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[Siv Kryze]

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THE VERD'GOTEN​

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The noise reached him before the arena did.

Siv stepped out onto the stone edge of the yard at Raver Calyui'r, the wind off the sea cutting through the open battlements. It smelled like salt and smoke, the same way it always had.

For a moment he didn't move.

This was Kalevala. His clan's world. The old seat of Clan Kryze. He hadn't stood here in years.

The fortress looked different now. The stone was the same blue-grey, the cliffs still falling away into the ocean beyond the walls, but the banners had changed. Imperial sigils snapped in the wind where Kryze colors once flew alone. The place had grown too—more people, more noise, a town spreading below the walls.

But the training yard was still the training yard.

Siv's visor tilted slightly as he looked down into the arena.

At the center stood the two Mand'alors, Mia Monroe and Isley Verd , calm as ever despite the chaos beginning to form around them. Warriors who had fought real wars — the kind that didn't stop for ceremony.

Across from them the foundlings had begun to spread out.

He watched Adelle Bastiel move first, blue blade snapping alive while her beskad stayed ready in the other hand. Direct. Confident. Already trying to pull attention away from the others.

Beside her, Kael Varr Basteil Skirata kept his tonfa up despite the stiffness in his stance. Siv caught that right away — injured or not, the kid hadn't stepped back.

Further down the line, Jett Vox held a little tighter to her blaster and rifle, shoulders tense but planted firmly in the dirt.

Then another caught his eye.

Leddie Gred looked like she'd stepped straight off a ship deck rather than a training yard — pistols and blade hanging from her belt, stance cautious but thinking. Not rushing in. Smart.

Nearby, Reina Daival rolled the weight of her beskad in her hand like she was testing it before committing. She looked like someone still deciding how she wanted to fight this.

And then there was Seris Mataan .

The spear snapped into full length and the white lightsaber ignited beside it, the glow reflecting across her armor as she settled into a calm stance. Controlled. Focused. Not rushing the moment.

Siv let out a quiet breath inside his helmet.

Not a bad group.

Movement to his side drew his attention, and his visor shifted slightly toward the woman standing nearby in the stands.

Aselia Verd watched the arena with the same sharp focus he'd expect from someone studying a battlefield instead of a ceremony. The small creature on her shoulder — Spukami — seemed just as invested, tail flicking while it leaned forward to watch the fighting below.

Siv glanced back toward the arena as the first real clash of beskar echoed through the yard.

Then he spoke just loud enough for her to hear over the wind.

"So," he said casually, nodding toward the fighters below.

"Your credits on the Mand'alors… or the foundlings?"

A small pause followed before he added dryly,

"Personally, I'm curious which one of them is brave enough to hit Isley Verd first."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

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Objective: Cheering on Adelle Bastiel
Aurelian Veruna

He still hadn't apologized.

Hazel eyes settled upon the cheering Aurelian with avid amusement, the dark blue cowl wrapped around her head and neck hiding the simple, thick plait of hair woven into a rope at her back.

Yes, he still hadn't apologized, but here they were, cheering on Adelle Bastiel in her Verd'gotten. In rough plainclothes at that. He wore no velvets or handwoven brocades. No excessive gold necklaces or bracelets or rings, save the pendant she gave him, and gloves over his hands to shield the rings of King and Patriarch he always wore.

He had a mug of ale in his hand and was honestly, truly, enjoying himself. Sibylla could see it clearly in the brightness of his amber eyes and in the slightest crinkle at their corners.

Tona was laughing, Sibylla was sure of it.

As if Aurelian could do anything without the redhead knowing exactly what Aurelian was doing.

"She will be fine," Sibylla finally answered, taking her own sip from her own mug of ale, adding wryly with notable amusement, "Do you not recall how easily she tossed you left and right?"

It was a tease, but one of banter.

"No, I have not," she added, even as her eyes went drifting across from Isley Verd, Aether's father, to Mia Monroe.

"Both have a tendency to do as they will and have been absent of late... only recently seen more of them," she commented with a slight hum, thinking back to what she had heard about them both. Hermits to a degree, truly, but each had tales that preceded them.

"You know you could go in and help her with the fight," Sibylla added, giving a sly grin as she cast her attention back at Aurelian to see what he'd say about that.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Spoiler: Tags

Isley Verd Siv Kryze Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Seris Mataan Aselia Verd

Beneath the sea of noise and spectators, the foundlings shifted, exchanging ideas and information as they adjusted their positions, changing their angles of attack trying to decide which of them was the lesser evil. Mia watched all of it without moving, Her eyes lingering on each of them in turn.

Jett Vox was armed for ranged assault, depending on how the others moved that could go either way for her, there was a quiet nervousness shimmering beneath determination.

As she had suspected she would be the first problem, Adelle Bastiel was the first to move forward, a woman driven by purpose, wielding beskad and lightsaber. She brought herself front and centre, already aiming, she suspected, to draw their focus.

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata looked to Adelle, she had after all been the one to adopt him. Quite the bonding experience for a mother and son to take their Verd’goten together.

Reina Daival seemed unsure of the weapon she’d chosen, like the weight didn’t sit right in her hand but Mia knew well enough she was adaptive. She’d seen it in action.

Leddie Gred drew her own weapons and shifted backward, not retreating, realigning.

The last Mia didn’t know, but she moved with discipline and composure, the spear and lightsaber perfectly balanced in her hands.

“I’ll give them their due.” she said quietly to Isley amusement creeping into her tone “They are smarter than we were. Pretty sure we just ran head first into everything until it hurt.”

She moved then, stepping away from him to create enough distance that would force Adelle and the others to choose their poison, letting the force flow through her. The gentle sea breeze sharpened, snapping at banners and picking up the dust off the arena floor shifting them all into a haze.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Objective I

This was the first time Omen had seen something like this, too. Everything here was... like a training camp on steroids. Still, he was giving Jett her wish to see her culture. Omen didn't think he would be here otherwise, seeing that he would much rather be home with his partner than trying to deal with this crowd noise. But he was here for Jett, and she would need every bit of his experience that she could soak into that brain of hers to succeed.

Given the lack of time they had before this event, Omen had tried to focus on the basics of combat with his new student. Seeing she was decent already at shooting, he taught her in the short time they had how to use shock sticks and the basics of Teras Kasi so she could defend herself in close quarters if it came to it. And now it was time to show off those skills. The Clone only hoped that she wouldn't embarrass herself. She didn't need that scar in her brain for some time to come.

As time before the trial ran short, Omen would grip Jett's shoulder and turn her around, giving her a reassuring smile. "Well, this is it Kid. You ready?" The ARC knew the answer was probably knew the answer was probably no and he would probably feel the same in her shoes. All he could do was boost her up. "You have just as much potential as anyone in that ring. Don't be afraid to show your uneasyiness, your fear. Make them believe you are unprepared before you shoot them out of the water. You got this Kid, the only person you got to beat is you." Giving her a quick hug, he left her to prepare as names were called for the ring and moved into the viewing area, ready to see how much of his training she would use to make an impression in the minds of these veteren warriors.

Tag: Jett Vox , Open

 

[Avast Verd]

FEATS OF HONOR

Land Nav Assessment
Acier Moonbound

"So you di one dhey call Moonbound, eh."

The accented voice went singing from the right of the white dreadlocked young man, coming from a tall young woman whose wide grin shone stark against the richness of her dusky skin. She wore no beskargam, looked more like a spacer, drifter colony belter, but walked with a stride that bled confidence that knew she belonged.

Chocolate eyes peered down with avid amusement and equal scrutiny, the woman already snapping a holographic screen into her forearm. The tech-woven glove from her other hand had her fingers dance across the screen, blue light spilling upward and painting her face in a cool glow while she logged something quick.

There was no denying the way the Force swirled around her, playfully mischievous as it was curious.

"Tell mi someting Moonbound." she began, her grin widening to show more of those pearly white teeth. "You de kinda man who wander inna woods an' get proper lost, yeah..."

Another few taps of her screen as she began to course the land nav.

"...or you de kinda who stand still long 'nough dat di woods start talkin' back to ya, pickney?"

OOC: Dice roller didn't work, but I rolled a 6 in the Trial by Fire chat, 11:15 am.

 

[Veyla Krinn]

Objective: 3
@open

Raver Calyui'r, Kalevala

The scent of salt and woodsmoke climbed the cliffs of the Azure Bastion, greeting Veyla Krinn as she stepped through its ancient gates. Kalevala had always been beautiful in a stark, stubborn way; white stone cliffs stood defiant against an endless ocean, where waves broke far below the fortress walls in a thunderous rhythm that hadn't changed for centuries. The wind was a constant companion here, tugging at banners and cloaks alike, turning every flag on the ramparts into a snapping declaration of Mandalorian resilience.

Raver Calyui'r had once belonged to House Kryze alone, but as Veyla paused just inside the courtyard, her eyes sweeping the grounds, it was clear that the fortress now served a much larger purpose. The yards were a hive of activity, filled with warriors and foundlings preparing for the Verd'goten. Some stood near the contest rings where spears and hammers rested in polished racks, while others gathered along the stone walkways to trade stories and drinks before the trials began.

Every Mandalorian knew the phrase "trial by fire," but standing beneath these specific walls made the words feel heavy with a new kind of gravity.

Veyla's crimson beskar caught the sunlight in dull reflections, the various scratches and scorches across the plates serving as a silent record of battles she had no intention of explaining today. With her helmet clipped to her belt, the wind was free to whip through the red strands of her hair as she moved deeper into the courtyard. She felt the weight of the glances cast her way—the name Kryze still carried an inescapable legacy here, one she had spent years trying to outrun before finally choosing to simply carry it.

The sound of the sea began to fade, replaced by the rising hum of voices and the inviting scent of roasted meat and tihaar drifting from the great hall. Yet, her attention remained fixed on the training yards and the foundlings waiting within them.

She saw the spectrum of their nerves: the tall and overconfident, the restless pacers, and the quiet ones who sat with helmets in their laps, staring at the arena with an intensity she recognized instantly. She had worn that exact look once—the desperate need to prove her worth not just to her clan, but to herself.

Her hand rested briefly against the hilt of her blade as she watched them, her thoughts drifting to the true meaning of the trials. The Verd'goten was never strictly about victory; it was about standing in the fire long enough to see what kind of warrior emerged from the smoke, and whether they were truly willing to burn for what they believed in.

A faint smile touched the corner of her mouth as she found a spot at the edge of the courtyard. Leaning lightly against a stone rail overlooking the arena floor, she settled in to wait. She was close enough to be a part of the atmosphere, yet open enough that a curious foundling or a wandering warrior might easily find their way to her side.

The trials had not yet begun, but Kalevala was already watching. And so was she.

 

[Dral Kar'taal]

Objective: Guard Duty
Tag: Open​

He didn't have to speak to be understood. Vigilance lived within him, in the way he watched everything that moved, even the subtle shift of a crowd that could turn from celebration to challenge in a heartbeat.

Around him, the feast swelled with noise, with whiskey and roasted meat and the low rumble of old stories being sharpened into new boasts. Foundlings drifted past the training yard entrances with anxious focus, and veterans carried their confidence like a second set of plates. Dral remained still, fierce in his silence and proud. Not for a performance but for truth. The kind that said he would give everything for Mandalore and House Verd. The kind of presence and shield that warned trouble away simply by existing.

When his helmet was off, he became something else entirely. The edges did not vanish, but they softened, and the storm of his attention turned outward rather than inward. His voice found an easy calm among allies, and his gaze lingered longer on faces than on hands. He listened as if conversation mattered, offered a nod that was respect and acknowledgment, and allowed a rare warmth to surface in the spaces where duty did not demand steel, sword, or saber.

Then the helmet returned, and the change was immediate. Calm became focus as openness became control. The man became the protector again, a Verd sentinel beneath old stone and snapping banners, ready to stand between whatever dared test it.