Populate Trial by Fire | ME Populate of Wistril

Mythra · 2026-03-04T15:45:02-0500

TRIAL BY FIRE
"Have you proved yourself worthy?"

RAVER CALYUI’R, KALEVALA

Warriors are not born. They are forged.

After the Yaga Minor operation, warriors are needed now more than ever.

Where Kalevala’s oceans meet cliffs of pale stone and wind-carved highlands stretch beneath endless skies, Raver Calyui’r, the Azure Bastion and ancestral fortress of Clan Kryze, now stands tall once more, lording over a booming town. Perched above the rolling coasts of Kalevala, its walls of blue-grey stone rise once more in solemn defiance of time. Weathered battlements that endured civil wars and shifting allegiances to an ever-changing array of Mand’alors now bear fresh banners. The sigil of the Mandalorian Empire flies proudly from its towers, snapping in the sea-wind as braizers burn along the ramparts in preparation for the gathering to come.

For this is no ordinary convocation.

In the wake of Yaga Minor’s battle and the intelligence the Nite Owls secured, Mand’alor the Iron has issued a challenge for all Mandalorian foundlings.

Answer the call and be born anew.

Alors, Warriors, Foundlings and Honoured guests arrive from across the stars to witness and celebrate the Verd’goten—the sacred trial by which Mandalorians prove themselves worthy to stand among their vod as equals. What was once the private training ground of Kalevala’s ancient rulers now opens its gates to challenger and spectator alike, its courts transformed into feast halls, its ancient yards cleared for ceremony.

Once a symbol of House Kryze’s authority, the Azure Bastion now serves a greater purpose—not as a seat of singular power, but as a crucible of unity. Here, beneath its storied towers, bonds will be strengthened, rivalries tempered, and the next generation will prepare to step forward into judgment.

The feast shares in the light of the trial.

The celebration shares in the light of the proving.

Arenas and rings of contest have been set up in the training yards, stands erected around them that Mandalorians and honored guests might witness the trials. Banners bearing clan sigils and Mandalore’s mythosaur hang solemnly until the coastal winds make them snap in the air. Contests of accuracy, strength, and survival have been arranged, and for those who seek greater challenge, a test of might and will against Mandalorian history waits.

Long tables line the grand hall beneath vaulted stone arches. Armor gleams beside formal robes and rugged clothing designed for the expanse of space. Veterans speak in low tones of their own trials, hyping their upcoming performances in the contests of skill, while foundlings cast measured glances toward the arena floor that awaits them. The air carries the scent of roasted meats and spiced tihaar, mingling with salt from the sea below.

Above it all, Raver Calyiu’r stands watchful.

And Kalevala remembers.

THE FORGE’S CRUCIBLE

Liberation and Reclamation.

There comes a time in every Mandalorian’s life where their skills and knowledge must be challenged. They must prove themselves worthy of all they have learned and ready to stand amongst their fellow vod. The warriors’ trial—the Verd’goten.

Set within the refurbished expanse of what had once served as the central training yard for the ancient warriors of House Kryze, the fighting ring now stands ready for a new era of warriors; but the task that awaits is no trifling matter.

Legends of history, former Mand’alors, the Liberator and the Reclaimer stand as both trial and judges, ready to face any foundling who dare declare themselves worthy of their place amongst their fellow Mandalorians.

The Verd’goten RP I | PvP Non-Lethal

For Foundlings and Spectators.

Foundlings: Challenge the former Mand’alors and write your fight until the timer ends—when it’s narratively satisfying for your character. This will test your character’s skills and abilities but will not result in your death. All foundlings will challenge the Mand’alors at the same time.

Spectators: With each post, you may roll 1d6. On a 6, you are able to join the fight and help the foundlings survive their formidable opponents.

FEATS OF HONOR

Honor is earned.

Opposite the ring holding the challenge of the Mand’alors, there stand arenas that challenge skill. Three arenas, three vital skills. Raucous cheers echo in the converted training yards as the sun beats down on foundling, warrior, and guest alike. Foundlings will have to find their center in the noise and trust what they have learned in order to pass. Warriors may partake and provide a challenge for the foundlings to compete against.

A long, narrow range with a target at its end boasts a rack of beskar spears. Each contestant gets three spears to throw. The tighter the grouping, the higher the score. Another range sits nearby, a long and wide wedge-shaped area with a chainlink net behind the designated area. Here contestants are given three hammers to throw, to try and reach their longest distance. Only the hammer that is thrown the farthest counts for a score.

The third arena lies outside the walls of the fortress and the comforts of town. Contestants are dropped off in the middle of Kalevala’s rocky and windswept wilderness with coordinates to their extraction. Foundlings and warriors alike are timed as they must navigate to the extraction point.

There are no rewards but proving your worth. And bragging rights.

Your purpose here is to challenge yourself. To prove your worth by your skill. To compete against foundlings in order that the best succeed. To ensure that when the time comes, you know you can rely on your fellow vod.

The Verd’goten RP II | PvE

For Foundlings and Mandalorian Veterans.

Spear Throw: Roll 1d20 three times, once per post. The sum total of your dice rolls determines your score.

Hammer Throw: Roll 1d20 three times, once per post. The highest roll is your score for the event.

Land Nav Assement: Roll 1d6 each post. Continue to post until you reach the target number 15. The fewer rolls you have to make, the better your score.

HOLD COURT

This is madness… This is politics.

No Verd’goten is faced alone.

Behind every foundling is a clan that supported and taught them through experience. Within the halls of Raver Calyui’r, Mandalorian clans and honored guests gather to break bread and discuss matters of galactic importance or the latest mesh’geroya match. Stone arches span across vaulted halls, large floor-to-ceiling transparisteel windows opening out onto the expansive ocean and mist-dampened cliffs, and banners of clan sigils hang beside banners bearing the Mandalorian Empire's sigil.

Feasting tables laden with food and drink of all kinds, from both Mandalorian and other cultures within their borders, stand on polished tile floors. Sitting areas are arranged in smaller rooms, quieter but no less festive. Dignitaries and visitors from different governments on good terms with the Mandalorian Empire mingle here where they might otherwise not have the opportunity to.

Your purpose here is to socialize, speak with Mandalorian foundlings and warriors, make connections, and leverage opportunities.

The Azure Bastion | Social RP

For Foundlings, Mandalorian warriors, and Honored Guests.

This is for social RP with Mandalorians and their client states. Visitors from governments currently contracted or open to contracting the Mandalorian Empire or otherwise on good terms with the ME are welcome to feast and socialize here.

STAND WITNESS

Victory is a matter of will.

The Azure Bastion is by no means a small fortress. It is practical, it is formidable, and it houses scores of rooms, each with its own purpose. Outside the fortified walls, the town is ever-growing and busier for it. Vendors hawk their wares to visitors and tourists, restaurants offer Mandalorian seafood cuisine, and alleys hide urban secrets.

Your purpose here is your own.

Raver Calyui’r, Kalevala | BYOO

For Foundlings, Mandalorian warriors, and Honored Guests.

Tell your story and create memories here. What does Kalevala hold in store for you?

This is your moment to define where your character stands in relation to the Mandalorian Empire.

Azen Kast

Cyran Vaas
@Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

Rhys Swynol
@Lysara Rynn

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Siae Andronike

Zlova Rue

Runi Kuryida
@Ren Ashbridge

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata

Torva Vikar

Vael Saren

Mia Monroe · 2026-03-04T15:54:04-0500

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The Arena was loud, the sound hit them like a physical wall, the cheers rising like a storm as she and Isley stepped out from the staging room side by side. Mia didn’t look up at the crowd, she was not here for them, she was here for the six who moved opposite them, fanning out as she and Isley took their place in the arena’s centre.

She took all of them in, one by one, assessing how they held themselves, what weapons they carried, what armour they wore, all of it mattered. Only when her gaze finished sweeping them did she look up to the crowd, raising her hand to call for quiet. She stepped forward addressing the foundlings.

“The Verd’gotten does not measure strength alone. It measures instinct. Patience. Nerve. The will to endure when the galaxy itself seems to turn its sights on you.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over all of them again.

“Within this ground stand two who have worn the mantle of Mand’alor. We are not here to teach you. We are not here to guide you.”

The corner of her lip twitched.

“We are here to break you.”

She paused to let that sink in, to make sure they understood that they would not pull punches, that they would make every strike count.

“Adpat. Think, Fight not with pride but with purpose and you will survive.” She gave a small smile. “Survival is where a Mandalorian is forged. Show us you are worthy of the armour you have forged.”

She stepped back lifting the buy’ce from her hip and slipping it over her head, dampeners dulling the ear splitting roar that erupted from the crowd as she nodded to Isley.

“Oya Manda.”

Her hand reached over her shoulder, drawing the beskad from her back as somewhere in the stands a gong sounded.

Isley Verd · 2026-03-04T16:14:10-0500

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I
The Azure Bastion

Mand'alor the Reclaimer had come home.

There wasn't a universe where Isley Verd had thought the request would come - and yet, his old comrade, Mia, had called him back to Mandalorian space. Thus far, the man who had established the first Mandalorian Empire had long since stayed away from Mandalorian affairs. He preferred to entrust the future to the next generation. Thus, it took the literal forging of the next generation to bring him back. He strode with confidence beside Mand'alor the Liberator, shoulder-to-shoulder with a comrade he had known his entire life.

Ah, how the moment brought back memories. When they were so much younger, the two of them had faced Mand'alor the Rebuilder in their own verd'goten. Now, these brave souls would enjoy...or perhaps suffer...same the same fate. Isley chuckled at the memory, recalling how sore his bones were for days following the ordeal. But his training had carried him through the challenge. His grit, his teamwork, his instincts...they all allowed him to become a full-fledged Mandalorian.

Now, those very same traits would hopefully manifest themselves in the group before him.

Mia began, addressing the foundlings about the purpose of the Verd'goten. It does not evaluate strength alone. It measures everything that has made the foundling up until this point. It proves to the stars that they are ready to stand among the greatest warriors in the Galaxy. Isley drew his beskad as she spoke, holding it aloft. When she had finished, Mand'alor the Reclaimer added only a few words:

"May the strength that bore you here be enough. May the wisdom of your clans and the strength of your ancestors fill you. I hope that defeat falls upon my shoulders this day."

The beskad rose, pointing forward.

"But...you will bleed for every inch."

Mia Monroe ,

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata ,

Jaikell Wyrvhor · 2026-03-04T16:35:45-0500

KALEVALA: ACT II

As Jaikell stands at the throwing range, the weight of the spear in his hand is a familiar and reassuring presence amidst the lively atmosphere of Kalevala as he waits for everyone to join him. The sun's warmth covering his armor, casting a glint off its surface.

Surrounded by the cheers of fellow Mandalorians, all the excitement and noise, he finds focus, each breath deliberate as he readies himself.

With a silent nod to himself, he goes and readies his spear, feeling its balance and strength in his grasp while giving it a slight flourish. Memories of past battles and arduous training sessions from his childhood flood his mind, fueling his resolve to prove himself again after being away from mandalorian space for so long.

Taking in the scene around him, his gaze shifts to the fluttering banners bearing the emblems of various clans, his sight locks to Clan Wyrvhor as it brings a sense of pride and connection to his Mandalorian heritage, a legacy that he carries with pride in every step he takes.

| Outfit: |
J O R I R
B E S K A R ' G A M

| Equipment: ALL |

Aether Verd · 2026-03-04T16:36:54-0500

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber

KALEVALA, FEASTING HALL

The smell was incredible.

When the Mandalorian Empire had conquered Yaga Minor, their forces were quick to turn the streets of the enemy into a celebration. Mandalore's finest took what they found and made due - upturning crates to make seats and creating bonfires out of wreckage. The air that night smelled incredible and was impressive; for this is how well the Mandalorians could cook with scraps. Today? Within the Azure Fortress' depths? Mandalorians had the freedom to cook their best.

Mand'alor the Iron was practically salivating beneath his helm.

As the armored warrior strode into the hall, thumping his chest in greeting to his people, his eyes were darting every which way. There were so many options. Traditional dishes. Regional samples from the fringes of the Empire. Clan favorites. The list went on and on. Now, Aether did show a modicum of restraint, for this day he wasn't just arriving by himself. Rather, a new light had come into his life after Ketaris, and this was the first time that they had time together in a while.

During the war with the Diarchy, he had taken measures to ensure her safety and her training. She was regularly sent to the Iron Wolves to hone her mastery of her innate talents, as well to learn what it meant to be a Mandalorian. This, of course, limited the time that he could live up to the mantles they had given one another. Buir felt foreign to Aether. Yet, to the fiery-haired woman at his side, that is exactly who he was. A guide. A savior. Father.

He reached out and draped his arm over Torva's shoulders, motioning to the feast before them. "See anything you like?" he said, beaming beneath his helm. From there he looked up and saw one of the numerous holo-screens come alive. The Verd'goten was starting. Mia was going to face off against the foundlings in what was sure to be a spectacular match.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Was that...that was his father?

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

Torva Vikar + Open

Jett Vox · 2026-03-04T16:44:01-0500

Kalevala - Objective I (OPEN)
Verd'goten

Jett had never seen anything like this. The crowd, the forboding arena, the oppressive heat and sensation of being trapped by a wall of bodies, and her own duty to her lineage. She would have never imagined that her simple act of fleeing a murderous gang would have her standing before judges and bloodthirsty warriors as if she could ever hope to be like them. Sure, she was alive because of this armor, and sure she was born into the bloodline of a disgraced Vox, but she felt at this moment more the farm-girl, who's home was but a distant dot invisible from this dry, hot, and barbaric place. She stood in a set of armor that had belonged to her father, wearing colors that had been painted on and battered by decades of his battles, and not hers.

The first time Jett had killed someone had been perhaps less than a week ago, and it could hardly be described as a glorious battle. Yet her she was, Mandalorian visor glinting in the light, while blasting sound sent wave after wave of anxiety over her. Then, all at once, it stopped, and a booming voice took it's place.

On her hip was a BlasTech DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol which rattled against her beskar thigh-plate. Hanging from a strap over her shoulder was a powerful BlasTech DLT-20A Long Barrel Blaster Rifle meant for enemies who were distant, but also served as a powerful mid to close-range rapid fire weapon. Hopefully, this would be enough. The rest of her gear was no better than any other Mandalorian, and her lessons in it had been short. Still, she was here and as prepared as she ever would be.

Sergeant Omen

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata · 2026-03-04T16:58:52-0500

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I

Keal had waited for five years for this day. He had worked for this day. And when this day had finally arrived, he was recovering from a broken ankle and a dislocated shoulder; however, he would not let this day pass. As he saw the two former Manda'lor stride out to the center of the arena, he knew this day would end in pain, but what was pain? "K'atini." Kael mumbled to himself, trying to reassure himself that he would look back on this day and laugh. He sealed his buy'ce, more of a faceplate than a full helm, and drew his tonfa. His job here was to survive, not win. Walking out of this arena was the goal. He paused, revising that thought. Walking out of here with his Buir, Adelle, was the goal. She had given him a home, a family, a clan, and her name. As her Ad, it was his responsibility, if only to himself, that if either of them were to fall, he would fall first, protecting her. Quietly, he focused his mind by reciting and qualifying the Resol'nare.

I learn the ways of our people. Kael had done his best to learn from his new family, from Adelle, from War-mistress Vytal, from his new packmates in the Iron Wolves, and from the Manda itself.
I wear our armor with pride. It wasnt much now, but even this Plasteel pretending to be Beskar was still shaped in the Beskar'gam style, and as soon as he could afford it, he would get a true set of armor. However, he still maintained this armor as if it were true Beskar, with pride.
I stand ready to defend my kin. He had found his family with Adelle and his wolf pack, and so he would lay down his own life to defend them.
I speak our tongue He barely remembered his native Togrutan Language. To him, Mando'a was his native tongue, and He would hold it sacred.
and follow our leader. Manda'lor the Iron was his leader, and he would follow his orders to his dying breath as long as he upheld what was best for the Mandalorian Empire
For I am Mandalorian.

Kael looked over to Adelle and to the others lined up on either side of him. With a raised hand, he sent out a com message to Adelle, "Oya!"

Adelle Bastiel

Mia Monroe

Isley Verd

Prisoner #36929 · 2026-03-04T17:06:36-0500

Spear Competition
Tags: Open to Interaction

Jaikell Wyrvhor

He had been out of the Imperial prison for only a short time, though it felt longer. Long enough to forget the sound of the cell door. Not long enough to remember his own name.

Since his rescue, he had drifted with the Mandalorians who pulled him from that hell. He moved where the crowd moved. Ate when they ate. Carried crates when someone barked an order. He floated through their Empire like debris caught in a current, unsure whether he belonged to it or was just passing through.

Memories came in flashes. A hand on his shoulder. The recoil of a weapon. The smell of smoke. None of it stayed. None of it answered the question that followed him everywhere.

Who am I?

Now he stood on Kalevala beneath the rising towers of Raver Calyui'r. The fortress loomed over the coast, banners snapping in the wind. The Verd'goten had drawn warriors and foundlings alike. Cheers rolled across the training yards as contests began.

He watched from the edge of the spear range. A long strip of packed dirt stretched toward a distant target. Beskar spears gleamed on a rack nearby. One by one, contestants stepped forward, hurled their weapons, and listened for the crowd's reaction.

He folded his arms and stayed quiet. He told himself he was only watching.

You do not belong here.

But his eyes tracked each throw. The crowd surged behind him. Someone shouted. A body collided with his back and he stumbled forward before he could protest. Hands pressed against his shoulders and pushed him through the boundary rope.

"Your turn!"

He opened his mouth to refuse, but a spear was already thrust into his hand. It settled into his palm like an old friend. His grip adjusted on instinct. Balance point just ahead of his knuckles. He tested the weight with a small roll of his wrist.

The noise around him dulled. He could hear the sea beyond the walls. Feel the wind cutting across the range. The target seemed closer now, as if the world had narrowed to a single line between him and it.

He stepped to the line, shoulders tense, aware of eyes on his back. He almost laughed. A prisoner with no past standing in a Mandalorian trial.

If I fail, it proves nothing. If I succeed…

He did not finish the thought. He drew his arm back, breath steadying without conscious effort. Then he launched the spear.

Adelle Bastiel · 2026-03-04T17:06:43-0500

The Verd'goten

Stillness was a cage.

Adelle had been in constant motion the moment Aether had announced the coming Verd’goten. Hands cracking knuckles, arms shaking loose, neck rolls, bouncing legs, tapping fingers. She’d been driving Phantom nuts. And she’d only been able to swallow the restless energy when she realized it was affecting her adopted son Kael.

They stood in the empty ring first, foundlings waiting to test themselves. Adelle cracked the knuckles of her hand with the same fingers, not quite able to still herself. Not yet. She spared a glance at the crowd cheering, Mandalorians, Domarians, and foreign visitors. An informal invitation had been sent to

Aurelian Veruna through Tona—everything had to go through her—but she did not have high hopes. Her last informal meeting with him, he had made it clear where she ranked in his life. The alor of Clan Skirata, Ca’tra Skirata, sat in the stands closest to the ring. She offered quiet understated applause, but the fact she sat as close as she did helped.

A deafening roar erupted as the two Mand’alors they’d be facing entered the arena. Mia had her helm off, black and gold shining in the sunlight, as she addressed them. The unnamed Mand’alor in black next to her had a dark presence in the Force. It tickled at something in the back of her mind, especially when he spoke. Adelle brushed it away, bringing all her focus to bear on the task at hand.

Breaking and bleeding.

Can’t break what’s already broke, she thought. She drew her beskad with her right hand, a blade she had forged herself and poured her soul into as Warpriest Prime had taught her. With her left, she called her lightsaber to her hand, cobalt blue blade igniting with its signature snap-hiss.

Restlessness stilled into focus as the Force swirled in strong currents around them. The rhythm of her heart settled into the pace set by the Force. She could feel the nerves of those around her, Kael's willingness to protect her. Adelle nodded when his voice came over the comms.

“Don't worry about me ad'ika. I've survived worse. Divide and conquer,” she said to Kael, the Togruta standing next to her. Strange to think she had a son now. “Split their focus so they can’t team up.”

If necessary, she could try to draw their attention and give the others a chance to breathe or strike. Facing two Mand’alors wouldn't be the worst pain she lived through.

Been there, done that.

Adelle advanced with measured steps. She hadn’t sparred with Mia Monroe the Liberator before and the other Mand’alor was entirely unknown to her there’s something there but she knew competence and skill when she saw it. This would indeed be a warrior’s challenge.

Torva Vikar · 2026-03-04T17:22:34-0500

Tag:

Aether Verd + Open!

Torva and Aether hadn’t spent much time together - not as much as she would have liked, anyway. The duties of war and leading their people called him away time and time again, and she had been introduced to her new “pack” of Iron Wolves, to learn more, to train, in his absence. It was a slow process, but she did her best - she wanted to make him proud of her. Of how far she had come, since being the wounded, scared girl he found on Ketaris.

Now she was a Mandalorian Foundling. His Foundling, to be more precise. At the time, Torva hadn’t known what that meant, but as time had gone by, she had learned…and now that meant something special to her.

Mand’alor the Iron was someone special to her. He had stepped in to fill a role left behind by her biological father, and though she missed her family very much, Torva had come to accept the truth that she had gained an even larger family.

She still remembered the day when she called Aether buir. She had been learning words, phrases, and it was a challenge - but she did this because she knew how important and special it was. It didn’t matter that the man didn’t look like her, and it didn’t matter if they were technically adopted. He was still her Father.

So she was always proud to stand or walk beside him. And she hoped to one day fight beside him too. That day was looming ever closer, for sure…but today was not that day.

Instead, she had joined him to witness a Mandalorian tradition - her first time ever witnessing the Verd’goten.

One day, Torva would undergo her own trial. But today, she would witness this event with her buir and enjoy the rare moment of time with him.

Torva leaned against his side when he draped his arm around her shoulder and asked her if any of the delicious offerings of food on display appealed to her. The sounds and smells were overwhelming, in the best of ways.

“Ohhh…is there tiingilar somewhere around here?” the red head asked with bright eyes, her mouth also watering as her belly growled impatiently. “Or maybe some shatual kebabs? That sounds -”

"What the fuck is he doing here?"

Torva glanced at Aether in mild surprise. She rarely ever heard him swear, and it made her blink for a moment, before she looked at the screens he’d been staring at, confused as to who he might be referring to. “W-who?”

Reina Daival · 2026-03-04T17:28:40-0500

Tag:

Adelle Bastiel

Mia Monroe

Isley Verd

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata

Jett Vox
Objective:

Reina twirled the beskad in her hand for a moment, trying to get a feel for the blade. This wasn't the kind of battle she'd bring her lightsaber nor dagger to. She tugged at her helmet for a moment, grumbling to herself. This had been...a last minute choice of hers. There hadn't been time to get a proper fitted suit of armour. If anything, it was just her old suit of armour with a helmet thrown on, but it made breathing through her gills a fair bit more difficult than she cared to admit.

Her gaze flicked between the other "foundlings" before settling on Mia and the Stranger. Reina was pretty sure she'd be able to hold up if she focused on herself. On her own survival. In a way, perhaps that was the lesson she needed to find out however. That she shouldn't just focus on herself. The Siren closed her eyes for a moment, contemplating to herself before she lifted her head, listening to Adelle's words off to her side.

"The Liberator is Force-sensitive. I presume the other is as well. Be ready for the chance they use it against us. Remember. They intend to break us. If you go it alone, they will be able to do so easily. We're stronger together."

We. Together. Words that felt off in Reina's mouth. When she had been with the Jedi, they had always talked about how Jedi were always stronger together. The Sith from what she was experiencing were somewhat similar, but there was no trust in those situations. She could only assume that Mandalorians would lean more towards the Jedi-side of comradery.

That being said, Reina flicked the tip of her beskad in the direction of

Adelle Bastiel to show who she was talking to. It wasn't much like Reina to try and take any form of prominent or leadership role in a fight, but there was a part of her that felt like it would be best for her to step up this time.

"You pick one of them. I'll distract the other."

There was a small part of her that didn't want to go against Mia. All that showing off on their mission together would come back to bite her in the rear if that was the case...Who woulda known that showing off wasn't always the brightest idea?

Leddie Gred · 2026-03-04T17:52:50-0500

Objective 1

Leddie had never done anything like this before, and had to admit to feeling a little out of place. Her armor looked more like it belonged in the Outer Rim then here, though in many ways it had become the norm for Greds, and her bes'bev wouldn't prove too useful. She had two pairs of weapons hanging from her belt, her Trayc'kal, and a pair of CRP-02 Mites, as if to complete the space born look, loaded with some rigged stun cartridges one of her aruetii'vod friends had whipped up. But the crowds.... She'd played music different places, but this crowd felt different.

Mig Gred had always said her and other kids that went through the early years of learning to live in space had verd'goten enough. Still... she felt like she had something to prove. The young Zabrak heard

Mia Monroe , gulping just a little. The

Isley Verd . She heard the gong sound and quickly drew her dagger/pistols, She heard

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata call out, the

Adelle Bastiel 's quick plan. Split focus. Ok she could do that. Then she heard

Reina Daival . Wait.... Mia was Force Sensitive? Leddie actually smiled under her helmet. Her dad was a Manda'ukor. Her clan helped train Force Sensitives in the Fleet. She knew how to fight this.

"I've trained with Manda'ukor." She started, completely forgetting how specific the name would be for a moment. "I know how to fight someone like Mia... somewhat." She walked back slightly as she took a ready stance, eying Mia. She couldn't rush in. Her Trayc'kal didn't have the reach. She'd have to play this smart.

Aselia Verd · 2026-03-04T17:54:23-0500

The sea wind carried the salt up into the high stands of Raver Calyui'r, snapping banners sharp against stone as the foundlings gathered in the yard below. Aselia arrived without announcement, boots measured against the ancient stone steps, helmet tucked beneath one arm for now. Phantom rode her shoulder like a queen surveying her domain.

The spukami's tail draped across Aselia's collarbone, flicking lazily at first, then tightening when the roar of the crowd surged upward from the arena floor. Her ears twitched, rotating independently toward the sound of clashing beskar and the low hum of igniting blades. She chirruped once in mild indignation before settling her chin against Aselia's pauldron as if claiming it.

Aselia reached up without looking and scratched beneath Phantom's jaw, fingers finding the precise place that earned a soft, satisfied trill. The creature leaned into the touch, claws flexing lightly against beskar before carefully sheathing itself again. Even restless, Phantom understood armor.

"It's loud, yes," Aselia murmured under her breath, voice pitched low for the spukami alone. "Trust me, you'll survive."

Phantom's tail swished in unimpressed agreement. Her attention, however, was never fully off the arena.

Below, the foundlings waited in the ring, tension coiled in young bodies, trying not to show nerves. Adelle stood among them, restless energy rolling off her in waves until it compressed into something sharper. Aselia recognized the transition immediately. She had seen that stillness before. When the Mand'alors entered, the reaction from the crowd was seismic. Mia's black and blue caught the sun like a blade being drawn. The second figure beside her carried a presence that pressed against the edges of the yard, heavy and dark in a way that did not belong to spectacle alone.

Aselia felt her mouth twitch faintly. Her father's presence was unmistakable; this would be interesting indeed. Her eyes found Adelle again, the temptation to intervene rising rapidly. Of course, he would choose this moment to appear in full weight. She could practically hear the lesson in it: if you are going to test them, test them properly.

Phantom shifted again, picking up on the subtle change in Aselia's posture. The spukami's nose lifted, whiskers twitching as if scenting something unseen. She let out a low questioning murmur, head tilting toward the arena.

"It's alright, nobody is in danger, that's just my dad, he can be scary," Aselia murmured, thumb tracing lightly along the ridge of Phantom's ear. "Focus, watch Adelle."

Below, Adelle drew her beskad in one smooth motion, then called her lightsaber to her hand. The blue blade snapped to life, cutting a clean line through the wind. There it is, Aselia thought. Adelle advanced with measured steps, not reckless, not tentative.

Aselia's gaze sharpened, tracking foot placement, balance, and breathing. She noted the angle of Adelle's shoulders, the way she positioned relative to Kael. Divide and conquer. Good.

Phantom gave a soft, rumbling trill as the first clash rang out across the yard. The sound vibrated faintly through Aselia's armor, through the stone beneath her boots.

Aselia's hand stilled against the spukami's fur, though she kept the contact there. Her expression remained calm, almost neutral, but her focus did not waver from the ring. She was not here as sister, or daughter, or anything else. She was here as a witness.

Still, when Adelle stepped into range of two Mand'alors without flinching, something like quiet approval settled in her chest.

Phantom leaned forward on her shoulder, tail flicking again as if urging the foundlings on.

TAG: OPEN
Indirect Tag:

Adelle Bastiel

Mia Monroe

Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian Veruna · 2026-03-04T18:02:34-0500

Tags:

Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian had received Tona's message every day for a week. Same tone. Same look. The look that said she already knew he would cave. He had argued, of course. Pride was a stubborn thing. He had told himself he was in the right, that it was just a simple joke. He had told himself he did not care.

He had been wrong.

Wrong to snap. Wrong to let his temper speak for him. He would never confess that aloud. Tona did not need the satisfaction. No one did. So he chartered a ship to Kalevala.

Now he stood in the crowd at Raver Calyui'r, shoulder to shoulder with warriors and merchants, wrapped in roughspun fabric that scratched nonstop. Sibylla stood beside him, equally disguised. No sigils. No jewels. No crowns. Just two bodies in a sea of bodies. Not that anyone would recognize them in Mandalorian space, they had decided to go incognito, commoner clothing, therefore not taking any of the spotlight off of their friend.

It was strangely freeing.

He lifted a heavy cup of ale and shouted when the crowd shouted. The noise rolled through the arena like thunder. When the Mand'alors stepped forward and spoke of breaking and bleeding, he felt the words in his ribs.

He grinned. For once, no one would expect anything from them. They could just watch their friend and have a good time.

The gong sounded. Steel flashed. A blue blade snapped to life. The crowd surged and he surged with them, swallowed by the moment. No titles clung to him here. No advisors hovered. Just sweat, salt air, and the promise of violence.

His gaze found

Adelle Bastiel .

"There," he said, nudging Sibylla lightly with his elbow. "That's her."

She moved with focus, no wasted motion. He watched her advance on the Mand'alors without hesitation. Pride stirred in his chest before he could smother it.

You were a fool, he told himself. You know that.

He took a long drink to silence the thought. "Have you met them?" he asked Sibylla, nodding toward the two figures at the center of the ring. "The former Mand'alors. In all your dignified ambassadorial rounds?" His mouth curved, amused. "I imagine diplomatic dinners are less… stabby."

A roar erupted as blades clashed. He leaned forward, eyes bright, ale forgotten in his hand. The nobles of his court would faint if they saw him now, shouting approval with dockworkers and armored zealots.

He laughed under his breath. This was better than a throne room.

"She's got this?" he asked, not looking at her, "Right?"

There was no mockery in the question. Only curiosity. And something that felt suspiciously like concern.

Jaikell Wyrvhor · 2026-03-04T18:04:33-0500

KALEVALA: ACT II

As Jaikell stands on the edge of the spear range, his focus sharpens on the distant target as he holds his spear, his mind calculating the distance of his upcoming throw and that's when a man,

Prisoner #36929 steps up to the line and throws his spear. "Looks like its starting" Jaikell says to himself.

As the man's throw highlights the beginning of the challenge, He decides nows the time, With a deliberate stride, he approaches the line, each step echoing with purpose as he positions himself for his own turn.

The world around him fades into the background, the cheering and noise a distant thought, With a swift and practiced motion, Jaikell brings his arm back, his eyes locked on the target. In one fluid movement, he launches the spear.

| Outfit: |
J O R I R
B E S K A R ' G A M

| Equipment: ALL |

Jaikell Wyrvhor · 2026-03-04T18:18:52-0500

Jaikell Wyrvhor said:
In one fluid movement, he launches the spear.

Renn Vizsla · 2026-03-04T18:24:29-0500

Renn Vizsla sat upon the elevated viewing throne that overlooked the vast fighting pit below, the arena carved deep into stone and lit by rings of fire that danced along the surrounding walls. From the stands rose the thunder of voices, warriors shouting, armor clashing, and the roar of a crowd eager for blood and glory. Yet above it all, still as an ancient statue of war, sat the Warden of Roon.

His armor gleamed like forged sunlight.

Each plate of gold-hued beskar reflected the firelight of the arena braziers, turning the Mandalorian into something almost mythic in silhouette. Broad pauldrons rested upon his shoulders like the wings of a war-god, and the smooth visor of his helmet revealed nothing of the man behind it. To those below, the mask showed no judgment, no approval, no mercy, only the silent authority of a warrior who had seen countless battles before this one.

A deep crimson cloak spilled from his shoulders, cascading over the back of the chair and down the stone steps like flowing blood. The fabric stirred occasionally with the heated air rising from the pit below, its movement slow and deliberate, as though the cloak itself breathed with the rhythm of the arena.

Renn leaned slightly forward in his seat, one armored gauntlet resting against the arm of the throne while the other drummed once, slowly, against the metal plating of his thigh. Each motion was measured. Controlled. The posture of a commander observing the field rather than a spectator seeking entertainment.

As the arena quited for a moment, the Warden rose from his seat, his hands finding themselves behind his back, hands clasped together as his voice boomed across the arena.

"Warriors of Mandalore! Today, you do not merely fight for yourselves, you fight for the honor of your clan! For those who have taken you in and given you a home! Prove yourself worthy of bearing their name, show your brothers and sisters what a warrior you have become! If you are to fall, RISE once more!"

The man seemed to stand more as a beacon than a mortal man. His visage brought forth imagery of old, of Mandalorians long since passed on.

His voice continued to carry as he spoke, "Blood will spill, some will come back with a more broken smile then we remember, but remember my brothers and sisters, the memory of our ancestors are by our side, the Manda is with us, they will keep your arm strong, your legs swift, and your heart sturdy."

With this, the Warden raised his golden Gauntlet into the air before slamming it against his breastplate, "VODE AN! And may the best warrior win!"

Jaikell Wyrvhor |

Prisoner #36929 | @OPEN

Seris Mataan · 2026-03-04T19:10:56-0500

The gong's deep tone rolled across the arena, its echo swallowed almost immediately by the crowd's thunder. The wind coming off Kalevala's cliffs swept through the open training grounds, stirring banners and cloaks alike while the gathered clans leaned forward to watch the beginning of the trial. Seris stood among the six foundlings facing the two warriors at the center of the field, the white plates of her beskar armor catching the muted light beneath the storm-dark sky. The long red ponytail trailing down her back shifted with the wind as she studied the figures opposite them. Her gaze moved first to Mia, then to the man standing beside her. Isley Verd. Her mother had spoken of him more than once, not as a legend but as a warrior whose choices had shaped Mandalorian history. Seeing him here felt less surprising than it should have, as though the moment had been waiting for them all along.

Seris listened as Mia addressed them, her expression calm and attentive. The words about instinct, endurance, and survival settled over the arena as the crowd's noise gradually quieted. There was no bravado in Seris' posture and no sign that the threat of being broken unsettled her. If anything, the promise of a real trial seemed to steady her focus further. When Mia finished speaking and sealed herself into her helmet, the roar returned in full force as the gong sounded again to begin the Verd'goten.

Seris moved then with quiet purpose. Her right hand reached back over her shoulder and released the long weapon magnetized across her armor. The spear came free smoothly, its segmented haft extending with a firm mechanical snap as it locked into place. The Mandalorian-forged polearm settled into her right hand with the ease of long familiarity, the beskar blade at its head angled forward as she took a measured stance on the arena floor. Her left hand then dropped to the hilt resting at her hip. There was a brief click before a brilliant white blade ignited with a sharp, clean hiss, the light spilling outward in stark contrast against the darker tones of armor and stone surrounding them. The glow reflected off her beskar plates and along the edge of the spearhead as she held both weapons with quiet composure.

The Force moved through her in steady currents, present but restrained, the discipline her mother had instilled evident in the way she allowed it to guide her awareness without letting it dominate the moment. Seris shifted slightly to maintain a clear view of both Mand'alors and the other foundlings beside her, placing herself where she could move quickly if the fight broke in any direction. Her attention returned briefly to Isley, the recognition in her eyes simple and respectful rather than dramatic.

TAG:

Mia Monroe

Isley Verd
Indirect TAG:

Jaikell Wyrvhor (+ Any foundlings i missed)

Kirae Orade · 2026-03-04T21:31:12-0500

Tags:

Aether Verd

Torva Vikar

Aether Verd said:
"What the fuck is he doing here?"

"Partaking in the event. Maybe it'll be enjoyable to watch now."

Kirae gave a lazy shrug of her shoulders, as her gaze had flicked up towards the screen as well. The Verd'goten. Something she had done whilst she still had family. When she proven her place. At least that's what she had thought. But even after that moment, her Clan still had treated her so...different.

"Now let me grab one of those."

She reached over, using the Force to grab a skewer of some kind of greasy meat, taking her helm off to chew away at it, whilst cradling the helm beneath her arm. Her gaze firmly fixed on the screen, frowning in contemplation. There was a part of her that was jealous at this Verd'goten. The Foundlings were lucky to have this to go against. Maybe they'd have been lucky if she had been done there, with her shield and body ready to enact as a bulwark to protect them. But alas, she had no need to repeat the event...Nor were they yet Mandalorians that she would lay her life down for. She'd fight for them, but she was only willing to die for a select few.

"Who's this?"

Her eyebrows raised for a moment, before Kirae waved her empty skewer in the direction of

Torva Vikar , ignoring the confusion on the other woman's face over Aether's cursing. No matter what movement she made, Kirae was refusing to actually use her hands for anything. Not that it was important. What was important to her was the stranger with the Mand'alor. She liked to think she had kept up with...most of the Verds. There was always another one sprouting out from somewhere when she hadn't been looking. But this didn't seem like one...No. That was a lie. She somewhat seemed to resemble Aselia...But only because they both had red hair. Curious...Either way, she just shrugged again.

Korda Veydran · 2026-03-04T22:40:41-0500

_________________

__________________________

Objective II: Spear throwing

Korda Veydran strode toward the spear range, each step deliberate on the packed dirt. The sun beat down, glinting off the edges of his beskar armor, the warmth unfamiliar yet grounding. The din of the crowd washed over him in waves. cheers, laughter, the occasional shouted command, but he let it fade into a background hum, focusing on the task ahead.

"Apologies for my delay," he murmured, voice low yet carrying over to anyone close enough to hear. "Some matters needed my attention before I could be present." His words were not an excuse, only acknowledgment; in the Mandalorian way, duty came before ceremony, even in a trial of skill.

Reaching the rack, he selected a beskar spear, letting it rest in his hands. The weight was familiar, almost comforting, the subtle balance of forged metal and lethal purpose. He spun it once, feeling the centrifugal pull and judging the trajectory it would take. His eyes flicked toward the other competitors, catching the tension in their shoulders, the slight hesitation in their grips. A small nod, a murmured, "Steady, friends. Remember your center," was all he offered, a rare moment of encouragement before the trial consumed his focus.

Korda brought the spear to his chest plate in a silent warrior's gesture, the motion measured and respectful. Then, methodically, he removed his helmet and secured it on his belt, the visor catching the sunlight for a brief moment. With equal care, he set the Ashen Maw on the ground, alongside his vibrio blade and sidearm. Each movement deliberate, honoring the arena, the participants, and the tradition behind the trial.

He breathed in slowly, feeling the wind off the coast tug at his cloak, scent of salt and sea spray mingling with the dust and oil of the training yards. The heat of the sun kissed his neck, and the murmur of the crowd faded further, leaving only the sound of his own breathing, the faint hum of the distant ocean, and the whisper of his heartbeat in his ears.

Korda adjusted his stance, legs rooted, shoulders squared, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to release. His gaze locked on the distant target, the fine glint of sunlight on beskar catching the corner of his eye, and he calculated the arc, the angle, the momentum he would need.

The world narrowed. The chatter of the crowd, the clatter of weapons, the calls of nearby warriors, all became a distant echo. For a moment, it was only him and the spear, the line drawn between his fingers and the mark at the end of the range.

He drew the spear back with a grunt, the sound low but forceful, carrying his weight and intent through the motion. Muscles coiled, breath controlled, and then he released. The spear cut through the air, spinning end over end, a streak of steel reflecting the sunlight, arcing toward the target.

Korda's eyes tracked its flight, narrowing as he followed every rotation, every fraction of a degree, measuring, anticipating. Whether it landed in the tightest cluster or veered off just slightly remained unseen, the outcome left to chance, the dice yet to fall.

He let his arm drop, exhaling slowly, letting the tension slide from his shoulders. One throw done. One chance given. One step closer to proving himself, or learning what remained to be mastered. The trial awaited him still, and he would meet it as he always had: with focus, respect, and the quiet determination of a Mandalorian warrior.

Tags:

Prisoner #36929

Jaikell Wyrvhor

Renn Vizsla

Populate Trial by Fire | ME Populate of Wistril

Character

The Liberator

ᴅᴀʀᴛʜ ᴍᴇᴛᴜs

Wraith of the Way

I R O N

The Red Mando

Character

LOST

Trouble

Forged Through Fire

Character

Gred Survivor

Character

King of Naboo

Wraith of the Way

Wraith of the Way

Character

Character

Curse of Orade

Korda the unyielding

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