The Forge Festival

[Alkor Centaris]

The Savannah nights were alive. Three definitive sources of moonlight peeked out from behind smoke and cloud cover as bonfires raged in the tall grass. Droids specially programmed to watch for stray embers and put out bushfires were on scene, constantly protecting revelers and the blacksmiths alike as they came together to celebrate an ancient tradition.

It was a different time, and a new Confederacy, but the tales of ancient times were still remembered. In a conflict between the Republic of old and the Separatist movement, Kerkoidia had been torn between warring states. Those wars were gone, but the planet they effected remained. And they extended a warm welcome to their new protectors with that in mind.

"Come and see our way of life," they offered, " and celebrate our culture with us. Keep faith with the people of Kerkoidia, and we will keep faith with you."

It was with that in mind that the Forge Festival, where the old blacksmiths of the world came together and worked the forges under the longest nights of summer, was made into something much, much larger. Massive fires, food, and drink were plentiful, and the Spaceport had not seen such activity since the Clone Wars. The main event, though, was put together and overseen by the local Viceroy.

1: Festival! Enjoy the fine wine and good food with your friends, and the people of Kerkoidia. Feel free to kick back and relax, but watch out for the fire!

2: Forge: Browse the works of the planet's finest smiths, maybe buy something, or if you're feeling bold, try your hand at working the forge yourself!

3: Fight! The main event- put together by the Viceroy of Kerkoidia, a fighting ring is available for people to try their hand at combat and see how they measure up. It's a chance to try out your friends and cross blades with people you normally fight alongside, so try not to miss out on the opportunity!


Above all, have fun!

 

[Alexander]

Location: The Ring, Kerkoidia
Nearby: [member="Shakti Sweet"] + Open
Objective Fight!
Attire: Something Comfortable

---

Ephraim didn't do parties.

Unless specifically mandated by a mission, the Ghost of Endelaan had no intention of rubbing elbows or clinking glasses with others. The time and effort required could be better spent doing something productive - like watching paint dry. One might blame his particular distate on all things social on his upbringing, what with all the nobility wandering about and their damned galas, but he would never admit as much out loud. Thus, when the Viceroy of Kerkoidia announced the so-called Forge Festival, Ephraim initially rolled his eyes. The idea of wandering around crowded streets or chatting it up with yocals appealed about as much as a prostate examination. However. There was one quirky bit about the day which piqued the Ghost's interest. One thing that made his eyebrow raise with curiosity.

A fighting ring you say? Sign me the feth up.

These days, where the Ghost was found, a certain, fiery-haired Wildling was sure to be nearby. Ephraim hadn't put a label on the fist-swinging relationship he had cultivated with the woman, but "friends with brawling fits" seemed to be an accurate description. Therefore, when Ephraim stepped up to the Ring, the first person he was interested in "dancing" with was Shakti. Suffice it to say, the wild child was a bundle of surprises. Her height and build were deceptive, for every punch she threw hit like a damn truck. In fact, on the day the two met, they threw down like rabid animals - and Ephraim was left with a grudging respect for the woman. She damn near beat him and left his jaw sore for days.

And now? They wouldn't have it any other way.

The hour was later and the light had long since disappeared from the distant world. All about, a cacophony of burning scents invaded the Ghost's nostrils. Bonfires raged, with some offering the succulent smell of cooking meat whilst others projected the aroma of various woods. There was a far more pungent smell in the distance, one that was coupled with the thunder of hammer upon anvil. Ephraim could only equate this to oil that was singed. He did his best not to let the whirlwind of scents distract him as he strode towards the Ring - which in of itself was as primative as they came. The earth had been compacted down into a hard rectangle. Upon this, stones had been laid to form a circle, which were the bounds that the Combatants could not leave lest they forfeit. Additionally, stone risers orbited the Ring, forming seats for any who wanted to spectate rather than participate.

As for Ephraim, he simply strode into the ring and adjusted his gloves. This day, he had left the fancier battle armor at home and simply arrived wearing civilian attire. He did unzip and casually set aside his hooded sweater upon one of the Ring's corners before breaching the circle with his footsteps. As far as weapons went, his lightsaber clearly resided within his right-hand pocket and was retrieved as he came to a halt. He would try not to maim any of his comrades if they stepped up.

No guarantees.

 

[Uthixo Nazim]

Location: The Ring
Objective: Fight [member="Ephraim"]


Kerkoidia, once more a world that held no significant memory to Uthixo, he knew nothing about it besides having arrived with many other members of the CIS. These people were to be his new family, his new home, his brothers and sisters on the field and yet they were still unfamiliar to him. All around were the unfamiliar faces of the local inhabitants, some danced about, others walked to and fro drinking whatever suited their fancy. In an odd way, the scenery felt somewhat comforting to the Sandali though his body language said the opposite. Standing almost stiff as a board the man couldn't think of what to partake in. Working a forge seemed odd, and unfitting as did simply milling about with the citizens he knew naught about. There was one thing that drew the warriors attention, the ring.

Approaching the ring Uthixo took in the stone structure at that moment he felt a faint sense of deja vu, as though he'd been here before. As though he'd seen such an arena... No more than seen, as though he'd participated in it. There was a faint tingling beneath the warrior's skin as adrenaline built up seemingly out of nowhere. He could barely repress the ghost of a grin that crossed his lips. Each step brought the Sandali closer to the arena where a man already waited for an opponent brave or foolhardy enough to step forward. Uthixo was that person.

Standing on the edge of the ring, the Sandali shrugged out of the jacket he wore tossing it to the ground behind him where it kicked up dust. He cared not for it any longer, next came his shirt revealing a multitude of scars that covered Uthixo's entire torso stopping short at the Sandali's neck. Scars that meant little to the warrior as he could no longer recall their meaning. Grabbing the dreads that fell to the back of his neck and tying them up Uthixo was ready and entered the ring.

From the utility belt, the warrior drew two silver hilts, lightsabers and with a flick of his thumbs, the blades ignited. One blade far shorter than the other, what people called a Shoto. The scent of ozone filled the air as the two blades escaped the hilts bathing the area around Uthixo in a golden glow. Black eyes raising to lock with his opponent the Sandali was ready. No words were given as there were none to say. Words in combat were for fools.

 

[ToKola Bakari]

Location: Kerkoidia, The Ring
Objective: See about the fighting pits
Tags: [member="Uthixo Nazim"] [member="Ephraim"]

Cardinal rested his back against the stone, sunburnt eyes locked on the arena below. Coming to Kerkoidia to enjoy the Forge Festival hadn't been on the man's agenda, however he needed something to take his mind off recent events. Things had grown so complicated lately and the man was intent on enjoying some of the simple things. He watched as one of the warrior's connected his fist with a man's face, leaving a sickening crunch to erupt out into the air. Cardinal chuckled at the sight, interested in the ending of this match. When the man slammed into the dirt under the victor, a number of the warriors called out in a loud shout of approval. Men clapped the man on his shoulder as he made his way out of the ring for the next two.

When the next pair approached, Cardinal looked to the dark haired man with a soft chuckle. He didn't seem like much. However, he did have a warrior's aura about him and it was not something to be ignored. When the man pulled a lightsaber from his pocket, Cardinal draped his arm over his knee to peer at the fight. When the next opponened came forward, Cardinal eyed him closely. He had dark skin and black hair, not something that was uncommon, however when the man removed his shirt the Vi'dreya's eyes quirked at the sight. Scars. Reaching from the man's shoulders down to his abdomen, in a pattern that he immediately recognized.

"Wewe ni nani?" The man muttered, looking to the newcomer with an uncertain gaze. The Skor clan's scar markings were an ancient tradition. A tradition carried down from the homeworld of the Skor, Sandala. The man exhaled, but fought against approaching the newcomer. For now he would watch him fight. That would answer more questions than anything.


Translation: "Who are you?"

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: The Ring, Kerkoidia
Objective: Enjoy Some Fighting
Tag: [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Uthixo Nazim"] | [member="Cardinal Vi'Dreya"]
Wearing: Nothing Appropriate for Fighting

---

The mercenary's ever-present shadow was, as she so often had been lately, sulking about behind him. He'd expressed a desire to get his knuckles bloody, and she wasn't about to get in his way. So as Ephraim made his way down into the centre of the ring and tossed his hoodie to the side, it was the redhead that caught it. She shot him an unimpressed glare as she bundled it up in her arms and moved to take a seat near the edge of the ring. The tossed the bundle of fabric down beside her and slid down to take a seat. The itched to fuss with the ridiculous outfit she'd been forced to select that morning - but she shoved her hands into her lap and just set to glowering at everyone and everything instead.

The last few weeks had been a blur, and she found herself disinterested in tussling quite as much. 6 hours each morning sparring with magnaguard made her appetite for slugging the mercenary die before it even got off the ground. It didn't seem to matter how many times he took jabs at her lately, she would just glower or bare her teeth at him and continue along. She hadn't had time to discuss the finer points of her newest appointment, but she trusted that there would be time to catch him up soon. In the meantime... She supposed she could play coat rack?

The glare moved from Ephraim to the challenger that entered the ring from the other end, however. Her strangely keen green eyes gave the man a once over before she reclined a touch and rested her elbows against the next tier of seating up. Her legs crossed at the knee as she tilted her head a touch, the short red bob of her hair swaying around her chin as she watched the stranger ignite the two sabers, the shorter one unlike any she'd seen before. Interesting indeed. Her gaze swung back around to Ephraim as she heard Cardinal's voice ring out across the ring, raising a brow at him and allowing a small smirk to tug at the edge of her mouth.

Hopefully, someone would kick the mercs arss for a change.

 

[Kelsie Sylvan]

Kerkoidia had some pretty cool savannahs. She'd never been here before; this particular patch of space had never interested her -- and it hadn't interested any of her employers, either. But when she'd caught word of this festival she'd decided to come on over. And so she found herself wandering through the numerous stalls of the Forge Festival.

It was odd that the Kerkoidens called this their cultural festival. Yes, it seemed there were a fair few Kerkoiden vendors here, but she knew their culture was a little more than that. And yet most of these 'forgers' were of other races, clearly not from Kerkoidia. She'd seen a few Mandalorian smiths, several humans, even a Hutt with a set of massive Hutt Battle Armor. But these were not the kind of makers she sought.

She was looking for something unique, special -- hers. To have a weapon, a piece of gear that would never fail or falter no matter the situation, one that spoke to her soul. Her mentor had had one of those -- a powerful weapon infused with the Force. Something like that would be incredible.

And so she wandered the stalls, looking for a smith of sufficient skill to build her a weapon worthy of her legend... or maybe just so she can kill people better.

 

[Krystal]

[SIZE=11pt]Dodging a particularly dense patch of smoke, Krystal made her way through the shadows cast by the flickering light. Fascinated by the fires, the barely contained rage present in each flame made her heart pound. She had never seen a fire like this surrounded by… festivity. The light of the flames reflected off the gems embedded in the bodysuit Krystal wore -- though dressed for a party, Krystal had heard the Forge Festival wasn’t as serene as the earlier Starfall festival she had been to. Along with the usual knives hidden in her boots and sleeves, she had her Verpine Shatter Rifle slung across her back. She carried a purse with a lip gloss and credits, as well as several other less mundane items. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It was difficult to see where she was going through the haze… or, it would have been, if she had a destination. As it was, Krystal was mostly directionless, simply weaving through the bonfires and flying embers. Emerging from the savannah, Krystal found herself amid several stalls selling weapons, some commonplace and some the likes of which she had never seen before. Though she wasn’t in need of anything in particular, Krystal’s never one to turn down an opportunity to shop. As she browsed through, she was equally watching the other patrons at the festival. Some looked like Kerkoidens, but just as many were foreigners. Sweating from the heat of the bonfires, Krystal stepped aside to tie up her hair. Returning to a stall with a knife she had been admiring, she nearly ran into another young woman, browsing the weapons. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Excuse me!” Krystal made to leave, but there was something about this young woman that intrigued her. Was she looking at… explosives? [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Krystal hadn’t met too many girls who appreciated those finer things in life. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Following [member="Kelsie Sylvan"] ‘s gaze, Krystal noted that damn, [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]this girl had taste. “That’s quite a weapon there.” [/SIZE]

--
Wearing: black bodysuit, boots. Verpine Shatter Rifle.

 

[Keva]

[SIZE=11pt]Location: [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Objective: [/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Tags: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]None, looking for partner [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It had been awhile.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Keva had thrown aside the fine fitting and pristine uniforms for patching clothing she had borrowed from wherever it was available, the Chiss was not a big woman by no means. But she obviously had every intent to fight, any sort of pristine class was replaced with a grizzled appearance of a woman who had been a veteran of so many conflicts against the wildest horrors of the Unknown Regions. Fearless little blueberry she was.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Her scars were bear, a jagged slashing of a claw running down her face: and the little scars across her bare arms from the variety of melee weapons unleashed by the savages within the Unknown Regions. Cracking her knuckles the stretching the slightly muscular CEDF defect readied her weapons, some exotic looking blaster and knife: her old gear when she served an Officer, it seemed so long ago since she last used them.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]And so, Keva stood, in the less than glorious status as a glorified pit fighter. Ready to show that she could do more than just sit behind the lines and lead some droids: she could fight as well anyone else in the Confederacy. Some little quest she decided she would go on, she needed to prove herself more to these Confederates. And of course, if need be, her new “Lightsaber” or whatever it was called was hooked onto her belt if need be.[/SIZE]

 

[Allya Vi'Dreya]

Location: Arena
Objective: Beat the crap out of a blueberry
Partner: [member="Keva"]
Nearby: [member="Shakti Sweet"] | [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"] | [member="Uthixo Nazim"] | [member="Ephraim"]


Allya moved calmly into the arena ring. Her uncle was already there, and she was tempted to challenge him. However, for now, she wanted practice, to judge her abilities against others. The girl had very little in the way of knowledge or understanding of her own skill level compared to the galaxy at large. She was a Mandalorian, she was a Sith, she was also a Dauntless Commando, she assumed it was good. But, who could say? It was with this in mind, that she moved up to Keva.

The girl was fully in her beskar'garm, head to toe covered by the armor of her people. Her weapons were kept holstered, and she walked up to the blue Chiss woman. Her right hand was placed over her heart, and she bowed to the woman. “I would like to battle with you. No weapons, no force abilities, just a brawl.”

Allya backed away and turned to face off with the woman, so long as she agreed anyway. She would sink back into a loose posture, her left hand up in a loose fist, and her right hand down lower also in a loose fist. Her feet were spread out, allowing her increased balance and movement. Her eyes shimmered under her helmet. The little Sithling was excited for this, very excited.

 

[WolfMortum]

Location: Kerkoidia, Spaceport en-route to the Festival.​

Objective: Attend the Festival and try to enjoy himself.​

Transport: The Commenori Pheonix: The KingsGuard.​

Apparel: Veiere's Silver Jedi Apparel.​

Nearby: N/A.​

​

​

​

Kerkoida wasn't a world that Veiere Arenais had ever visited in all his years. He and his wife [member=Kay Arenais] had traveled far and wide, meeting a great many people for political means back when they presided over Commenor's well-being; nowadays however Veiere's life was much quieter, living within the Silver Rest upon the world of Kashyyyk, his children mostly grown up and doing their own thing while their mother remained behind the bars of Purgatory. Life was still busy, and complicated, yet no longer in the spotlight of the political stage across the Galaxy, Veiere could afford to relax a little and take some time out for himself to simply seek some form of leisure and relaxation.

The Confederacy of Independent Systems had extended invitation to their allies in the Silver Jedi Order, and seeing a possible opportunity to try and enjoy himself, Veiere invited himself along for the times. The KingsGuard had arrived and relayed her transponder codes, identifying the man's identity and being confirmed by CIS Regulars, Veiere was permitted entrance. The last time he'd stepped foot upon one of the Worlds under their territory of influence was during the The Unity Celebration where he had expected to run into [member="Adron Malvern"]. He and Kay had enjoyed their time all the same, and the CIS had been very hospitable back then that he expected things would be no different this time around, though he knew nothing about this event he was wandering into.

The general mood of his shared environment seemed to be a positive and humbling event, Veiere being welcomed by the few that turned to notice him. Wearing the attire he was, he hadn't considered how it might reflect on his being there, assuming that everyone there would be little surprised to find themselves looking upon a member of the Silver Jedi. Still, it'd been a long time since he'd last participated in anything of this social level.

 

[Alexander]

Location:The Ring, Kerkoidia​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"], [member="Uthixo Nazim"]​

Things were...different.

It was in a good way, of course, as the Ghost hadn't considered going anywhere without at least giving the Wildling a call. Between her apprenticeship and her role within the Ministry, Ephraim and Shakti spent quite a bit of time in one another's orbit. However, unlike the day that they had met, one element of their "friendship" had certainly waned. Before, the opportunity to throw hands was always taken. Eagerly. It didn't take nearly any provocation to incite the fiery-haired woman to violence, and the Ghost was more than happy to bloody his knuckles with her. There were days when they would fight for hours, only to chug a bottle of liquor and pass out. But, those days were few and far between now. Such were the perks of meaningful employment.

Regardless, Shakti was close when Ephraim entered the Ring. So close that she caught and carried his sweater upon it being discarded. He could feel her glare from the stands, but did not spare her a glance himself. For his opponent set foot into the Ring and readied himself immediately. A shoto and a standard sized lightsaber blade erupted into being in tandem. Both burned with a silver hue. The Ghost took a second to size up the man, noting the dreadlocks he tied up before readying, before igniting his own lightsaber. The golden blade snapped into being with a hungry hiss before Ephraim assumed a rather simple, Shii-Cho stance.

And while unassuming in appearance, the Ghost was feeling. His eyes unwavering from his opponent whilst his Will slithered upon the floor of the ring. He did not move until he felt Dominion over what he sought. Now. With but a minute grunt of effort, the loose layer of dirt between the combatants exploded upward and towards the sable-skinned warrior. The telekinetic detonation was intended to hurl as much debris as possible at the man's face in an attempt to rob him of his most vital sense. Once the dirt was hurled, Ephraim advanced behind it with saber moving in a deadly arc. Wielded solely in his dominant hand, the blade sliced through the dust in an attempt to cleave the man from right-shoulder to left-hip.

Perhaps this would be enough to ignite the Wildling's desire to brawl again.

 

[Anansi M'bali]

Location: The Ring, Kerkoidia
Objective: Observe
Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"], [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"], [member="Uthixo Nazim"]

​

​

The fighting pits were a stark reminder of home. The terrain was even akin to the earthen flats that Maji hunters trained and honed their skills in. But despite the various environmental similarities, this place was not home. Sandala. Pale eyes hidden under the guise of a leathery jerkin hood peered into the arena observing the action unfold. Raw and uncut. There was no missing the leather clothed mans massive figure. He stood well over seven feet tall and his physique was in excellent shape. Two long and strong arms crossed against the mans chest as his head tilted to the side. A fixed gaze locked onto the men within the fighting pits. Focus. Rhythmic ripples of webbing shot transparent through the his own unique sight. A gift and a curse. Strings to be followed, tugged, tied, yanked or in some cases broken. The limitless lining that held the spirit world within its own borders. Altogether it was all connected.

Anansi could see it. Trace it. A solitary finger hovered in the air breaking free from the closed off impression his body language gave. Carefully and to himself he traced the over lapping intersections and connections. The sound of battle ensued with a rough patchy blast into the dirt. A dirty tactic and one that lacked honor in Anansi's view but never the less effective. The battle had begun and as clear as the webbing was that tethered the soul, It all faded within a simple blink.

" Hmm." birthing smirk the Sandali walked to his left sliding his hand on the railing of the arena to have a seat. He had been on his feet all day and there was no point in standing any longer. Removing his hood before he sat down, the large man fixed his dreadlocks that had been tied back into a pony tail and glanced briefly at his neighbor([member="Shakti Sweet"]). A red head who seemed to be just as interested in the fight has he was.

" Miss." He greeted her with a deep tone and nod of his head.

 

[Uthixo Nazim]

Location: Ring
Opponent: [member="Ephraim"]
Nearby: [member="Anansi M'bali"], [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"], [member="Shakti Sweet"], [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"]

From where he stood eyes locked on his opponent, Uthixo was focused honing his mind, blocking everything out except for that one deep baritone voice that spoke in a language the man somehow understood yet from where he did not know. Eyebrow-raising Uthixo looked in the direction of the obscenely large male that had a skin-tone similar to his own. Mouth opening Uthixo shocked himself when the words that came out sounded similar to those of the one who'd called to him. "Mimi ni Uthixo Nazim, wakati wetu utakuja wakati mwisho huu umekwisha."

Where did that come from? The warrior wondered before shaking his head to clear the distractions from his mind. In the next instant, the fight had begun with an explosion of dirt and sand flying at the Sandali's face. Many would've raised an arm in defense to shield themselves, others perhaps would've dodged out of the way of the sand. Uthixo? He stood and braced himself against it, eyes closing as a few pebbles of hardpacked sand and dirt impacted with his face drawing droplets of blood that retreated down his cheeks. It was as if Uthixo had been stung by a dozen or so Jellybees, a pain that the Sandali took into himself and in a way found more comforting than he expected. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of battle? Or something more?

The tactic may have robbed the Sandali of his vision yet vision wasn't the only sense that a warrior possessed. A true warrior knew and understood how to use all their senses, especially their hearing. The humming of Ephraim's lightsaber was a dead giveaway on where the warrior was and where he intended to swing from. Right foot sliding back and bracing itself, left knee bending slightly and his torso turning both of the sabers raised simultaneously to clash with Ephraim's own blade halting the momentum of the blow. Eyes opening, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards into a slight smile Uthixo moved swiftly. The full lightsaber he held in his right hand staying in place to lock Ephraim's saber while the shoto in his left broke away in a swipe at Ephraim's torso from the left shoulder down to the ribs on his right side. A swift blow in an attempt to end the fight in an instant.

Translation: "I am Uthixo Nazim, our time will come once this bout is concluded."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Location: Near the Ring (Objective 3)
Wearing: Armor | Leather Pants | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tags: [member="Ephraim"] [member="Shakti Sweet"] +anyone else in the area

Scherezade arrived at the festival area, clad entirely in her usual armor and gear. The woman had adopted to being a walking armory when she was barely a month out of the pebble, though the array of her weapons had changed over time. Whereas once it was simply a knife or two hidden in her boot, now it was over a dozen of blades, some in open view and others not, a pair of lightsabers, and of course, an armor of green and feathers that made her stand out almost anywhere she went.

To the people of the Confederacy, she was still Pathfinder Madalena Antares, the perfect soldier who could make an entire room fall in love with her simply by smiling. To say that Scherezade and Madalena were opposites in that regard would have been a severe understatement. Yet the time to come clean and confess what she had done, to let others know that there had been another woman inside her woman, one that that Scherezade had thought she had designed but later discovered she had both designed and summoned from another dimension. Now was hardly the time. While Madalena's new body had been disconnected from the growth acceleration machinery, she was still not in it. That was… four days from now, more or less, or a week, at most.

And these past weeks… Scherezade had walked among the Confederates as Madalena. It had been a mind blowing experience for her. Gone were the mocking looks, the giggles behind her back, that generally being treated as though most preferred her to not be there at all. There was not a single hint of it. Instead, she was treated like someone who was respected, and almost more importantly, someone who was actually liked and appreciated. It was heart breaking to know that soon enough things would return to as they had been. And Scherezade loathed knowing that aside for keeping the act up, there was nothing she could do about it.

She was walking now, going between the crowds, headed towards the ring. The fight in Kuat had reminded her of her blood lust; not the kind that came because of a mission or because someone had to be turned in, but the pure love and joy for it. She was a predator, and she had forgotten it for a while. But no longer. Confederate blood or enemy blood, the ring that had been announced would let her spill it.

And she loved spilling blood.

It was only one thing that made her pause as she made her way to the ring though – the same scent of the man she had interacted with briefly on Kuat, [member="Ephraim"]. Scherezade was a Blood Hound, able to scent species and blood lines through the Force, and she knew, she knew, standing there in that office, that she was sharing space with her brother. Not Brayden, her twin, with whom she had entered the galaxy ove seven hundred years ago, embraced at the same time. No. This one was of the same stock though, the son of both her own mother and father.

And because she had to keep things professional, she couldn't ask him what the krak while they were there.

But now… Now things were different. Now he was here, of all places. Was her new brother part of the Confederacy? Did he even know she existed? Did he know Brayden existed? Did he know of their parents, or what was happening on Endelaan? The more she thought of it, the more questions kept popping up, and none of them came with any kind of answers.

Standing by the ring, glowing green eyes gazed at [member="Ephraim"] as he prepared to fight the other man.

Folding her arms across her chest, Scherezade continued to stare. Once that fight was over, if her brother was still standing, she would take the next turn to fight against him.

 

[Keva]

[SIZE=11pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Arena[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Objective: [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]Beat up a teenager[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Tags: [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"][/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Keva had quickly noticed everyone was better armed than her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Much better armed.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]They were the dirty sort of soldiers, the kind who trekked through the mud and artillery barrages to assail the enemy right in their face. She was one of those, one day, but it had been a long time since she ran in the muck. Behind the command deck, in the tank, that was where she belonged now. For now at least.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]It was time to prove herself, nodding her head to the Mandalorian she hooked her weapons back onto her belt. Slowly entering a fighting stance and raising her fists, time to see just how much of the training she remembered: or the tricks she had learned along the way.[/SIZE]

 

[ToKola Bakari]

Location: Kerkoidia, The Ring
Objective: See about the fighting pits
Tags: [member="Anansi M'bali"] [member="Uthixo Nazim"] [member="Ephraim"]

Cardinal was unsure of what to say. Silence came over him as his eyes gazed down at the man in the arena. That language was not one commonly spoken in the open Galaxy. Sulu was an old dialect, perhaps one of the oldest ones that Cardinal knew of, yet this man spoke it fluently. Could he be? Impossible. Every member of Cardinal's clan had fallen over a hundred years ago, no one could have survived that slaughter. He said nothing, instead he merely leaned back against the stone seats behind him, watching the match with some interest.

Once the combat had begun, Cardinal did not seldolm take his eyes off of the display. If this man was truly of the same heritage, his fighting would give it away.

For now, Cardinal was intent to watch this match through another set of eyes. He closed his own, breathing life into his connection to The Force.

He reached out to those surrounding them. So many different people, so many different tethers to The Force. It was to be expected, people gifted with such abilities often found themselves drawn to The Confederacy.

From where he sat he could sense his dear niece, [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"]. It seemed the young Mandalorian was intent on having herself a match as well. Cardinal would be sure to watch her own progress as best he could. Still, the man was more interested in this man before him. Who was he and why did he speak Sulu?

 

[Kelsie Sylvan]

Kelsie had enough military-grade impact grenades... just kidding. There was no such thing. And these one were artsy 'forged' ones. She was more interested in the case anyways, she could use a little bag to carry her explosives around.

She'd been about to pick one up when some odd blonde girl bumped into her. "Yeah," she muttered softly, assuming she'd leave Kelsie alone. When she didn't, Kelsie turned to study the other young woman. Her first thought was how easy it would be to impersonate her -- Kelsie knew her face well, as it was similar to her own. There was a small pause, a tug in the back of her mind about something long buried, but she pushed it out and gave the girl an immaculate smile. "Grenades are less weapons and more indiscriminate killers," she said with a shrug. "I'd say the case is pretty nice though, I might buy it later."

This other young woman really was odd -- dressed like that, carrying a rifle and knives. Kelsie was much more subtle. Her black leather jacket was simple and nondescript, and yet it hid enough firepower to take on most of these little weapon shops. The only weapon she had visible was a pistol of similar design to the blonde's rifle -- funny how they had similarly deadly tastes. "You ever thought of wearing something a little more appropriate? I'm sure you could buy some armor to cover up those legs."

[member="Krystal Estain"]

 

[Alexander]

Location:The Ring, Kerkoidia​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"], [member="Uthixo Nazim"], [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

Perhaps those scars weren't just for show.

Ephraim had to hand it to his sable-skinned adversary, he took the licking and kept right on ticking. After the spontaneous detonation of dirt into his face, the man responded to the incoming assault undeterred. His silver blades raised and, together, halted the golden strike of the Ghost in their tracks. The collision thundered about the ring, yet now it was the blinded one's chance to respond. He used the right saber to keep Ephraim's locked into place and moved his shoto to end the battle as quickly as it began. With only milliseconds to respond, Ephraim flicked his finger over the ignition switch of his saber, allowing his adversary's lengthier blade to move upward due to the lack of his saber being present. He then twisted his wrist as quickly as he could, flicking the switch once more to narrowly catch the silver blade as his erupted into being once more.

The position was uncomfortable enough that Ephraim's offhand rocketed forward as an open palm, projecting a telekinetic gust at his opponent. It carried just enough oomph to hopefully stagger the man back a few paces and create some valuable breathing room. If it didn't, the Ghost would do his best to find his footing regardless, pushing back with his feet to dance back from what he presumed would be the inevitable fall of the primary, silver saber.

Whilst his mind attempted to move along the chessboard that was their duel, a rather distinct scent invaded his nostrils. In relatively recent history, Ephraim had only committed to memory the Wildling's presence - for no other reason than she couldn't exactly tell him where she as if things went to chit on an operation. However. The stench of his blood was enough to make him wrinkle his nose. He had found this scent before. Once. On Kuat to be exact. Yet, the operation was so vital that Ephraim did not pursue it any further. And, in this moment, the battle before his eyes was a touch more important than ascertaining just who was responsible for the smell. For now, the Ghost of Endelaan had his eyes locked on target, exactly where they should be.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: The Ring, Kerkoidia
Tags: [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Uthixo Nazim"] | [member="Anansi M'bali"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"]

---

Things progressed quite quickly in the ring. Between the merc and his new topless friend, Shakti found it difficult to concentrate elsewhere - though several people were vying for her attention elsewhere. Brilliant green eyes drifted from the fighting to the large man who seated himself beside her. There wasn't much in the market for real estates on the low benches that lined the ring, but it was always a little jarring for her to find strangers so close. The Firrerreo with her tarnished golden skin, brilliant white tattoos, and oddly formal attire didn't exactly look the most welcoming... But she'd often found that people who leaned towards the title of warrior cared little for the outward appearances of others. It made picking them out easier.

She returned [member="Anasi M'bali"]'s greeting with a gentle incline of her head before she noted another figure - though this one was much more familiar. Shakti recalled the woman from Kuat... It had only been in passing for but a moment, but [member="Scherezade deWinter"] had been there the day that the capital building on the alien planet had been destroyed. She hadn't been formally introduced to the woman - but it seemed today was also a bad day for introductions. Both thin red brows raised as she watched with curiosity at the heat with which the woman regarded [member="Ephraim"].

Her own eyes returned to the ring as the men continued their bout, mighty blows coming from either side. She easily slid back into the rhythm of it, and just as her handler might have hoped, it made her palms itch for the sport of it... Something about watching two people try to seriously injure one another always made her want to toss her proverbial hat in the ring.

 

[Uthixo Nazim]

Location: Ring
Opponent: [member="Ephraim"]
Nearby: [member="Anansi M'bali"], [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"], [member="Shakti Sweet"], [member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"]


Behind the twin silver blades, the figure that was Uthixo relished in what he thought would be a swift victory that was quickly robbed from him. The familiar snap-hiss sound reached the inner ear of the Sandali and there was the sensation of his right hand slightly moving upwards due to his foes saber retreating back into its hilt akin to the turtles of Dorumaa withdrawing into their shells to avoid predators.

Retracting his right arm back and preparing for another strike Uthixo noticed the raising of his foes offhand. From the appendage, an invisible blow reached out that impacted the warrior's body. An ability that the Sandali was well aware of. While there were ways to defend against such attacks Uthixo did not utilize them in this instant. No, if he was to win this fight he'd do it fairly. Off the merit of his own skill against a superior opponent. Instead of attempting to fight the blow and staggering backward Uthixo moved with it. His left foot drawing back where he pivoted on it turning the momentum from the push into a full spin.

Throughout the spin, Uthixo's booted right foot skirted across the stone floor kicking up bits of gravel and dirt the friction keeping the Sandali from being pushed back too far. Yet, even by the end of the twirl, the Ghost had managed to put more space between them. Teeth gritting, eyes narrowing to slits the warrior glared across at his enemy. Idiot! The Sandali scolded himself for allowing his pride to be the thing that held him back in this duel.

Unwilling to allow his opponent to escape Uthixo reengaged in an instant, kicking off with his left foot and closing the distance. As he neared the Sandali's right leg came forward bending at the knee, the same arm stretching out pushing the saber forward in a thrust aimed towards the Ghost's chest, or what appeared to be. At the last second, the Sandali's wrist would flick upward turning the thrust into a quick slash upwards across Ephraim's chest and possibly chin.