Boost THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH - RUMBLE ON RUUSAN

[Arris Windrun]

The scoundrel awoke completely blind on a table as the pair of medical droids once again operated on her. Her eyes were damaged during the fight with Drystan Creed and needed to be removed.

She was heavily sedated, but could already tell her left arm had been completely removed, much like the right had been after her fight with Vagabond. The cyborg only had the one set of spares, and now could not afford to lose another. The new left arm also came without the built-in shockmitt, robbing her of its advantages.

"Damaged subdermal armor. Leaking toxins into flesh--into bloodstream." One droid noted.

The other added, "Begin detoxification protocol. Remove the plates."

Arris fought through the drugs and flailed as she tried to sit up, only to feel a large pair of hands holding her back down.

"Easy there," the voice belonged to Seeva, her Herglic friend. "You took some nasty hits by the end."

"I need the plates!" Arris panicked. "Fix them. Can you fix them?!" She cried out to the droids.

One droid turned to her, but she could not see it. "Could weld the plates. Not perfect solution, but works."

"Not enough time to detoxify and fix. Must prioritize. Prevent organic death." The other countered.

With how limited the time between rounds, Arris could not both fix her subdermal armor and scrub the toxins caused by the broken material seeping deeper into her flesh.

"No," Arris interjected. It was unclear whether she was of sound mind to understand. "Fix it!"

The droids paused, looked at each other, then looked to Seeva. The Herglic wore a face full of concern, but he knew the scoundrel better than anyone. His expression steeled, and he gave a curt nod. "Do it."

 

[Koda Fett]

Fett sat tinkering with the inner-wirings of his vambrace, sparks flying with each effort made to repair the damage that electrical discharge had caused; weapon's systems fried and made unreliable, though nothing a moment of repairs could not solve. He hoped, at least. In the fighter's pit beneath the arena, it was still loud yet significantly less so than when the second round of fights began.

The only place that had become busier was the medical bay.

"They're not going to be happy with you," said the nearby Adednedo, "coming and spoiling their pot."

His gaze remained fixed on his repairs, shrugging. "Someone always is. They can take their shot."

The bruiser of an alien laughed smugly, flashing a hearty grin, then revealed a holo-display with an alert: wanted dead or alive, category six with a hundred-thousand credit reward. "Believe me, they will!"

"Hrn," Koda groaned.

 

[Sal Katarn]

Arena Stadium,
Sublevel Panic Room

The loud thumping beat upon the blast door something fierce. Luckily, that door was rated E for Everything. Sal didn’t know a whole lot that could get through that particular type of door except a whole lotta well placed breaching charges and a plasma torch. Or a lightsaber.

Katarn finished rooting around one of the crates and pulled out a flamethrower of some type or other, along with a nice assortment of grenades.

“Neat.”

His datapad buzzed and he looked at it. Hm. Interesting.

“I don’t know what the hell is trying to get in here, but staying put seems to be the move.”

Razmir Tezhyn

 

[Mauve du Vain]

He put the bones away, adjusted the strap that slung his Dukaggath Trophy Mauler over his shoulder, and headed for the base of the skybox.

Inside the skybox, Mauve sat in her chair, surrounded by current or former Sith emperors, and allowed herself a moment to gloat.

The Hutt had been sent packing. Sars Sarad had cooked alive any potential competition, with his finger on the trigger for more if needed. And on top of that, she had received so many credits off of the passive betting percentages and outright bribery payments that this was turning out to be the most lucrative event she had ever participated in, far and away better than her best performing art piece.

Maybe now she could afford an appraiser to take a second look at her pieces and give them a real value.

“What a spectacular round. Any moments that impressed you? Does this change up those power rankings, Darth Kentarch ?”

Unbeknownst to her, a being approached. Perhaps an ending. Perhaps a beginning.

Velok Brokentusk Darth Adekos Aether Verd Darth Empyrean Ashin Cardé Varanin

 

[Darth Adekos]

RUUSAN​

"What a spectacular round. Any moments that impressed you?"

"Impressed is a strong word," Adekos swirled his wine, "But I recall one that elicited from me a sensible chuckle."

The footage played.

She didn't stumble. She didn't scream. She dropped. The arrow buried deep in her chest, splitting flesh that never bled red, only black and violet ichor now spilling in obscene trails across the durasteel.

One platform. Another. Her body slammed down as if the Force itself had refused to catch her—because it had.

She hit the floor, gasping once. Twice.

Then still.

"Never have I witnessed a more magnificent loser," said Adekos, which meant quite a lot considering he still occasionally glimpsed himself in mirrors. "Working so hard to intrude on someone else's duel, picking up a lackey, and getting sent home anyway. One more time, please."

They played it several more times, in fact: pausing, rewinding, speeding up, pausing, rewinding again. Footage scrolled this way and that to truly emphasize each impact.

"Two Sith in one bout and they both flunked. You know, if this is what Darth Empyrean is devising behind the Blackwall, he ought to bleach the petri dish and start over."

Mauve du Vain Ashin Cardé Varanin​

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

A Devaronian approached Lynch sometime after round two. The man was dressed in a fine, but tasteful, all black suit. He took off his wide-brimmed hat, a solemn expression on his face.

"Sir, this must be a difficult time for you. Losing a close relative is never easy, but we hope this may cheer you up."

The Devaronian produced a credit chip, a small space-mart condolences card, and a bouquet of artificial flowers. He handed them over to Lynch. The credit chip held the fund for the first one to die, generously donated by Jerec Asyr . The condolence card had been signed by a lot of no-names from the Kaggath production crew, many from the Ithorian Foreign Legion, as well as Mauve du Vain . A business card for Quekko's Choice Emporium was also tucked into the card.

"We hope the memory of 5-WCH (Switchblade) won't fade, as we haven't let the memory of those who sacrificed their lives to liberate this valley from Mandalorian oppressors fade. It was because of their sacrifice that we could all enjoy seeing your droid fight and die today."

The Devaronian gave a solemn nod.

"The Ithorian Foreign Legion and the entire Kaggath team extend their deepest sympathies."

And with that, the Devaronian left.

 

[Fenn Stag]

He was fine- relatively, after a while. A brief moment of rest, but the immediate medical treatment was there. He'd just need a lot more rest- quite a bit more, truthfully.

He loomed behind Koda Fett , staring at the warrant appearing on the holo-display. A mechanical hand, free of the crushgaunt, reached out- and crushed the display in his hands. He stared at the alien from behind his smeared warpaint.

"No such unpleasantries, today."

He collapsed into a seat near Koda, grunting in pain. Fenn was the spitting image- younger than when he knew him, at least, of a mutual acquaintance of theirs.

"The Alliance has few and far between of friends in our line of work. I doubt you'll have trouble."

A silence, a turned head. Without his armor, the sheer brutish physicality of Fenn was on display. Scars, marks, and a similar build.

"I saw the highlights of your bout. You did well."

Fenn was a Bounty Hunter- or at least, a mercenary. But more of a warrior. Koda was a calculating, cruel, effective tool of the galaxy. Fenn's primary purpose was that he simply did see the Koda Fett fight- but also he wanted to size him up for himself. Perhaps they'd face each other in the next bout. Fenn's eyes flicked up and down Koda's figure. He was weighed, measure, and not found wanting.

He seemed every bit capable as they said. Seemed.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"AND NOW... YOUR PAIRINGS FOR THE QUARTERFINALS OF THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH!"

Mercy | Drystan Creed | Antar | Fenn Stag | Allyson Locke | Arris Windrun | Kyric | Koda Fett

"THE ROUNDS BEGIN IN THIRTY MINUTES!"

 

[Tilon Quill]

"Do it."

"THE ROUNDS BEGIN IN THIRTY MINUTES!"

It seemed like eternity since he'd been in Arris' prep/med room; it had been less than an hour. He'd spent much of that time with Lurkvap, both personally and protectively as chaos unfolded, and he'd sat down to catch the brutal end of the second round. Sat down only briefly.

He let himself in and exchanged a nod with Seeva, Arris' Herglic friend; they'd met a couple of times before. Disturbed anxiety radiated from Seeva, bright and hot enough that Tilon could feel it clearly without trying. Arris felt like determination and pain. Obviously he couldn't feel anything from the medical droids, but the way they worked reminded Tilon of the droids who'd worked double-time to treat him and Arris after their escape from the sarlacc.

Not for the first time, he wished he had enough strength and general talent in the Force to heal effectively. He'd tried drawing heavily on this place's nexus earlier and barely managed to staunch someone's blood flow up in the stands. If any moment could make him want power for its own sake, it'd be this one. What he wouldn't give to be able to erase Arris' injuries.

He could, however, take some of her pain on himself - a rare skill of his father's - and he did that, standing off there by the door so as not to get in the way. Arris was due to fight in twenty-something minutes. The med droids and her own will would get her out there. Tilon gave her what edge he could.

"You've got this," he said, unsure if she could hear him. They were doing things with her sensory implants now.

What came to mind a moment later was a much better way. He had a specialization for language, the acquiring and the giving of them, and that came with a certain amount of skill at getting knowledge from others' minds and, conversely, putting it in. He knew in theory how to just make someone know something that wasn't a language. The knowledge he had in mind was the ability for Arris Windrun , now revealed as Force-sensitive, to reduce her own pain. Here at the Valley of the Jedi, it might just work. She'd proven she could use the Force for crude and simple things like a scream; this was slightly more complicated but just as driven by will, and it might set her on a better path to have this be part of her skillset from the start.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris was largely unaware of Tilon's presence as the droids worked hastily to repair her subdermal armor and install a new pair of cybernetic eyes, the latter of which would take some time to reacclimate to.

The knowledge he had in mind was the ability for Arris Windrun Arris Windrun , now revealed as Force-sensitive, to reduce her own pain. Here at the Valley of the Jedi, it might just work. She'd proven she could use the Force for crude and simple things like a scream; this was slightly more complicated but just as driven by will, and it might set her on a better path to have this be part of her skillset from the start.

As it came close to time for the next round to begin, the cyborg caught glimpses of a stranger's memories--of experiences she did not quite understand, and all of it came with the uncanny sensation of Tilon's presence. She shook it off. He had been on her mind quite often as of late, and that would be as good an explanation for her as any.

She dragged herself down a hallway towards the Bespin Gas lockers. A nearby viewscreen lit up with highlights from the past round, and she ignored all of it until the announcer began to list off the eliminated. When it came to Jacen Breska , the scoundrel perked up.

"Aw, chit... fethin' bailed on our date!"

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Eira's home
Outfit: Casual
Tag: Jacen Breska

The second round of the Kaggath had concluded as she watched her, the fights had been intense and her notebook was filled with ideas and things she had been taking away from them. Especially seeing the powers from the Sith Lords, they were a lot scarier on the screen than she had thought they would be. Nothing she felt was impossible for her to match someday, but scary to dare and fight now. However, that just made Eira keen to develop her powers more. To grow and become a Sith Lord as soon as she could.

Tapping her foot, she saw that Phaelissia had lost her duel which was something she had been disappointed by. Her friend had fought valiantly and coming away having defeated at least one Jedi, that was no small feat. It was interesting to see all the technological compensations that the woman had, it seemed much more advanced that she remembered Phaelissa being on their mission together. Or it was simply her friend had held back during that mission and these fights, Eira was seeing the full capabilities.

Jacen had been another fighter that she had watched the match of. The guy had given it all in a fight that was weighted against him from what she had seen at least from Mercy. However, Eira had been impressed with how he fought and there was something inside her stomach that seemed to hold disappointment that she wouldn't see more of his fighting. Especially with the crowds chanting his name, and the idea of him going all the way to win. It made her chuckle, she might have actually attended that final duel in person to cheer him on if he had gotten there.

For now, she figured that he might want something to lift his mood from the bitter taste of defeat. Sending a message to him, Eira decided she would offer something to lessen the discouragement.

"Saw your fight, you did well and even convinced me that you could go all the way.

The judges must have been bribed.

I took some notes though and if you are up for it, you can come over and we can go over the areas you need to improve on. I know of a fighting area we can train at.

Eira."

Nothing fancy and she kept it short since writing wasn't a strength of Eira's. It had been something glossed over when she been in school on Dantooine.

 

[Kyric]

In the locker rooms after Round 2...

Kyric sat quietly on a bench in the locker room afforded to him by his sponsor, Niki Priddy. He gently tossed the half-saber in a spinning arc, his eye tracing the exquisite craftsmanship. There wasn't much reason for the kiffar to think the weapon held any significance. While the lightsaber was traditionally an important part of a Jedi's repertoire, he hadn't built such a connection.

Rather than dwell on missed opportunities, Kyric settled on constructing one after he survived the Kaggath. The pesky life-or-death bouts were priority number one; a means to surpass limitations and rise to new heights. Each of the Jedi Knight's potential opponents presented very real danger in the ring, but only three names stayed with him since the updated brackets hit the air.

Koda Fett. Allyson Locke. Drystan Creed.

The Legendary Bounty Hunter arrived late to the tournament, yet the beskar-clad warrior came out on even-footing with one of the tournament's favorites: Mercy. No other claimed the lethality and success rate that Koda Fett boasted in the field. His was a name even the Jedi spoke of in hushed tones.

Among Kyric's half of the bracket, Locke proved a no less dangerous opponent. Her military history spoke of a war hero, yet her reputation as a spy left much in the air. Few have faced the slew of enemies across the many wars she did. Where she did not outright prevail, she survived. Learned. And most important of all, she adapted. Backed by Empyrean, a Dark Lord of the Sith with magnitudes more power than the Kainite benefactor of his prior round, Allyson Lock presented a near insurmountable obstacle.

Separated on the other side of the bracket by an almost cruel twist of fate stood Drystan Creed. One of three Jedi to enter this blood tournament, Kyric felt almost a kinship to the man. There was a warrior within him that yearned longingly for the top. And for reasons not dissimilar, Kyric wanted to meet Creed at the summit. To face a Jedi so finely tuned for the battlefield, to test his techniques and teachings against another wholly committed to martial discipline. It was the stuff of legends, really.

But the road to the top was long and fraught with unknown dangers.

---

Tags: Koda Fett | Allyson Locke | Drystan Creed | Razmir Tezhyn

 

[Delsin Shaw]

WHAT THE FRACK!

Standing in the locker rooms, the fight was given to the Mandalorian? Why? It must have been a bribe. Must have. I had the nerf-herder dead to rights. I had him suffering. I had him where I wanted and the fight was in my control. Not once was I pressured more than just the headbutt. This... it had me boiling. Someone paid credits to have me knocked out. They knew if it was a real fight, if people weren't being so nice and so tolerable for what was going on, then I would have had damn near one of the best shots at taking the title.

I seethed. Feeling this anger. This vitriol building. I grabbed the helmet I wore. Yanking it off of my head and held it between my hands. Looking down into the padded interior and just staring. Looking at it. Trying my best to control whatever these emotions were.

My hands gripped it. White-Knuckled death grip on the rim and crushed it inwards with my bare hands. The metal creaking and breaking from my anger, my wrath. Once it was crushed, folded together like a ball of trash and metal, I let it drop from my hands.

The fight was rigged. And now, I was going to find out who did it, and see that they put their money where their mouth is.

They will need all that and more to stop me.

 

[Alcariel]

​

Sael listened and, somehow, understood. He spoke profoundly, in a way that stirred a slow-dawning appreciation within. His poetic words moved through her like blood. Thick, slow, meaningful, necessary.

Mercy had encouraged her to weaponize fear, and in doing so, Sael felt the aftershock of each terror her victims experienced. But with Isar's perspective, she saw the potential to create something beautiful. She'd never considered herself an artist, or anyone with an eye for beauty, but perhaps there was something truly beautiful in the intimacy of fear. Because it was the rawest truth any person held. Fear was precious, protected, and she had the ability to uncover it, to make people run — no, to reach — for something more. For salvation of any shape. It was like...a deep, lustful longing in disguise.

"That was beautiful." Her spine straightened. Eyes brightened. The net around her glimmered with her understsanding.

"You're right," she said softly to Isar, and dipped her head. The compliments were nice, but the clarity had been needed. "Thank you."

The energy of the Kaggath shifted, a conclusion drawn, the champions announced. Mercy had advanced, and once more, her name — two syllables — chanted out from those within Sael and Isar's influence. With just a little twist, Sael added reverence to the riotous uproar.

The chant grew louder. Her master, her saviour, their champion, had won. Again.

Thread by thread, the fear turned devotional.

"You're also right that Mercy does not understand what you do. You seem to create with ease, are you not affected? Can you show me how to feel less what they feel?"

____________________________________________________________
Isar du Vain
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

Kyric sat quietly on a bench in the locker room afforded to him by his sponsor

The locker room, like most places in the human galaxy, had a small and challenging door. Velok adjusted his big gun on his back and hunched his nine-foot frame down through the doorway. His trenchcoat ripped on the strike plate of the lock.

There he was: Kyric Karis, worth one hundred thousand credits to someone very much like the men who'd defined Velok's life and identity for almost two centuries. Once upon a time.

"I'm not here for you, Karis," he said, basso profundo, and took out a shivering talisman of carved loth-wolf bones to disrupt visionaries from ever seeing this moment.

He let his actual, Light-oriented Force signature bleed out. "I'm Velok Brokentusk. Many times, I've told fortunes for the highest lords of the Sith Empire. To them, by my design, I'm a popular curiosity, a joke of lost potential. In absolute secrecy, I work against them.

"I have many crimes on my ledger. Bones and omens told me of your Lightsworn. I'm with you if you'll have me."

 

[Mercy]

Xeykard

Mostly Mercy thought it was distasteful to turn against your host just because some flimsy bounty was posted.

That's why Mercy had slapped the Sun guard away and settled herself in front of the door. It had been boring for the most part, nobody coming up, which might have to do with the gaggle of Sith Lords and worse sitting in the skybox with Mauve du Vain . It was disappointing really. In fact, she had been considering leaving again, because it was so uneventful.

Then someone came up.

A lizard.

Mercy tilted her head.

Instead of talking he immediately jumped into the fray with his attack. A lizard of her heart. She seized upon the moment, growling and stepping into his punch, slamming it aside with her shoulder instead of giving him more room to use his reach. Elbow went up to smash into his chest even as she felt her shoulder thrum in protest.

Big boy.

This would be fun.

 

[Xeykard]

Hrk.

Her response instantly disrupted his rhythm, stepping closer than he preferred. His iron-fisted jab gave her a haircut. Her elbow gave him an incentive to exhale a little too quickly. Height and strength were almost always in his court; in the latter they were at best matched, and the quick in-step nullified the former. It was enough to convince him; to stop the fight, to do what he had come to do.

But they were there anyway.

He stabilized with a step back, heavy clawed hands swinging down to grab, find purchase anywhere they could -- joints, clothes, flesh. He pushed back, thrusting his body weight right as he tried to flip Mercy and throw her into the nearest wall.

Mercy ​

 

[Isar du Vain]

Can you show me how to feel less what they feel?"

Feel less. Right. He held the glitterstim spliff to his lips, but could only taste the ash. He stared off into the middle distance. Memories flickered in his mind's eye.

Isar palmed and fired his blaster pistol in an eyeblink. The superheated plasma ate through the center of Lathar's chest and blew out his back, painting the turbolift behind him in viscera. Lathar collapsed and lifeless eyes stared up at at the ceiling.

"No, no, no, no. Lathar! LATHAR!" the other Miralan screamed, sobbing, tears streaming down his jade cheeks.

The things I've done.

The fingers holding the spliff caught a slight tremble and he tossed the joint away, then let them hang at his side, out of sight out of mind.

"Won't be your worry after a while, love." He gave her a hollow smile and threw an arm around her shoulder. "What you want is to feel what you want to feel. Let them choke on their fear, right." He jabbed the bottle-wielding hand at the crowd, squinting through one eye as the world did a little dance under his feet. His smile got a bit bigger. "What have they ever done for you? More than half probably would've bought you without a second thought, chains and all. So yeah, let them drown in it. Stick with me and I'll show you how."

He jerked his chin at the crowd.

"You can start with stopping this nonsense. Can't believe she sent you off doing this, woman of your talents. Mercy's already got an ego the size of a small moon, what's there to inflate?"

Alcariel

 

[Lynch]

Razmir Tezhyn | OPEN​

The man watched in horror as the droid's head caved in.

5-WCH (Switchblade) had put up an amazing fight that entire round. There was no denying that. But when facing against a trained solider, a powerful Sith, and the most feared Mandalorian in the entire galaxy, it would have been a hard fight to win. Lynch made his way down to the locker room, watching as the scorched remains of the bounty hunter were hovered in on a cart. Bits and pieces of tech were also sprawled out on the platform. Pieces from the Tanuki droids were most recognizable, along with different gear the hunter brought into the arena.

As the man was signing off on the release of the body, a well dressed Devaronian began to approach.

"Sir, this must be a difficult time for you. Losing a close relative is never easy, but we hope this may cheer you up."

Lynch accepted the credit chip, the card, and the flowers with a sorrowful nod.

"The droid put up a good battle. Got close there for a minute. But unfortunately, there's only going to be one winner."

"The Ithorian Foreign Legion and the entire Kaggath team extend their deepest sympathies."

He watched as the man walked away with a small crew. Turning back to Switchblade, the contractor let out a heavy sigh before pulling out a small datapad and earpiece. Making sure no one was in range, he turned it on and began a call.

"Hey, Bodan ? Its Lynch. Listen, I'm cashing in that favor from the Chroma Zed job. Find some of that old Imperial tech you had laying around."

A small notification popped up on his datapad, indicating the location of the equipment he needed.

"I need to rebuild myself a killer. And you're going to help me."

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Up in the blood-spattered, bombardment-scorched stands, Jerec slumped down tiredly in his previous seat to watch round three. This whole place felt like it had the life expectancy of an Ithorian mayfly but hey, it was more interesting than the average Black Sun committee meeting. (Black Sun turned out to have a lot of committees. They weren't really called 'committees,' more 'a couple Vigos and some henchmen stressing over the same governance and policy problem once a week until the governance and policy problem slept with the fishes, but potato potahto.) He slurped beer in one side of his neck and set the cup on a dead guy - specifically the flat surface of a dead enforcer's backplate - then dug into a large paper bag of popcorn.

"You were right about everything," he said to Wedge Draav and held up the popcorn bag for illustration. "Everything. Perfect kaggath food."