Boost THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH - RUMBLE ON RUUSAN

[Mauve]

In the heart of the Valley of Jedi on Ruusan, one of the Jedi's most sacred locations, the Black Sun Syndicate (operating under the guise of various shell corporations) built an enormous sports stadium. Right smack dab on top of the Force Nexus itself.

Sure, they may have needed to "remove" a few statues to a museum on Nar Shaddaa for "preservation of history" to finish construction, but you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs.

Speaking of breaking eggs, the galactic death tournament that introduced the stadium to the galaxy started today. In a matter of moments.

Mauve adjusted her necklace and peered out at the crowd from her skybox seats with the other panelists. The crowd was a bloodthirsty bunch. Some people paid a premium to be right near the action. That seemed profoundly foolish given the deadly nature of this sport, which happened to be one of the most ridiculous things Mauve had ever heard.

A martial death tournament where contestants dueled each other to prove who was the mightiest warrior in the galaxy? Absurd. Still… she could not deny the revenue stream it generated.

Below the skybox, stadium spotlights swirled and music blared. Enormous screens covered the upper portion of the stadium so that no matter how far away you were from the action ont he arena floor you just had to look up to see it live and in 12k. Above them all, the night sky of Ruusan was cloudless and still. But for the spotlights, they might have seen the stars. A pedestal rose from the center of the arena, with the announcer standing atop it.

The announcer wore splendid robes of a deep, rich red hemmed in gold, with a helmet sporting enormous horns, and carrying a staff that apparently doubled as a microphone, for his voice boomed forth from it.

"DENIZENS OF THE GALAXY, GOOOOOOOD EVENIIING!" roared the announcer into his staff-a-phone.

The crowd went still. Somebody in the skybox muttered. Mauve squinted. She could have sworn that the announcer looked exactly like some ancient sculptures of Marka Ragnos. Oh right, they had mentioned a "special surprise" human replica droid. This must be what they were talking about.

"THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR IS HERE. THE FIRST. ANNUAL. GALACTIC. KAAAAAGGAAAAAAATH!"

Ludicrous cheering.

A besalisk on the fancam ripped his shirt off and waved it overhead in one of his four hands.

"HERE ARE YOUR CHAMPIONS!"

Images flashed onto the holoscreens of the various champions, statistics about their height, weight, and abilities scrawling next to them.

Mauve raised her eyebrows. Quite a group. If not quite comparable to those she sat beside. She had a feeling the Manda'lor and both former and current Sith Emperors had reasons they chose not to personally compete, which had nothing to do with their ability to win.

"THAT'S RIGHT, SO MANY MAY ENTER. BUT ONLY ONE CAN BE CROWNED AS YOUR SUPREME GALACTIC KAGGATH CHAMPION AND THE WINNER OF ONE MILLION CREDITS!"

Thunderous roars from the crowd.

"BUT FEAR NOT, YOUR FAVORITE HAS OTHER WAYS TO ACHIEVE GLORY AND SPLENDOR."

"IF YOUR CHAMPION PERISHES, FIRST TO FALL, THE GRACIOUS ITHORIAN LEAGUE HAS PROMISED ONE MILLION CREDITS-" minus a 5% service fee, thought Mauve, "FOR THEIR FAMILY. A BIG THANK YOU TO THE ITHORIAN LEAGUE, AS WELL AS ALL OF OUR OTHER CORPORATE SPONSORS."

Corporate names scrolled across the holoscreens.

Aurora Industries

Galactic Illusionary Gaming

Heartbeat House

Primo Victorian Enterprises

Mew Noods Carts

The Bespin Gas Company

"BRACKETS WILL BE RELEASING SOON!"

The not-Ragnos announcer and his pedestal vanished in a sudden explosion of red fireworks.

Mauve turned to the panelists as holocameras focused in on their table.

"Welcome to an exciting night as we await the first round of the kaggath," Mauve said, "Tonight we have special guests joining me as analysts for the fights. Ashin Varanin, Captain Extraordinaire; Aether Verd, the Mandalor himself! The indomitable Gat Tambor; Darth Empyrean, Emperor of the Sith; And Darth Kentarch, Sith Lord. Thank you all for being here tonight. As we look forward to these bouts, what predictions do you have for the viewers? Any top contenders in the field?"

 

[Jobbi Chantin]

Pet (hair): Fuzzy (Sha'rellian toop)

The noise was endless.

It rolled over her like a tide of static and teeth—cheering, screaming, chanting names she didn’t know. Voices rose in a dozen languages, rattling through her chest. Bright lights panned overhead, stinging her eyes. Holocameras buzzed. Vendor carts smoked.

Ruusan's arena felt less like a battlefield and more like a celebration of chaos.

Jobbi held Fuzzy atop her head a little tighter as she shuffled through the press of beings. Her fingers were trembling. She wasn’t built for this—crowds, blinding lights, heat, and sudden touches from strangers who didn’t look before bumping into her. Her skin itched where her robes stuck to her back.

She'd been to Jedi events, Ceremonies, Peace talks. Even a battlefield once.

But this… this was different.

This was a gladiator pit dressed like a festival. And somewhere in the depths of it, behind roaring walls of sound and hundreds of lives pressing inward, was her father.

She hadn’t believed it at first. Couldn’t.

Whottoomuzz Chantin was dead. Or gone. Or lost. That’s what the Jedi told her. What the HoloNet told her. What she remembered every night when she tried to sleep.

Then came the announcement of the "Kaggath", and she’d felt it—that cold snap in the Force like a thunderclap in her chest, followed by warmth and rage and fire. And then the name. His name. In a tournament registry.

So she snuck out. Paid her way from Tython to Ruusan with a fistful of credits. Now she was here. Shouting over the crowd to the fourth security droid that she needed to speak to a competitor. No, it wasn’t a prank. Yes, he was her dad.

"Please—I'm not just here to watch—I have to see him!"

"Peedunkee boska. Mi doth!"

But the droid only twitched and buzzed a standard denial.

She turned away before she cried in front of it. She was just about to give up and sneak toward a side entrance when she saw something ahead—familiar posture, familiar hair. Dark, slicked back. The kind of silhouette she’d only ever seen lounging smugly in silken robes or pacing furious between datapads.
Xoff.
Also alive.

Her heart nearly stopped.
She didn’t think. She just shouted:

"Xoff! Xoff, kutu!"

​

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

Mauve turned to the panelists as holocameras focused in on their table.

which was a genuine Sith antique, large and curved enough that no commentator was within shikkar range or outside each other's peripheral vision. Ashin wore black armourweave robes and her own face, pale and sharp with graying dark hair and an old Sith's orange-tainted eyes. Her chyron said CAPTAIN ASHIN VARANIN.

"If I were wagering," she said, "my money would back Mercy , who was easily my third most irritating apprentice. Her stubbornness will be an asset. She is unlikely to disgrace me. But these contestants are diverse, some even disciplined. I look forward to seeing who handles the name kaggath with the seriousness it deserves."

She scanned her fellow commentators — Gat Tambor , Darth Empyrean , Darth Kentarch , Aether Verd — all men who'd seen their share of the same old song and dance. She sat in the middle seat, naturally.

"I'm certain I am not the only one of us who'd like to be surprised by who survives."

 

[Xoff Chantin]

Xoff Chantin — In a furious Mood

"If you hadn't faked your death I'd kill you myself!"

Outfit: Something Nice

The voice cut through the crowd like perfume in a smokehouse.

"Xoff! Xoff, wait—!"

He froze. Chest tight. Knees weak. For one second he thought he’d imagined it — a memory twisted into a hallucination from the heat and the pressure and the pulsing, stinking crowd around him. But then he turned, and there she was.

Jobbi. Alive. Still round-faced and awkward, still unpolished and stained and so very Chantin. Her top—Fuzzy— was half-wrecked by static, poor Fuzzy crushed against her hand like a sobbing hat.

He ran to her.

He dropped to one knee — not out of decorum but desperation — and caught her in both arms. Her weight slammed into him like a moment he’d tried to forget for months, like blood rushing back into a limb he’d thought was dead. Alternatively, like the 600 pound adolescent gastropod she was.

"You’re here," he whispered, voice shaking in a way he'd normally never permit it to. “You’re actually here.”

He hugged her tighter. Her scent was sweat and sour milk and a hint of old sweetfruit from a broken snack in her pocket. It was home.

“I thought you were still with the Jedi—I thought I’d never—”

He stopped himself before the tremble could break. The corner of his eye was burning.

“I’m sorry, Jobbi. I should never have let them take me away. I shouldn't have left you on Zeltros.”

But he had left her. He’d been in a brig, because a Jedi had been murdered and his head mailed to the temple on Coruscant. they needed someone pretty to hold until the press moved on, until the crew who took the job could be traced.

For weeks, he’d waited for a trial date. For word. For help.

None came.

When they finally let him go, Nal Hutta was changed. The Black Sun had taken everything. All his Cartel contacts whispered of Whottoomuzz’s death with that particularly poisonous mixture of pity and opportunity.

And so Xoff had collapsed his social scaffolding like a dying star, pouring the last of his favors into a desperate search. He expected only ash.

But then came the name on the roster. Whottoomuzz Chantin. Alive. Participating in a Death Tournament.

Now Jobbi was here too, and those droids were still—still!—blocking access to his spouse.

He stood. Turned. Smiled politely at the security unit beside them.

And then, in one swift motion, he slipped his glove over two fingers, tapped the activation stud, and pressed it gently against the droid’s central port. There was a puff of feedback, a hiccup of static, and the thing slumped like a toy run out of charge.

He patted its frame.

“Sweet dreams, darling. Do keep out of adult business.”

He gripped Jobbi’s hand and moved with purpose. She followed without protest, eyes wide, breathing fast. He didn’t blame her. His heels clicked like weapons down the back halls. Every light was too bright. Every door felt too thin. His emotions prickled in his teeth.

And then they reached it.

The room was dim. Reeked of oil and blood and the sour-sweet scent of battlefield sweat. And there—there in the center of it, like a mountain half-forged from Phrik and electrum—was Whottoomuzz.

His armor was filthy. Caked in dried mud and char, crusted with something brown that had once been red. The voidstone at its center still reflected light faintly, like a heart that hadn’t stopped beating even in silence.

And the Hutt beneath it… he felt older. Meaner. Bitter.

Xoff stopped in his tracks. His throat closed. A hundred screaming emotions fought their way up at once.

And then Jobbi let go of his hand.

She ran forward and threw herself into Whottoomuzz’s belly—and for the first time since he heard the news he was so very glad was false, Xoff cried.

He followed Jobbi's lead. Arms oustretched. Dignity be damned.

They embraced him together—father, daughter, and furious, furious consort.

The warlord, the heir, and the one who refused to be left alone any longer.

Jobbi Chantin Whottoomuzz Chantin​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

"I am sorry I was not the Kajidii nor the parent you needed. I will be seen. One last time."

"Mi chocha, uba doth boka mi."

The Hutt did not flinch when they embraced him.

He did not coil or collapse, nor croon sweet words in return. He simply remained—unmoving, unyielding—like stone made flesh. The massive frame of Shyran Dol creaked faintly as arms pressed into ancient alloy and dried blood. The voidstone hummed, as if whispering an inevitable truth none of them wanted to hear.

And then, after a long silence, Whottoomuzz shifted. His head bowed just enough to rest a massive palm upon Jobbi’s back, then Xoff’s shoulder. No words yet. Just a breath—slow, deep, trembling from somewhere in the pit of his scarred, colossal core.

“You deserve to know,” he rumbled, voice like a landslide.

“I did not die. I fled. Nal Hutta was not safe to remain. And Xoff... you were in chains.”

His eyes—if one could call them that—glinted faintly in the half-light.

“I begged them to release you. I bartered everything I had left that didn’t end in blood. When the Grand Council's reply was nothing, I knew the Kajidic would not survive.”

Mud still flaked from the bottom rim of his armor. Dried ichor stained the joints. There were dents no tools could repair. He looked like a monument toppled by its own people, then stitched back together by war.

“I wandered. Petitioned sanctuary from those who would spit at our name on Ord Mantell. When I found the Mandalorians I fought beside them. I drank beside them. They did not judge who I was. They only judged what I could do.”

His eyes lowered to Jobbi.

“You are still young, my daughter. There are centuries ahead of you yet. You will finish your studies. You will find your own strength. And if I die here... you will write our name upon the stars, or not at all. You are free to become more than I ever was.”

His gaze slid to Xoff—softer now, though no less heavy.

“And you—dearest Xoff. Partner. Pride of my bloodless heart... you must be happy. Whatever that means. You owe nothing to anyone who did not wait for you. Spend the credits. Burn the vaults. Build a vineyard. Seduce the Chancellor.”

A long exhale. A shudder through steel.

“I wanted to give you more. Gold. Ships. Names carved on the moon. But I failed. I wish I could leave more behind.”

He placed both hands down now, one on each shoulder, and leaned in, nothing more than as a parent with their family.

“I am going to compete. Not for glory. Not for the Cartel. Not even for you.”

A pause.

“I do this... for me. For too long I have hidden behind wealth. Behind smiles and schemes. I will be seen. And if I die… the last thing the galaxy will remember is that there are still Hutts worth fearing.”

"Go now. Watch if you must. But remember this: no matter what happens out there..."

"Uba killee um nee tah Jee."

The warlord closed his eyes.

And held them both for one last moment longer.

Whottoomuzz Chantin will return in Round 1​

 

[Arris Windrun]

BESPIN GAS COMPANY LOCKERS

Arris had just wrapped up welding the company logo onto her left biceps. "Looks good enough, yeah?" She said to no one in particular. Maybe just to herself.

The Cyborg then began to tape strange, square packages to the inside of her jacket. They would be her only possessions in the fight, aside from a vibroknife and her cybernetics, of course. She had no idea what a 'kaggath' was, but a paid fight was a paid fight, and she had a sponsorship to boot. This was her first official tournament in a while, and perhaps her best shot at the big time.

She came prepared, too. Upgraded hands with built-in shockmitts. Best in class, or so the dealer said.

Arris wrapped up her business and took a seat on the bench. A holoprojector was planted near the entrance. She looked up and saw the other contestants, one by one, as well as a list of sponsors.

When the Bespin Gas Company's logo came up, she grinned. "If you're not first, you're last!"

Tai Corde | CT-312 | Jacen Breska

 

[Vyn Daldoure]

Vyn had signed up to fight in this Kaggath, this gladiatorial show down for the ages, for one reason. The fight, when he was in Imperial spec-ops things were so simple, they'd point to a Sith and he'd kill them. Yet he hated war in general, too many innocent people got caught up in it. Fighting for the sport of it though? That was something else entirely, and this was a chance to warm up some muscles he hadn't put to use since before the NIO was defunct. He would try to win sure, but if he lost he'd just throw up his hands before having his life taken and whatever equipment was lost he had replacements for or could be rebuilt.

Yet he thrived in this, the only time he seemed to smiled was when his heart was pumping so fast it drowned everything else out, and typically the smile accompanied him hitting someone hard enough they didn't get back up.

He sat on a bench checking the gear he would bring. On the rear of his hip was his J.A.M.R a miniaturized movement system. He was in the middle of slipping an exo-skeleton gauntlet on, plugging its cords into dermal ports on his skin, hitting a switch as the device made a quiet whirring, its screws sinking into metal ports in his skin securing the Equal Handshake to his skeletal structure. He then checked his vibroknife, not the cortosis one he usually used, something that he could just throw away and wouldn't miss.

"That's everything..." He muttered, while he was exited, he also felt naked, usually the Iridonian had a blaster and saber resistant armor to boot. This wasn't a gun show for him it was a fight, and the armor was an Heirloom, so this would do.

Vyn looked to the person next to him Arris Windrun sizing her up then to the board with the other contestants he could see for the moment as he listened to the announcers.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

Location: Mandalorian Empire Lockers
Tags: Aether Verd | Quinn Varanin | Serina Calis CT-312 | Open to some others

Well, this was a rather interesting predicament I had gotten myself into. When I had first signed my name on that line to join a tournament, I only expected a couple names. Something small that would be where I could mostly just test my ability to fight in some kind of arena. However now, it had become something so much more. Names of those who had join I actively knew. Serina and 312 were the ones that came to my mind. It would be interesting to see them and how they operated in such a format of death and slaughter.

Sitting on the bench, I had already gotten dressed in the provided armor I wore. The white Mandalorian Steel was significant to me at least. I had signed a contract with the Writ of Iron quite a bit ago. It was an attempt to connect myself to the Mandalorian Family that had once been leadership that my father had ties to. The Verd Clan. While I would not be adopted into the clan, if only because of my hubris and lack of wanting to be labeled as one, I was the closest I could be with an "honorary member." of the Clans. Gifted the Mandalorian Armor, and even sponsored by them into this tournament, it placed a lot of weight upon my shoulders.

Breathing deeply and focusing myself. Would I have gone back in time to my past self, tell him that all of this work had led to here? Would I have believed myself? I don't think so. But that didn't matter now. I had to make sure I won this tournament. I had to make sure I put all of my effort into it. To get all of this? Honestly, all of the items and winnings didn't matter to me. It was the title of being the very first champion that I wanted. I NEEDED.

Breathing in and out, I held the helmet close to my forehead, and just centered myself. Practicing my breathing techniques.

 

[Jacen Breska]

K A G G A T H ​

WEARING:: Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
EQUIPMENT: DC-902d | Duffle bag of nefarious goodies (Still collecting subs)
LOCATION: :: Ruusan - Arena - Locker Room::
TAG: Arris Windrun | Tai Corde | CT-312 | @Open to whoever

With a dufflebag over his back and his helmet in his hands, Jacen entered the locker rooms and approached his designated locker. There, he saw someone who looked like they wanted to be there, happily sporting the company sponsor they'd acquired. Jacen looked down to his own shoulder, and sighed, "these stickers are never coming off,"

He followed her eyes up to the monitor, and saw the Bespin Gas logo pop up. Jacen winced when she repeated the motto he was contractually obligated to say after every fight, "Oh god," he muttered, putting his equipment in the locker.

Why am I here. Why did I do this.

The thought played in his brain on repeat.

Why am I here. Why did I do this.

Jacen turned and looked at the woman sitting nearby, then raised his eyes to look around the locker room, looking at everyone else in the area.

Alright, he thought, so there wasn't just Force Users in this contest. Maybe they're even Jedi Hunters, maybe they'll take out the pesky Sorcerers before he has to face them. Maybe he's worried for nothing.
Jacen started nodding, feeling the confidence rising inside his chest,

"Yeah, I can beat people. They're just people. I can beat any people. Have you ever met me? I'm me! I'm a big deal." He nodded to himself more, muttering, "It's the freaks I gotta watch out for. Not the people. Even then, I got somethin for them. We're gonna win this so hard for the little guy it's going to be insane."
​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Jacen looked down to his own shoulder, and sighed, "these stickers are never coming off,"

"I know, right?" She replied with nothing but enthusiasm.

Arris was pumped. At least that's the expression she wore just as proudly as their sponsor's logo. Just as shamelessly as she continued to practice their slogan. She tried different tones, different inflections, and at one point used her voice emulator to copy the announcer's voice.

"IF YOU'RE NOT FIRST, YOOOOOU'RE LAST!"

"Yeah, I can beat people. They're just people. I can beat any people. Have you ever met me? I'm me! I'm a big deal." He nodded to himself more, muttering, "It's the freaks I gotta watch out for. Not the people. Even then, I got somethin for them. We're gonna win this so hard for the little guy it's going to be insane."

Her sensitive ears picked up some of the muttering. In the blink of an eye, she was right there, next to him, leaning against an adjacent locker.

"Oooh, man! Do you need something to let off some steam?" She held out two small syringes. One is slightly larger than the other.

"The big one will mellow your nerves, the small one will pep you right back up when you need it."

Jacen Breska

 

[Drystan Creed]

THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH

Currently: In Deep Contemplation​

What was the greatest tool in the galaxy?

Was it fire? Sentient life's first up close encounter with what made the stars.

Was it the wheel? An ancient discovery and revolution of transportation still used millions of years later into the future.

The blade? The blaster? The engine? The hyperdrive? Which of these would be considered the greatest tool in the galaxy?

NONE OF THESE.

In truth, the greatest tool in the galaxy was the hand.

Before the hyperdrive could be assembled, before fire could be tamed, before the first wheel ever turned—a hand reached out.

It was the hand that carved stone and forged metal. The hand that drew stars on cave walls and etched codes into tablets. It was the hand that pulled the trigger, thrusted the blade, wrote the doctrine, and struck the deal. The hand built ships, healed wounds, crushed throats, and reached out in peace. It did not rely on programming or power cells, only the strength and mind of the person wielding it.

Every invention, every weapon, every miracle of science or sin—all began in the grasp of a hand.

Because the hand is not just flesh and bone. It is will, made manifest. The union of thought and action. The tool that shapes the galaxy—or destroys it.

Not fire. Not light. Not steel. The hand. Always the hand.

And if the hand can be said to be the greatest tool in the galaxy—then what is the fist?

Drystan's path of enlightenment had led him to the tournament. He did not seek victory, nor glory, nor fame, nor riches.

He had come seeking the answer to a singular question.

A question asked a million times across the galaxy. A question whispered by fate the day he was born.

What were his hands capable of?
@OPEN

 

[Tilon Quill]

She had no idea what a 'kaggath' was, but a paid fight was a paid fight, and she had a sponsorship to boot. This was her first official tournament in a while, and perhaps her best shot at the big time.

Tilon did know what a kaggath was, now, after rooting through his father's library on Pagodon, and had written and erased four messages to his friend Arris with decreasing levels of franticness on his way here as he realized that this was not actually a kaggath in the classic sense, meaning she wasn't about to die, probably.

He hurried into the spectator areas, much delayed, just in time to see Arris give her sponsorship endorsement. He settled down to cheer her on and to sightsee the Valley of the Jedi, which was certainly quite a place with or without the underworld combat arena tacked on.

 

[CT-312]

//: Jacen Breska Arris Windrun Delsin Shaw Tai Corde | OPEN //:
//: Bespin Gas Company Locker Room - Arena, Ruusan//:​

CT-312 walked the corridor with dufflebags in hand. Each step was as precise as the tension that coiled in her shoulders. She sighed, low and tight. Her mind flickered back to the haze of events that led to all this.

The Trooper Bar. Bumping to TK-710 as well as most of the DeathDrop she was familiar with had been there too. Just a casual reunion. A breather. A chance to laugh loud, drink cheap, and pretend the galaxy wasn’t always trying to kill them. There was too much noise. Too many drinks.

Someone passing out flyers. Something about a tournament. It was ridiculous. They all joked about it. About how a Trooper had no business in anything called a “Kaggath”. Let alone any type of galactic tournament. They were just grunts in a galaxy filled with monsters.

A few of them signed the flyers ironically as a joke. As a bit. A group mockery of the whole idea.

CT-312 remembered clearly how they crumpled them up. They all took turns chucking them into the trash bin near the bar. All of them were supposed to be thrown out. Except… someone missed, that happened to have CT-312’s and TK-710’s serial number written on it. And by fate, some cruel god saw that wad of paper on the ground and decided that was the one.

Now her serial number as well as TK-710 was plastered on the tournament roster. Officially.

She groaned under her breath. CT-312 fought the urge to claw at the sponsorship stickers on her helmet as she passed into the locker room. Eyes briefly scanning the roster projected near the door.

‘Delsin?’ A name caught her attention. Her brow lifted. They’d run a mission together on Taris. Helping out in the medical tents and now… champion of the Mandalorian Empire. That was… unexpected. ‘Good for him.’ CT-312 smirked under her helmet.

Inside, she scanned the room. One unfamiliar face. Loud, animated, and talking circles around TK-710. She could already tell TK-710 was just as thrilled to be here as she was. As CT-312 made her way to an empty locker, tossing her gear inside with a dull thunk. Turning suddenly and kicking the adjacent door with the boot of her heel.

CLANG

A clean dent.

Her body dropped down onto the bench. “Chit.” CT-312 muttered to herself. Helmet on, visor down. The Camo Scout needed a moment. Maybe two. Then she’d figure out what the hell came next.

 

[Lucette]

Lucette stood at the edge of the grand Ruusan plain, the sun sliding low across the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows over the battlefield. She adjusted the fine fabric of her dress, not a gown suited for war, but dignified enough to soften the intensity of this day. Her entourage of aides hovered at a distance, awaiting instruction; today, the tournament realm belonged to her.

To those in Dosuun, she'd gone rogue. Elite society whispered that her obsession with sponsoring two honed, battle-ready troopers in the Galactic Kaggath was utter folly. Nobles regard such gladiatorial spectacles as vulgar, a sport for common thrill-seekers, not for a Fortan-Raaf. Even her grandmother, Taeli, had cast Lucette a markedly skeptical glance over the breakfast table. Lucette simply smirked.

"There's strength in variance, Granny," she'd replied, voice gentle but resolute.

Had she trusted her judgment completely? Of course not. That was the thrill. This was how one seated true faith—or bared one's doubts—through adversity. Besides, it provided a spectacle far more enthralling than polite tournaments or ballroom minuet, and it was high time to test her new creations under pressure. That is, assuming these Troopers failed, then her "creatures" were all prepared for the two of them on Valrar, a hungry hush before the storm.

The day however belonged to the two troopers she'd been hearing about. She'd heard the best things, floating reports of composed leadership, indomitable morale, enough to single them out. The Kaggath crowd would see them, but the real trial was Ruusan itself: once the site where three Sith Lords had driven the Silver Jedi Coalition to ruin decades ago. Lucette planned to meet the troopers before they stepped into the arena. She wanted to see them, ensure they understood the gravity of what they were entering.

As she headed toward the "Bespin Gas Company" Lockers. Lucette straightened her tunic, she was no longer content rule from an ivory tower. She was sponsoring strength. And today, she'd see it close, and unforgettable. She wasn't exactly sure who she would find as she stepped down. "Oh hello," she greeted with a cute smile and a delicate wave, "I am Lucette Fortan-Raaf, I do hope I am in the right area."

CT-312 | Jacen Breska | Delsin Shaw | Tai Corde | Arris Windrun​

 

[Tai Corde]

//: NONE //:
//: Attire //:​

---

"If you're not first, you're last," A toothy grin spread across the Corellian's face as the thickness of her charming accent hung onto every syllable.

A finger gun and a wink from the top of the dark sunglasses, "Bespin Gas."

The small crowd she was speaking to laughed and nodded. They congratulated her on her recent nuptials and asked where the wife was. Tai waved her hand and laughed heartedly with the other corporate sponsor representatives.

"Nah, this kind of thing isn't for her. She's a lovely woman - couldn't ask for anyone better." Tai nodded as she let her gaze drift carefully at the nearby clock. She needed to check a few things and then head into the section she had been designated.

"Okay, fellas, I'll be seein' you later - hope ya fighter does well." A tip of her hat, she quickly excused herself with a quick heel turn. The sound of her decorative spurs clinked down the hard floor as she moved nearly frantically, as her conversation had lasted far longer than she had wanted.

Tai weaved as she smiled and kissed the heads of babies as she passed.

This was harder work than any of her other jobs, but getting the company name out there and solidifying her position as CEO was the most important thing she could do. Bespin Gas had been revamped, and contracts were flying out the window like bantha's taking their first flight. Everything was going according to plan, minus her tardiness.

Ducking into the private room, the Corellian tossed aside her hat onto the table and retrieved the duffle back from underneath. A bow and a tattered leather jacket lay on top of it. Looking at her wrist, she cursed a few specific choice words and ripped off the dark sunglasses, setting them aside in the bowl of the hat.

Hazel's eyes wandered over to the data pad on the table. Names flashed along with the sponsors, and then she saw one name—that had easily taken the top spot for the most sponsored fighter.

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: O P E N //:
//: Attire //:

"What the--" Allyson cursed as she grabbed the datapad and looked at the sponsorships. On top of those who sponsored her, she was named Champion of the Sith Order. Dropping the device, her hands pulled down her face as she groaned, fighting the urge to scream.

Allyson Locke was not the combatant you wanted to sponsor in things like this.

Squatting, her fingers spun the spurs on her heels as she let everything sink in. This had to be a joke; why would all of them sponsor her and then name her Champion when there was a perfectly good Dark Counselor on the combatant list? This also meant her allegiance to the Empire would be even more apparent - was she supposed to announce that she was also the Emperor's apprentice?

She raised her brow. Was that supposed to be a secret? She always figured it was, but it was never explicitly stated.

Allyson had always drowned her life in secret; maybe that was the wrong assumption.

"Hmm," She shrugged and let the thought linger for a few more minutes as she scanned through the other fighters. One kid looked familiar, but she couldn't place him - the rest were names she had heard of but only had data from her line of work.

There was one curiosity: She didn't know of any Alliance fighters or Jedi. "Interesting," there had been a hope that maybe Valery would have decided to fight - but she figured it wasn't worth it with everything she had to lose.

Dropping the data pad again, Allyson removed the rest of her outfit and changed into something a bit more comfortable. Taeli had thrown in some armor for her to decide from, but Allyson hated helmets and anything that was tight-fitting, specifically around her neck. The armor was out, and she was going to trust the old faithful.

Hands brushed against the blood-red stripes that pipped down the side of her pants. Everything felt right, and if she was going to die today, she would go out like herself, not hidden behind some armor. A leather-toed boot tapped as she limbered up and made a few jumps before grabbing the leather jacket. Worn patches showed her former allegiances; the name 'Locke' was patched and stitched over her chest.

Moving to a mirror, she adjusted the leather eyepatch over her eye. While she couldn't entirely remove the cybernetic from her head, she'd only use it if needed. The moment she did, it would be thrown into the prize pot. An annoying feature to all of this, but it was whatever.

Allyson moved out by tying the quiver to her thigh and slinging the bow on her back. She headed towards the area with the other combatants.

Funnily enough, she hoped that no one would recognize her as she passed through the waiting area. Those kinds of encounters were startling.

​

 

[Jacen Breska]

K A G G A T H ​

WEARING:: Jacen’s Second Legion Armor
EQUIPMENT: DC-902d | Other Stuff that's a SURPRISE.
LOCATION: :: Ruusan - Arena ::
TAG: Arris Windrun | Tai Corde | CT-312

The stranger's sudden enthusiasm caused Jacen to jump instinctively, and he turned to see the now significantly closer strange woman leaning on the locker next to his. His bewildered look was replaced almost immediately by a scowl. "What kind of moron do you think I am?" He asked. Jacen didn't expect an answer, nor particularly desired one. He was idiotic enough to be here. Taking drugs from strangers wasn't that much more of a leap.
"I don't need your whatever is in those," he turned away as he finished speaking, waving off the woman's syringes. Jacen returned his attention towards squaring away his locker, keeping it neat and organized.

As he worked, he kept muttering to himself, "...need to be focused, not wired out of my mind. Nothing in me 'cept me," Jacen beat his chest and nodded, "no syringes of whatever the hell, probably made with Hutt Tears or..." he lulled his head back and forth, "like, Lasat blood. Don't need that. All I need is me. Me and my stuff. Good stuff," he turned back towards the stranger, "I don't need your help. Nerves keep you alive, help you stay in control," he waved off her syringes again, "I'm in control. I'm so in control it's amazing. You're in awe, I can tell." He turned back towards her, realizing he'd been talking for a good minute, then exhaled sharply through his mouth, "this is my process leave me alone. I'm fine. Thanks. Thank you." He turned back towards his locker, as he continued his stream of consciousness rant, "don't need help. Not from you, or anyone, except the people who like me enough to buy stuff for me. Not drugs though, weapons 'n' stuff. But I don't need to worry about it. It's fine. It'll be fine. I got this. No one has ever got anything more then I got this. They're gonna cheer. Fireworks are gonna go off. Then they'll be disappointed by how this I got. They're going to say, 'is this what we paid for?' And I'm going to laugh because I won so easily. All fights. Every one," he paused to take a breath, and nodded rapidly, "I got this. Don't need no drugs, no needles. in the realm of this I am King. Then I get to say this damned slogan," he looked down at his shoulder, then sighed looking up at the sky, "god. How'd I get here?"

​