Field of Honor (Battle Royale - UCM)

[Arrbi Betna]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqKwozw9Tww​

It had all come down to this.

The sandy floor of the arena had been dotted with platforms of varying heights, some supported by columns and walls while others floated in place, held by repulsor fields. Some walls were smooth and bare, though others sported small handholds for climbing. In four places along the arena walls stood formidable steel doors allowing access to and from the arena for combatants and arena staff alike. Above the walls stood row upon row of seats and benches where hundreds of Mandalorians sat and waited for the match to start. All in all, it was a typical setup for a fight such as this.

Betna rotated his arms, one at a time, to loosen his shoulders up for the conflict ahead. Today there would be four contestants, one behind each door. The rules were simple and few in number, which was typical of Mandalorian customs. Primitive weapons only and no armor allowed. Hopefully, the warriors fighting would withhold killing blows, but anything was possible in a match such as this where the weapons and fighting were as real as that found on battlefields across the galaxy.

He took a moment to check his weapons once more, something he'd done since he was a child learning to fight. It was almost a ritual to him now after so many years of fighting and war. The bearded ax he carried was simple, the edge keen and glistening from being freshly sharpened. In his left hand he carried a simple wooden shield with a metal boss. Normally, he'd carry his trusty dinu'ul shield, but primitive rules called for primitive weapons and so he had obliged. He wore no armor and was instead clad only in leather breeches and boots, his torso and arms bare for ease of movement.

As he adjusted his grip on ax and shield, the heavy doors before him opened and the loud call of the starting horn deafened him briefly. He knew that around the arena the other doors would be opening, the other warriors entering the arena to do battle.

The fight had begun. It was now or never.

[member="Anija Betna"] [member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Davon Karr"]

 

[Ra Vizsla]

https://youtu.be/9jK-NcRmVcw​

​

[member="Anija Betna"] @Ra Vizsla [member="Davon Karr"] [member="Arrbi Betna"]​

​

Multiple disco balls lit up Ra's figure as he stood upon a descending pillar lowering him into the arena.​

​

Two flame pipes erupted from underneath him on opposing sides.​

​

Ra looked completely bewildered. Exactly what kind of set up was this for a duel? The Gurlanin had been promised a match, based on his heritage and as one of the leading members of Clan Vizsla, but this seemed a bit... extravagant. The adopted Vizsla beast, one of the strongest warriors of his Clan in his own right, clutched a heavy Mythosaur Bone Axe in his hands. He began constantly displaying his strength by flipping its head up and spinning it with one hand. The weapon was mostly ceremonial, of the Old Guard of Mando'ade. Rippling black tattoos peppered his alabaster skin, each one unique in that it dictated past battles or Mando'ade insignia. The beast was quite old, after all. For now, he remained in his human form, though the creature was a shapeshifter taught in the ways of his Clan. Polymorphic abilities adorned the Gurlanin, and the creature was only unique in that his fur in his natural state shimmered between a soft white and a light grey with splotches of dark brown and grey. None of this was visible, however. Ra had total control over his abilities at his age, and could summon them at will within an instant's notice.

Shielding his eyes with his right hand as he lowered his axe with the left, Vizsla began scouting the other platforms for his adversaries. So far, there was only one - [member="Arrbi Betna"] standing at the far end of the platform opposite Ra. The beast had done it's research - Arrbi would be no easy opponent. The man was a legend in his own right, a fierce protector of Mandalore time and time again. However, there were no shortage of worthy foes on this battlefield, as the Iron Wolf knew exactly who he was fighting despite never having met them.

The elder Vizsla grunted. An axe and a shield. The shield would be a nuisance - it'd be better to see what the other two brought first before deciding to engage Arrbi first. A soft Mandalorian hymn began to play in the background, further solidifying in Ra's mind that the match and its engineers were still preparing for the initial battle - he had only been the second to drop in the match. Ra's green eyes looked harder around his surroundings - no, none of the others had been brought in yet, but they were close. His nose told him that much. Keeping his facial expression unmoving despite the initial surprise from the disco balls, the stone-esque vod stood still upon his high-rise pillar to make sure he had an advantage when it came to spotting the others.

The first battle was to survey. The second would be to decide on an engagement, but for that, there was still time.

 

[Subject 37]

The Crowd - Far Back Left

Sera stood in the far back of the crowd, her eyes slowly switching back and forth between the two competitors that had revealed themselves. She recognized them both, though in truth it was only in passing. The chief of Clan Spar had been away for years, half her life spent in isolation on Concordia and the other spent imprisoned by the Silver Sanctum. Sera hadn't been among the Clan's for some time now, and to say that she knew the names and faces of those who would lead was a lie.

Well, save for one face anyway.

A frown pulled at her lips, though it quickly whisked away as she focused on the arena below.

This was the proper way to do things, a call back to old traditions, traditions that she could support. In truth she hadn't expected something like this to come about. Her father had always told her that the Clan's liked to bicker and argue among one another, that they only came to a decision when need was dire. That was natural of course, different people, different clan's, they all wanted something. It took a Mand'alor to decide what thing was right.

It was why the position was needed, to quell the Clans ire and guide it towards something with a greater purpose. Each one always had their own purpose, their own agenda, that was the way of things. Some wanted to Rebuild, some wanted to Conquer, and other's simply wanted to be. It was the last that was the worst kind. The ones that reached for power when no one would give it to them, the kind that declared themselves without the support of the Clans. She frowned again, her eyes flickering towards the last man that had stepped into the arena.

There was no telling what kind of leaders any of them would be, but to her, at least three were acceptable choices.

The last? Not so much.

 

[Davon Karr]

[member="Ra Vizsla"] [member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Anija Betna"]

Davon watched himself carefully in the small mirror, his eyes tracing the lines. Some were old, some were new. Almost more wrinkle than man now. He brought a hand up to his face, fingers running through the bright white bristles down either side of his face. He rolled his shoulders, still broad knots of gnarled muscle despite his years. Stepping away from the sink he turned and headed back into the corridor.

“Ba'buir?” a voice called out as he started walking towards his room. He turned and looked over his shoulder.

“Jess,” he called out to his great granddaughter. Davon and Stahl had adopted five children. Abforr and Daikay had always been the best warriors among them. The other three had always known who Davon’s favourites were. Yet he had buried them bother around fifty years ago. His eldest son followed their ways, but his line only fought when the need arose.

His youngest daughter had spurned their ways entirely Stahl had asked him to rebuild that bridge as his soul had departed and Davon had yet to make good on that promise. Abforr had died before having children, but Jess was of Daikay’s line. Professional soldiers one and all.

“Where have you been? You look sad,” she remarked as she drew up alongside her. There was a rumble through the ground. Perhaps the crowd cheering the first participant onto the floor.

“Always need a piss before a fight. And this is just my face. Never smile or grin before a fight, people will think you’re mad.” The pair turned into his room. There were bandages strewn across the floor, his beskad still in its sheath across a wide table. No fancy decorations on its leather scabbard; the sword was a tool, an instrument. It was one that had served him well.

“You’re more strapping than man today,” she reflected. Making her way to the table she picked up his secondary weapons: a hatchet and a small kukri and passed them over. Davon hung them from his belt and a sheath in the small of his back respectively.

“If I took them off, I’d fall apart,” he sighed. “An arena? Back in my day we formed a circle and let people sort it out in the dirt.” Both knees and his right shoulder were covered in white and blue strapping and tape. His last expedition to Cathar had taken its toll on his aging form. She handed over his beskad, which he pulled from the scabbard unceremoniously. He’d been preparing for a while now, but he took another few practise swings. His right shoulder still ached, but he would make do.

“Yes, yes and back in the day only a hundred people a year could make the hyperspace trip from Agamar to Mandalore. How do you feel?” she asked. That gave him pause. He was here because of Agamar. He’d lead the resistance against the Death Watch occupation and some had remembered who he was. Karr may have sworn fealty to Betna decades ago, but his name had been said many times when the discussions had started on finding new direction for the clans.

“I’m feeling old and wishing I was in my prime. Still, someone out there will be worthy. If it’s not me then I might go out teaching someone a few new tricks,” he said. He held up his chin and looked across the Jess. “Not the worst way to go.”

She smiled, looking him up and down. “I never met my grandmother, but Stahl always used to talk at length on what you were like on the field. I’m glad I get to see it.”

Davon grunted. “Well, let’s get to it.” He turned and headed out into the corridor that lead to the arena floor. He suddenly stumbled and swore several times under his breath, looking down for the offending object. “Build a damn arena just for a fight and some fool leaves fething briiks lying around.”

---

Davon looked up incredulously. A disco ball. Someone’s idea of a joke? He shook his head, ignoring the crowd as he sought out his opponents. The arena was an enemy in its own right. Platforms and climbing. Strength sapping activities he could ill afford. Davon would be in no rush to meet his foes. One had a two-handed axe, the other axe and shield. The shield was a problem, could perhaps use his hatchet to catch the lip and pull it aside, assuming he still had the strength to swing with one hand by that point. His wickedly curved sword wasn’t light, nor was it made for probing jabs. Single combat had never really been his speciality. Another obstacle between him and victory. He was a soldier and the occasional made melee on the field of battle between exhausted, hungry, thirty men barely resembled a one on one duel. None of that mattered. There was fighting to get on with. Forwards was the only way to go.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

Mandalorian Blood Duel​

​

[member="Anija Betna"] [member="Davon Karr"] [member="Arrbi Betna"]​

​

​

The Viszla Clan began to chant in unison, slowly but surely echoing throughout their side of the chamber - excited that one of their own had been named to this Blood Duel.

"Ra."

The porcelain-skinned, ebony-tattooed monster of a man was clad in nothing but a leather loin cloth.

"Ra!"

With goliath strength and god-like agility, he began to run off the top of his pillar, heaving the massive Mythosaur Axe with great ease at full speed.

"RA!"

Gigantic stride after stride saw his goliath feet striking the ground with striking purpose, as if the very demons of the Netherworld were whipping his back.

"RA!"

Ra leapt into the air, swinging his massive axe in a cyclone of destruction and despair. His legs were stretched out in opposing directions, unison with his massive body. Every muscle rippling in exertion. Beads of sweat dared to tread upon his form - though a distinct cloud of steam began following his head in the cool winds that whipped upon him, desperate to catch up.

"RAAAAAAA!"

-------------

"Ra!

Ra, honey, wake up. It's well past noon."

Ra's eyes flickered. A beautiful woman came into view, her smile warming the room. "Lunch is on the table, please go eat. Clean your room, after." A much younger, skinnier Vizsla stood up from the his bed, barely dressed. He began collecting his things. "Coming, mum. I'm coming, geeze." The younger teenager began tossing things about his room, both frustrated and desperately looking for something. Ah! There it was.

His albino hands grazed upon an action figure of Boba Fett, legend of the Mandalorians. This figurine had a little switch on its back to press and it would flare up and make a sound. By the gods, Ra wished he could live those days. Boba Fett! The man was a hero. A true legend. His smaller digits flicked the switch, reenacting Boba flying through the air with his jet. "Spppppoooooochhhheowooowwww," Ra mouthed the voices. "Pew pew, pew pew." The fight with Han Solo, criminal outlaw. The Yuuzhan Vong. MAN, what Ra would do to be Boba Fett. What he would do. Only a couple of hours until the History Channel on HoloNet started their Legends series, too. Jaster was on tonight, he thought. Not nearly as cool as Boba, Jango, or even Manda'lore the Ultimate - but.. still, Ra couldn't wait.

"Honey! Come get your lunch!"

"I'M COMING, geeze."

There was a knock at the door.

Ugh, his mother could be so frustrating. Ra understood, or at least he tried. But still... sometimes, he wished she would leave him the kark alone.

"Hello," he heard his mother say in the background in her sing-song voice. Ra did another lap around the room with Boba, repeatedly making blaster noises before approaching his door. "What can I help you wit-"

CHA-CHIK.

BANNNNG.

CHA-CHIIIK.

BANG. BANG.

The solid fire of a slug shot was heard throughout the homestead, ringing Ra's ears. Everything became slow motion to his extraordinary senses. His stomach plummeted to the floor. "Mom?" Boba was dropped to the floor, resting on a pile of dirty clothes. The door in the distance opened, Ra's feet leaving the room as his voice became higher pitched.

"......mom?"

-------------

"RA!"

The Beast of One Nation landed in a slumped standing position, his obsidian tattooes seeming to come alive in the flickering light of the moving platforms. The most prominent of these tattooes was the roman numeral 3, displayed as claw marks, across his chest. The insignia of Clan Viszla. Cold green eyes raised and lay upon the elderly visage of [member="Davon Karr"], a man unknown to Ra but for a moment.

The goliath pointed his massive double-sided Mythosaur bone axe at the old man.

"Ijaa cuyir tec gar, vod. Jii, mhi akaanir."​

​

Honor be upon you, brother. Now, we fight.​

​

Ra stepped forward and swept his double-handed polearm in an upwards crescent, aimed to land where the elderly Davon Karr stood.

 

[Davon Karr]

[SIZE=7.5pt]"Ra."[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]"Ra!"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]"RA!"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=13.5pt]"RA!"[/SIZE]

[SIZE=18pt]"RAAAAAAA!"[/SIZE]

Perhaps it was the influence of the disco ball and pyrotechnics. Perhaps it was simply a group of bored individuals fed up of waiting for Davon to finish strapped his old bones together. Maybe a wild [member="Funky Balor"] had started the ditty.

[SIZE=18pt]Ra ra ah-ah-ah!
Ro mah ro-mah-mah…[/SIZE]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rwp8ZlYkg_I

Davon ignored them as the gurlanin launched himself from the platform and cut a path straight towards him. The old man held firm; as far as he was concerned he was being saved an energy-sapping journey up the complex system of fixed and mobile platforms. His mind was briefly sent back to the time he had put Mastell Betna in his place. A ring of just a hundred solders carved out an unremarkable circle of grass for the contest. When the man was on his knees, four new dents in his armour - and a bigger one in his pride - the circle had simply turned and walked away, content that business had been concluded. That was sixty years back.

He didn’t need the cheers or the noise, he doubted any of his opponents did for that matter. Yet on the far side of the arena he could make out his family. He knew their armour as well as their faces, could tell from state of it whether they had seen combat since a previous meeting. The exception was perhaps his younger great grandchildren, but then there were only so many he could juggle in his memory. Jahri and Gandim’s lines were certainly prolific. Silent or vociferously cheering, they were present. That mattered.

His opponent was suddenly before him, steam rising from his bare shoulders as he held forth his axe. Ra was certainly taller than him, likely a similar weight. With that axe he had the reach. In his younger days he might have drawn out the fight, danced around until that axe was more burden than weapon. Instead Davon formed no clear plan, not yet.

[SIZE=13.5pt]"Ijaa cuyir tec gar, vod. Jii, mhi akaanir."[/SIZE]

"Ijaat cuyir tec gar bal gar alit, vod,” Davon echoed back loudly, holding his blade up towards the chest of his foe before bringing it down to his right. “Jii, mhi akaanir," he whispered to himself quietly.

As Ra launched forwards Davon kept his centre of weight low, hoping to convince Ra he was planting on the spot. He sidestepped off-line to his left as late as possible, one hand on the hilt of his blade, the other moving half way down the blunt side of his blade to brace. Davon very nearly lost the contest on the first strike, underestimating Ra’s speed.

Davon didn’t meet the axe head on, he simply tried to glance it aside to put Ra off balance. As their weapons collided the impact still nearly took the beskad from his grip. The sound of bone skipping off beskar rang out around the arena to a cheer. He took another step to his left, careful not to cross his feet and leave himself exposed. Like a woodchopper Davon swung down from his left shoulder and returned both hands to the hilt of the beskad. The strike came in low, aiming for Ra’s trailing leg. Just forcing that foot back would be a minor victory for Davon. He had to dictate the pace and take control, anything else would see him out of this contest quickly.

 

[Darth Banshee]

IN THE CROWD

Sabine was in the crowd, ready to watch the fight unfold she had managed to get seat. She was drinking Breath of Heaven fire water, and she would be drunk as skunk by the end of the night. She was here as something told her this fight, was more than just a fight. She knew in her heart, with the names in the ring that something of this will have mark of destiny about it. She cheered as she saw the men raise there weapons, and showed off the bear chest there was something about the new comer though. She could not put her hand on it, but he was not human that was for sure. She sipped her drink, it was very potent drink indeed. She was going to be out of it tomorrow that was for sure. She cheered as they rose there axes, and waited for the first of the blows to land, she was fixated on it.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

Clan Rekali had taken up residence in a little corner of the stands. It was pretty hard to mistake the Rekalis for anyone else: spiky Mandalorian Crusader armor covered in Vahla and Dathomiri runes. Alec's armor was a lot more modern, a light duraplast suit with cleaner lines, but she sat in the middle of the Rekalis, and her armor had a runic mark or two as well. As aliit'buir, she represented -- had to represent -- all the far-flung branches of the extended adoptive family, even if she wasn't a Force-user by any stretch of the imagination.

Force-sensitivity was the big question on her mind as she watched the fight begin. She'd never heard of the Viszla chief being a Forcer -- rather the opposite, some said -- and Arrbi Betna certainly wasn't. Davon Karr might or might not be. Anija Betna was considered a Master, and had been Alec's grandfather's greatest student. Anija, though, didn't have Ember's killer instinct. Her Force-sensitivity likely wouldn't be a trump card in this circumstance. If her opponents were canny enough, it might even be a liability. Most Forcers, for example, tended to cultivate a danger sense that looked a couple of seconds into the future. Toss a bunch of mights and coulds and spontaneous threats at them, and possible futures would overwhelm them or fail to register. And just like that, what they trusted most would turn against them, because in the end, Forcers were nothing but mortal.

No, victory today would likely go to the most aggressively Mando of the four. Most Mandalorians considered the Force a tool, and not an especially good one. At a guess, today would bear that out. Tactical sense and combat ability, in Alec's experience, were wholly independent from Force-sensitivity. Not that Anija didn't have a shot if she stepped up, but if she won, it probably wouldn't be because she could touch the Force.

 

[Siobhan Kerrigan]

It had been a while since Siobhan was amongst the Mandalorians. Not since the Battle of Wayland and supporting the Betnas when their daughter Mirshko was abducted by vile pirates. Other commitments and a degree of disillusionment due to their internal issues had caused her to drift away, though Firemane obviously still honoured its contracts. The Eldorai Exodus, Tygara and Firemane had consumed her time. She did not regret her choices, but had nonetheless decided to attend when she received word of the grand duel that was supposed to take place in the arena.


For one, it was supposed to be quite a spectacle. A desire to reforge old bonds might have also played a role. Especially since her opinion of the Silver Sanctum had plummeted. So she and her posse had settled in a little corner of the arena's stands. Siobhan wore her new beskar'gam, which blended Mandalorian practicality and efficiency with Eldorai runes and aesthetics. It was modelled after the ancient armour of Queen Ariane the Conqueror, which probably said a lot about Siobhan's somewhat bloated ego. Elpsis Elaris sat next to her, for the teenager had decided to tag along. She'd been given Siobhan's old beskar armour. The crimson suit seemed to fit, though the redhead had sulked about the weight. Teenagers these days!


A frown appeared on her scarred face when Siobhan considered the contestants. Truth be told, she was a bit out of the loop. Vizsla and Karr were unknown quantities to her. Arrbi Betna she knew both by reputation and limited personal interaction, though she knew he was a skilled warrior. Anija she considered a close personal friend. She'd been trained by the late Warmaster Ember Rekali, but did she have the right instincts? Time would tell. The irony was that Siobhan herself would have performed remarkably poorly in this duel since she sucked at melee combat and was rather Force-reliant. So she sipped her drink and watched Viszla and Karr come to blows.

 

[Ra Vizsla]

Mandalorian Blood Duel

​

​

[member="Anija Betna"] [member="Davon Karr"] [member="Arrbi Betna"]​

​

​

​

Blood.​

​

It was everywhere.​

​

The crowd was going wild.​

​

Vizsla's vivid green eyes came up to meet Davon's.​

​

The beast never felt more ALIVE.​

​

​

--------------​

​

"....What about my brothers and sisters?"

The low hum of an engine and communications relay buzzed in the background. The dimly lit interior of a ship came into view, though the vessel was in poor condition. The lanky visage of Ra appeared near the edge of the compartment, but he was kneeled in a corner. It appears as though his wrist was chained to one of the durasteel arm bars leading down to the loading ramp. Ra looked... different from last we left him. It was too dark to tell. Bright green eyes pierced the shadows, looking for an answer from across the ship.

"....they'll be fine. Your kind survives. Like pests."

Silence fell upon the compartment, broken only by the sound of a metallic ratchet cranking over and over again. Several grunting noises came from the man, then a movement to get to his feet. Obviously a fully grown human male, the person made his way to the front of the ship. "There," he said. "That should do it."

The mysterious man flipped a switch, and the engine began to roar.

​

"Listen to her purr..." he muttered, seemingly to himself. The visors to the ship began to open, revealing the pitch black of space.

"....please let me go," Ra uttered in desperation, lowering his head in defeat.

"No."

The flashing blue of hyperspace erupted around the ship, and they disappeared.

--------------​

​

​

Blood.​

​

It was everywhere.​

​

The goliath came crashing down, missing Davon by a hair with his massive Mythosaur Axe. His momentum was too great to be knocked off balance - the massive man was too big and coming down at the ground too hard for his course to be altered. But the old man, his opponent, moved quite a bit faster than Ra was expecting. This was something Ra was ready for, is always ready for, any time he closes to gap to an opponent. As seasoned as this opponent seemed to be, he wasted no time in taking advantage of it - but with a shorter blade, his opponent would have to move in closer to strike.

The back of Ra's exposed left calf split open at the slice, and the greater Vizsla roared in Davon's face, saliva splattering in his direction.

His fury in retaliation came as swiftly as the strike, without missing a moment's beat.​

​

The extremely heavy mythosaur axe was completely and intentionally dropped, his left hand swinging down to grab the man's wrist that was holding the blade - both to prevent the blade from doing further damage as Ra pivoted towards towards the man and also keep him from backpedaling away.​

​

At the same time his hand whipped down, Ra's faced tensed with all the might and power he could muster, sweat furrowing down his furious scowl.​

​

​

From his hips, to his back, to his neck - the Mandalorian was poised like a snake, rearing back to strike -​

​

​

- Vizsla's vivid green eyes came up to meet Davon's -​

​

​

- and down came the headbutt, straight for his opponent's face.​

​

​

​

​

The beast never felt more ALIVE.​

 

[Subject 37]

She watched quietly. There were a few others of Clan Spar that surrounded her, but none of them felt the need to speak. They all knew that Sera would prefer to watch this in silence, they all knew that she had a vested interest in how this all ended, so they didn't disturb her. Instead they watched with her, the T-shaped visors of their helmets shifting as the combatants began to move about in the Arena.

Her eyes fled from the ring for a moment.

More of a crowd had gathered now.

She looked about them, trying to see who all was attending. Some had armor and helmets on, other's didn't. Most were watching the fight, though a few were holding conversation. She frowned for a moment, then slowly clicked her teeth. There was a slight shift in her HUD, and then slowly she began to look around the Arena once more. Her eyes fluttered from one face to another, those not obscured by Armor were watched with half intent, those who were received a long stare.

Her lips twitched up into a smile as she took photoraph after photograph, her eyes shifting as the heads up display did its work. She meant these men and women no harm of course, but she had been out of touch for far too long. These pictures would allow her time to study, to put name to face...or armor. It would be important for the coming months.

More important perhaps then what was happening in the arena below.

 

[Funky Balor]

One alien in the stands was the sort one would never expect to call a Mandalorian, yet, here he was. A vod of Clan Balor. To be frank, he knew these folks only by stories, as any lorekeeper ought to. Davon Karr, renowned opponent of the Death Watch. Scion of a large family. Know for his endurance. Truth was, Old Mandos did't go soft--the soft ones had already died.


Anija, of clan Betna. Student of Ember Rekali. A sage in force magicks, and a generally dangerous sort. Tactical, but known more for cunning than sheer might. If she could outsmart them, she might have a chance.


Arrbi, also of clan Betna. How odd, to fight in the same arena as your life-mate. That was a ballad in itself. He wrote many things down on the datapad as he observed the fight, and wondered if they would stand together or go to blows. Either would be a great story to inscribe later, o be certain. Still, Betna seemed to be waiting. Ever the tactician.


Then there was Ra. A virtually unknown agent from Clan Vizsla. Large, ominous, and seemingly full of fury. If Anija and Arrbi were modern tacticians, and Dav was fighting like a well-trained soldier, than Ra could be said to be fighting like an ancient wild warrior--he seemed to feel the most at home unarmored and ready to brawl in a sand pit. Still ,regardless, the Kitonak's eyes focus on the storm of chaos in the Arena, taking no drink or food. It was the duty of a lorekeeper, of a singer, to remember these moments, to sit at the fire and tell the other vod what occurred.



The Kitonak smirked. "This is a story of iron and blood and sand. That is.....a good start....." He scribed a few more notes on the datapad.....

 

[Sal Katarn]

The Crowd.

Blood wet the ground and Kade felt a thrill of exhilaration, even from where he stood among the stands. Would that he might take blade and join throng in glorious battle, but such was not his place. Today, the Kelborn warrior was merely a spectator to the honor duels that would determine the true Sole Ruler. The very sight gladdened his heart and made leap for joy.

An intense gaze swept the combatants. Who would be the first to fall? The goliath of Vizsla, whose muscle laden body seemed to emulate the very Mythosaur whose bones he wielded? The defeat of such a powerful warrior seemed impossible. Yet, he stood against worthy foes like Old Man Karr, so old he might as well have been a force of nature. Kade could no more imagine his death than he could imagine the uprooting of a thousand year veshok upon Manda'yaim. When - if he ever died, the clans would lose a moral landmark.

And what of Betna? A fierce fighter, skilled in all manner of weaponry and victor against the likes of renown Jedi and Sith. How would he fare against fellow vod?

Kade strode forward until he stood alongside a figure in familiar armor. [member="Sera Spar"].

"This. This is our way," he intoned in a gravelly voice, helmet held under one arm, dark hair loose and free.

 

[Ellie Mors]

She had arrived late, like she usually did. Her armor wasn't as extravagant or even beskar like the others that gathered to observe the duel for the title of Manda'lor. Rather than placing herself amongst clan members - as far as she was aware, she had none - Lisette sat in an empty, shaded, area to watch the fight from a comfortable distance. She didn't want anyone behind her, she was aware of too many supporters of what the One Sith did to trust anyone in Mandalorian space, despite the fact that she'd came to this very planet in her youth once she'd escaped her mother's clutches.

As enigmatic and rare of a guest as she was, Lisette was just as unfamiliar with the fighters as she was certain that they were with her. She knew of Anija and Arrbi Betna, though she didn't exactly know them personally, but she had no idea who Davon Karr and Ra Vizsla were. The name of Clan Vizsla stuck out for her but little more than that. She, personally, had no vested interest in who lead them - her - so long as they weren't beholden to the passive ideals of the current council.

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Kade Kelborn"]

She nodded. "Yes."

This was how it should have been done, how it all should have been done. Challenges for honor, for strength, for Mandalore. That was their way, that had always been there way. They did not play politics, they did not play games of support and favor, theirs was the way of strength. That was what it meant to be a Mandalorian, to be strong. Strong in character and strong in body. One needed both to lead the Mandalorian people, Sera knew that.

Anyone who didn't would never truly hold the title of Mand'alor.

She shifted slightly as the battle below continued, then slowly turned to face the man that had joined her. Kade Kelborn was his name. She had recruited him to work with her against the Mandalorian Empire, before she had taken up the new mandate of Death Watch, before other Clan's had come to her calling. Now she had more strength then before. Sera wondered if Kade was still inclined to fight at her side, or if like so many others he despised the name Death Watch.

"There will be war." She said quietly.

That much they both already knew.

"This will bring about a new Mand'alor." She stopped. "A true Mand'alor. Verd will have to respond, and if they refuse the claim..."

Sera sounded almost half eager, the truth being that she was. To her, Isley Verd was an abomination. He was a Mandalorain that not only used the force, but flaunted it to the council of Clan Chiefs. There was no greater disrespect in her mind, no crime with a greater need for punishment. Of course one of the contestants in the ring below was exactly the same way, but that...that bridge would be crossed only if needed.

 

[Anija Betna]

[member="Arrbi Betna"] [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"] [member="Alec Rekali"] [member="Davon Karr"] [member="Ra Vizsla"]

The Arena

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYZXn4ulXvQ[/media]​

So much had changed. She could feel it in the air. Something was different. She had seen many battles - and several for the title of Mand’alor. But this… this felt different somehow. As she waited just inside the door which would open to admit her to the arena, She slowly rotated her shoulders a few times to loosen them up. She was nervous. And she took a deep breath to calm herself as she had been taught so long ago. It helped some.

But still some flutter of nervousness remained. She couldn’t entirely banish it all. Even as much as she tried. Yet another breath. She closed her eyes for a moment and just breathed. In. Out. In the sudden silence that fell, she could hear the muffled sound of hundreds of voices cheering as the first of the combatants entered the area. The sound rose and fell as if the crowd was chanting someone’s name - though she couldn’t quite tell what it was they were actually saying

The sound of cheering continued, though it moved… as if another section of the crowd was cheering now. It seemed as if different sections of the crowd were making themselves known as each combatant appeared. And, that was to be expected. This time, the same section as before seemed to erupt into cheers. At least one thing could be said for Mandalorians: they always loved a good fight.

And a fight they would certainly get today! Again, Anija rolled her shoulders to loosen the muscles. She was dressed in a tank top, dark trousers, and boots. Her hair was braided tightly down her back. For weapons, she carried a beskad and shield, along with a bes’briik coiled around her waist. She moved towards the arena entrance, stepping up onto the floating platform which would deliver her to the arena floor. The transit from the waiting area to the arena itself was short. A matter of a few feet separated her from the arena itself. As soon as she stepped onto it, the platform whisked her upwards.

As she drew closer, she could hear the cheering grow louder, though she wasn’t entirely sure if was due to her arrival, or the fight already starting. Not that it really mattered either way. She always seemed to have a knack for being late to the party. Whether that was a benefit or a detriment in this case, she wasn’t sure. She would certainly find out in a few moments.

And indeed they had. Just as she crested the floor of the arena, she spotted Ra Viszla in midair as he leapt at Davon Karr. Davon was an older member of Clan Betna. And on with which Anija had interacted several times. She didn’t know him as well as she might like, but that was hard in a clan as large as Betna was. Though, they weren’t as large as the Rekali or Verd clans, for sure. Her lips quirked for a moment at that thought, and she drew a deep breath to steady herself.

The situation wasn’t an ideal one, certainly. Especially for her. She was fighting two men who were easily twice her age. They both had far more experience in battle than she. And then… there was Arrbi. She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders as she spotted him across the arena. So far, he’d made no move to engage the other two. Which meant for now, they’d have to face off. She wasn’t sure what to make of that situation.

For the moment, she breathed out slowly, and took a few more breaths as she looked around the area. It seemed to be quite full. The last time a duel such as this had happened, it had been a sight to remember. Shading her eyes, she looked around and spotted quite a few members of Betna, if the sigils on armor and the banners they were waving were any indication. And she definitely couldn’t miss the Rekali contingent. All spiked armor and sigils. She wasn’t sure about the rest of the crowd, but it had to be supporters of the other combatants… or merely onlookers.

As she closed her eyes for a brief instant, she slowly began to close herself down to the Force. This was a test of skill, and not one of her prowess with the Force. As it was, Anija had never been overly flashy about her ability with the Force. And she never intended to be. She took another deep breath and closed herself down until she could feel the barest trickle of sensation. It would at least even the playing field of that ...advantage.

 

[Lina Djo]

Mia couldn't sit still, as each combatant was revealed and the first clash of blades drew thunderous roar from the crowds she vacated her seat, walking around the arenas edge, eyes watching the fight analysing strengths and weaknesses.

Here and now, the fate of the United Clans would be decided. She shifted her gaze from the fight, spotting [member="Alec Rekali"] and her clan, a stab of sorrow cutting through her anticipation. They had suffered the most, and they had done so unnecessarily. She contemplated offering her condolences, but now was not the time.

Pausing in her loop, she rested her hands on the low wall that separates her from the fight, fingers itching to find her blade, yearning to join the fray. Now was not her time, she'd been gone for too long to be able to fight for that title. If she was to ever take it again, she needed to prove herself to her people once more.

And she would, one way or another. But now, she had to watch and learn.

 

[Davon Karr]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Karr managed to at least start to drop his chin to his chest before their heads connected. He didn’t hear the sound the collision made, didn’t hear the roar of the crowd that followed the sound. For a moment he was no longer aware of which way up was. The ringing in his ears drowned out any sounds the crowd made. But a hush fell as he wavered. They sensed this might be over shortly.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Davon might not have disagreed with them[/SIZE]​

​

​

[SIZE=14.6667px]Perhaps he would claim that after all these years he was almost used to the sensation of being shot, even if the stench of his own scorched flesh always turned his stomach. But he could never become accustomed to having his brain bounced around his own head. If he’d had any wits about him he might have kept a grip on his blade with his free hand. Instead it dropped from his grip to the dusty arena floor, the sand hungrily soaking the blood from its tip. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Under loose skin heavy muscles bunched. Davon was an old man, but he’d kept much of the strength from his younger years, was still as broad as an airspeeder. The two men grappled as the crowd watched to see who would go down. Karr was doing well just to stay upright. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]In his youth he’d been a hot-headed soldier with a belly full of fire. Back before the nations of the galaxy started building great Star Destroyers once more he had been part of arduous ground campaign after ground campaign. Stahl had always been the family focused partner, but as that fire died down to embers Davon had been convinced to retire from the front lines, take a regular job and spend more time raising his family. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Davon would love his family ‘til the bitter end[/SIZE]​

​

​

[SIZE=14.6667px]Perhaps that was a major difference between the cultures of the Yuuzhan Vong Warrior Caste and the Mandalorians: Nature versus Nurture. The Yuuzhan Vong left their offspring in a creche, their shapers changed their very nature over time[/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]to bring them to the pinnacle of combat prowess. It was a sign of a great Mandalorian that raised his children, whether blood or not, to become even greater. Daikay and Abffor had become far better soldiers than he had ever been and it had always pained him to outlive them both by so long. Still he had many to be proud of. He had been content with his life. And then they came to Agamar. Davon pictured the last moments with his love, imagined the empty house that no longer felt his home. [/SIZE]

​

​

[SIZE=14.6667px]The fire was stoked once more[/SIZE]​

​

​

[SIZE=14.6667px]Nothing this flesh and blood before him could do would inflict more pain than those thoughts. He dropped his weight, twisted his wrist to make it hard to hold. His vision still swam, but he didn’t need it to strike back. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]You’re not done yet old man, [/SIZE][SIZE=14.6667px]he thought to himself. “Not done yet,” he growled softly without realising it. In one sharp motion he raised his boot, toes out and sole forwards. A powerful short strike at the knee of that wounded leg. If it stuck it would hit hard and then he would rake his boot down the side of the calf. It might drop the Viszla to one knee, it might not. Either way he free arm curled up and ferociously snapped around, aiming to strike temple with elbow and even the score and discombobulate the taller man. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]Time to pull him onto the merry go round for a dizzy dance until one of them slipped off. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px]

[/SIZE]​

 

[Shae Tervho]

In the Crowd

The farmstead was in a good spot for Shae to step away. She wanted to give Tory a chance to step into the role of leader while she was on Mandalore, but he'd made a strong case for coming with her as well. She had not been present in the Alor Council for ages, in fact, she had not been been in so long that she couldn't recall who sat on it. Concord Dawn's smaller clans were somewhat withdrawn, and she rarely had cause to travel to the seat of the United Clans. However, things had been volatile lately and she could no longer justify being cut off from the others, and focused only on the Tervhos and the farmsteads they tended or their smithing.

Shae sat high up in the stands, her buy'ce sitting next to her as she sipped at a tihaar, and watched the spectacle unfold on the arena floor. She did not know the combatants but their reputations were easily gleaned from the crowd at large. The audience was animated, cheering for their fighter, and shouting bets to bookies who roamed the crowd like drink vendors. Shae had no money to speculate on the prospect of a new leader but she wanted stability from whoever walked out the victor.

The sun would rise, the world would turn and her crops would grow and need markets. Their forges would burn and their goods would need a warrior. Shae wanted to know that who ever took the job would be thinking not just of Mandalore, but of all the citizens of worlds who called themselves ner'tat.

Shae wasn't rooting for anyone in particular yet, but the fight was just getting started.

 

[Arrbi Betna]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bbgvgk50e94​

He heard the bellowing rage of one of the combatants, Vizsla, if he remembered right. From the sounds of things, he'd found another to fight and entered the combat whole heartedly. That meant it was time for Betna to find his own fight for the match.

Sand crunched quietly underfoot as he weaved around walls and platforms. It wasn't a huge arena, but it was large enough for ambushes and a fog of war. He kept his shield up and ready, his body tensed for the unexpected. Senses reached out all around him despite his Force sensitivity. Eyes watched for movement, ears listened for sound, everything working in tandem to alert him to any danger lurking around him.

He turned another corner, shield held before him, and found it empty. Frowning, Betna realized that navigating corner after corner would do nothing but either lead him into an ambush or, perhaps, lead him in circles the entire match. Slinging the shield across his back for a moment, he decided to rely on a simple, yet effective trick every scout or sniper knew to use when in unfamiliar territory: altitude.

The wall nearby had small handholds dotted here and there which Betna took advantage of. His ax tucked into his belt and the shield on his back, the wall was easy work for him to climb, the handholds working equally well as footholds as he quickly scaled it to the platform above. Pulling himself onto the surface, he kept low as he readied his weapon and shield once more. No one was on the platform with him, but he knew that one could be seen atop a height just as easily as the reverse was possible.

From his vantage point atop the platform, he took a moment to assess the area, a plan forming slowly in his mind.