Boost THE FIRST GALACTIC KAGGATH - RUMBLE ON RUUSAN

[Tilon Quill]

In the stands, watching worriedly for the first moments of his friends' fights — he and Arris Windrun had saved each other from a sarlacc, and he and Mercy had steered an expedition into the Rishi Maze — Tilon gave the screens a double-take. His tension took on a different quality.

The brackets had a third name he knew.

Much earlier in her Jedi career, Thalia Senn had tried to murder his father in cold blood.

Tilon's thoughts screeched to a halt. He tried box breathing. He did not want the spark of hate that raced through him. He didn't want to feel this angry over something so far in the past. He'd known the story, tended the wounds. He'd never seriously thought that encountering that person again would even give him pause. Yet here he was, struggling. Worse, kind of hoping she got thrashed by that woman with the eye patch...

 

[CT-312]

//: Jacen Breska Lucette | OPEN //:
//: Bespin Gas Company Locker Room - Arena, Ruusan//:​

‘Bravery?’ Both her brows raised behind her visor. Is that what they are calling it these days? Bravery had nothing to do with it. There were no choices in their line of work. Only the next high-risk assignment. Do or die. It was survival.

Listening as Lucette spoke, CT-312 kept silent. Unreadable behind the visor. Her sponsor spoke of valor, of ensuring they had a fair chance against the monsters they were about to face. ‘Fair.’ Eyes closed for a moment before opening. That was “generous”.

‘Raise… biomancer?’ That part caught CT-312’s attention. There was more to this sponsor than she expected. Creatures. Genetic design. Strange science the Scout barely understood. A cold reminder to CT-312 that the galaxy was full of things she still didn’t grasp. And it was always the things you didn’t understand that got you killed.

“Thank you, Ma’am. Hope we make it through too.” CT-312 spoke at last, voice even. With that, she took a step back. “Excuse me. We need to gear up and prepare ourselves.” Giving Lucette a nod. She turned towards TK-710, tapping him on the arm. “Time to get ready. Time to suit up.”

Returning to her locker, CT-312 unzipped the duffle bags and began methodically swapping out her gear. Weathered worn out armor plates came off, replaced with the new reinforced kit packed specifically for this tournament. She strapped on the last upgraded bracer, moving her hands up to recalibrate her helmet’s interface. Grabbing and holstering her weapons with practiced and silent precision, CT-312 locked the final piece into place.

An announcement cut through the locker room.

“THE FIRST ROUND OF THE GALACTIC KAGGATH STARTS IN FIVE MINUTES.”

CT-312 didn’t flinch. Doing a final pat down and securing the last mag pouch. Inspecting her primary weapon as she moved to where TK-710 stood. Going over the stat data in her head. The brackets, names, abilities… a single word slipped from her. “Force user?” CT-312 stood beside TK-710 looking over at him. “You ready for this chitshow?”

Before he could answer, there was another announcement that echoed across the room and the whole stadium this time. The poll results.

CT-312 paused in disbelief. ‘Runner up?’

Her brows furrowed as she blinked a couple times inside her helmet. Exhaling sharply through her teeth. ‘What kind of galaxy gas were these voters huffing?’ CT-312 shook her head. “What the absolute kark.” slipped out of her mouth. “...Galaxy’s cracked…” She muttered. “I’m ready to disappoint.”

Then it was TK-710’s. Him and Antar for the Dark Horse. That name she remembered. Mauve’s security. Made sense, but TK-710. Jacen Breska? CT-312 cast a look at him. “That was unexpected.”

She stayed still for a moment. Listening to the distant roar of the crowd bleeding into the locker room. The announcer’s voice echoing through the walls, the hum of the holoscreens flashing with the names, stats, and expectations.

Runner up
Dark Horse
Favorites. Underdogs.

None of it meant a damn thing once boots hit the dirt. The galaxy wanted a spectacle. CT-312 and TK-710 were here to survive it. That’s it. Her fingers flexed against her weapon’s grip. The familiar weight anchoring her. Focusing up. ‘Watch. Adapt. Strike. Live.’ She took a deep breath.

‘Just another battlefield.’

CT-312 was ready.

 

[Mauve]

​

The arena floor rumbled and shook, the entire surface sliding open like a missile silo to reveal… an enormous Wroshyr tree rising up from the lower levels. It towered so high that its upper branches crested the arena and stood nearly eye level with the skybox. It sat upon a grassy, fern littered field. Amid the ferns, shapes prowled. Dangerous predators. Vornskrs. Force hunting beasts.

The boughs of the Wroshyr tree criss-crossed, forming limbs as wide as Coruscanti skywalks that the combatants could duel upon.

Droids hovered in the air around the tree, some with cameras, but many projecting interlinking rayshields so that the duelists could not interfere with the duels of the others. Of course… ray shields could always fail.

If any of the combatants fell to the ground far below, they risked being set upon by the vornskrs.

The announcers’ disembodied voice cut through as the combatants took their places on the boughs of the tree. “Honoring those who fell in the Battle of Kashyyyk between the One Sith and Republic, so many years ago, I give you the FIRST ROUND of the GALACTIC Kaggath!”

“CHALLENGERS! BEGIN!”

---

Mauve leaned forward, elbows on the priceless antique desk to watch the scene unfold, then turned to the panel members.

"Wow. Look at this environment change. Do you think this changes the power balance of the matchups?"

Ashin Cardé Varanin | Aether Verd | Darth Kentarch | Darth Empyrean

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Now strictly speaking, as Black Sun's newest Vigo, Jerec was not supposed to be doing anything so undignified as waving signs expressing fannish appreciation for contestants.

Truly unwise both here and elsewhere, now and in the long term. But he could not help it.

The sign read

MADCLAW IS DREAMY <3

 

[Lachadann]

Smoking a stim stick in the bleachers, right through the little droid mouth, Lachadann got the hang of this sports thing. One match in particular had her eye: Stag versus Dashiell. Her audiovisual systems picked up and amplified the words being spoken down there in the arboreal arena.

"You may not die here, by my hand. I do not intend to kill you."

He craned his neck, as his HUD activated, coordinating to track his eyes to activate certain systems. He pulled his crushgaunts tight, rolling his fingers together. He looked down at himself, checking himself over once more, one final time.

"But you will suffer."

Hell yes.

Lachadann — ostensibly a blue protocol droid — leaned forward, stimstick between blue metal fingers, turned her audiovisual gain way up, and got ready to get her money's worth.

 

[Tass Arceneau]

Getting out here cost money, tickets cost money, the concession stand sure as feth cost money, and Tass' budget was running thin lately anyways. But there was no better opportunity to get to know the Sith and how to beat them and who hated or despised them.

He suspected he wasn't the only Underground associate in the stands, watching every Sith Imperial contestant for any hint of weakness, any insight. He'd have liked to use a notebook if it wouldn't have been obvious.

What was actually less obtrusive was a camera. He kept the lens trained on the half-dozen matches featuring Sith or their minions, getting stills and footage as occasion permitted. He even had an unimpeachable press pass from a sector rag that would check out if someone called it in. These people knew butchery and magic and empire but Tass knew fake IDs.

 

[Khefiir]

To interfere would risk Thalia Senn 's focus and thus her life. Many times since they trained together, and many times since his death, Khefiir had faced a similar choice. His deeply-troubled former Padawan had a knack for involving herself in situations she was not especially likely to survive.

Sstay focussed, he wanted to say. Your opponent iss a known name and ssponssored by the Ssith Lordss, don't underesstimate her.

But even if he intruded on her attention for such a message, a little ghostly whisper, it was nothing she didn't already know. She'd worked for the Maw, for Scorekeeper's sake: she understood how to weigh the propensity for violence of everyone around her, at a level few Jedi ever could. Otherwise she'd never have made it back alive.

Come to think of it, though, he did have one thing to whisper.

Sstay true, Thalia. Handle thiss like the Jedi you are.

 

[Jacen Breska]

K A G G A T H ​

WEARING:: Halcyon Armour | Contact Lenses | Wrist Mounted APG | Ancile Shield
EQUIPMENT: MAIN WEAPONRY: VW 864 Maser Rifle | LK-Sweeper Shotgun | Sunshot Pistol | Shiva Knife |
ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT: 3x Ravenous Grenades | 2x Kushute Grenades | 1x Ion Grenade | 1x Flash Grenade | 1x Incendiary Grenade
LOCATION: :: Ruusan - Arena ::
TAG: CT-312 Lucette

Jacen didn't feel particularly brave being here. It felt foolish. Still, he'd do his best. He wasn't a coward, and he'd use this opportunity to show the galaxy what the meat of the Empire can do, not it's masters.

Jacen followed CT-312 back to their lockers to get suited up properly. "Force users," he said solemnly. "That's what these are for," he opened the locker and pointed towards the Ravenous Grenades. "These will send any one of those things fetal. Try to get close, make 'em get a nice big hit of it."
He nodded, then looked up at the holo. "DARK HORSE? RUNNER UP?"

He looked over at CT-312. "It makes more sense to them that YOU would WIN? And I'M THE UNDERDOG?"
Jacen put his head in his hands. "Yeah. Unexpected."

"Whatever. It doesn't bother me. It's amazing how zen I am." He sighed again and turned to 312 as he put on the final bits of armor, "Save the grenades for the freaks. See a glowstick, make 'em hurt."


He sighed and strapped on the rest of his equipment.


​

 

[Sal Katarn]

Jacen took one final deep breath before he pulled one of the Kushute Grenades from his chest and primed it, programming the grenade to form a net before he broke forward into a sprint, closing the gap between the two competitors, then throwing the grenade forward, using the momentum of the movement to carry his body forward, rolling over himself and rising to a knee before he sighted his opponent and pulled the trigger on the Maser twice, sending two bolts of the projectile lancing through the sky towards his target.

Sitting at a table in one of the arena's interior bars, Katarn took a drag of his cigarra, then pointed up at the screen.

"That right there is a professional," he rasped, "1,000 credits on the trooper."

 

[Merion Oreno]

As a Central Isopter death cultist, Merion rested his attention on the armoured-heavyweight round. It gave him an exciting sense of impending disaster.

In fact a whole contingent of Central Isopter cultists in full regalia — cocoonlike robes, smooth faceless masks, overlong and polearm-like heraldic staffs — were here to watch this specific fight: Whottoomuzz Chantin versus Lirka Ka .

The murmured consensus was that this could go either way. Money changed hands and quickly vanished under robes. The cultists, as was their traditional preference, watched from the vantage point of a nearby cliff, trusting their helmets' gear to magnify and record the fight properly.

A large tree rose up in the arena.


"Ooooooo," said the cultists.

 

[Lynch]

Jerec Asyr | OPEN
​

With the fights underway, the contractor made his way towards the various viewing sections.

Just because people all across the galaxy were here to watch bloodshed, it did not mean that business could not be connected. The Bounty Hunters' Guild was more of an independent group when it came to the dealings of the Underworld. Historically though, there has always been members that chose to align themselves with various factions and syndicates, either for personal gain or for the betterment of the guild.

Lynch had not decided on which one he was after tonight.

Though he assumed that his mind would soon be made up. Ahead he spotted a large Ithorian holding a sign, cheering on the Wookiee warrior down below. Walking over, the guild contractor decided to introduce himself. Any partnership opportunity had the chance of growing into something profitable.

"Greetings. Captain Jerec Asyr, isn't it? My name is Lynch, contractor for the Bounty Hunters' Guild. I can see that you already have a favorite competitor of the night."

A handshake was offered towards the Ithorian. One good thing about the cybernetics Lynch possessed was that he was able to understand and translate most languages, must like a protocol droid. So, there would be no need for a voice modulator if the ship dealer did not have one.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Greetings. Captain Jerec Asyr, isn't it? My name is Lynch, contractor for the Bounty Hunters' Guild. I can see that you already have a favorite competitor of the night."

A handshake was offered towards the Ithorian. One good thing about the cybernetics Lynch possessed was that he was able to understand and translate most languages, must like a protocol droid. So, there would be no need for a voice modulator if the ship dealer did not have one.

Jerec, a child of the vast Ithorian diaspora, born and raised Corellian, spoke perfect Basic. But since he was deeply invested in watching The Madclaw fight, he wasn't inclined to make it easy.

He kept watching, but spoke to Lynch out one side of his neck in Ithorese.

"If you're here to collect, wait until I'm done watching. All the bounties I know on me are finished business, but there could be more I don't know about. If you're here to get work, we can talk."

 

[Wedge Draav]

​

Wedge, recently freed of his Alliance responsibilities, rank and title had been on a... bit of a bender.

Nothing personal, nothing terribly... cruel, but he didn't hate it when the Jedi of the contestants took a hit or a beating. He was sat behind Captain Jerec Asyr and the cyborg Lynch .

Munch.

Munch.

Munch.

Space popcorn tasted good. He watched the fights, eager to see how they turned out. It also helped that Wedge was incredibly drunk at this point. He was just very good at hiding it.

 

[Lucette]

CT-312 | Jacen Breska

​

Before the troopers departed for their matches, Lucette had only this to say.

"A beastmaster is not what I seek," she said with a small, knowing smirk. "For I am the beastmaster."

She allowed a brief pause to linger in the air.

"What I seek are variables, conditions I cannot account for. Situations you and your fellow trooper can."

Her gaze remained steady, her tone lilting with quiet intrigue.

"I'm also quite interested in exploring nature versus nurture. That's why this Kaggath provides an excellent crucible for your abilities." She didn't clarify which abilities, nor why they mattered. "But know this, my grandmother's apprentice spoke rather highly of you both."

She smiled, ever so politely. "Do take care. I should hate for either of you to meet an untimely end."

Lucette watched as they departed, then turned slightly to the other figure in the room. Arris Windrun

"Perhaps you and I might share a word, provided you survive the Kaggath, of course."

And with that, Lucette Fortan-Raaf turned and left the locker rooms with her usual grace. She tapped her comms gently as she walked.

"Viers? Viers, darling, are you about?" Viers Connory

Her steps carried her toward her vessel, the ramp lowered and awaiting her return. Soon she would be delivered to one of the general viewing galleries, no doubt to mingle with the other sponsors, or observe the unfolding chaos with well-practiced composure. The matches would be underway soon enough, and Lucette wanted to ensure that her two troopers made it through, so she tapped on her comms. Taeli Raaf

"Grandmother." She began her message, "I am at the, "Galactic Kaggath" on Ruusan, I have sponsored two troopers that your apprentice speaks quite highly of. I wondered if you might send the tournament's organizers Mauve and Razmir Tezhyn an extra incentive or two? I do want to be sure that these wonderful specimen of troopers survive. Perhaps some voidstone to even the playing fields against force users?" The teenager dispatched her encrypted message to her grandmother whilst the shuttle maneuvered into the landing pads where the viewing galleries were held.

 

[Lynch]

Jerec Asyr | Wedge Draav | OPEN​

"If you're here to collect, wait until I'm done watching. All the bounties I know on me are finished business, but there could be more I don't know about. If you're here to get work, we can talk."

A small, almost unheard chuckle nearly escaped from Lynch. As far as the man knew, there were no active bounties or warrants out for the Ithorian. But if recent develops in the Underworld were true, the man was recently appointed Vigo. It would only be a matter of time before someone got pissed off and wanted Jerec's head on their wall.

"Fortunately for you sir, I'm not here for pleasure. No hunting for me today. I'm here looking to discuss business, if you'd be interested. The Guild has long been in need of some reliable transports. And from what I've heard through the datawires was that you happen to know where to find some 'less-than-legal' ones."

Munch.

Munch.

Munch.

A quick side eye was glared back at the newcomer who decided to sit in and watch the fight. Nothing more, for now.

 

[Arris Windrun]

"Perhaps you and I might share a word, provided you survive the Kaggath, of course."

Arris stopped, glanced over her shoulder, blinked, and then offered a smirk.

"Keep an eye on my fights and we'll see." She said with a wink and departed for the fights.

 

[Amara Zambrano]

SLAYYYYY​

She didn't have any friends here, not on Ruusan or in the stands - certainly not any in the fighters that were already starting their rounds as she, and others, filed in to the stands. Showing up for entertainment early was a cardinal sin for her, as it was for plenty of other people in her own social circles, despite her having pretended to be nothing more than the kinds of people that would've been desperate to fight in these kinds of shows if the credits were good and the odds were better. In all honesty this wasn't even going to be so much entertainment for her as it was going to be a topic of conversation for the next couple of months, weeks if it wasn't as impressive-sounding as it was before finding her seats, which weren't nearly as close as some of the more daring - maybe even sadistic - few who probably paid more than what she spent on clothes for an entire year.

The introductions for the panelists judging, or perhaps validating, these fights had ended before she'd even finished a trip to the bathroom but she knew at least two of them second-hand. Varanin, for instance, was the subject of several textbooks she'd perused when she was visiting the capital of the Sith Order. Empyrean was, of course, the de facto leader of the Sith Order proper and her father made sure she at least knew his name when going over the current events within the government they lived in. The others, and whoever it was that had introduced them, she either didn't know or, if they might've, didn't remember, which was less of an indication of their own importance and more an indictment of her care for much more than what immediately effected her or the trivia that private tutoring drilled into her head.

"I think I recognize maybe.. one.. of these people." Amara said, not entirely shocked that it was so few but surprised enough in regards to who she recognized, and only vaguely, to sound it. She wasn't talking to anyone else in particular while glancing at the list of fighters, more just speaking out loud precisely because she didn't actually have anyone to talk to, though the rather rowdy couple of Togruta positioned a section above, technically a seat behind even, might've inferred that she was responding to them while they were loudly discussing the various fighters as if they knew each of them personally. After taking a sip from some decidedly expensive bottled water, Amara fished out her datapad from the purse resting behind her feet before crossing her legs. Something told her that two random Togruta in the audience for this kind of event probably weren't friends with all of them, let alone one of them, but stranger things happened. Maybe not as strange as her recent excursion to Phaseera but maybe things would be just as interesting and, she hoped, not quite so much at her own expense.

She snapped a selfie with the bottle in her spare hand as things below started to heat up, a conspicuously empty seat caught in frame to her left.

 

[War Marshal Helix]

Objective: Unchanged
Equipment: Unchanged
Tags: Darth Virelia / Lirka Ka / OPEN​

Helix allowed himself a roll of the eyes as he watched Lirka eat the missile and flamethrower impacts. It was a gesture of annoyance he'd only recently been able to enjoy, as the seemingly-solid photoreceptor clusters in his faceplate shifted.

A battle to the death was no place for the Sephi's masochism, but Lirka was Lirka. One could not change the nature of the beast. She was quicker than Chantin, certainly. The Hutt, however, was bristling with armaments, any one of which could inflict a painful death, and he doubted that Chantin had achieved his lofty station without a few surprises up his sleeve.

He found his photoreceptor clusters rotating again as the two struggled in close quarters. Electricity sizzled across Lirka's metal form as the Hutt struck her.

"Damn you, don't play with him, kill him. This isn't a game." He murmured out loud to nobody in particular.

On Serina's end, things were progressing more quickly. The armored, faceless warrior was comfortably on his way to overwhelming her. Then again, this was Serina. Nothing was quite as it appeared. She liked to play with her food even more than Lirka did, and any such impressions of being on the back foot were likely illusory. He briefly floated the idea of interfering. No. Not yet. Knowing her, she'd be less than pleased about a stolen victory. She could pry it from the warrior's armor herself, were she able.

Helix reached down, plucking a glass of wine from a table near his seat. Some Corellian vintage, probably. He brought the glass to his faceplate, and dipped his beaked proboscis into the liquid. The nanites in his skin restructured themselves, forming the nervous structures necessary for taste. In theory, he could see, smell, hear, touch, and taste from any part of his body, possessing no specialized organs for senses as cruder machines did. In practice, he found the old patterns familiar and satisfying. Definitely Corellian, he decided. Brash, crude, and unsubtle, like everything else that emerged from that culture. How very un-Helix.

He tossed the glass idly over his shoulder, and was rewarded with the sound of shattering glass. Now, if only his friends in the arena would decide what they wanted so quickly.

 

[Razmir Tezhyn]

"Oh, that was a particularly nasty punch! Let's see how--"

A blinding light drew Razmir's attention mid-sentence. Arcing lights coiling in a spherical shape began to grow by one of the duelists. From the water-drenched, no-shirt look it seemed to be Delsin Shaw .

Without missing a beat, the tree behind me erupted all the way from the other side. A massive bolt of Kinetite blasted through the center of the tree, through the shadow to be directly aimed at Taregh.

Structurally broken. Lifting my hand, and pushing. Sending the top half of the tree toppling down even if the bolt of Kinetite struck him or not.

"Timber."

The multi-hundred meter tall tree careened down upon itself, towards Taregh, and even into the stands filled with the audience.

"Oh my! Looks like someone

BROKE

THE​

TREE!" ​

"My oh my, will our duelists survive that whirlwind of broken branches and shattered wood?! Either way,

the top half of the Wroshyr tree is gone!"​

Taregh Garon Kyric Kesh Hevro Arris Windrun Vagabond Drystan Creed Mercy Thalia Senn Allyson Locke Wymar Gida Luroon CT-312 Jacen Breska 5-WCH (Switchblade) Balun Dashiell Antar Darth Malum of House Marr Lily Decoria Whottoomuzz Chantin Fenn Stag Vyn Daldoure Lysander von Ascania Darth Virelia Lirka Ka Maestus Kudau Phaelissia Jonyna Si

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Up above, the crowd was brought to further rancour as parsing through the undesciphrable noise he made out the tell tale words of announcement, the first rounds brackets had been announced, and his victim had been chosen. Malum cared little for that, gazing upon the bloodied statue, the mask that was his own... the face... that he could only wonder if was his own... there was silence. There was usually silence, the touch of Darth Marr had long ago fled the galaxy his presence now... echoes, reflections...

Blood.

His will, his power, was fielded only in moments of true crisis, when Duty called... what an apt phrase, for the Lord of the subject.

His lips curved up beneath the mask, maintained that way by a rather intimate expression that beheld itself close to his heart. His proximity to this place was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one, turning his masked head towards the doorway, he watched with softened eyes, as his blood walked through the doorway.

A killer of a king at such a tender age.

The sin of pride welled up, his veins and arteries heavy. Equipped in arms befitting a warrior, if still beyond the colours of a Marr, but Malum had to so remind himself, for all that Lysander was, a Marr by blood yes, a Marr by name... not as of yet. Yet, what were names in the end?

"Cousin." He answered in kind, a ghost of a smile reflected in a voice that otherwise revealed nothing, the silence between them stretched, but it was not an uncomfortable thing, men with large hearts and larger ambitions, introspective, quiet, clever, such was what was made by them, for them, such was what they were... what they wished to be?

"I do not doubt that you will make me proud out there, Lysander," Malum continued on, masked as he was, a spectre, a wraith, a ghost, in his movements, as he seemed to glide with every step, to clap and grip good-naturedly at the shorter man's shoulder, "There are few in attendance who are worthy of victory, our bloodline accounts for the most," Pride? Arrogance? All became synonymous with utmost truth, "I expect to meet you in the finals." The challenge rang in the air.

The masked face of their forefather staring directly at the newly discovered Marr in expectation.

Lysander von Ascania