Sith-Imperial Tournament

[Ara Zambrano]

Round: 1
Opponent: [member="Braith Achlys"]
Weapon: Ba’Vanim // Back-up Weapon: Generic Lightwhip

Eyes closed for the briefest moments as the soft grit of cool sand settled beneath her feet as she stepped out into the ring, the wind that brushed against the Master’s exposed skin just frigid enough in the soft morning sun to raise goosebumps along her extremities. Waves of deafening sound battered against the half-Hapan’s ears as the gathered crowd caught their first glimpses of the champions below, the arena surrounding filling with competitors of every shape, size, age, and skill level. Tournaments had long been a preferred entertainment for the mases who craved the adrenaline of spilled blood, violence, and death, a sport that called to the most primal of the instincts all seemed to share, the lust for challenge and the desire to survive, yet rise above.

Perhaps that was her own folly, her own downfall, the desire to be always better, always stronger, never content with the power she wields, the position she held, even as she towered over her meager beginnings, the street-rat and former escort buried beneath the veneer of a warrior, politician, and even now…a queen.

Pinpricks of familiarity were like starbursts upon her skin as the arena and the stands filled with the Lords and Ladies of the Sith, their allies, and their citizens, so many of her bloodline dotted amongst the mixed masses, each one a tug on her mind, an intrinsic connection that said this one here, we know them. An open and welcoming smile curled the corners of her mouth up as each step drew her closer to her personal ring, despite the mixture of disgust and indifference swirling in her gut. There was but one Zambrano she even bothered to acknowledge of her own accord, turning to offer a small bow from the waist in difference to he who was patriarch of the family whose name she now bore.

As she rose, the open expression morphed into something darker, a cool viciousness and predatory smile altering her features ever so slightly, as she gazed upon [member="Darth Carnifex"], an offering to the Dark Lord of the Sith himself. Gone as quickly as it had come, the merest of glimpses into the truth of her soul, the woman straightened, her attention shifting from the man who had initially offered her invitation to Bastion, and subsequently into the tournament itself, unto her opponent.

”You will try.”

A purring laugh rolled under the words, loud enough that the dark-skinned woman would hear, yet hardly the shouted boasts and taunts so many, including the woman across the ring from the young Zambrano, had offered to the boisterous crowd filling the arena enveloping them.

As many others have, you too, will fail.

A small up-curve of her mouth into a small smirk, her eyes shining with mischief, anticipation, and challenge, the Master of Ren watched the tip of Braith’s spear drop in a smooth arc, a compass fluctuating from the Dark Lord of the Sith to his diminutive granddaughter. Bare feet shifted slightly as she offered a second bow, this one offered to the witch across the sand, lithe fingers carefully removing the weight of her own weapon from her belt, the smooth, crisp metal of Ba’Vanim biting into her palm. Her own outfit offered a glimpse into the battles waged before, the thin, white-ish pink puckering of old scars peeking out from her ribs, shoulders, even her calves as she moved, the thin fabric that protected her torso and lower body chosen to accentuate rather than to hide. A second hilt pulled the leather belt settled across her hips to one side, a second, yet far less personal weapon than the saber resting in her hand.

”Shall we?”

Power washed over her, amber flecked eyes lost to a crimson tide as the saber she held ignited into a matching flame, a duelist’s salute offered seconds before the young Zambrano dashed in, three quick strikes in rapid succession aimed at each of the woman’s shoulders and towards the center of her mass. The simplest of tests for now, reaction time and reach of the deadly spear in the woman’s grip.

- [member="Ao Xian"] -​

 

[Taeli Raaf]

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

It had been a very long time since she had the chance to observe such a spirited tradition as seeing members of the Sith Order thrown into arenas to prove themselves. Seated within the central box, in a seat behind the throne of the Dark Lord, her eyes roved over the various bouts starting to take place. Masked, hooded, and robed, all anyone of the spectators or combatants could see was the mysterious Sith some knew as the Lady of Secrets sitting among the powerful.

A smile grew behind her mask as she recognized [member="Ara Zambrano"] among the combatants. That was good... and her opponent... would wonders never cease. The woman her sister had fallen in love with before she had vanished, back again. How intriguing. Her eyes lazily moved away to observe some of the other fights.

She was of the belief that one could find the foundations of a good apprentice during such contests, and she always liked to keep an eye out for fresh talent that she might consider teaching. Her datapad vibrated, showing a running tally that some betting house out of the Tion Cluster was running on the odds among the different combatants. Gambling on arena battles, another vaunted tradition once again established in this era of the galaxy.

"Have you selected a favorite, my Lord?" she asked.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4d7Wp9kKjA

Opponent: [member="Orion Darkstar"]

Gear: Standard Sith robes, borrowed saber (yellow blade)


Jantar was sure the sack over the head was necessary, but she was keen to have it removed. Not so that she could see better, or due to any feelings of claustrophobia. But rather because she was concerned if it was messing up her hair.

She’d complied with every request so far, but the donning of the blindfold was almost a step too far. Did anyone understand how much time it took to get her locks looking this good?

She was here for her master. Since their frank discourse on Vjun, Jantar had applied herself to each and every part of her training. She knew that, once her master had shared all she knew, she would allow her apprentice to seek a new master — one that understood Sith magic. It was one of the reasons Jantar was initially keen to be here. If anyone was using arcane spells, the young acolyte would be ideally placed to observe and might just have a head-start in finding a new teacher.

But for now, she realised why she was here. Or rather she kind of understood.

This was not her thing — and never would be. She knew it and her master knew it, which made her attendance all the more obscure. But it was part of her development.

Her strengths lay in something she hadn’t even learned yet — and duelling would never be her forte. She lacked the strength to fight effectively saber to saber, and the only Form she’d had any aptitude with was the third. She could delay the inevitable for quite a while, but end a fight? Her only successes to date were to be the one losing. It finished the contest sure enough, but not in a positive manner.

But she needed to be able to withstand Jedi who might want to kill her, and they’d use their saber for that most likely. So she needed the practice, apparently.

So Jantar stood, as patiently as someone without any patience can, tapping her foot, waiting for the fight to begin.

She’d shed her cloak and stood in the standard issue black ensemble, the only variation being the quality of the boots — being handcrafted from some exotic, but dead, rare animal. The saber her master had lent her hung from her belt and she grew ever more restless by the second.

When she felt the chain being clamped to her ankle, she swore under her breath. Except her volume filter was not working.

“You’re karking joking right?”

Fighting up close was her true nemesis. Restricting her movement negated her one strength, her speed and footwork.

“I guess not,” she added, and pointed the toe of her right boot, feeling the chain rattle and make a noise. “So karkin’ well get a move on, OK”

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Bastion, Emperor’s Box

Only assigned officials for the tournament and select individuals were allowed in the personal box of the Emperor. The entire floor it sat on was a security gridlock but in terms of the fighting it was the best seat in the house. One could see everything from the high perch and silently judge the battles unfolding.

It was here that Darth Prazutis chose to watch the battles unfold.

He had skin in the game as the old saying went, some direct and others indirectly but even beyond the official judges who proceeded over the event he silently observed many contestants, silently judging them as the event unfolded. There were many like Khonsu Amon, Cairyn Midore, Joycelyn Zambrano, Ara Zambrano, and Czernon Zambrano among the few he paid particularly close attention to. Success in the arena spoke volumes of ones skill in battle, as well as assessing the skill of those who had much to learn.

While he came into the event with hopes of his own, predictions made for certain contestants battle was very hard to predict and it left plenty of room for some to rise above. Braith Achlys was a nice surprise to see on the round sheet. Time had passed since her return and she and the shards of other souls had a lot to figure out. The more he watched it seems like she was back, the aura of confidence spoke volumes. The transition back was rough, and no doubt the more she returned her infamous reputation for holding a grudge would come with it. A clever choice of words made that all too evident. While he might’ve been more forgiving, the bond with his nephew was made of iron, he doubted she would be once the truth was evident.

That’s a conversation he knew was inevitably coming.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Bastion, Emperor's Box

A dark haired youth watched the fights with haunted eyes, their depths an electric blue. Glory awaited the victor. Arkaitz wondered if he had competed in the tournament and won, would his father have shown him his approval?

The first clash began and Arkaitz winced as the crowd roared its thunderous approval.

No, there would be no love shown to the runt of the litter. Zambranos prided themselves on the strength of their line. Where was the strength of someone born without the Force?

Lacking strength, they gave him other tasks more suited to his... failings.

Arkaitz rubbed his nose, knowing these thoughts would dissipate the moment the glitterstim took hold of his system.

"Grand Uncle," he said to [member="Darth Prazutis"], desperate for a distraction from his own thoughts, "who do you think will win this round?"

 

[Darth Voracitos]

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

Opponent: [member="Kazmai"]
Champion: The 'Savant Wrath'

Just as the Emperor was surrounded by milling allies and pandering sycophants, deep in his shadow away from the prying eyes of an audience, another emperor of a sort was surrounded by his own thralls and slaves, observing the gathering of warriors with only a modicum of interest from as far away as possible. Tournaments did little for Voracitos' appetite, and not being the host or even on good terms with the host did little to increase it. Nonetheless, out of respect for his servant who would be enjoying the bloody festivities, Voracitos kept a single mundane eye on the affairs.The tournament opened with a giant monkey, who knelt with its over-sized hammer to a strange and alluring being he had never seen before, sensing even from this distance a hunger he was attracted to. Then, as she accepted to the monkey's overtures, and Voracitos smiled knowing his own servant... would likely do something similar.

A hulking devil would enter the ring, his massive weight making each step herculean, but the muscles carrying each one was not strained in the slightest. The giant wore an equally large grin, his horns holding above him a black hood that covered his entire form. This was none other than Crult Momniw, a most prestigious servant of the Lord of Gluttony, the 'Savant Wrath'.

"Your devotion to your master is admirable, opponent. Please grant me your name, so I may know the one who should belong to my own master, Lord of Gluttony, Pillar of Knowledge, and the Emperor of Shadows - Darth Voracitos. I fight as master of his Coven, to show the Empire a source of its providence." The Savant Wrath's voice boomed to the simians ears, before he removed his hood to look to the sky.

"Great Lord of insatiable desire, allow the hunger that vassalizes me to you, to consume this foe into a longing emptiness for your strength. Let your Eye be a shadow over all." The Hungered Vassal would return his gaze to the ape-man, requiring no response from his god, knowing already the answer of his providence.

At that moment, Voracitos looked away, not to look again until his Hungered Vassal stood victorious, or bowed in defeat, before his judgement would fall upon his servant.

 

[Zef Halo]

The hell was he doin' here, you might ask.

Scipio couldn't really give you an answer. Higher-ups had him drafted here for feth knows what reason. Been rumors about draftin' the good ol' 'rn tchis fella to spec ops. Yeah, tough guys, scary people. But if you ask Scip - man, he loves it in the Airborne. The 42nd's a Sith-Imperial pride. Kark Vexen and his mindless, expendable droids. You want a job done, get Vexen. You want a well done job - get the 42nd Airborne. But that's locker room talk, locker room shade throwing. Everybody in the Armada does it. If ya don't compete, you never progress. That's why planned economy don't work is what native 'rn tchiss would say about that. You gotta compete to get better.

Miss me with that five year plan.

Anyways, with an electrified club in hand Scipio stood watching the helmeted gaze of the Mandalorian. He'd been told the club he held was an ancient, highly respected Mandalorian weapon known as the "Ooga Booga" namsake given due to the ancient beskar clad warrior's battle chant of the same...name.

The lieutenant with a magnificent moustache stood and awaited the signal by the Sith Emperor himself.


[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Koda Fett"] [member="Ao Xian"] [member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Elani Zambrano]

Round One
Opponent: [member="Vaylin"]
Equipment: Grappling boa, Talisman of Transformation

Elani had found herself in one of the rare occasions where she has chosen to take part in a public spectacle. She couldn't quite remember why she agreed to participating in the tournament, especially with the cheering of the immense crowd bellowing through the stadium. All the noise messed with Elani's focus. She was so used to the quiet of her library that all of this was too chaotic for her. She tried to channel it all out as she did when she faced the 5th Archdaemon of Glishtorshk, but this was too different from that situation for it to work.

And then, Elani remembered.

She remembered why she had took time out of her studies to sign up for the tournament. She remembered why she decided to breach her comfort zone and come out in the open, in the light. The weakened, malnourished Jedi of her dungeon were too easy prey. She needed someone on the move, someone who would make the hunt even more worth it. Someone who would actually fight back. It's never the destination, it's the journey.

Elani looked on at her opponent across the arena as she called out to the crowd, gaining their favor. Elani stood quiet, speaking only in her head to the trapped spirit that lies within. His guidance is all that quieted down the crowd for her. She could somewhat focus on what was ahead now. She checked her grappling boa wrapped around her torso and secured her ring on her hand. She had all she needed and more. She was confident despite not participating in open combat in what felt like decades, however she had plenty of times to hone her skills deep within the halls of the Dark Force Temple.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

Elani weaved an invisible sigil in the air in front of her. Her lips moved but no words escaped, just light breaths. As she went on, the sky grew dark yet no clouds were above. It's almost as if the sun was being strangled and it's light dissipated. Shadows filled the skies above, turning the daylight into a foul darkness. One would find it hard to see 10 feet in front of them unless they had some way of combating that. Elani would need time to think of a plan for the zabrak's demise and this would surely buy her some time.

"Guide me, Durrei."

 

[Lemon]

BASTION

---

---

ARENA, THE CAPITAL

If one thing could be for certain it was that Scipio did have a magnificent​ mustache.

The crowds roared with their approval as the duel began and it's would-be gladiators made their moves. It'd been some time since Fett had been within an arena, fighting for a prize. Whether it be credits, reputation, or something relating to one of the bounties he's secured across the entirety of the known galaxy. This one, though? Credits is what brought him here originally, being a man the people want to see, of course. It was the end prize, however, he sought most. Surely it was going to be worth everything he faced today.

Typically, Koda was a ranged combatant, but that didn't go to say he wasn't competent up close and personal. Yet it put a spanner in the works that he called 'strategy'. It went probe defenses, judge opponent, disarm, and then engage with everything you had. Makes it different when you're armed with an electrostaff and you're opponent has the almighty ooga booga.

Fett waded forwards with both hands wrapped tightly around the electrostaff. Assuming Scipio had done the same, the Mandalorian began circling, or attempting too. He was never one to attack first when there was something to learn, and Fett was awfully competitive- he certainly wasn't planning on losing this bout, or any of them for that matter.

---

---

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

 

[Orion Darkstar]

[member="Jantar Keltainen"]

[SIZE=11pt]War's Edge[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.5pt]x1 Sith Lightsaber | x1 Valis Worship Lightsaber (White, No special features.)[/SIZE]

​

​

The sound of the wind crawled between the slits of his ears. The sack that was once on his head withdrew, as it was pulled violently upwards. The servant bowed to the crowd and ran off into the distance. The stinging pain of light touched his eyes with the sun beating down on him. Orion lowered his head, his lush, green irises looking to the ground. The tiny mix of dirt and sand reminded him of an older fight. It seemed that the only odd element to the ground was the ever curious chain latched to his ankle. Following the grey metal to the other end, Orion smiled. ​

​

His pale face was that of youth, his long black hair stretching to his shoulders. It was odd to see the young acolyte without his mask. Instead, he stood at six feet tall, completely identified. The only clear weapons that were truly unique, rested along his back. It was a two handed sword, that over time, Orion had learned to wield one handed. His training over the course of only a few months had garnered such results. The hilt diagonally tilted past Orion's left shoulder, a gleaming red jewel greeted by the over baring sun. The only other thing that remained to be seen were the two lightsaber hilts at his sides. Strapped to the long sleeved shirt, was a small cloak to keep them hidden. ​

​

He observed the woman latched to the other end of the chain. He anxiously awaited her reveal. Just as he expected, another servant checked the chains as they approached. The heavy weight tugged on his right ankle as the servant carefully inspected the woman's clasp. With haste, the servant removed the sack hiding Orion's opponent from him. Just as the sack was tossed to the way side, a streak of scarlet threads whisked into the air. Her hair reminded him of a swaying flame, but her youth was what surprised him more. She couldn't have been older than that of a teenage girl. Amused, Orion continued to ascertain the situation. Even through all the hollering, cheering and ruthless taunting. Orion's most valuable piece of information came from her eyes. The amber glint that kissed the morning sun, stared back at him. Her eyes weren't filled with corruption, rather a natural innocence. ​

​

He wasn't naive though, she was clearly here for her own reasons. After all, wasn't every sith? ​

​

He stepped forward, his delicate hands slowly moving through the air. Orion looked at her thin and skinny frame, locking onto her only visible weapon at her hip. One other thing was captured in that moment, she was slightly taller. His smile turned into an emotionless state. The churning gears of his mind beginning to strategize. They were stuck with one another, forced to fight at a close range. A range of six and a half feet max. It would be difficult not to kill one another under such tedious circumstances. He wiggled his right leg, the chain following in sequence as it rattled to the other end. ​

​

"Shall we?"​

​

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

 

[Darth Imperia]

The flurry of sand and sithspawn was met by a gentle telekinetic push, easily confused with a gust of wind in any other circumstance, that cleared away the dust and slowed the flying corpse so that it simply bumped into the Knight’s shin. More pressing than that – admittedly annoying – distraction was the fact that there was now a very large, very angry woman running towards Imperia with a big metal stick.

The young Knight stopped flitting about as Joycelyn approached. Her stance grew calmer, more solid, even as her face continued to display one hundred different emotions at once. And when her foe brought her weapon up to strike down upon Imperia’s head, she didn’t back up or leap away.

Instead, she brought her lightsaber up from beside her right leg – she’d been swirling it around above the sand to discourage the Sithspawn from getting too close – to intercept the haft of Joycelyn’s weapon. Then, only in that split second of resistance, where she felt her foe’s strength and weight for herself, did she move.

Darth Imperia stepped towards her foe, sliding her lightsaber down the weapon’s haft and towards Joyce’s fingers as she moved.

--

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

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Spoiler

​https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUCs8llDang

Opponent: [member="Orion Darkstar"]

Gear: Standard Sith robes, borrowed saber (yellow blade)

Jantar did not expend any energy as she waited — other than the restless energy from fidgeting and cussing whilst she waited for the hood to be removed and the fight to start.

Whereas she had no expectations of a win — she would hardly throw the fight, her ego would not allow it…and the arena was almost too small to fit it in.

She became aware of tension in the chain and assumed it was caused by the other participant, but remained as impassive as Jantar could. She would expend no Force energy until she had to.

Finally the hood was removed. She scowled at the poor sap assigned the task and aimed a half-hearted kick at them. She wasn’t behaving like a petulant child — she was a petulant child.

Finally, as if it were the last thing on her mind, she faced her opponent. He was a pale-faced youth who needed to do something with his hair. He came equipped with not one but three weapons. Boys and their toys!

She suppressed a smile. Up close was not her preferred choice, but the size of that sword? In her opinion he’d need to be further away than the two metres between them to wield it effectively. It would require kinetic energy to use effectively she surmised and this close? Good luck.

Not that he needed any. Bare handed he could probably take her out.

She sighed audibly, as if she would rather be somewhere else but was stuck here with him. He wiggled the chain and then spoke.

“Shall we what?” she replied. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. And as she waited for his response, she cast her mind back to Vjun — and the moment her master told her she could not teach her Sith magic. And then to the moment her master had slammed her face first into the marble tiles. She felt that fear again. She tasted it as surely as the metallic tang of blood that had bloomed on her lips.

It was a terrifying feeling and yet at once glorious. Jantar never felt more alive than when she was in fear for her life. It energised her like no other emotion.

 

[Orion Darkstar]

[member="Jantar Keltainen"]

War's Edge
[SIZE=10.5pt]x1 Sith Lightsaber | x1 Valis Worship Lightsaber (White, No special features.)[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.5pt]

[/SIZE]​

​

​

Orion stopped to look out into the crowd. The spitting vermin were clearly here to see savagery and results. He didn't care for any of them, in fact, he hated them. They were all weak, impudent, and carelessly cheering for bloodshed. For what? Entertainment? No, they wanted to see the sands below painted with a vile red. To live through the acts the couldn't commit. Truly. it saddened him. Such a waste of intellect belching out ravenous commands. Eventually they would both have to fight. Shifting his attention back to Jantar he stared. ​

​

“Shall we what?”​

​

Orion could feel the stubborn tone like a needle digging into his pride. She was a child, even her simple mannerism looking off into the distance annoyed him. She was a simple creature, but not as dumb as she played. Orion could sense the force in her, she was a capable practitioner for sure. He wouldn't answer with words. Actions would spell out his answer. He leaned forward, slightly as his right arm fell to his side. He pushed the black strands of his hair out of the way and darted forward. The slack from the chain curled inward around the sand. Like a snake it shifted tiny specks of dirt upward as he closed the distance. ​

​

Withdrawing from the inner right hip, a steel hilt glistened in his hand. He counted the seconds in his head till he would activate it. The constant evaluation of her movements carefully being watched. The saber sparked to life, a vibrant crimson erupting from the base of the hilt and easing its way toward her mid section. He came to a full stop and followed through. The sound of the humming blade forced the crowd to explode with excitement. Orion's demeanor remained emotionless, his calm movements like water. ​

​

Let's see what you're made of little red...​

​

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

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hAx6mYeC6pY

Opponent: [member="Orion Darkstar"]

Gear: Standard Sith robes, borrowed saber (yellow blade)

Jantar considered her opponent. He was looking into the distance and, following his gaze, she realised they were being watched by a baying horde. This put a different complexion on things. Jantar loved to play to the gallery and losing seemed a significantly less attractive proposition than it ever did. Facing defeat in some stuffy and dusty training room, or even a deserted courtyard was one thing. Losing face in front of a crowd was something else again.

Jantar was no blade master. Nor was she necessarily strong with the Force — given she was still a Padawan. But she had one relative strength when it came to duelling — her command of the third Form. She may not be able to use her speed or footwork under the circumstances, but she could fall into a moving meditation and rely on the Force to perceive the potential attacks and the necessary movements to deflect and parry her opponent’s attacks.

Which would allow her to focus on his patterns and preferences. Everyone had them, it was just spotting them that was the trick. But Soresu allowed Jantar to give this her focus and, as long as she didn’t die before she spotted a flaw, she had a chance.

She also hoped she was grating on her opponent. It wasn’t precisely Dun Möch, but her own variant. She wasn’t going to sew seeds of doubt, but rather antagonise and irritate until her opponent grew rash or frustrated. This she could then capitalise on.

The Force warned her just in time. Her saber leaped from her belt and into her palm with a thud, followed by a snap-hiss. Whoever she was fighting, his master would either be displeased at the opening manoeuvre or applauding such a bold move.

For to aim for the mid-section was the riskiest attack of all — and was usually reserved for a time when you’d sized your opponent up.

Jantar remembered her master’s words on the subject. ‘A stab to the stomach is an extremely dangerous move. It is easy to parry and opens you immediately up to a counter, with your blade now moving away from the action zone.’

So Jantar performed the textbook riposte — parrying and not blocking the attack and the moment her opponent’s blade was moving away from their bodies, she quickly stabbed at his knee, ensuring her blade remained on the same side of their bodies as his was — to allow her to be in a good position to block his next move.

This was proving to be more fun than she anticipated.

 

[Orion Darkstar]

[member="Jantar Keltainen"]

[SIZE=11pt]War's Edge[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.5pt]x1 Sith Lightsaber | x1 Valis Worship Lightsaber (White, No special features.)[/SIZE]

​

It was the first thing he considered as the streaming red velvet aimed for her stomach. Like her, he too was taught of the dangers in lightsaber combat. Each area of the body was broken into zones, each zone pertaining to movement, arcs, and where to strike the opposing user. It was all attuned to his own fighting style. Juyo was the form he had been trained in. Its chaotic and furious movements made it risky for untrained users. On the other half of that end, Form VII was highly unpredictable and the advantages he could gain were terrifying. ​

​

He watched as his blade was easily tucked to the side. Perfect. Her blade went for his knees. The sweltering heat from the tip almost caught him before he kicked his right foot forward. The heavy chain rose to air just in time to meet the yellow blade. Sparks illuminated as it singed the edges of the chain. He retracted his blade to his center and followed her blade with his own. Her defensive tactics wouldn't delay the inevitable. Orion knew it would take time and patience to get through. All he needed was for her to mess up. He wasn't perfect in the arts of saber combat either, but he was well trained in the mind. ​

​

A strong mind in the heat of battle was the real tool of destruction. He counted again, considering his next attack pattern. He held his blade firmly in his left hand, careful not to fall prey to another counter. He looked into her honey-tinted eyes. Subliminally his blade shifted sideways, a quick stroke towards her left shoulder garnered speed. But as it slid through the air, the saber deactivated. Orion flipped the steel hilt fast and reactivated the blade as it aimed for her right arm. The tip of his saber pointed downward, hoping to cause a disarm. His body curled outward to create a tiny gap of space between them, awaiting her response in movement. ​

​

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

 

[Progflaw99]

Subject: Sokar Azad | Round I
Affiliation: The Golden Company, Stellar Centurion​

Opponent: [member="Dok Varuut "]| (Note: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"])​

Weapons: Light Whip Hybrid | Force Pike | Light Shield/Buckler​

​

No helm adorned Sokar's crown this day, instead the light from above reflected vibrantly against his shorn scalp. Golden ribbons of paint stretched across his features, thick lines forming warpaint across the Centurion's drawn features. Eyes closed he stepped further into the arena occupied by his opponent, face raised as a wide grin formed. He could feel it here, now - the call of battle tugging on the strings of his soul, the energy and noise of the crowd drowned out by the drums of war beating within the man's own mind.

Praise the Sun.​

Oh, Praise the Sun.​

What once was ended​

Again begun.​

With stone in fist and sword in hand​

Once more into this nightmare land.​

A foe you feared is now a fool,​

Your blade is quick, your temper cool.​

With ease, you take his head away.​

His soul is yours again today.​

~To a Dark Soul (X)​

​

The words silently mouthed upon the Sun Guard's lips as he slowly opened his eyes, gaze descending to rest upon his foe. Slowly his fingers flexed, then relaxed, grip upon the pike in his hand firm but gentle. Upon his gilded belt hung his other weapon, the coiled length of a neuronic whip resting against his bare thigh. Obsidian flesh accented the deep gold of his adornments, though they provided little in the way of protection - little more than baubles meant to catch and hold the eye of the crowd. Here he was familiar, from the pits of Thrysia and onward had the man been forged - the call of battle in his very blood. As Sokar's expression returned towards indifference, he raised the pike above his head, spinning partially to his left, then his right. The crowd desired blood, and blood they would receive. Blood in the sand.

More words echoed in the calm, words of a mentor long lost. *Does the Nexu stretch before the hunt, does a vornskyr warm up before it strikes? Bask in the moment, do your body will do what you tell it to - and more.* Likewise, Sokar had no routine, no stretching which he practiced, only a single ritual which he practiced out of habit. He took a knee, hand momentarily resting the length of the pike against the ground, sand grasped in his empty fist. The dust and dirt of the arena found itself pressed between his hands, his fingers - and then the weapon was returned.

A shrill tone, followed by the holoprojection of the Emperor himself flashing, fist raised. And so it would begin.

With a vibrant hum, the shield emitter upon his gauntlet snapped to life, energy cackling. The haft of the pike found itself gripped firmly, Sokar's body surging forward as his feet displaced sand into air. Blood rushed, heart beating in his ears as the sound of air entering and exiting his lungs also consumed him. Rapidly he sought to close the distance between the two, his foe squarely in his sights. The muscled titan glimmered in the light, gold and obsidian melding together in a balance between art and sheer power. As the distance closed even further still an energy began building deep within the Centurion's chest, immeasurable rage once held in check by discipline now bubbling to the surface and forced to bend to his will. The neutral expression which had graced his features only moments before was now gone, in its place one of malevolence and violence.

 

[Dok Varuut]

Round - 1
Opponent - [member="Sokar Azad"]
Judges - [member="Ao Xian"] [member="Darth Carnifex"]
Gear - 2x Curved Handle Lightsabers

_______________________________



Dok had a excited grin on his face, though his eyes remained as cold and focused as ever. Time seemed to slow for a moment as the match was signaled to start, and with that, his opponent was off. Both his opponents weapons had reach, and he doubted his foe would be so naive as not to have a plan for if Dok got inside their reach. What interested him more was the shield his opponent bore, it would be interesting to see just how well his opponent could leverage that to his advantage. He let his opponent close the distance by half before Dok himself took motion. No need to use the force yet, Dok had always been fast, and agile, something common to Umbarans. He would use his speed to his advantage, and as his lightsabers ignited, crimson blades shining hungry in the sun, he started running to one side of his opponent, trying to keep the current distance while circling around on the side that bore the shield. Reach didn't matter much if one couldn't angle the weapon to hit his opponent, though it would be relatively easy for his opponent to correct this, Dok wanted to get an idea of how is opponent thought, how quickly he adapted to new situations.

A charge, such as what his opponent was trying, was perfect for a pole weapon such the pike his opponent was using, and so it made perfect sense for him to try and close the distance as quickly as possible. Dok meanwhile wanted to take some time to learn of his opponent before their blades clashed, sand was kicked up behind him as he moved, the tops of his lightsabers brushing the sand at regular intervals. There was nothing worse than attacking an opponent you knew nothing about, and Dok didn't specialize in psychological attacks the way most Sith did, so instead he would wait and see what his opponent would do next, but he was not going to let his moment end. He kept his eyes locked on his opponent at all times, losing an opponent in the confusion of a fight would be disastrous.

"The two of us have taken the first step​

into that great dance the we accept​

we will match blade to blade​

heart to heart ​

muscle to muscle​

and wit to wit​

in this crimson rend of blood​

a crescendo awaits where one will fall​

and one will rise."​

 

[Ignatius]

There comes a time where everyone must face another opponent in battle. Sometimes, this foe is unknown, or well known. In this case, I knew nothing of my opponent. While everyone else seemed to be gearing up with only weapons and maybe a shield or two, I had been told for this one fight only, that I could use armor. I was confused for a moment. Everyone else was wearing just robes, or general clothing. Yet, I was given the chance to wear something that could protect me. For that, I felt lucky, yet at the same time, insulted.

Shrugging my shoulders, I reached for a couple things. Firstly, my gauntlets. Attaching them and lacing the straps. The blackened metal had a dull clanging as I clenched my fist. The spikes protruding from the gauntlet were aligned just right to allow any punch that I delivered, and connected to cause more damage. Making sure to grab my mask, it completed the look I had of my armored robes. They weren't much in the way of armor. While they were energy resistant for the most part, it was just about anything else that these robes were not to great at protecting. However, I made them for the specific use of fighting hand to hand. Luckily, this fight was just such. Only melee weapons.

Reaching over to the table, I looped the belt around myself that held my sword, Oathkeeper, and a second sheath that would be wrapped to the small of my back. Handle sticking out just a tad out from my left side. However, what I really enjoyed being able to bring onto the field was my Claymore. I carried this weapon out. Holding onto the blade with my bare hand as I walked out onto the field between myself and someone else.

Looking across the distance, I waited for my foe. My challenge.

[member="Cairyn Midore"],

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4yAkkpbm_8E

Opponent: [member="Orion Darkstar"]

Gear: Standard Sith robes, borrowed saber (yellow blade)


The strength of Soresu was it provided an impenetrable defence if you trusted in the Force. The downside of Soresu is that 90% was not enough. Not 95% or 99% or even 99.9%. You had to trust it 100%.

For even a 0.1% of doubt meant you’d override it when it decided to ignore a feint.

Jantar found she was most effective when she was overwhelmed. At that point, her mind was too busy to keep up with the duel, and the Force took over the routine of parries and deflections. She wondered if this would prove to be an inverse bell-curve. Effective when incompetent and effective when a master of the Form — with a big dip in the middle, when her performance generally picked up.

Which translated into clumsy movements early in a spar, when both sides tested each other out. When in a flow, she could relax, but right now, her concentration on her opponent’s blade negated the whole point of the third Form.

So she ignored the warning his attack was a feint and swung her blade back to parry, only to find thin air meeting her saber. By the time she’d realised the ruse, it was too late — her saber was on the floor.

His blade had caught her forearm and the wound it created had temporarily numbed the senses in her hand, forcing her to drop her weapon.

“KARK IT,” she shouted. “NOW I’M FRIZZLED.”

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Opponent: [member="Vilaz Munin"] | Karkin' Kath 'Ounds
Equipment: First Order FO-XD Prototype Armour [White Variant] [X] | Z-6 Riot Baton [X]

Rexus Wenck entered the arena, attired in the technological marvel, despite the sonic dampners within his helm, the crowds roar, was palpable. Blood rushed through his veins, as he heard the adulation, and the raw lust for blood. Stepping out from the shadows, the trooper, lifted both arms, and began to gesture towards himself, egging them on. This was his type of crowd, and these, his type of people. Punters, on lookers, and those who simply wanted to watch a bit of carnage. The class of individual, whom Rexus found himself in a sense of camaraderie with. Whom, he, for the longest time stood apart of, back on Dosuun, and in the murky pre-Sieger streets. Rexus instinctively beat his chest, and let out a primal roar from the bottom of his lungs. The crowd reciprocated in kind.

But now, he was a challenger. A foreigner in a strange land. Although now a special forces operative, held in the highest regard by his superiors, Wenck had come to Bastion officially as a freelancer. But under the cover of the FOSB. He was no longer an ALPHA. No longer a Death Trooper. No. Loudmouth, chainsmoker, alcoholic womaniser Rexus Arnulph Wenck, had become Heinz Groll Croft. A stormtrooper, and private from Victoria, Dosuun. It was, according to the FOSB, going to be a masterpiece of political theatre. A show that, even the best the Sith Empire could conjure, could not dent, or deter the everyday fighting man of the First Order. Well that was the plan.

All he had to do was win first to prove the point. But of course, for a man who they'd pumped so much money and resources into, victory was essentially assured? Was it not? Rexus' mind didn't ponder such questions trudged to his end of the arena. His mind was filled with nought but a hunger for the hunt. From what he had ascertained and heard, he was about to take on a Mandolorian. A legendary one at that. The name Munin meant something in nearly all parts of the Galaxy. Although reputations didn't concern Rexus. Blood and victory did.

When he reached his starting position, he stood still. And in a neutral, albeit battle ready position. His hands to his side. His genetically enhanced body, ready to spring into action.