Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Sith-Imperial Tournament

Ao Xian

Everyone Forgets the Tail Flick
Gladiator_Fights_copy.PNG
Bastion


Dawn was cold and slow to rise. But in the heart of Bastion's Capital city, the crowds had already gathered in anticipation. The Emperor had announced a grand Tournament- a showcase of the might not just of the Empire, but of the individuals within it. The Grand Arena lit up the city for dozens of blocks in every direction, a central beacon for the festivities that would surround the tournament itself. Vendors and performers lined the streets in all direction, a nearly carnival atmosphere slowly building as the sun started to climb into the sky.

In the Central Box, [member="Darth Carnifex"] and Ao'Xian waited for the sun to clear the top of the arena. That marked the beginning of the tournament and the beginning of the first round of bouts. With them mingled a wide variety of faces and names- some from within the Empire, some allies from without, invited and welcomed.

Around, people sat and waiting- watching, laughing, a thrill of excitement for the coming events. The arena was enormous, large enough to accommodate the throngs. Vendors hawked their wares- food, shade hats and covers, cushions for the hard seats, warm drinks this early morning, and later, as the day heated up, cold and frosty just five credits sir or madam.

Below, the fighters assembled. Armed and prepared, well rested and fed. Ready to face off against their opponents. Some fought for the glory of the empire. Some for personal glory. Others, as a challenge to themselves. Some?

They just enjoyed the thrill of the fight too much to sit aside and watch.

Above, the sun cleared the top of the arena. The Emperor raised a fist.

The first round commenced.

The Rules

Round 1:
For round 1, handicaps and plagues have been determined by a dice roll.

[member="Kazmai"] vs The ‘Savant Wrath’ ([member="Darth Voracitos"])
[member="Braith Achlys"] vs [member="Ara Zambrano"]
[member="Darth Lucifus"] vs [member="Essar Ibis"] - HANDICAP! Gravity weights have been applied to the wrists and ankles of both opponents. An internal inertial tumbler resets the amount of weight at random intervals.

[member="Cairyn Midore"] vs [member="Ignis Imura"] (Due to Cairyn's Orbalisks, Ignis may use armor for this bout)
[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] vs [member="Darth Imperia"] - PLAGUE! Small Sithspawn infest the sand beneath your feet. With a variety of minor poisons (writer's choice, non-lethal) they will attempt to bite and sting both combatants throughout the round.
[member="Vaylin"] vs [member="Elani Zambrano"]

[member="Thyne"] vs [member="Czernon Zambrano"]
[member="Khonsu Amon"] vs [member="Xevek Rakama"]
[member="Dok Varuut"] vs [member="Sokar Azad"]
[member="Jantar Keltainen"] vs [member="Orion Darkstar"] - HANDICAP! Opponents are connected by a two meter long chain. While it *can* be cut through, it would take concerted effort, exposing that person to attack by the other.
[member="Adrian Vandiir"] vs [member="Bo Lin"] vs [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]

[member="Koda Fett"] vs [member="Scipio Alta"]
[member="Rexus Wenck"] vs [member="Vilaz Munin"] - PLAGUE! A pair of horned kath hounds, hungry and built up to a rage by Sith magics, have been released in your circle.
 
The Admiralty
Codex Judge
[gifv]https://giant.gfycat.com/SnoopyDistortedIndusriverdolphin.webm[/gifv]​

[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

[member="Darth Voracitos"]

The shadow moved through the gates first, before the large ape came into view.

Behind him trailed the power hammer that had followed him through many campaigns across the Tingel Arm for the glory of.... the Sith Empire? No, it had never been about that. First, the glory of himself, to prove to others that the strength of the simian was as good if not better than the arm of a human. But then came the glory of the Goddess and within it Kazmai found purpose.

The screams and shouts were almost deafening to the ape.

Ears flattening themselves against the cut of his head as his steps were bought with purpose. Instead of focusing on the center of the arena, Kazmai rounded it and approached the dais, the central box, where his Goddess rested alongside the Dark Lord of the Sith.

Kazmai went down on one knee, head bowing deep.

But his arm arm, bulky, run with muscle and not much else, rose up in salute. "Praise to the Goddess of the Sun," He roared, cutting through the shouts and screams of the crowd to gain the pleasure of Ao's attention. "I ask to fight for your honor and glory, oh Radiant One, may I be your champion within this tournament?" Then Kazmai silenced himself, his eyes fixed solely on the dirt of the arena.

Only once she beckoned would Kaz look up to wrap himself in her purpose.

No sooner than this.

They might have found together many times, yes, but here amidst the crowds of humans and beyond? Kazmai would ensure she was given all the deference and respect that one such as her deserved.
 
"Are you sure you should be drinking, friend? " Asked an Official as they fitted on the final GravWeight to his left ankle then rose to their full, unstooped, height directly forward of the seated man.

For a moment the Maenan considered the question, the gaze of mismatched eyes following the Human as he rose upwards and stepped back. They always seemed so irregular to Essar, the people in these well documented stretches of Space, so concerned with health, with rules and laws. Soft under a certain sort of pressure, all of their rough edges ground down through conformity to the Lords and Emperors above them. No sharp corners to catch themselves on, everything was round and simple. They had sacrificed their lives to obey men.

No wonder the Gods had abandoned them.

Essar drank deep, hard, and long. It was something spiced and bitter, something that made the Maenan cough, cherry tinted liquid spilling from the corner of his lips down through his scraggly red beard, and over his neck. Clearly his contemplation was over, the need to numb his nerves, weaken the memories, and ease the wobble of his hands from the absence of Drink and Spice far greater than what this faithless fellow thought was excessive.

"Ah. . well, Paddock Three. I wish you honor and glory in your bid to entertain our Emperor. "

Essar of Maena gathered himself, rising slowly from the bench seat he'd been placed upon. He inhaled another sip of the powerful drink, spilling an obscene portion of it down his bare chest. Essar the Drunk perhaps was a more fitting name, he flatly pondered, tossing the bottle down on the bench after it'd been emptied. What honor? What glory? Even his own Religion regarded him with mild disdain.

He didn't fight for the Emperor.

He was here for Xoth-za. He was here in a bid to once more experience the euphoria of his God's voice. That whisper in the Flame.

Silently he grabbed his two weapons, both had been provided for him, and wandered off towards Paddock Three with an inebriated stagger in his winding gait. His first weapon, residing in his left hand, was a simple Phrik Sword - nothing extravagant. Single-Handed, Arming Sword Length, it wasn't even sharpened. The other, equally unattractive and lacking lavish build or design, was a War Hammer. It weighed around thirty-five to thirty-six ounces, was roughly thirty-one inches in length, and opposite the flat Hammer-Head was a five inch, curved spike.

As he entered through an ornate gate, beams of sunlight striking his scar laden chest, and blinding his strange eyes momentarily, he made note of just how loose the dirt felt beneath his feet. Digging his toes in, inquiring exactly what sort of footing he might be able to expect. Then, with an appreciative gesture, he motioned with the point of his sword towards the the luxury alcove the Sith Emperor, [member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Ao Xian"] and all of the more esteemed guests resided in, bowing his head of tangled red hair respectfully.

Now, he only needed [member="Darth Lucifus"] to join him, and to figure out exactly what these things on his wrists and ankles were, and how they were going to affect his performance.
 
Gear: Two VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblades
Opponents: [member='Jorryn Fordyce'] and [member='Bo Lin']
Previous Post: N/A

Step more confident than he felt, Adrian strode towards a massive archway that led to the arena himself. Even before entering, he was met with the cacophony of sound that came with gathering so many people in one place. He had expected this, and yet he still felt a sliver of doubt, which was quickly quelled. He had better not make a fool of himself, or it would stay with him for a long time.

Garbed in a simple black attire with purple trim, he walked forth from the cavernous opening, the hilts of two vibroblades poking out from over his shoulders. A lightsaber would have been much more stylish, he felt, but it didn't really matter. After all, his swordsmanship was not exactly optimal, even for an Acolyte. He had considered going entirely unarmed, but it never hurt to have something around, in case he really needed it.

Having taken his place in the arena, he turned towards the box holding the Emperor himself, kneeling on the arena floor to show his fealty, as was expected of him. Rising smoothly, but not too quickly, he resumed his position, waiting for his opponents to to take theirs. This would certainly be quite the challenge, especially considering that he was facing two opponents. With any luck, they would attack each other first. He certainly had no intention of rushing forward like an air-headed buffoon.

Ignoring the crowd, he brought his focus inward, doing a basic meditation-like exercise to prepare himself. Bringing forth the most powerful emotions, the most painful and joyous memories alike, he took a deep breath. He knew all too well that he would need every scrap of power if he was to have a chance in the battle ahead. Taking another deep breath, he adopted a confident smile, which did little to reflect the maelstrom of emotion he was churning up in his mind. This would be interesting. Very interesting. Now to make sure that he didn't humiliate himself by losing to any unsophisticated brutes. That would be embarrassing in the extreme.
 
Location: Ground level just outside of arena bounds
Objective: Stitch ‘em up

Farah wasn’t much of a fighter, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy watching other people beat the hell out of each other. So when the opportunity to be a part of the medical team that would tend to the wounds of the injured, the Zeltron doctor jumped on it.

Close seating? The opportunity to see some nasty wounds? Seriously, this was the best. Farah not so secretly hoped to see some grievous wounds come out of these matches. She wouldn’t learn anything stitching up a minor laceration to the leg, but give her a disembowelment or a stab wound to the heart and she’d have a field day.

It helped that she recognized some of the faces competing today. One was the white haired woman she’d met on Littora. [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] had complimented her on her envirosuit, so Farah liked the woman. Her opponent, [member="Adrian Vandiir"] was a scientist as well, but the two found themselves at snarky nerd odds with each other. But then there was…a third opponent? In the form of a panda-man, [member="Bo Lin"].

Farah pursed her lips before calling out.

“KICK THEIR ASSES, JORR!”

One of the medical attendants gave her a look.
 
[member="Bo Lin"]

Black boots tapped against the floor in an almost rhythmic pattern, the Echani's excitement clear in her gait.

As much as Jorryn desired to wear something gaudy and flamboyant, this tournament was unfortunately not about who came the best dressed. Instead she was dressed in a traditional Echani sparring outfit, though the people were shockingly foreign to the girl she had appearances to keep up. So it would be best to play the part of a devotee to her people's traditions.

Simple black wrappings covered her palms as the rest of the dark outfit adorned her, the lightweight clothes leaving her upper arms bare for ease of movement. All she had brought along with her was the lightsaber she had won so long ago, unfortunately there was nothing more to the item than sentimental value to Jorryn.

Nonetheless her confidence in the upcoming performance was clear, if not diluted by the clear excitement she felt as she passed the gates into the roar of the crowd. The girl had been on many campaigns now, and as fun as it was to kill Jedi there was nothing like crushing the dreams of a fellow Sith hoping to climb the ranks.

The grin shone clearly on the acolyte's face, growing only wider as she heard a familiar voice shriek out from the rest of the crowd. The pink face of [member="Farah"] singled out by Jorryn in the crowd, holding back a small laugh as she threw a small wave to the doctor. It was always nice to have someone cheering for you, especially if that person can fix you up.

Clearing her expressions to a neutral state, the silver haired Sith turned towards the two that would be watching most closely. Placing her hand over her heart, Jorryn bowed deeply to the forms of [member="Darth Carnifex"] and [member="Ao Xian"]. For better or worse, the Emperor and his companion would be watching her fight. She only wished that the performance would turn out well.

After raising from the position, she turned to observe the first opponent who had entered. [member="Adrian Vandiir"] was not someone the girl was familiar with unfortunately, but gleaming any information from one's appearance was far more useful than nothing. Aside from noting the height difference the blades on his back were also a note of concern, ideas racing in her mind as to why he didn't bring sabers.

Perhaps he's unfamiliar.

Regardless she put the thought in the back of her mind before turning to the final gate, where her last opponent would be waiting. Hopefully it was someone she knew, they were the easiest to get the upper hand on.
 
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[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]​

A strigil, hewn from the darkest obsidian known to man, glided across the Thyrsian’s muscular physique, scraping his darkened flesh of the potent unguent that had adorned his towering frame mere moments before. The graceful hands of those who had been set to the task of cleansing his bared figure, ran along the length of the curved blade to free its surface from the harsh embrace of the day’s grime, before pressing it against the warrior’s marbled flesh once more.

Time and again, the gathered throng of chittering thralls repeated this gesture, until naught but a luminous being stood in the place of the Mercenary.

Now that his body glimmered in the light that speared through the gaps in the Grand Arena and that he was prepared for the day’s events, Khonsu found himself alone and smiling as his darkened eyes fell upon his sword. It was a gift from his Master, the man that had taken him under his wing to show him the path of power; all for a price that had only called for his soul.

Some would say this grandiose offering was nothing more than a worthless trinket, as the silvery-crimson edge radiated a dark, and unseen malevolence. Others would say that he was a fool, to take a dark bargain with powers that laid beyond his keen, and receive a blade forged from precious stone. It was more than likely, that should he parry with any of its edges, that the mineral would splinter beneath the pressure, and shatter his dreams of ascending to heights unknown.

However, therein lay the deception of its cunning design.

The entirety of the blade was forged from Devaronian Blood-poison, and enhanced by the mysterious means of Sith Alchemy. It would turn the savage ferocity of a lightsaber, and offer him the possibility of redirecting a Sith’s crackling, and projected fury. As well, the mineral was hardened, so that it wouldn’t betray its bearer in combat - that only the barest sliver would splinter from its sharpened edge if it struck the folded fury of steel, or the yielding surface of a victim’s flesh.

This was also where the blade’s true power emerged as if the sword bit deep enough to leave so much as a sliver within? Well. It was unlikely they would stop screaming until the wound had healed.

Taking the weapon in hand, the Sun Guard left the chamber and followed the voices of the various officials he had found in his wake. His eyes never deviated from the path, not once straying from the plated deck, as he didn’t want to spoil the surprise. What thrill would there be in the bouts to come if he had already sized up the competition? Instead, Khonsu began clearing his thoughts and freeing himself of the earthly distractions that dotted his path. There was a time and a place to delve into such things, but now... now was the time for fighting.

When his name was called, the newly ordained Gladiator stepped forth and claimed his rightful place atop the wind-starved and sun-baked sands. With upswept and darkened arms; whose perfection was broken only by the vambraces wrapped about his flesh, the Thyrsian greeted the ravenous crowd with a mighty roar. Such a pirouette had offered the gathered souls a feast to sate their hungered gazes, allowing them to drink in the warrior's immaculate physique with unending adulation. The man wore nothing but a flaxen girdle to shroud his modesty and a pair of baked-leather sandals to guard the soles of his feet.

Suffice to say there was nothing that was left to their collective imagination.

There he would stand with his crystalline blade at the ready until the signal was given.

| [member="Xevek Rakama"] |​
 
ROUND 1
[member="Darth Imperia"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"]


Mother Vahl.
Yours is the fire.
Yours is the fury.
Fill me with your hate.
Place your fire in my soul.
It was dark, but for the firelight. Oils were rubbed into Joycelyn's skin, made from the sacred unguents of her epicanthix kin. It anointed her as a champion of their people. She fought for the twin blood coursing through her veins. The long tail of black hair hanging from the nape of her neck was tightly braided and wound around her head, intertwined with a leather thong that bound the braid to itself.

A handmaiden threw a mixture of ashes and chalk, letting it stick to the oil while Joycelyn breathed the sacred incense burning in the fire. Her chest was then bound with black linen. The clothes were tied on her, tight and secure, lightly padded and strongly weaved, but not offering any protection.

"And watch me break this scutta."

Joycelyn put her hands together and bowed her head over the little fire burning in the bowl. She breathed in the scented smoke and leaned her head back, holding it in and envisioning the fight ahead. She envisioned herself winning, the salutes, the glory. She exhaled the smoke into the air, passing the prayer off to her goddess, then got to her feet. One last look at the shrine to Vahl, the goddess of fire and destruction.

"Watch over me."

Sword strapped to her hip, she picked the songsteel staff from its place and twirled it around her hand before nestling it under her armpit. Her fingers caressed the lingan inlay adorning the silvery staff. A cloud of fire burst out of the doors as they opened, cast from the free hand of Joycelyn as a show of strength. It set the sand squeaking and smoking with heat as she marched out to the cheer of the crowd.

Her short jacket was a bright red, woven with an intricate pattern of black silk thread. Her feet wore sandals, not the best choice given the plague of the arena. Her legs, arms and abdomen were bare, showing muscle rippling beneath chalk and skin. Her eyes gleamed yellow, set on dealing pain and proving her strength. Flames licked up along the skin of her hands and arms, cresting her shoulders.

She cast a glance up towards the stand where her father sat, she made no bow. He would not require it. She was there to show her strength, not her reverence. That was how she showed she was worthy to be Vornskr.
 

Ao Xian

Everyone Forgets the Tail Flick
Ao was reclined, coils lazy and mane gleaming. She rested against a divan, silk and satin, light and tolerable against her sensitive scales. She was not pleased with the early day chill, but a small heater had been provided for the cold blooded Xykan, and while she was still a bit sluggish from the cold, it was enough to keep her from being entirely insensate. A large bowl, deep and opaque, sat on a pedestal next to her, and occasionally she would reach into it with careful claws, extract something, writhing and making small pitiful sounds, before popping it into her mouth. Someone close might realize that the sounds were not truly animal- that they sometimes resembled words. But then someone standing that close to her would also know that saying anything would be very poor form indeed.

The Sith Lord was content (would only be happy once the day had warmed, but content was enough for now), settled in the box, a bit of a distance from the Emperor and the milling allies and sycophants around him. It was easy to tell the two groups apart- mostly. But it hardly mattered to Ao'Xian as she waited for the bouts to start.

She had considered entering herself- until it had been clear that at the end she would not be permitted to eat her defeated opponent.

What was the point in letting someone touch her if she could not consume them after?

Ao certainly didn't see one.

Her attention was drawn to the arena as the combatants entered by a particular, familiar voice. Shifting up on the lounge, she cocked her head, ears flicking and whiskers quivering slightly. With a nod she indicated her attention to the hulking [member="Kazmai"] .

He had seen, from the start, her path. Her destiny. How could she not favor him?

Of course, she would judge fairly, in the end. With the Dark Lord beside her she could, and would do no different than she had agreed.

"I grant you that permission, Kazmai of the Sith," she answered, voice loud enough to carry. "May the sun shine on you, and the blood you spill stain the sands. I accept your sacrifice in my name."

Of course, that could be taken multiple ways. The question was mostly would it be his blood..... or another's.
 
Round 1
Post 1
Opponent: [member="Khonsu Amon"]
Gear: Vambrace, Cybernetic Arm, Pike
| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"] |


The sands cut deeply and sharply into the bedrock of the Iridonian's mind as he sank deep into the chaos of his mind and the storm that reigned there. Carried upon the howling winds was the scent of bloodlust and tempered rage, a sense of dark anger frozen over and captured in the single moment before it exploded forth with a primal fury. The song of combat, of the liberation from concerns and worry that resided within the heat of a fight, stirred within his mind and thrummed along his bones, the call of conflict and survival one that he had been socialised to love, seek and thrive within due to his brutal upbringing. As much as shadowy and intellectual pursuits held his interest, there was nothing like the moment before a fight in the mind of Xevek Rakama. That point where his hearts beat a rapid tattoo within his chest, when adrenaline surged and the world seemed just that tiny bit sharper was as addicting as any drug.

Words that he roared within his mindscape were left silent within the material as dry lips simply mouthed them. Words of prayer to Vysh, He who was War Embodied, to watch him and guide his blade on that day were left private as Xevek ran through the ceremonial preparations of his Clan. Alone with no other being present, dressed only in a pair of tight shorts that clung to his thighs and black cloth wraps that covered his hands and reached up to his elbows, the Zabrak knelt with his head bowed and eye shut. Before him, a pair of incense sticks burnt, causing a trail of white smoke to hang in the air, swirling chaotically with each exhale. Slow movements of his arms dragged the pads of his fingers across his torso in a memorised pattern, leaving behind traces of sweetly-scented oil that followed the distinctive marking of the Jat'i tattoos that stood out against tanned, weather worn skin with their harsh, thick lines of black ink. In the end, he finished tracing the last of the markings that spoke of personal achievements, victories and losses just as the last of the incense burnt to ash.

Opening his eye, breaking himself from the trance he had fallen into, a lazy smirk pulled at Xevek's lips. Within his chest, a spark grew into an ember which grew into a roaring inferno as the roaring of the crowds reached his ears. It was time.

Reaching past the mask of bone that he had discarded for his ritual, Xevek grasped the long strip of white cloth set to one side and began to wind it around his head, stopping only when all but his single amber eye, empty right eye socket and mouth was left visible; the rest of his features hidden and obscured while the thick braids of his ashen grey hair were held tight against the back of his head before hanging free down his back. Pushing himself to his feet, Xevek absentmindedly fastened a vambrace with a personal energy field (capable of blocking only a couple of strikes before failing completely) to his right arm while grabbing a durasteel pike, his weapon of choice for the tournament, from where it rested against the wall.

Falling into step with the other competitors, Xevek stepped out into the midday sun with a sense of nostalgia at the prospect of fighting before roaring crowds once more before such an emotion was brutally butchered by the stirrings of bloodlust. Striding towards where his opponent was situated, sparring only the barest of glances towards the Emperor and the Sith Lord at his side, the harsh sunlight would clearly illuminate the mess of old scars and expansive burns that danced with the prominent tattoos atop rippling muscle. However, what was perhaps most obviously revealed in the sunlight was the matt-black cybernetic left arm that was tipped with vicious looking claws measuring just over a centimeter in length.

Coming to a stop opposite his enemy, one Khonsu Amon to the best of his knowledge, Xevek bowed his head minutely, a snarl pulling at his lips as a low rumbling growl echoed out from the depths of his throat. Violence was on the air and his blood positively sung with glee at the prospect.
 
Round - 1
Opponent - Sokar Azad
| Darth Carnifex | Ao Xian
Gear - 2x Curved Handle Lightsabers

Dok took a deep breath as he tied his hair up tightly into a knot, preparing for his fight that awaited him only moments away. Dok was centered, and calm. The early rounds were probably the best time for him to lose control of his emotions if he did, but assuming he made it to the later rounds, he would need more precise control, and clearer thoughts to have even a chance against some of the combatants gathered hear today. He took another deep breath, maintaining this inner calm he had, not to say he wasn't ready for battle. The fact of the matter was that Dok hungered for this battle, it had been to long since the last time he had been able to fight in earnest, even if he couldn't kill his opponent, he was going to do his best to win, like he always did.

That was Dok, cold, and uncompromising, especially in combat. If someone stood against him, he'd do everything in his power to take them down, and he knew that in time, this would carry him into the ranks of the masters. That was what he told himself anyway, did his best to believe so that he wouldn't fall into despair. So today he fought in a grand tournament before the eyes of his very emperor, and Dok would die before he should every ounce of skill he could to the knights and masters, let alone the eyes of the rule of the very empire Dok served in.

Still, for everything Dok hoped for, he had to keep his mind on the fight. A quick efficient win wouldn't please the crowds much, but neither could he indulge to much and showboat to heavily. Dok rose from where he was sitting and wrapped his cloak around himself. It was neither armor nor shield, but it served it's purpose to Dok, and he would not go into this fight without it. Dusting some stray sand off of it, he absentmindedly traced a finger across his lightsabers, longing for the day when he could have his own custom pair, built to his specific tastes.

Dok smiled as he heard the growing roar of the crowds, it was time. With one final deep breath, he straightened and head held high, entered the sunlight for all to see. He had already stretched before he had even made sure his outfit was in order, and the cold fury that seemed frozen in his eyes scanned his opponent, waiting for his moment. Once the match started, Dok already knew exactly what he was going to do, and if it worked, he hoped the crowd loved it. He let the warmth of the sun soak into him as he waited for his chance to spring into motion, already ready to move when the start was called.
 
Straight Out the Gate
Round One | Spear | Braith Achlys v. Ara Zambrano

Conflict. It was what drove these Sith to their peak strength, was it not? It was a curious predicament - for a Sith to grow they would always require a foe to exist, and yet they strove to exterminate their enemies in their hate-filled conquest of the galaxy which would only result in their gradual regression. She chalked it up to the shortsightedness of mortality, the inherent inability to perceive something greater than oneself. Like children they played, and today she had accepted an invitation to one of their little games - to take part in the arena as a competitor to fight for sport. There was no armor here, save for a helmet or shield, and the only weapons were one's wit, objects of melee, fists, or the force itself - no relying on inelegant tools and crude missiles that only the weak would wield because of their own inadequacies.

Never one to show fear in single combat, Braith swore off anything that would indicate that she believed herself incapable of victory without something to throw between herself and her opponent. Even the clothes that she wore were to accentuate that she had embraced the rule which forbade armor - a cloth that was bound around her chest and something around her waist to keep her appearance decent, her feet bare and the rest of her body free of anything that could be considered protection from the fight she was about to partake.

The ancient witch walked into the arena, her feet sinking into the coarse sand with every step, and ignored the thunderous sound of the crowd that seemed enthralled with their crude spectacle. She carried a spear in her right hand, its tip in the air and its shaft resting against the nape of her neck and her shoulder. Her purpose here was not for glory, nor was it for something as base as satiating the instinct to fight - indigo eyes searched the seats above her as she tilted her head back to seek out what brought her here, the prize she sought once she had shown how insignificant these champions were to be. She caught sight of the man as he raised his fist into the air, signifying the start of the first round of battle, and she smirked.

'Believe yourself untouchable for the moment, you gamorrean worm, but I will break you once I am done with the rest.'

She lowered her gaze as the thought fluttered through her mind, her smirk growing into a wide smile as her opponent entered her vision. "Who better to fight, then, than a runt in the Zambrano litter!" Braith shouted, lifting her weapon from its resting place on her shoulder and gestured its tip to the Dark Lord of the Sith. "I am going to enjoy etching the message I have for him into your flesh." She said to [member="Ara Zambrano"] with a twirl of her spear, allowing the tip to aim forwards and down towards the feet of the Ren. This was certainly no match of single combat in the wars of old that she had been raised taking part in, wherein the champions of two nations fought to the death for the expansion of their sponsors, but the rule that forbade death would certainly not keep her from taunting her true foe.

[member="Darth Carnifex"].
 

Lemon

Citrus Dreams
BASTION


ARENA, THE CAPITAL

Even now it was from behind a T-Shaped Visor that Fett stared through. A blank, vacant stare that told no story- or maybe it did, it was a matter of perspective and interest these days. Beneath the helmet, however, was the canvas of a lifetime of war: his body. From smaller slice-like-scars to the burn that encompassed the entirety of Fett's back, they all had a story to them. It occurred to him, in this instant, that this was the first time the man under the helmet had been truly seen, but even then his face remained a mystery.

It was time to move.

Cloth draped over his shoulder, flowing in the same way his side cloak had so many times before. His legs covered by pants that offered no protection, and boots that shielded his feet to a certain degree. Upon his forearm clung vambraces, and his grip an Electrostaff. A familiar weapon.

An infamous man of his status received enough attention from the crowd, but this was the Sith after all. They had their fair share of controversial characters, and Koda was simply an exotic fish in their pond. No words were offered, instead a glance to their almighty Emperor; no bows, no kneels, nothing. Just awaiting the word.




[member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"]
 
Round One
Opponent: [member="Elani Zambrano"]
Equipment: Sith Lightsaber x2 | Shoto Lightsaber x1

The tournament reminded Vaylin of the old fights she was forced into when she was younger. Growing up on a planet that was ruled by family and conquest, where if you weren't taking over another's territory, you were settling disputes in the arena. It was entertainment for those that could afford to remain high above, out of reach and away from the plights of the common folk.

She use to despite them.

But when she had learned the Sith Empire was organizing one? Oh, she was almost giddy with excitement.

The Zabrak had beared witness to how strong and powerful her fellow Sith were on the battlefield, but this provided a chance to test herself against them. It was an opportunity Vaylin was not going to pass up for anything.

She could hear the roar of the crowd from within the arena itself, to a point it almost felt like they were shaking the very ground and walls around her. The Zabrak adjusted her outfit, ensuring everything was correct. Armour was prohibited from the fights (except for certain circumstances), so Vaylin couldn't make use of her signature armour. Instead she had opted for her sparring gear, something not too different to what an Acolyte would wear early in their training. Pants, boots and sleeveless tunic. All a mix of black, dark grey and red; a familiar palette amongst the Valkyries.

Along her belt were her lightsabers, two normal length and her single shoto blade. None of her usual trinkets and gadgets were allowed in the fights, which disappointed her initially until realizing that it was meant to be a true contest. No crutches to fall back on, just simple skill and the Force.

The gate lifted up and Vaylin strode out into the arena, immediately soaking in the uproarious crowd. It was admittedly like being back home again, only this was a lot more enjoyable.

She looked towards her opponent; Elani. Vaylin hadn't expected she'd be fighting a Zambrano; probably should've given how numerous the family was these days, but it wasn't going to deter her from going all out. The Zabrak turned to face the central box where @Darth Carnifax and his esteemed guests; such as [member="Ao Xian"], were presiding over the tournament.

"Glory to the Empire!" She bowed with a flourish, her words eliciting cheers from the crowd that Vaylin revelled in. There was no hiding the grin that was plastered across her face. Finally she returned her attention to Elani, giving her a bow. Vaylin plucked one of her lightsabers from her belt, igniting it and slipping into a stance.

The first move was the Zambrano's.
 

Bo Lin

Guest
B
Bo walked toward the door carrying Sneakers, his bantha buddy in one arm and his greatsaber in the other. He wore nothing, he had fur why waste time with the rest, and he had lost like 4 hats in the last month so he left it in his room.

He stopped inside the door and placed his greatsaber under his arm so he could make Sneakers wave at the emperor, then let him go back toward the waiting area to...wait. He walked toward the other combatants and cocked his head to the side. Humans were ugly hairless things, poor creatures. It was no wonder they were mad all the time. Bo would be mad too if he was ridiculously small, ugly and had a poor appetite.

"Worrooru Ooororhahr, ouuroru." He said in perfect Pandyn. It meant...something. Learn Pandyn.

He took his greatsaber out from under his arm and felt the shard in the hilt whimper in anticipation of the agony it was about to suffer. If you want to be a sentient rock you get what you get, that's how Bo saw it. So, he thumbed the blade active and the shard began screaming in the force.

He decided not to wait for whatever was supposed to happen and began walking briskly, for him, toward the two opponents. After three steps he gathered the force into himself and jumped at them, blade overhead and executed a heavy handed sweep from right (Jorryn side) to left (Adrian side) in an attempt to hit them both in his long armed swing.



[member="Jorryn Fordyce"] [member="Adrian Vandiir"]
 
Gear: Two VB-113 "Tidefall" Class Vibroblades
Opponents: [member='Jorryn Fordyce'] and [member='Bo Lin']
Previous Post: 15

The first opponent concerned Adrian somewhat. He preferred to fight opponents that favoured physical combat and an Echani probably meet that preference, but they were also known for their speed and reflexes. That was would make it harder to land a blow, even with Force Lightning.

Briefly taking his attention away from studying his opponent, he heard the shout even over the cacophony produced by the rest of the audience and spotted a familiar Zeltron. Hmm, so [member="Farah"] knows this Echani, huh. He was briefly tempted to yell "I'd like to see your medicine do this!" back at her but decided against it. He couldn't allow himself to become distracted, not when he was trying to channel power of this magnitude.

Then came the second opponent, a massive beast of a fur-coated man, carrying... a small Bantha. Seriously? Oh well, at least he left it behind before getting ready for battle. After having it wave to the Emperor, that is. How uncouth.

Adrian was, in truth, deeply concerned. Not because of the brutish looking man with his greatsaber, or even the Echani. No, he was concerned because they would be starting way too close to one another for his comfort. He had hoped that he would be able to blast them with lightning from the other end of the arena, but noooo, someone had to place the starting spots so close to one another. It didn't help that the giant... whatever he was, had a lightsaber that would give him quite a reach, which was problematic since Adrian really didn't want to have to actually use his vibroblades.

At least he would have time to... what. Is he? No. He wouldn't. The match doesn't start before... ztadase asilas. As the brute rudely jumped at them before the battle had even formally started, his concentration was broken, but he managed to react quickly enough nonetheless. Leaping backwards, front still facing both of them, he lashed out with his hand at Bo while they were both still in the air, causing the sand in front of him to surge upwards towards the creature's face. Damn it all. He refused to lose to someone so... so... rude. While he kept a wary eye on the Echani, he was now focused almost entirely on eliminating the savage from the competition as quickly as possible. Perhaps then they might have a proper duel.
 
[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

A look of bewilderment came along with the Echani's second opponent, she had assumed that this tournament would be between Sith to show who was the strongest. Not some furry beast who didn't even have the dignity to wear any clothes to the bout, just wandering in with a miniature bantha that rode his shoulder. Though the bantha was pretty cute.

It was a small relief that the beast carried a greatsaber, telling Jorryn that it wasn't simply some creature that had gotten up on both legs and somehow manage to meander it's way into the arena. Still a look of disgust plagued her face as she watched [member="Bo Lin"] lumber forward towards the already gathered pair, before muttering something in a low roar.

Then the damn thing raised from the ground, bringing the massive weapon with it above it's head.

Fortunately the Echani was light on her feet, a deft jump to her left so that she could separate herself from the other two. Jorryn slowly paced herself backwards from the Pandaryn, hoping to keep away from his long reach for now. She watched as [member="Adrian Vandiir"] tried the same, throwing sand from the arena floor to blind the large creature.

"We're throwing sand now?" The question coming into the air, the acolyte speaking clearly and loud enough so that the Panda could hear. "That isn't very dignified is it?"

Truthfully she didn't care, but as her hand reached out with the force to slow Adrian's retreat it was all the better to turn the Panda's anger towards him. Jorryn hoped it wouldn't be too gruesome. She would wait her proper turn to strike but for now, the hilt of her saber rest gently in her palm.
 

Darth Imperia

Guest
D
Imperia had her own special rituals before a fight. Nothing so elaborate as what her Vahla opponent was doing to prepare, almost certainly, but she did whatever allowed the Darkness to flow through her, whatever opened her mind to the divinity of the Force. Today, that happened to have been dancing.

Imperia placed a blackened rubber palm against the Arena doors and pushed, blowing them open with a surge of telekinesis and only minimal property damage. From there, the young Knight practically danced into the Arena, jumping, twirling and hopping through the air in some sort of deranged hybrid of ballet and Ataru. The chittering sithspawn in the sand, therefore, were having trouble latching onto her – and when they did, they found themselves stopped just short of piercing flesh by the sturdy leather of her boots.

Stranger than the constant, flamboyant motion, however, was the fact that the Sith seemed to have lost her karking mind. One second, she was laughing as she sailed through the air, guided by the Force to land perfectly each time. The next, she was sobbing, then laughing again, then snarling, all seemingly at random.

Imperia brought her lightsaber to hand and activated it as she drew close to Joycelyn, then stopped moving just as long as it took to bow to her opponent.



[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"] |
 
[member="Darth Imperia"] [member="Ao Xian"] [member="Darth Carnifex"]

Joycelyn could vaguely feel the creatures creeping and crawling beneath the sand, waiting for the moment to sting her feet. The fireball had cleared a path, but the sand was cooling quickly, and the stingers were closing in. They were many and they were everywhere. Could she fend them off while also fighting her opponent? Concerning her opponent - Well someone should be concerned anyway. She jumped and skittered just like a flea, crying, laughing, cursing like she had a thousand minds in one - Or one mind fractured into a thousand pieces.

It was distracting to say the least.

Then again, that was the tenets of certain kinds of swordplay: Confound, confuse, conquer. it was not quite Joycelyn's style, mostly due to her size making it impractical. There were other forms of combat that suited her much, much better. She couldn't speak for Imperia's sanity though. That seemed very much absent/

As Imperia bowed, Joycelyn made a minor incline of her head, keeping her opponent fully within view. She turned the songsteel staff until she held it with both hands, then set the butt of it hard in the sand without taking her eyes off Imperia. There was an audible "crunch" as a tail burst through the sand and fell limp. Quickly, the vahlacanthix turned her hips, feet shifting on the burnt sand as she used the embedded butt of her spear to throw sand -and the mangled body of a stinging sithspawn- at Imperia.

As the sand flew off from the bottom left, she shifted the grip on the staff, spreading the hands far apart. Joycelyn stepped forward, each motion carrying over into the next with practised fluency. Her right hand glided down from the head of the staff powering it in a diagonal sweep from the upper right. She was aiming to catch her opponent in the dodge with a ringing blow.

However, she did not activate the triple blades. No, she wanted to see how Imperia would react first. How she would dodge and retaliate. Like a pack of vornskrs staking a herd, she was prodding the defences and gagning her opponent's reactions.
 
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[member="Jantar Keltainen"]
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War's Edge
x1 Sith Lightsaber | x1 Valis Worship Lightsaber (White, No special features.)
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The Capital of Bastion, Arena

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The Chain clanked against the floor as it fell dead. Tiny whispers filled the narrow stone passages that led out to the arena. Orion wasn't quite sure what the emperor had in store for him. All he really knew was that a chain was involved. Plus, with a pitch black bag over his head, Orion couldn't exactly assess the situation. The force had told him of many capable fighters as he stood motionless. He waited patiently, taking in the sounds around him. If he was lucky, one of the patrons escorting him into the arena would speak loudly. Although, being mysteriously tossed into the fray without any partial knowledge was exciting to him. The thought of fighting in front of the emperor made it all the more better.
Many were here for glory, gifts, and gratification. Orion was not. In fact, all he really signed up for was to test himself. Throwing his talents into the tournament would allow him to see how far he's garnered in the force and close combat. It would be the perfect precursor to find his current weaknesses and eliminate them. Winning was a simple concept, all you had to do was outsmart the opponent. At least, for Orion's sake, he was fairly intelligent. The only thing he really lacked was the barbaric mindset of others that came before him, in the name of the Sith. Peculiar to his own devices, Orion was unique.
The sudden clasp of a chilling metal tightened around his right ankle. A brittle finger slid his black pants upward. The cold iron pressed against his skin like a claw. The patron lifted the chain and pulled to make sure it was appropriately taut to the other end. Orion felt the light tap on his shoulder to move forward. Carefully he shuffled onward. As he moved toward the entrance to the arena the scraping ring of metal dragged along with him. Things were getting interesting. The sound of a hatch opened, and a dull roar shook the frame of the tunnel he finally emerged out of. Specks of sunlight pierced through the cheap cloth that barred his head. Orion's eyes shifted lower, the sound of the chain went silent. A landscape of sand and dirt was all he could make out.
Stepping in a wider arch than normally, he felt a sharp tug. Unbeknown to him, he had arrived. The cool breeze of Bastion's morning winds hit him. His attire showed a loose style fit of black pants. Along his chest he bore a black, long sleeved shirt. It was tightly fit with his physique showing muscular tones. His boots dug deep into the soft grain below. Pivoting on his left foot he turned around, hopefully to see what forced him to stop. A silhouette began to take form, a mere 2 meters away. Was this his prey for the day? Incapable of determining exactly what lied before him, he waited to be unmasked.
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[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]
 

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