The Sweet "Shocking" Science [Doc]

[Azrael]

Reuss VIII, Portmoak Sector​

The Broken Tusk​

​

An agriworld overrun with factories that had long polluted the planet, Reuss VIII was a wasteland plagued by acid rain and an inhospitable atmosphere that required anyone outside the artificial atmosphere of sealed off buildings to wear a breathmask at the very least. The sickly green fog that permeated most of the planet mixed with the hours of sunlight bathing the landscape in a death hued yellow that smelled just as appealing. Rivers of what was no longer water flowed by the factories that continued to pollute the planet only to keep the sentient life on this rock from going hungry. It was ironic that this had been one of the prime exporters of foodstuffs in this region of space, and now it wasn't fit for man nor beast. There were things here that still attracted visitors however, and one of them was the infamous and brutal sport of shockboxing.

The Field Marshal from Ord Mantel had heard of shockboxing among other sports, but he'd never investigated it beyond just a formality. Recently though, Azrael had found that while he was decent with a gun, and could hold his own, he lacked some more formal training in various forms of combat. Verz Horak had been the one to give him an introduction into the climate of war, and the heat of battle. He'd taken that teaching and expanded his reach by himself -- however there were things you just couldn't teach yourself as easily. The Ca'prudii was quickly docked to avoid acid rain damage while the Mandalorian stepped off his ship and adjusted his wardrobe. His intentions were not to attract unwanted attention in this sector, as he wasn't looking to take on an entire bar full of thugs just to get a peak at this sport up close and personal. He'd foregone his traditional beskar'gam, and gone in civilian attire. A thick woolen cloak of blue adorned his form, with a hood drawn over his head.

"Shabla, this place reeks! Even with this mask - and I thought Mantell was bad." He commented to himself as he slipped on the break mask and adjusted the settings to convert the usable air into something breathable for his journey. The cloak over his form, hiding both arms, with just the tips of his fingers (bionic and otherwise) showing passed the hem. Unfolding the flimsi he'd tucked away, the map showed him a clear path around the factory district and towards the bar where he'd find the fights he had come to witness. It wouldn't take long, and he certainly didn't want it to, before he broke through the threshold of the bar, crowded with people from across the Galaxy, in a loud and aggressive din. Shouting never ceased, and smoke filled the air from deathsticks and other substances. Not truly needing the breath-mask in here, there was a moment's pause considering if it'd be safer with it on, but it was slid off as was his hood.

Ten credits were exchanged with the bouncer as he bypassed the bar and came to the observation decks still thick with muscled bodies as they shouted and roared in approval at the two men in the middle of the Dool Arena going at it. Metallic fists sailed through the air, and sweat glistened on their bare chested torsos. Each one seemed to be as balanced as the other as the juked and dived to avoid blows. The crackling energy of the shockgloves resonating despite the noise. Each hand grasped the railing as he leaned forward, watching with a careful gaze at the match. Azrael had come to understand this, to see it in person and really get some first-hand knowledge on how the sport went.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

"FIGHTERS!"​

"BEGIN!"​

​

​

Huttese. Friggin Huttese. How he hated the language. Kaiden was good at a lot of things. Speaking Sithese. Speaking Basic in a very ugly tongue. But Huttese? The most disgusting language ever to exist. Echani language sounded like poetry, Mandalorian had so much heritage behind it that it made it beautiful in it's own way. But Huttese- was disgusting no matter how you put it. When the announcer came to the center of the ring, and spoke his ugly words, the fighters stood up. Kaiden looked upwards. Trandoshan. Mean. Ugly. Marks on his face. Weak spot. Bruises on left side of his body. Weak side of defense. Hands were raised in a southpaw position. Explained it. Kaiden stepped forward, bringing his gloved hands to his chin. The stubble on his chin stood erect with the electricity so close, but it didn't stop Kaiden or even deter him in the slightest. There was a bell. A bell, and a flash of green skin.

As predicted, the southpaw went for the jab first, to be followed by subsequent body shots. Kaiden growled, reeling backwards. The jab went over his body. He brought his gloves downward, meeting his shockboxing gloves with a hiss of clashing electrical currents. The Trandoshan would pay for his recklessness and eagerness to land a combo on Kaiden. Kaiden jerked his left hand backwards, slamming his fist directly into the liver of the Trandoshan. The Trandoshan keeled in pain, electricity arcing through his body. Kaiden, however, was not finished with him. He brought his right hand in a brutal downward hit to the Trandoshan's skull, arcing more electricity through his body, specifically his head. Kaiden grinned in sick satisfaction, as the events unfolded in mere seconds. He brought his left hand back from the gut shot, snarling as he stood back, only slightly. He hopped on his feet, moving swiftly.

"You should have picked a weaker fighter, you ugly lizard."

Kaiden went through the Trandoshan's hastily put together guard, with a swift uppercut. He felt the jaw loosen, the bones giving way to pressure and applied force. Kaiden's left hand skyrocketed into his jaw, and the Trandoshan was standing upright again, thanks to the blow. That's when Kaiden unleashed a flurry of attacks, jabs, crosses, hooks that sent the Trandoshan back against the ropes. The Trandoshan was barely clinging to consciousness, but was trained enough to put up his hands still, even after the assault. But he was dazed, confused, and tired. Kaiden gave him no quarter, as he reeled his fist back for a final blow- an overhead straight punch, right on the nasal bridge. It was too much, and the Trandoshan fell downwards, collapsing from exhaustion, and the fact that he just got brutally beaten. Kaiden stepped to the side as the Trandoshan slumped against the ropes- people don't fall over like they do in the movies. It's a slump, a slow ease into the involuntary sleep. Kaiden felt a hand on his arm, the ref.


His arm was raised high, and only the few people who bet on the Republic soldier cheered. Which was about six people. He smiled, though. He was now near-top dog at this place. All he needed was two more wins, and maybe- he could go claim the belt for galactic champion. He dropped his gloves, flexing his taped hands, as the pictures came in. He'd be a local craze for a few days, something for the industrial workers to talk about on lunch breaks. Something to ignore the horrible conditions of the planet for a little while. Kaiden's chest heaved- he was tired, sweaty, and could use some water. In the crowd, [member="Azrael"] wanted an understanding of the sport. What he got, was a violent spectacle that was quick, and ended violently and suddenly. That's because Kaiden was perhaps one of the best shock-boxers on the planet, at the moment. Kaiden rolled his Grim-reaper tattooed shoulders and back, flexing his lean and imposing mass for the entire crowd to see. The underdog, won.

 

[Azrael]

They called this entertainment - and while the appeal of fighting was no stranger to a Mandalorian, the idea of this spectacle was foreign to the salvager. The scrapyard on Ord Mantell certainly had nothing on the Broken Tusk. All the bells and whistles of casinos and cheap booze were the flavor of the junkers that piled in after a hard and long day's work. These men and women weren't drawn to the shiny lights and sirens - they were drawn to carnage, bloodshed and violence. Evident by the deafening roar as hundreds of onlookers bellowed and shook their fists. Credits piled up at each of the three collection booths, favoring the Trandoshan as the expected victor of the Republic Reaper. While the crowd around the Field Marshal called out in a frenzy of adrenaline, Azrael himself remained silent and watchful, narrowing his grey eyes on the match about to commence. Azrael had grown up with Huttese, and it rang home for him to hear it again - despite it being such a foul sounding tongue. He spoke more Basic and Mando'a now, but he retained his Huttese dialect to this day.

The movement was lightning quick, and unyielding. Metallic coverings for each hand and wrist flew across the mat in blinding speed. The first electrified blow came from the Trandoshan inciting a heightened roar from the onlookers as their round favorite struck first and struck hard. Despite the din, the crackle of energy was apparent, and visual as well as pale blue bolts coursed over the metal and arced across to Kaiden's form. Then, in an instant, the fight changed course. The Trandoshan took heavy repeated hits that came at speeds even Azrael couldn't track. His buy'ce could have, but it wasn't with him. The beating was brutally intense, showing no mercy, no quarter, and no rest. The Republic contender landed one punch after another in various methods employing every major strike zone the Trandoshan had to offer. Azrael could almost smell the scaly flesh sizzle with the juice being pumped into it. Within seconds the alien was hung against the ropes, his body still arcing from the current that was travelling through it.

Holocasts of the sport were never this quick, or this abrupt. They only chose the fights that lasted, and Azrael knew enough to understand that if a fight lasted more than a few seconds, it was for only one of two reasons. Either it was staged, or there was no real skill in either opponent. Real fights were over before they began, and rarely were two people so evenly matched that they went round after round without someone holding back. This is the reason he had come to Broken Tusk, to this backwater world. He wanted to see the live fights, the one not holo-cast for the media's pleasure. This was gritty, true to life, and nothing was faked or held back. Rohn's victorious display leveled at the crowd, causing only a few who had taken the underdog bet to cheer at. Otherwise it a room off of negative commentary and the shaking of fists. Azrael did neither. This wasn't spars with the Mandalorians, he had no desire to cheer on something he didn't understand, or wasn't a part of. What he would do however is get some face time with the victor.

The crowd dispersed to the trio of tables, to turn in their slips while just a handful would collect all the winnings. You didn't bet big here without getting a target painted on your back if you took other people's money. It wouldn't be long until a few bar fights broke out over that outcome. However, Azrael was already down closer to the Dool Arena, and the side-line area that hosted the fighter's, and their preparation locker. Training equipment was strew to the four corners, having been removed to host the bout in the arena proper. The dark blue cloth over his form shifted with every step, moving passed the Twi-leks that hadn't had the opportunity to strut their form with queue cards for each round. Even passed a manager who stopped looking when Azrael shot him a glare that gave him enough pause to back off and not ask questions. His path was direct and fervant, approaching Kaiden without a hint of hesitation in his gait.

"Impressive display. You do this often?" Azrael asked, in a straightforward tone to his vocals while he crossed arm over arm hidden beneath the deep cyan fabric, resting his back against a support beam for the upper decks. It wasn't often that he complimented someone who wasn't a Mandalorian, but he recognized skill and spirit in any form.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

[member="Azrael"] had no idea. There was more to the sport than just beating your opponent senseless, but the common spectator didn't know the half of it. Shockboxing was not just a martial art, it was a dance between two people, a dance of skill, speed, power, and ruthlessness. He walked down to the training area, ignoring those who had bet on the other guy, and were gritting their teeth and bellowing curses at them. Kaiden gave them the finger. Kaiden's footsteps became lighter as he reached the training area, and thought he was by himself, for the moment. His eyes were strewn over the amount of crap here. It was all in piles, punching bags, dummies, weighted gloves, shorts, promotional ideas that had been discarded.

He passed the Twi'lek girls, who gave him a smile and winks. They were nice to the winners, because the winners got paid- these girls were gold-diggers in the finest sense, so he paid them no mind. Besides, there was only [member="Kitt Solo"] that would do it for him. Kaiden reached down to his hands, gripping the stun settings first, turning it off. He had done it enough times, that if he failed to take them off properly- he'd shock himself next time he picked them up. Once you do it, you never do it again. It became muscle memory, the next few seconds. Gloves off. Flex hands. Check hands for broken bones, displacement, cuts, bruises, dislocation. He wiggled his hands, making sure everything was still working and feeling.

He was about to unwrap his hands, when a voice came behind him. He knew they weren't there to kill him, or attack him, because they would have done it right away without saying anything. But the question was- how did this person sneak up on the Havoc Squad commander. Either he was getting old, or the guy he was turning to face was really good. He was betting on the latter. His eyes glanced over the man, before he knew right away that he was a soldier, or a military man of some kind.

"Don't get to much anymore. I'd like to more. Why'd you ask? Are you with the league? I already told you guys before- can't sign up for the league. Contract issues with the military and some other factors would make that impossible."

 

[Azrael]

Even down in the training arena, sound still carried. The boisterous lot decks above them kept their voices ringing as shouts and insults flew among the patrons. Mandalorians weren't known for being quiet either, but of their talk was based around tales of battle and glory. Rarely did insults turn into fist fights among the vode. They would spar frequently, but they knew better than to actually rile each other into contemptuous brawling. He wasn't looking for a random bout with a half-brained drunk though - he was seeking something different, something he knew that in his occupation, he'd need. There was a certain discipline lacking in the half-blood's form. Azrael only knew what he'd gleaned from battle, and learned through Mandalorian instruction. While formidable, he was beginning to understand that he needed to branch out and understand other practices, and other types and forms of combat. He was still young compared to most, which meant he still had a great deal to learn.

The Human was just a few inches taller than he was, and cut a more slender physique. While the broad shoulders and muscled arms of the Havoc Commander were mirrored in his own body, Azrael's form was thicker, filled out with the muscles he'd used for years in hauling scrap and salvaging derelict vessels on Ord Mantell. Combining that with the warring he did with the Mandalorians, and he was a thicker version of a soldier, but not by much. His armor still cut an imposing shape, allowing him to dominate in the battlefield. Nothing much besides his height, and head were visible though from the fabric resting loosely about his frame. He knew his armor, or even a tighter cut to his clothing would cause attention he didn't want until he was getting some face time with someone who could help him in this endeavor. Grey eyes shifted around, taking in the training environment he'd found himself in. It was a mess to be honest, not exactly an orderly setup, but that was mostly due to the fights themselves. He'd come one one of the lower ranked nights, as the bout wasn't a championship or even a ranked match. This was just part of the sport, and despite the pay to the victor, five credits at the door was a bargain.

"No league. That was the first fight I've seen not holocast." Azrael mentioned while Kaiden began to unwrap his hands from the cloth banding interlacing his digits and padding the flesh of each. "I'm not interested in the politics of it all - all I'm looking for is an education." He commented, stepping over to one of the dormant gauntlets that was resting just a foot away. It wasn't Kaidens, but he'd watched him switch them off a minute ago. A ginger touch to the metal let him know it was turned off. His right hand held the glove up for a closer inspection. The wheels in his mind turning, as the salvager pieced together the construction of the thing, eyeing it's form and shape. They seemed comparable to the shock glove in potency, but the structure was completely different. Though in order for him to fully understand it's design, he'd of had to dissect it which would probably get him thrown right out for tampering with the equipment. "I'm not after glory." He admonished Kaiden with a glance in his direction. At least he wasn't after the glory of a prize fight. "Its the skill I want to learn." He had no desire to be a contender for a title, but shockboxing was a martial art that he wasn't familiar with, and had decided it would be beneficial to learn. From what little he did understand, it seemed to be a gateway art to a lot of other combat forms.

"Payment won't be an issue, if you don't mind a wiling student. The only thing I see that would present a problem is this." The Field Marshal turned to face Kaiden and drew up a portion of his cyan cloak, revealing his bionic arm in full detail. He left the cap of the shoulder and Mythosaur symbol covered, but most of the arm was visible. A bionic appendage that was already vulnerable to electricity. He knew the dangers that could be associated with a sport based on electricity and one of the drawbacks of his artificial limb. Still he wasn't so afraid of a little pain that he wasn't going to attempt to learn this. Azrael was interested however in how Kaiden would assess the situation. Would he be able to engineer a method where the Mandalorian could even attempt this with a somewhat unorthodox handicap and advantage? His left arm rose, allowing the boxer to inspect it if he wished.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

[member="Azrael"] was one of the few people in Kaiden's lifetime that made him stop and think for a moment. Kaiden usually just acted- hell, he'd made an entire senator and her army ditch the Republic and whine off to the Mandalorians, where last he heard, that person just kinda dropped off the grid, or went nuts and tried to rescue Circe Savan. Or got married to them. Whichever, it didn't bother him one bit. Pulling a gun on a senator and punching their guards in the face was literally something Kaiden had no problem doing, and the best part - he got away with it. Kaiden shifted on his feet, sitting on the bench and facing the stranger. He smiled when he talked about the holocast bit. None of the better fights were put up on holocast, because they were over too quickly."I put 'em down too quickly to have any sort of televised appearance. The league keeps wanting me to drag out fights."On Kaiden's forearm, there was new tattoo- the Havoc Squad emblem. That in itself, said it all.

Kaiden was *NOT* one for messing around. Everything he did, was to put people down quickly, efficiently, and in the most violent way possible. It was a bit of a stretch, but when the team was known for beating an entire mercenary force on Carida, or himself, for shooting bank robbers, and fighting Sith with his bare hands- that itself was a great achievement. Kaiden smiled at the word 'politics'. His life was dictated by politics and the politics of politics, the politicians that decided how much funding his team got, what benefits they got, what color their armor was- all to a T. And he got to punch one of them in the face. It was great.


Then he spoke about glory. To which, Kaiden knew about. He had ideals once, when Lan was his captain and Steph was the love of his life. He blinked, turning his head to the side, thinking again. Painful memories flooded back to him, but he suppressed it. Just like he suppressed everything else. He sighed, before he shot his eyes up at the man. He wanted to learn, he had certainly come to the right man to learn. Then, his arm came about. Kaiden blinked several times, before coughing into his hand."Truth is buddy..."He stood up, and turned his back to the man. His old Grim Reaper tattoo, clutching a scythe in one hand, and breaking the old Sith symbol in the other, with an inscription in a language that not many would know, lay on his back. It was black, and intimidating. He reached out for his shockboxing gloves, and turned back to the man. He wiggled them."These are just for show. Shockboxing is more about your own two hands- the gloves just make it interesting. You don't need them to be a good shockboxer."Kaiden rolled his sweaty body, wiping some sweat away with a white towel, that soon became wet with perspiration. Kaiden definitely put his all into fights.

"There's more to the sport than hitting and using the gloves. And I bet, by the looks of it...You don't wanna learn it to become a shockboxer, for fame and for glory. Otherwise you would have asked a whole different amount of questions. Am I right?"

 

[Azrael]

What the Field Marshal knew about Kaiden personally would scarcely fill the folded pages of a single pamphlet. The commander of the Havoc Squad was not a known name or figure to the Mandalorian. His affairs weren't within the Republic's cloud of influence, and though he'd dealt with a few on occasion, word had not reached his ears about Rohn. The display of his fight prowess, and the way he expressed himself about the sport though, it showed him what he needed to know. He had respect for the sport, and respect for the fighter and champion of this round. The evidence of ink marking the man's flesh in patterns that symbolized both death, and valor were hallmarks to the Mandalorian culture. They often used symbols to express themselves, as each had their own the emblazoned the Allit. Even the default Mythosaur skull was a Galaxy wide emblem that spoke of the rich heritage and undying way of the culture. The fact was that this man dealt with the business of conflict with the resolve and efficiency he'd seen in the Mando'ade again and again.

Those shockgloves were a problem he had not yet solved. He knew the risks of attempting this sport, and while he was aware - had had come still to find the right man to instruct him. What he however had not banked on was how simple a solution Kaiden had found for him. Without needing to contend for a title, or fight in a championship, he wouldn't need the gloves after all. They were for show, they added nothing to the skill, or the techniques used. They were, as Kaiden mentioned, just for show. Lofting a brow for a moment at the prospect, his left arm slid back underneath the cyan cloth, the the tips of his metallic digits still peeked out of the garment. A slow nod of understanding and acceptance came next, as Kaiden continued to talk about the purpose and the thought that he had been presented with.

"You are right. I'm not interested in the ring, just the training. Weaponry and field tactics aside, my hand to hand knowledge is lacking." He wasn't going to outright mention that he was a Mandalorian, despite the pride he felt about being among the vode. It simply was not necessary. Hell, the two men hadn't even exchanged names. A thought that had occurred to him a few sentences back. Two men of a similiar mindset, and silent respect didn't need names at all times. They could work together without even knowing the other in anything more than a continued presence. On Mandalore, everyone he knew was family - and yet here, he had already made someone he could likely call a friend. "If the arm isn't going to be an issue, I'd like to get started." That had been his only real concern, though he knew next to nothing about what he was in for. Verz Horak, the former Manda'lor had taught him in private when he first came to the planet, but he'd not witnessed training of this nature. He wasn't entirely sure what to expect. He was however determined to see it through.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Kaiden smirked when he saw the realization from the other man about the gloves. It truly was, a spectator's sport. It was popular solely because of that reason. He had earned about other fights, where they didn't use the gloves- but those garnered little, if at all, attention. Kaiden had never thought of teaching. He, right away, had the idea of putting the dunce hat on the man and kicking his cyborg ass back to kingdom come, but something in the back of his mind told him to retain his urge for violence. Especially, after fighting like that. Kaiden relished the idea of a fight, and looked back at the man. Eagerness to learn? Check. Willing to learn? Check. Cyborg metal arm that could literally punch someone's face off? Check. Kaiden knew right away what he would do - plate the knuckles with phrik or beskar or whatever, and go on a punching spree all across Sith space. Maybe even punch a few gods.

He turned when he said hand to hand. Nobody said that other than soldiers. So, he needed a few things from him. He, himself, needed a good nights rest like any woman on Zeltros after tourism season. And he needed for him to tell him what the holy hell he was doing here, and who he was and what he did for a living. After all, he didn't want to be training a Sith assassin or Sith trooper. If he was any of those, he'd be in a trashbag behind the building by the end of the sentence. Kaiden turned his back again, and started to adjust his appearance in the sink at the far edge of the room. He spoke loudly, while washing away sweat and grime.

"Meet me here tomorrow afternoon. I'm tired, weary, and I want to get a good night's rest. We can begin tomorrow. Also..."He turned towards him, removing a styptic pencil from a first aid kit near the sink, and started to apply around his knuckles and face, and didn't even flinch when he did."My name is Kaiden. I would have you call by my callsign, but that'd just be weird."

[member="Azrael"]​

 

[Azrael]

Reuss VIII wasn't the most inviting of planets as anywhere that required a breathing mask to step outside generally didn't get a lot of tourists to that part of space. Another day on this rock was at best an annoyance to the Field Marshal, but he didn't mind the inconvenience of the location if it meant the training he was looking for. Things had never been easy for the Mandalorian, especially pre-dating his days on Manda'yaim. There were long lasting wounds from Ord Mantell, and as much as he pushed through all of that, he still wore the scars like the physical ones manifested on Kaiden before him. If this Republic soldier was anything like he had seen in the bout or expected in training -- then he knew he'd have more wounds and scars to show for it before the time was spent, and he had a handle on the martial art. Fighting was however a way of life for the Mandalorians, and while he hadn't been born on the planet and raised in the culture, he was still a son of the Manda. His goal was simply to make up for lost times.

"Azrael." He offered checking the time on a holo feed across the room, and glancing back to the soldier that was stitching up his own wounds. "I appreciate the assist, I'll see you here tomorrow." The half-blood was not once to mince words, or be verbose. He said what he needed to say, and that was what you got from him. Normally tight-lipped unless he had something on his mind that was worth hearing. One of the infinite pleasures about having the Ca'prudii waiting for him was a spacious place to spend the night, that was fortified and secluded. He wouldn't need to find a place to bunk for the night, and after a good look around, he was very grateful. The cyan hood was thrown up and over his ultra short hair-cut as he breezed passed Kaiden and took the lift to the top floor. He was done with the Broken Tusk for the night, and would return tomorrow to begin his lessons.

The Next Day

Mid-afternoon didn't look anything like what he was used to from other planets. Despite the varying number of moons and suns that other areas of the Galaxy boasted, nothing was seen through the dense acid rain clouds that hovered over the factory laden world. Even Ord Mantell hosted a decent array of the stars when you went out into the outskirts of the junkyard, or were on the rooftops of the casinos. This place was depressing, covered in sickly yellow hues that wafted back and forth across the argriworld's skies. Thick smoke plumed from the factories that covered this arid wasteland as Azrael disembarked from his ship and moved down the trail he'd taken yesterday bound for the Broken Tusk. The same cyan cloak covered his form, where the breath-mask was in place to allow a breathability to the harsh atmosphere. Stray drops of acid rain pelted the protective fabric of the cloak while he moved down the trail and finally into the bar's upper deck.

The scene was far different from the previous night. Only a handful of 'regulars' were seated at the bar, spread out and drowning in their own quiet bottles of drink while various sports highlights were fed into the holo-emitters above the bar itself. Peeling back the cyan hood, he replaced the breath mask at the door security locker and then made his way downstairs, clipping his boots upon the durasteel framework and moving towards the training arena. He'd not said a word to anyone, despite getting a few looks here and there. His only intention in this place was for the training he was about to receive. All he needed now was the trainer -- of which his gray eyes sought to search out and locate.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

The steps towards the arena felt trying to wade through swamp water. He couldn't remember taking a walk that was this painful- his ribs hurt, his eyes and his face were begging for relief, but he knew only time would make that pain go away. His eyes wandered around the area, a bag tucked over his right shoulder. The footsteps echoed. They shouldn't. The only time when a footstep echoed was when no one was around, or everyone was dead. He knew the answer before he begged the question in his mind- someone was following him. Petty gangs and robberies and murders faced this city a plenty. Though, they probably just thought he was some two bit fighter from off planet that came to knock their heads in and take their money. He smelled them. He smelled them first, their putrid chemical-induced scent and he smelled the foreign steel. And he heard a splash in a standing water puddle, and turned.

And it was a kid. A kid. Maybe fourteen or fifteen. Holding a knife. His eyes flickered for a moment, before the kid lunged at him, trying to stab him in the chest. All Kaiden had to do was step to the side, and grab his wrist to lock and remove the knife from his hands. He pushed him back, instead of breaking his arm. Kaiden picked up the knife, and crouched to a knee. He pushed it into the ground, snapping the blade. The Havoc Squad commander leered at the kid, before standing up."Keep in mind, if you're willing to take a life, be mindful that you should also be prepared to lose yours."He said coldly, before picking up his bag, and moving towards the arena.

His walk lasted no more than a few minutes after that, and he entered the dark arena. There was the sound of sweeping, as various Janitors worked to clean up the previous night's celebration. How awful it must be- to be the one that cleans up after festivities. Angry fight goers tore their tickets, spilled their drinks and their concessions, and generally left a mess. Kaiden peeled up the rope that led to the arena, and dropped his bag, and dragged the stool from his corner from the previous night, and sat in the middle of the ring. One of the janitors was kind enough to light up the arena, and Kaiden sat, silhouetted, waiting for his student. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together."And what did the boy do when he got too close to the sun...did he think? Or did he keep going?"

[member="Azrael"]

 

[Azrael]

Kaiden had beaten him to the Broken Tusk by the space of about three minutes time, as was expected by the Mandalorian. He'd of had a slightly sour taste in his mouth if the first impression of tutelage had been a late instructor. Of those he'd had the good fortune of being taught by, he'd found something unique in each individual encounter. A droid that showed not only strategy, but compassion, A Mandalorian who knew the value of a hands on education, and his Ori'vod that passed on knowledge and a skill set that not only came from his hands, but the man's heart. This endeavor, he expected nothing less but to find something beyond the physical of this sweet science. For two men who had already walked different paths, they were both unaware of each other's greater role in the Galaxy. There were no faction ties here at the Broken Tusk - they were simply men meeting for the common goal.

"Only so far as his wings could take him." The voice of the Field Marshal called out among the quiet din of the Janitorial staff sweeping up the outskirts of the arena from last night's bout. "Should have listened to the man that fashioned them." He had heard the story before, and the lesson was evident in those words. Whether that was a precursor to the lessons Kaiden would teach him, or the possible future outcome he might suffer if he didn't heed those words, only time would tell. Azrael didn't put stock in prophecy though, he lived in the here and the now; at least he tried to. Cyan cloth shifted as he approached from the north-east corner approaching the ring. The serape shaped fabric obscuring his upper torso, only hinting at the figure beneath while his trousers and boots remained in plain view. Simple cloth and leather of a hardy variety adorned the Mandalorian. As last night, he opted not to arrive in his armor - merely for the purpose that this was an art he'd want to learn with his bare hands first before he put them into practice in the beskar'gam.

Booted steps climbed the small staircase to ring-side as his right hand placed to the top rope, learning against the barrier. Kaiden was older than he was, by about a decade or more if he was going to venture a guess. Azrael often found himself feeling quite young in the presence of other skilled fighters and soldiers. He'd not lived the battlefield as most of them had from their youth. The time they had spent honing their skills, and cutting their teeth in war was something alien to his history. While he was by no means weak, the only skill he'd attained thus far had been practical, and rushed. In the space of just over a year, he'd come from being a junker with no future on Ord Mantell, to a respected leader in the Mando'ade - overseeing hundreds of his brothers and sisters while answering to his adopted father, the Mand'alor. It was a good thing that he learned quickly.

"I'm surprised that this place gets this much activity given the planet. Not the most welcome site this side of the Hydian Way." Azrael submitted, as a means of offering some small talk as he ducked the ropes and shifted into the ring itself. "Makes Tatooine look downright pleasant." If there was anything Azrael detested more than a caustic arid atmosphere, it was the braze of a sand dune that swept over an entire planet. He had his fill of inhospitable planets from his years on Mantell. Digits pushed out of the cyan cloth, drawing it up and over his head, and turning to lay the garment over one of the corner posts before turning to face Kaiden. For the first time, his full bionic arm was in plain view. The tank top he wore giving view to the fit figure of the half-blood, though what probably said more than anything as to who he was, was the iconic Mythosaur symbol that was emblazoned on the shoulder cap of his artificial appendage. It was somewhat faded and worn, having been taken from the hull of a previously junked war cruiser. An instant identification that needed nothing else to speak to where he hailed from.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

"No."Kaiden stood up, turning to stare at [member="Azrael"] with a harrowing glare of that only a man like him could muster, nonetheless could hold seriously and have the look be beyond the typical glare."Or he should have gone after something more beneficial."Kaiden took the story of the wax wings as not a metaphor for getting too close to the sun, but by seeking a pointless goal that in truth, gave you no real benefits. So, he stood, and faced the man. The cyan cloth fell from him, and his eyes fell upon the metal appendage. Then, it appeared. It used to make him envious, make him covet the battle that they might have. While Azrael might have been taught by many wise individuals, Kaiden had learned not by teaching, but by failure. How the Republic failed to defend Coruscant, and how his team, fell apart. Havoc Squad, [member="Steph Zenima"], all of them, falling to their own vices and their own demons. So, he refused to succumb to evil and to the machinations of the Sith and it's far-reaching power.

Kaiden stepped forward, glaring at the Mythosaur skull. He seemed indifferent to it, after all, he had other things to worry about. Kaiden held up one finger, with his left hand."The first lesson, is to take a hit. You will get hit. You will get hurt. But the important part- is to be able to recover from that hit."He smiled at the younger Mandalorian, taking in his appearance. Lean, mean, fighting machine. Kid definitely had chops. He gave Azrael a reassuring smile.

And that's when Kaiden punched Azrael in the face, as hard as he possibly could. He aimed to throw him off the ropes and down to the ground below. Kaiden moved quickly- and his punch would hurt, unless Azrael managed to overcome both the surprise of the attack and the speed of it. He wasn't a champion shockboxer for nothing, after all.

"Now you're going to get up, and take it again."

 

[Azrael]

There was no ease into this, no time apparently for anecdotal prologue into a lesson. He'd offered up a topic of only slight surface interest, only to have it glossed over in favor of the more direct and to-the-point approach. The Mandalorian could appreciate the no frills attitude that Kaiden carried, even if it was somewhat abrupt. Azrael had never been one for investing a lot of time in small talk, or casual circumstance. He'd learned to be efficient, and measured in his responses. Although he normally had two speeds, and even if one of them was just as brutal as a Strill on a hunt, people knew where they stood with Azrael; generally. He'd had some hard times in his past, and it had shut him off emotionally causing the half-blood to bottle emotions rather than expressing them. The Mando'ade had given him a reason to start shedding that gated front, and open up to his brothers and his sisters, and even others in the Galaxy. There were even times when he hadn't recognized how far he'd come since he first stepped foot on Yaim. Perhaps he never would.

"I've got a history with that." Azrael said, responding to Kaiden's affirmation that he certainly would be getting hit, and that it would leave marks on him. He was no stranger to pain, no stranger to being bullied for years in the harsh climate of Ord Mantell. The bionic arm was proof positive that he'd endured and come out on top. Cutting off his own arm was one of the most painful times of his life, but physical pain passed, and wounds healed. There were other pains that were not so easily mended, but he rarely talked about those. His mouth barely parted again to offer a follow-up to his statement but it didn't get the chance. A loud thunderclap of force echoed from the direct hit against his face. Nearly a thousand pounds of energy imparted direct and without hesitation into his face and launched him backwards, and off his feet. Thick red cords bound by the turnbuckles at each corner extended, taking the full weight of the Field Marshal's splayed body into their embrace. However, Azrael didn't flip over, as the soles of each boot landed with a thud and his arms flew up and instinctively gripped the cords as they contracted bringing him back to the edge of the ring.

His head was swimming, his vision dotted and unfocused fell into a haze. For seconds he heard nothing but the loud unabated ringing in his ears as the room spun into a vertigo. His world was nothing but white noise and pain as his head finally came to terms with the jarring punch he'd just received. This was no mere tossing of him back and forth between junkers on Ord Mantell; this man was a professional, and he hit like a tank. His slumped frame rested for moments as the sound of Kaiden's voice echoed as just muffled noise while he was still reeling from the punch. There had been no warning -- nothing to see or anticipate, and he wasn't even looking for one. His brows furrowed and his eyes squinted from the disorientation as Azrael shook his head from side to side. Boots pressed against the ring attempting to find solid purchase. The colors danced before his eyes resembling why others would claim to see stars. He should have been knocked out from that punch, but Azrael had a hard head, and a healthy constitution - this was not his first space rodeo.

"I suppose I'm glad your not wearing the gloves." He managed to get out while he gripped the ropes to pull his body up from the slouched position. He wasn't entirely sure why he was glad about that, it still packed a hell of a force, but he at least wasn't feeling the effects of an electric current running through his system on top of the blow. "You best be on your game though, cause I won't just stand there and take hits without offering my own in return." A small grin was starting to form on his lip as the bruising colors were beginning to take hold over his normally slightly crimson shaded visage.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

[member="Azrael"] did everything for the Mando'ade, he had a purpose, clear and defined- and a goal. He was trying to improve himself. What was Kaiden doing here? He wasn't even sure why he was doing this. He had never cared much for money, he had stolen or gotten through illicit means whatever he needed or desired. He had not lost an arm like Azrael had- but he had lost more than that. He had lost himself, his team, his family, his home, his parents, his sister, and the girl that he loved. And even the girl that he was beginning to love. He had taken the path of Havoc's previous commander, even though they had left the Republic- on pretty bad terms. In short, Kaiden had nothing left. He was reminded of a quote. It didn't mean much, it was just a jab at the fact that they couldn't do everything.

Physician, heal thyself.

And he couldn't.

But, however, he could lay the hurt on someone. And that someone- was the Mandalorian in the ring. Say what you would about Mandalorians, even the more hard ones, the more experienced, like Azrael, could not withstand a full frontal assault from a man the likes of Kaiden. Kaiden, who had ridden a dragon, and had both fought [member="Kitt Solo"] on the battlefield and in the ring- and came out on top once, and once, on equal terms with a Master of the force. He blinked, staring down at Azrael as he slumped against the ropes. He watched, as he fell against the ropes. The man had some form of training, he had taken it upon himself to stop his fall as soon as possible. Instinct, mostly. But still, instincts could be the means to survival and victory. Such was the case with the candidates for Havoc Squad.

They all had something special about them. And Azrael had enough special to fill a cruiser.

"You'll get your chance. For now, dear boy, you're going to go and train until you're at your physical peak of performance."

He was going to make Azrael into the perfect human specimen. Not unlike himself, where physical perfection was not only a place of pride, but a necessity and asset to use. He blinked, and narrowed his eyes at the younger man down against the ropes."And we aren't done on this wretched planet until I say so. You'll become the most ferocious shock boxer ever since I stepped into the ring. Not even Trandoshans will be able to stand up to you without sweating. Get up and stand on your feet, Mandalorian."

 

[Azrael]

The Field Marshal was glad that his comment had started Kaiden to given out a speech instead of delivering a punch when he hadn't recovered. The dull pounding in his head was starting to dissipate slowly but surely fading away. He hadn't been hit that hard, that directly in a long time, and it had made him regret thinking that he could judge a man so easily. Gray eyes blinked a few times getting a bead on Kaiden's stance and his frame. While he listened to a quick two sentences, he was preparing himself to look for clues into the motions of the man who had just floored him with a single cross. He was a bigger target now, as the scrawny kid that entered the scrap yards on Mantell hadn't been. His introduction into the tiresome journey in that life had been met with plenty of split lips and bruised ribs. More than what he liked to admit, he had needed some medical treatment on that planet, but he was generally left to fend for himself. He was learning though, taking his time with the various teachers and trainers that he'd convinced to give him the skills he'd need to survive, thrive, and fight back.

Leather boots pressed to the mat while he leaned on the ropes and shifted his body to the side. Right front in front of left, arms raised keeping his bionic one away from Kaiden and his right raised up. He'd seen shock boxing several times in the holo vids, and he assumed a stance that he could recall from that time. It wasn't professional, and it was sloppy, but it was an imitation of something resembling the ready stance. If he was going to take a hit, he was going to take one like everyone else in this ring took it, facing their opponent and expecting it. Digits clenched on each hand while he kept a weather eye on both of the Havoc Squad leader's hands. However, as stated, he wasn't throwing a punch yet. This wasn't the time for it, and it would probably only serve to annoy his new instructor and leave him eating the floor on the outside of the ring if he even tried. Still, he didn't intend to just straight take another blow to the head without attempting to avoid it. Azrael wasn't daft.

"Well at least I know I'll be getting my fair share of credits worth out of this." The Field Marshal replied glibly. He knew it wouldn't be an easy road, but it was a way to improve, and to raise himself up in the Mando'ade. War was on the horizon, and with everything that was happening with the Republic and their new dark foe - he wagered it wouldn't be long until that war started to leak into other areas of the Galaxy. The Mandalorians wouldn't be silent for long on that front - not with their mortal enemy rising to power and attempting to seize control again of a Galaxy that didn't want their rule in the first place. He doubted Kaiden would think otherwise. He knew enough about the Havoc Squadron to understand it's Republic ties.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Acquisition of knowledge for the sake of having knowledge without application is by the far the dumbest thing a person can do. Learning, for the sake of learning, has no real benefits. Has no real purpose to your existence. This is why Kaiden avoided schools and books and ancient tombs, pressing matters that actually affected people happened in the now, and required real world skills. One of them being, knowing how to fight. Kaiden, had been fighting since the day he came out the womb. Fighting for food. For survival. For attention. For love. For clothes. For a home. For somewhere to sleep.



Kaiden walked around the ring, and looked back at [member="Azrael"], his tongue clicking his concentration. He looked at the Mandalorian's physique, the way he moved. He grit his teeth. He'd need to trim the fat around him, and he cracked his neck. He stepped out of the ring, and rolled his hands in the air, indicating for him to follow him. He stared talking loudly, regardless."I am going to make you the most impressive physical specimen since me. And that starts with training."


Kaiden, however, moved past the door that led to the gym and workout area, and he went for the sealed door that led outside."Go get your oxygen mask. We're gonna go on a run."

 

[Azrael]

Apparently having proved that he could take a hit, a direct in the face full force hit, that was enough for the instructor. Visibly relaxing for a moment and dropping his stance, the Field Marshal surveyed Kaiden as the man drew his pace in a semi-circle inspecting him like a cut of meat, gauging in silence and high scrutiny the kind of regiment he'd need to induct the half-blood into, in order to fulfill the request, to further shape and hone the Mandalorian. This was just a brief glimpse into the prize fighting world of shockboxing, surmising an assessment of sorts to see what he'd be working with. The culture of the Mando'ade had changed Azrael's perspective on violence though, changing it from something that was needed for survival, to a respected and time honored tradition of glory. Combat was their way of life, and it was the path to growth in ones self. While the Mandalorians were feared and respected in just about every sector of space for their abilities in combat, he had no issue with supplementing that training with other avenues, and this seemed to be a most apt one.

Gray eyes struck out, watching the boxer slip from between the ropes and out of the ring - offering up a physical invitation to join him. Snatching up the cyan cloth cloak from the turnbuckle, the Field Marshal slung it over his frame and righted against his body. If they were going to go out into the abysmal arid air of the planet, he'd want to make sure acid rain wasn't going to eat away at his flesh or his metal. His promise to make him into something better, something stronger, and more impressive was a high calling, but he'd already shown what he was capable of, and it excited a fire within the Ord Mantell native. A pit-stop was taken for the oxygen mask (something needful on this industrial wasteland) and met the Havoc Squad commander outside. The Mandalorian war games had the recruits doing quite a bit of running in high combat situations, in various obstacle courses all over Keldabe and even into the black forests where they often hunted with Strills. A good run cleared the head, and energized the lungs, though in this atmosphere, it was going to be the benefit of the oxygen mask that he would breathe deeply from.

"When did you get into the sport?" He meant officially, as he didn't really classify Kaiden as a prize fighter entirely. He saw the man moonlighting in that arena, while his real work was done with the Republic and his squad. If you were going to run with your trainer, talking would pass the time, and perhaps gain a bit of insight into how he thought about the actual sport itself. He already knew that glitz and glamour of prize title fights were not the end game for Kaiden. Most likely, this was just something to keep him in shape, and let out some aggression when he didn't have an enemy stronghold to storm.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Violence was a necessary thing for any civilization to survive, and to a larger degree, to thrive. Empires and nations were built on bones. Kaiden understood it- and he wondered if Azrael did. Although Azrael had a lot of learning to do, especially given his young age. But he knew the kid would be a great leader- perhaps even someone that he'd have to respect. While Azrael honored combat, held it up to a higher standard, Kaiden held it as a necessary evil- a thing that all men should do if they wanted their nation or themselves to be better. Kaiden inhaled deeply from the mask, taking slow deliberate breaths as his lungs worked to keep him running. It wasn't hard- Kaiden had been in top physical shape for the majority of his life. He wondered if [member="Azrael"] would be able to keep up with him for much longer. If he wasn't- he was going to make sure that eventually he did.


They ran for a while, while Kaiden pondered his questions. He never increased the pace- the goal was not to do it quickly, but to do it for the long haul. Such was the sport of shockboxing- who wanted to win more, typically trained more."When I was a kid. It started as a thing to protect myself. Soon, it became one of the most intrical parts of my being."His feet were gliding- he ran like a cheetah. In fact, he ran very quietly. Rolling his heels made him scary quiet, something that the members of Havoc squad appreciated from their leader."It was how I got into Havoc Squad, too."He said blinking as he drank deep from the mask attached to his nose and mouth, the essence of his life drawing into his lungs like a river. It was pure oxygen, making it one of the most effective tools for a person to run with.


"It was never about the sport itself- it was about what it gave me. And what it will give you."

 

[Azrael]

Regiments of training were the Mando'ade bread and butter, though it was mostly centered around the combat itself - not so much about the physical shaping of their form. His body was already strong from years of hard labor on scrapyards, but the Field Marshal needed to work on his endurance and on his stamina. A boon to this cause was the oxygen mask that allowed the arid wasteland of this industrial planet caked in inhospitable atmosphere to be a training ground. The plasma in his blood becoming oxygen saturated allowed for less fatigue at this stage, and his partner in running kept the pace pressing forward. He'd not run this far without the mask's aide, or geared in his beskar'gam - but that would soon change. Working through the paces of Kaiden's personalized program for the purpose of crafting his body and mind for something beyond the spectacle was going to change that. Azrael had come here to learn how to shockbox, but what he was gaining was a crash course in become a far more experienced warrior all around.

Pound for pound moving through the ruined city-scape of the planet, around factories, and across large dilapidated bridges and other metallic structures. This planet (like Mantell) was barely good for much else than producing more toxic waste, and less of a life for anyone who called it home. Such was the nature in the grittier sectors of the Galaxy. People got by with what they could salvage, and it had made Azrael's expertise invaluable to him in more ways than one. He never assumed his was preparing himself for the life of a Mandalorian, but those cards had fallen into place. The endurance of the run was appreciated, though his lungs burned from the exertion and his calves worn, causing a fire like burn to race across the flesh. He'd not stop though - he'd learned long ago that if you stopped, you rarely started again.

"I've never kept track of the holovids." Azrael stated, indicating his interest in the sport. "I've seen it, took in a fight here or there, but I wasn't an invested fan." Truth be told, he didn't have the time to keep tabs on the prize fights, and the outcomes. His job was his life on Mantell, and if he hadn't been so good at it, he'd of likely ended up as replaceable, which on Ord Mantell meant dead. "Can't imagine that life - growing up in it that is." The Field Marshal explained the curiosity he held on the topic while they rounded another corner in tandem. His footfalls far heavier and weighted than the light spring like steps of Kaiden at his side. "I've had to make up for so much lost time on Mandalore, but I always wondered if I'd be where I am at, if I had been brought up there, or anywhere besides Mantell." A change of scenery, a different life - he might of never achieved what he had so far with the Mando'ade, and though it was full of old scars, he was thankful for what he went through, for where it had taken him.

[member="Kaiden 'Papa' Rohn"]

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

Kaiden began to pick up the pace, his feet flying off the ground practically. Kaiden was a distance runner, able to run far and for hours on end- with or without gear. He turned to face [member="Azrael"] for just a second, acknowledging that he would be dead without the mask. Truth be told, Kaiden had a trick or two when it came to how he would deal with that. Kaiden ran over pools of acidic fluid, through hazes of smog and pollution. Kaiden and Azrael had soon been running for close to an hour, and Kaiden knew that if he pushed the kid any harder, he'd probably collapse. So Kaiden stopped under a seedy bar sign, sucking deeply from the mask, trying to get his heart rate back to normal.



"Ten minute rest then return run."


Kaiden stared at Az through a soldier's gaze, placing his hands on his hips."People who fight for glory are good. People who fight for themselves or for someone else are better."He pointed a finger at Azrael."When we're done, and if by some dumb ass decision you get into fighting on a sport level, I will destroy you in front of the whole god damn galaxy."He said quickly, snapping a bit. Clearly- someone else had done this to him before. But Kaiden obviously dealt with that in a similar manner- maybe even the same in the way he described. Azrael would learn that story later."You need to focus on running lighter- it'll lessen the pressure on your knees and your joints- something that running all that fancy armor of yours will put a toll on."He said leaning on a building and giving himself a healthy stretch.



"When we get back, we'll rest and stretch for a bit, and then the real fun begins."