cutting through the modulator.


Across the field, Lord Velarys had recovered with poise. Their Basilisk stamped once, claws carving through the stone, the rider's form balanced and ready — nothing of the nervous novice left now. Siv noticed it instantly. The shift. The connection. The understanding.


The flag lifted.


Siv exhaled, the kind of slow, grounding breath that every soldier learns before the strike. His mount tensed beneath him — engines coiling, limbs ready to unleash.


The flag fell.


They charged.


The world became a blur of fire and motion — the twin roars of engines meeting halfway across the field. Siv lowered his lance, the timing flawless, the rhythm of man and machine united once more. He twisted the shaft mid-charge, bringing the weapon upward in a rising arc — a difficult stunt, perfectly executed.


The strike landed clean, hard, and bright — a strong hit, the sound like thunder cracking open the air. Sparks showered across the field as Velarys's shield flared under the impact. The Republic knight reeled but held their ground, their Basilisk fighting for balance and winning it.


The crowd went wild.


Siv reined his mount into a tight spiral, the Basilisk hissing steam as it came to rest. He lifted his lance skyward in salute, crimson visor turned toward his opponent.


"Well ridden, Lord Velarys!" His voice boomed across the arena, carried by the suit's modulator. "That's the spirit of the field — strength, and heart both. You've earned more than just a point today."


He turned his helm toward the stands, raising a gauntlet high.


"Let's hear it for the Knight of the Republic ! " (Cheer +1 for good sportmanship)


The crowd answered, first with a few cheers — then a wave of applause that spread through the Mandalorian ranks as well. Siv nodded once, satisfied, before lowering his lance again for the final charge.


"One last pass," he said quietly to his mount. "For glory, not victory."

OOC: I will also start my roll for when we start the next round!
Result = 14+1 + 1 for a total of 16 Solid hit or maneuver

 

[Drystan Creed]

NESSANTICO

"This is more of my speed."

Drystan stretched his neck, rolling his head from side to side as he nursed a half-empty mug of ale. The dueling yards lay before him—an open invitation. The tournaments and jousts were all well and good for spectacle, but it was the clashing of blades that called to him. Today he wore his usual attire, though lighter than normal; no armor, no visor. Not that he needed them in a place like this.

It was an odd venue, but fitting. The Writ of Iron—the Mandalorians' accord with the masterless hounds of war, mercenaries like himself. Masterless, save for the DeathDrop—whose leash was long enough to be tolerable. Today, he'd make good on that contract.

The High Republic was here too. He'd crossed blades with them before on a few jobs. Hopefully, they bore no grudges. It was just business after all.

"Time to find a dance partner."

He set his mug on a table and moved toward a freestanding weapon rack, his gloved fingers brushing over the steel and leather grips on display. Fine craftsmanship—balanced, sharp, well-tempered—but one caught his eye.

A vibroblade of Atrisian make. Black silk wrapping, gold-hued guard, and a wooden scabbard to match. Nothing ornate—just elegant, classical, familiar.

He drew it free, testing its weight and balance. A thumb pressed to the guard revealed a gleam of polished silver. Then, with a single fluid motion—

SLASH!

He drew, slashed, and sheathed again in the time it took to blink. The mug on the table split neatly in two, sliding apart in a diagonal cut.

"You'll do," he said with quiet satisfaction. "Let's go find a playmate."

With his curiosity sated, Drystan strode onto the field, one hand resting on the pommel of his new blade. His eyes swept the crowd—hunters searching for prey, warriors testing their steel, onlookers eager for a show.

He didn't expect to find enlightenment here. But a fun time was a possibility.

Domina Prime

 

[Lily Decoria]

Objective: Basilisk Jousting!
Outfit: Jousting Attire
Equipment: Jousting Lance
Tag: Rynar Solde | Pillar of Perseverance | Corazona von Ascania

Feeling the tug in the Force, Lily knew that someone was attempting to call her presence. Seeing it was the princess Jedi Knight, Corazona, Lily gave a small grin. It was nice to see someone else who had lived a high society life being a Jedi and attending the event. Lily had suspicious on what Corazona wanted from Lily but she was looked over to her opponent who was still setting up. "One moment, then I shall be ready."

Jumping out of the basilisk, Lily made her way over to Corazona, hands placed behind her, at the small of her back. Falling respectfully to one knee, Lily looked up to Corazona. "It is an honour to see you Princess Corazona, how can I help?"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Lily Decoria | OPEN

Cora couldn't help the way her lips quirked upward in an amused little smile as Lily took a knee before her. Perhaps the silhouettes they cast took on the shapes of a princess and her champion knight.

"Challenger Decoria," she began, voice lifting into the same smooth, noble tone that would be used to address a crowd. There was a tickle of good humor in it, and a genuine fondness for Lily dancing in the warmth of her eyes. "I hereby award you my favor for this tournament. May it serve you in victory."

The panels of her hand fan folded closed, and she offered the token to the Echani warrior.

Then, her voice lowered to something conspiratorial and familiar that lingered between them only: “Give him hell, Lily."

 

[Ariel Korvane]

​

Jousting Arena
Victory goes to Siv Kryze !

+ 1 Cheer and + 1 Favor for Siv Kryze for his next round.

The arena stilled as dust clung in a faint cloud, catching the amber light bleeding through. Across the field, Siv Kryze's Basilisk pawed at the ground, engines growling with restrained hunger. Lord Velarys drew a deep breath every muscle tight beneath the Jal Shey weave.

This was it. The final pass.

The Lord's fingers flexed around the lance even as the Basilisk beneath rumbled, restless but responsive now, as if sharing in their resolve. A sharp nod was exchanged with the handlers at the edge of the arena. The flag rose.

And dropped.

Both mounts exploded forward at once with a pulse of hydraulics, claws carving deep gouges into the ground. The roar swallowed everything. Velarys leaned low, the lance angled to strike, the rhythm finally syncing with the Basilisk's pounding stride. For one glorious second, it felt right.

Then came the impact.

Siv's lance struck first, slamming into Velarys's shield with bone-jarring force as the strike sent sparks flying and the world tilting sideways. Pain burst through the Lord's ribs as the air was knocked from their lungs. The Basilisk staggered but stayed upright, its rider clinging tight, refusing to fall.

The Lord's own lance scraped across Siv's shield in turn but barely enough to register, a glancing blow swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

Velarys took a shuddering breath, steadying their grip until the machine came to a halt. An attendant rushed forward to take the lance, and Velarys handed it over with a faint nod. Only then did Velarys steady the reins with a faint grimace, guiding the machine in a wide circle until it came to a stop before the Warden.

Slowly, gauntleted hands rose to the helm. The release hissed softly, and the mask came free.

A tumble of corseca-red hair spilled out as it caught the light before the face beneath was revealed -- flushed, sweating, and smiling despite the ache. Eyes a hue of pure molten silver lifted toward the Warden.

"Excellent run, Warden Kryze," Lady Ariel Velarys Korvane said between breaths, her voice carrying both exhaustion and genuine admiration.

"You struck true." A grimace flickered and was barely tempered by a small laugh. "I only wish I could have made for a better opponent. But thank you, for the experience."

She straightened as best she could in the saddle, lifting a bruised arm toward the stands.

"A cheer," she called, her exhausted voice ringing clear across the arena, "for the victor, Warden Siv Kryze of Concordia!"

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause in a rising storm as Ariel lowered her arm, pride and humility mingling across her face. Whatever the pain beneath the armor, she wore the moment as gracefully as she could.

Turning back to the Warden, Ariel took the ribbon that held her thick mass of red hair back, its lightly force inbued woven fabric providing just the slightest hint of additional mental clarity. It was her favor granted to him.

"For you, Warden Kryze. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Now... it was time for a few poultices and maybe a drink.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective: Jousting
Tags: Tyr Mereel Oriana Indupar
Modifiers: +1 Cheering​

Aiden felt the ache before he fully registered the pain, a deep, resonant thrum through his ribs where Tyr’s strike had landed, still vibrating in time with the roar of the crowd. For a heartbeat, he’d been weightless, the world a blur of dust and light. The next, the ground was under him again, the Force rushing in like breath to steady him.

He looked up through the haze, the outline of the Mandalorian resolving against the sun hand extended, posture neither gloating nor guarded. Aiden’s hand clasped Tyr’s gauntlet. The pull upward was strong, unyielding, and for a moment their grips met like the crossing of histories: the old creed of the warrior and the old oath of the guardian.

“Thank you.” Aiden said with a small smile, amidst the small pain “And you, too, fight with purpose. It’s… good to be reminded of what that looks like.”

The crowd’s cheers surged, carrying with them the mingled colors of Mandalore and Republic, of beskar and banners, of light and steel. For one rare instant, it felt as though the galaxy itself exhaled the divisions gone, replaced by admiration for courage in its purest form.

As Tyr turned to remount, Aiden followed, one hand tracing along the Basilisk’s neck as if calming an old friend. The droid rumbled in recognition, settling its stance, awaiting the command. Aiden swung up into the saddle, the motion smooth despite the lingering sting in his chestplate.

He met Tyr’s gaze across the arena, a small, quiet smile ghosting over his lips. “One more pass.” he agreed, lowering his lance. “For the Forge and the Force both guiding what we build.”

The air shimmered between them as the engines wound to full power, the thrum of their Basilisks joining like twin hearts beating in time. The crowd had gone from wild cheers to a reverent hush they could feel, that thin line between rivalry and reverence, between bloodshed and brotherhood.

Aiden closed his eyes for a breath and reached outward through the Force not for advantage, but for harmony. He could sense Tyr’s focus like a bright ember in the storm, steady, disciplined, alive. The Mandalorian fought not from anger but from conviction. And Aiden understood.

When the flare rose, they charged not as enemies, not even as opponents, but as equals in purpose. Basilisks thundered forward, repulsors howling, their lances blazing under the sun.

And as they crossed paths once more, the sound of the impact rang not as violence, but as a song the hymn of two warriors who had found, if only for a heartbeat, what peace truly meant.

 

[Elian Abrantes]

Location: I ain't doing nothing wrong!!!
Tags: Bastila Sal-Soren Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Isobel Serraris​

Elian’s grin turned rakish, the kind that always meant trouble was about to follow. He gave a low, sweeping bow, one hand pressed over his chest in solemnity, though his eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Hold that thought, my lady.” he said, voice warm and alive with energy. “I’d be the worst kind of fool to make a promise before I’ve earned the right to keep it.”

He straightened, the dust catching in the sun as the roar of the crowd swelled anew. His gaze shifted toward the opposite end of the lists where Bastila Sal-Soren was mounting her Basilisk.

“Seems I’ve just found a dance partner.” he murmured, half to himself, half for Isobel to hear. “Don’t worry, I’ve always been good at making an impression.”

“Raise your hands for Bastila Sal-Soren and Elian Abrantes, who have just entered the jousts!”

He gave her one last look, an unspoken promise of return and then strode toward his own mount. The Basilisk’s engines came alive with a thunderous purr, the machine shifting as though eager for the contest. Elian vaulted up into the saddle, the motion smooth, practiced, his cape snapping behind him like a banner of blue flame.

Elian rolled his shoulders, settled his lance into position, and let a grin spread across his face.

“Alright, Sal-Soren.” he muttered through the comms, voice carrying that irreverent charm. “Let's see what you got!”

The signal flare went up.

And as the Basilisks tore down the lanes, dust and light erupting around them, Elian leaned into the charge heart racing, laughter caught in his throat, the taste of daring and destiny sharp in the air.