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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 Bastiel 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]

​

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 Bastiel 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.

 

[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.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Kalevala, Outer Rim Territories

​

Delivering a soft breeze and the smell of brine from far below, the whistling wind fluttered over the blue-grey stone of the ancient battlements, raised high above the central training area filled with spectators and contestants alike. Thunderous echoes of their cheers filled the air, intertwining with the sharp caws of birds circling the outskirts of the arena, while the ocean waves lapped gently against the rocky cliffside with measured patience, watched wearily by ancient sensor-rigs and an assortment of equipment concealed beneath the azure walls that Itzhal Volkihar stood upon.

The sun rose high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the scene, illuminating the gleam of beskar'gam worn by the fighters who stood ready in the arena. At least, as ready as they could be. It would be no easy task for those who dared consider themselves ready to face the Verd'goten.

Avatars of their people's will, the Two Mand'alors represented a different period in the history of Mandalore, undoubtedly a harsher time, divided and broken by the many conflicting views of those who would call themselves Mandalorian and the external threats that had ultimately laid them low, time and time again. A time when victory had not been tallied in glorious deeds and feats of valour, but rather the day-to-day survival of a people at war with a Galaxy Divided.

Together, they served a dual purpose: both as executors of the warrior's trial and as a form of remembrance—Aether Verd had chosen well.

If only the two controversial figures hadn't left Itzhal scrambling to monitor security quite so tightly, he might even have been willing to politely inform the Mand'alor of his approval. Either that or punch him for the complications. He still wasn't sure what he hated more: the assassination plots and mass-casualty events that his people had already discovered and descalated, or the sheer amount of fan mail coated with pheromones and other shady chemicals that deserved front-and-centre on a horror special rather than the romances their senders were clearly addicted to.

The sound of the gong reverberated through the air, a call to war on a smaller scale, though no lesser for those who found themselves with something to prove. Children shouted with glee, while elders exchanged knowing glances, and the audience, filled with families, friends, and dignitaries, leaned forward in their seats.

From his perch high above, the Mandalorian Protector cast one more glance at the clash of beskad and gave a deliberate nod to Mia Monroe before he strode down a set of stairs, out of sight of the contest. Greystone corridors twisted and turned in a confusing labyrinth that was only discernible through the use of his HuD, a soft haze in the corner of his screen, guiding his steps towards the grand hall, where he spotted the silent sentinel of Dral Kar'taal.

Crowds of civilians slowed his pace as he manoeuvred around the hall towards his target, "Dral, status report."

Tags: Dral Kar'taal​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Kalevala

Equipment:
Apprentice Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Ace didn't look at her when she spoke. His eyes were already on the horizon beyond the fortress walls, studying the stretch of wild terrain where the course began. Rock formations. Windbreaks. Low brush that would hide uneven ground.​

​

Coruscant had been nothing but suffocation. Watchful eyes and careful words. Every step measured. Every conversation a lie wrapped around another lie. This, at least, was simple. Reason enough to answer the challenge when he'd seen it.​

​

His mind was already moving through it. The voice beside him finally pulled his attention sideways. White locs shifted as he turned his head just enough to look at her, holding her gaze for a second.​

​

Avast. Aether had mentioned her once or twice in passing. Another of their father's scattered bloodline moving through the galaxy. That was about as much thought as Ace had ever given it.​

​

His eyes dropped briefly to the holo display glowing across her forearm before lifting again as her question hung in the air.​

​

"I don't get lost." His voice was flat, calm, carrying none of the playfulness she'd offered.​

​

His gaze drifted back toward the wilderness course.​

​

"You stop. You look. Terrain tells you where to go. If you're paying attention."​

​

He didn't elaborate as the wind pulled at the edges of his dark clothing. Ace just kept looking toward the distant rock formations like the conversation was already over and the trial had already started in his head.​

​

Avast Verd​

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE ONE
The Arena

Mand'alor the Reclaimer took a deep breath.

It was calming. It brought peace to mind and body. But above all, it was a call. A silent whisper to the abyss within his very soul. To test the next generation meant to not offend them by holding back. The day would come when they stand against the best of the Sith and the worst of the Jedi. If he did not prepare them now? It might very well cost their lives.

His gaze, sulfuric and hungry, slide across the field. He witnessed the array of young warriors who stood against them. He noted how they made ready. He noted who would be the greatest threat. He noted who would be the weakest link. His grip tightened upon the beskad as Mia spoke.

Isley's own amused tone would reach her ears as she stepped forward. "I'd say it worked out for us in the end. Look how we turned out, eh?"

Then the time for smiles ended.

By his assessment, the one bearing a blue lightsaber and beskad would be the mightiest foe. And thus, he would test to see if her stomach was Jedi or if it was Mandalorian. He took a single step forward and the Force responded.

A monumental, telekinetic Pull shrieked out, bearing down on Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata . Unimpeded, it bore the strength to seize the warrior and to fling him directly into the eastern wall.

All the while, his gaze never left the woman bearing the lightsaber. A question dancing within his mind: let us see how much your heart bleeds.​

Adelle Bastiel , Jett Vox , Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Reina Daival , Leddie Gred , Mia Monroe , Seris Mataan +Open​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Verd'goten



The Liberator created space between herself and the black armored Mand’alor, splitting themselves up and forcing her to commit to a path. Worrisome, that splitting up was a deliberate choice against so many. There was little time to think about it. The Force stirred and sea wind picked up grit and dust from the arena floor. It flew into the air, obscuring vision. Her HUD’s IFF helpfully outlined the Mand’alors' positions in red, and her fellow Foundlings in green.

The Force rushed past her as the Dark answered the black armored Mand’alor’s call. His visor never left hers but she felt no danger. Which meant his focus wasn’t her.

She had a very easy fix for that.

As he stepped forward, Adelle did not slow. She breathed evenly and set a barrier between him and the foundlings. She felt a clash of his Darkness and her Light, pulling her shield down. In the next breath, she pulled the Force into her veins and closed with him inhumanly fast. While the beskad was heavier than a lightsaber, Jar’Kai and Ataru had been favored forms of hers and the momentum a beskad created could be incorporated into the Aggression form. She engaged the former Mand'alor with beskad and saber—as an Iron Wolf.

While she relied on others to engage Mia Monroe, Adelle did not let her awareness of the battlefield dull. The Dark presence slowly revealed itself into something familiar, a presence she had endured for days during healing sessions.

Isley Verd.

Did Aether know?

Spoiler: Tags

Mia Monroe
Isley Verd
Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata
Reina Daival
Seris Mataan
Jett Vox
Nianuke cyt
Vyse de Valorous
Vael Saren
Leddie Gred
Aselia Verd
Aurelian Veruna
Sibylla Abrantes
Siv Kryze
Sergeant Omen

 

[Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata]

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I

Kael centered himself, working to put himself deeply into the mindset of the Manda. His Buir had given him orders, 'Divide and conquer.' Seeing as the rest of the foundlings here were ladies, he started angling towards Manda'lor the Reclaimer. If he could keep this man busy for long enough, the other foundlings may be able to work on Manda'lor the Liberator. He felt out with the force, attempting to do something he had read about in the history files on the old force orders. Battle Meditation... Basically, boosting the morale of the other foundlings while pressing down the morale of the enemy. It wasn't much, but his fellow foundlings were so much more experienced than he was. He pushed that thought aside and focused on his adversary, while still feeding the positive battle meditation to his fellow foundlings.

He looked to Manda'lor the Reclaimer. There was a darkness around him. Kael knew most battles were fought in the mind first, so he studied his opponent, how he was standing, how his hands gripped his weapon, how his muscles tensed, ready to move. Kael, for his part, relaxed all his muscles and put his arms up in a guarded position.

What he didn’t expect would be a dust storm to make Tatooine proud. Being sand blasted was not the most comfortable but it made him glad he at least had a mask with a respirator built in. Closing his eyes he felt out with the force and used his heightened Togruta senses to locate where everything was. Force sight was supposed to be something relied upon by Miraluka, but in a pinch it was better than nothing.

As he felt himself start to shift with the beginnings of the black manda’lor’s force attack he felt the force shield slide between him and Adelle, and consequently, him and the Reclaimer. He was committed now, help the others and then his Buir. He focused on his Battle meditation. Keeping his guard up but pushing the battle out of his mind. Through the force he pushed out the positive message, “They may have been Manda’lors before, but we serve Manda’lor the Iron, and we will survive.” He hung back some though his mind would occasionally flick to his Buir.

He did not know if the others wanted this, but he would care for his fellow foundlings the best he could. Support with the battle meditation, guard those that fell, heal what he could. That was his job here.

Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Isley Verd

 

[Jett Vox]

Objective I: The Verd'goten​

Jett was unprepared for the hug but she nodded and felt some of her anxiety flow from her, now that Omen had given his blessing. She turned back to the arena on one heel and went to join the rest of the Foundlings. Most of them were young like her, and that was a bit heartening as well. One of them had already ignited her laser-sword, a weapon that Jett had never seen before. There would be a lot of weapons Jett had never seen before here today. A moment after she had joined her fellows, she felt woefully inadequate in comparison. How will I even compare? A thought unbidden broke through her meditative mind, but she cast it aside unbidden.

She unshouldered the strap of her heavy rifle and struck the switch that would power it with a hum. The rangefinder lit up, and she stood as tall as she could, placing the stock to her shoulder and aiming the weapon for the first time since she'd arrived.

Mia Monroe kicked up a dust storm that Jett assumed was just a product of the arena, kicking up a haze that obscured their vision and probably was meant to gain some kind of advantage. If she had known it was intentional, she wouldn't have known the reason. After all, it would have had the same effect on everyone. Jett didn't know much about the Force or the people who utilized it.

At first Mia looked like she would attack first, then Jett guessed Adelle might, but she was wrong on both accounts. It ended up being Isley Verd with a weapon she never even saw. Her rifle snapped in his direction, and her thumb flipped the switch that changed her blaster from semi-automatic to fully automatic. The DLT-20A Pulse Rifle barked rapidly, thrusting back against her shoulder, but Jett had learned the weapon well enough, and the spread was wide but contained. One, two, three, four, five crimson pulse-bolts screamed toward their target, which came and went as the dust thinned and thickened.

Of course she didn't wait where she was. Her feet scurried to attempt a more flanking trajectory, as she didn't want her allies to get in the way. The weapon's built-in rangefinder flickered and fuzzed with each shot, obscuring her view for only a split-second, before it cut again through the haze and dust--but after the first spread, she was preparing her next shot. This time, she wanted to be more precise, so she thumbed the switch to return it to single-shot mode. She would have to wait until the haze completely cleared though. There was no way to get a perfect shot through all of this.

Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata hopefully would have found his footing by the time she was ready to fire again. Even better would be, if the other Foundlings had formed their own strategy.

Jett was paying close attention to how everyone else moved. Sure, their enemy seemed invincible but if they could find a way.... if this wind and dust died down....


Adelle Bastiel @ Mia Monroe @ Isley Verd @ Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata @ Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata @ Reina Daival @ Seris Mataan @ Nianuke cyt @ Vyse de Valorous @ Vael Saren @ Leddie Gred @ Aselia Verd @ Aurelian Veruna @ Sibylla Abrantes @ Siv Kryze @ Sergeant Omen +Open

 

[Aselia Verd]

The clash of beskar carried clearly up into the stands, the sound ringing sharp against the pale stone of Raver Calyui'r as the arena came alive. Aselia stood near the railing with the easy stillness of someone used to watching battle unfold from a distance, one hand resting lightly along the stone. Phantom balanced across her shoulder like a small, living standard, the spukami's tail flicking lazily at first before the noise of the crowd and the spark of combat pulled her forward.

The creature leaned out as the first real exchange rang across the yard, ears twitching toward the arena floor. She made a low chirrup as if offering her own commentary on the spectacle, paws shifting slightly against the curve of Aselia's pauldron while carefully sheathing her claws against the beskar. Aselia reached up without looking and scratched beneath Phantom's jaw, earning a pleased trill that vibrated faintly through the armor before the spukami settled again, chin resting along the edge of the shoulder plate.

Siv's voice reached her over the wind just as the crowd swelled again.

"So… your credits on the Mand'alors… or the foundlings?"

Aselia didn't turn her head. Her eyes remained on the arena as the foundlings shifted positions below, measuring one another and the two legends who stood waiting for them.

"My credits are usually on the Mand'alors," she replied evenly. "Experience tends to win more often than enthusiasm."

She let the statement hang a moment before the faintest hint of amusement touched her expression.

"But stubbornness has surprised people before."

When Siv added his observation about who might be brave enough to strike Isley first, she let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a chuckle.

"If they're smart," she said calmly, "none of them will try it first."

Her attention sharpened as Mia moved across the arena floor, deliberately separating herself from Isley and forcing the foundlings to make a decision. Dust lifted in the wind as the banners snapped overhead, grit swirling across the training yard in a haze that turned the sunlight into shifting gold.

Then the Force moved.

Aselia felt it before she saw the result. The sudden, violent pull that tore across the arena toward Kael made her hand still where it rested against Phantom's fur. The spukami reacted instantly, lifting her head and letting out a questioning trill as the shift in Aselia's posture told her something had changed.

Below, Adelle moved.

Not away from the danger but straight toward it.

Aselia watched the acceleration with quiet focus as the blue blade ignited beside the heavier line of the beskad. The motion was fast, almost reckless at first glance, but the closer she looked, the clearer the intention became. Adelle wasn't charging blindly. She was redirecting attention, drawing the former Mand'alor's focus away from Kael in a way that required both nerve and precision.

Phantom leaned forward again as the clash began in earnest, tail curling once along the edge of Aselia's collar as if bracing to watch what came next.

Aselia's hand resumed its slow, absent motion along the spukami's back while her gaze remained locked on the arena.

"That's one way to do it," she murmured, more observation than commentary.

Below them, the fight truly began, steel and light meeting under the wind of Kalevala, and Aselia's expression settled into the focused calm of someone studying every movement for what it revealed.

TAG: Siv Kryze + OPEN
Indirect Tag: Adelle Bastiel Sibylla Abrantes Mia Monroe
​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: In post
Objective:

The Ersansyr sucked on her teeth for a moment as her own little speech and attempt to inspire was ignored. Maybe she was more right than she expected. Maybe the Mandalorians were exactly like the Jedi when it came to comradery. She had hoped they would have been different, but it appeared not. Well, that was how things went, she supposed as the Siren closed her eyes, feeling the dust and wind picking up around the group, as the sand roared to life within the storm. It was perhaps a shame that she wasn't more accustomed to manipulating the Earth beneath her feet...But the air answered just as easily. Using the wind to tell where people were, as opposed to any fancy technobabble. Of course, it meant she couldn't quite tell who most were in the storm, she wasn't familiar with most of them.

She at least could feel a larger presence in the Force clashing with someone who felt...smaller in the Force. Considering one of them wasn't familiar whatsoever to her, she could only assume it was Adelle Bastiel clashing against the other unknown Mand'alor Isley Verd . Well. That looks like Reina's choice on who she was going against decided. Fantastic. Mia Monroe The one she didn't want to fight against. Not that it mattered, as Reina shook her head, blocking out the support of the Battle Meditation from Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata . Whilst it was support, Reina wanted her achievements today to be of her own hands. Battle Meditation wasn't something she could always rely on.

Then she felt another moving through the storm. The fact they seemed to be going for range implied to Reina at least that it was the one she had seen with blasters and ranged weapons. Jett Vox . Fine by Reina, she was more of an up close fighter anyway. Though that left her with Leddie Gred who seemed to know how to fight Mia. Interesting. Looks like she knew who was going to be going with her then.

"When I say k'uur, protect your hearing as well as you can."

That was the downside of using sonic-based attacks. They didn't care about friendlies. Indiscriminate. That was the word she had been looking for. Either way, it was time for her to do her job, as she charged through the storm. Ataru and Djem so were Reina's main forms, so offense and assault were her main plan of attack, as she went to engage in battle with the beskad, for now.​

 

[Seris Mataan]

​

The arena had dissolved into a storm of grit and motion as the coastal winds intensified, dust sweeping across the field in thick waves that blurred the outlines of combatants and banners alike. Through the haze, Seris felt the steady presence of Kael's battle meditation settle over the group like a guiding current beneath the chaos. It sharpened instinct without stealing control, reinforcing the quiet awareness that the others were moving with the same purpose even when words could no longer carry through the storm.

Seris had initially surged toward the clash forming around Isley beside Adelle, the Force gathering beneath her stride, both weapons ready to engage the former Mand'alor. But the battlefield was already shifting. Through the swirling dust, she sensed Reina break away toward Mia, the movement deliberate and decisive. The Mand'alors had split themselves to force the foundlings into difficult choices, and the answer now forming among them was to divide the pressure in return.

Seris adjusted without hesitation.

She angled away from the conflict forming around Isley. She cut through the storm toward Reina's vector instead, white beskar flashing faintly each time the brilliant blade in her left hand illuminated the swirling dust. The spear remained steady in her right hand as she ran, its length balanced across her stride while the Force gathered through her legs and released in controlled bursts of speed. There was no wasted energy in the motion. Taiia's lessons lived in every step, every breath measured so the surge of power never outran control.

Reina's voice reached her through the wind just before the Ersansyr launched forward.

"When I say k'uur, protect your hearing as well as you can."

Seris gave a short nod as she closed the distance behind her. She understood the implication immediately. Sonic attacks cared little for friend or foe, and the warning was more courtesy than necessity in the middle of a fight like this. As she moved, she reached briefly to the side of her helmetless head, adjusting the small dampening nodes embedded in the inner collar of her armor. They were not as effective as a sealed buy'ce, but they would blunt the worst of the shock if Reina unleashed the attack she was preparing.

Then she surged forward again.

Reina reached Mia first, driving into the engagement with the aggressive momentum of Ataru and Djem So. Seris arrived a heartbeat behind and slightly to her flank, letting the Siren claim the initial pressure while she shaped the space around the fight. The spear came forward immediately, its beskar blade extending through the dust toward Mia's silhouette to limit the Mand'alor's angles of movement and prevent her from slipping cleanly around Reina's assault.

At the same time, the white blade of Seris' lightsaber rose into guard, the weapon humming steadily as she settled into a position where both weapons could work together. The spear controlled distance and angles while the lightsaber waited to enter the tighter rhythm of Jar'kai once the space between them collapsed.

Under the quiet influence of the battle meditation, their coordination came naturally. Reina pressed forward with relentless offense while Seris applied disciplined pressure just beyond the center of the clash, her posture calm and balanced even as the storm swirled around them.

Together they closed on Mand'alor the Liberator, their attack forming not as a reckless rush but as a controlled effort to surround and constrain one of the most dangerous warriors on the field.

TAG: Mia Monroe Isley Verd Adelle Bastiel Reina Daival Jett Vox Leddie Gred (+ Any foundlings i missed)
​

​

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

THE VERD'GOTEN​

​

Siv rested against the high stone railing of Raver Calyui'r, looking down into the arena as the wind rolled in from the cliffs. The crowd's noise carried up in waves, banners snapping overhead.

Below, the yard had already turned to motion and dust.

At the center stood Mia Monroe and Isley Verd, both planted firmly while the foundlings spread out around them. They weren't chasing anyone. They simply waited for the younger warriors to make their move.

Siv watched through the narrow line of his visor.

Adelle Bastiel was the first to step in, blue blade flaring to life while her beskad stayed ready in her other hand. No hesitation there.

Blasterfire followed soon after as Jett Vox began sending shots across the field, forcing the Mand'alors to shift their footing. Nearby, Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata held back a moment longer, watching the shape of the fight before committing himself.

On the far side, Leddie Gred kept circling with her trayc'kal low, testing the distance instead of rushing the center.

Then Siv's attention settled on Seris Mataan

Her spear snapped open with a clean mechanical click, the beskar point angled forward while a white lightsaber burned in her other hand. She didn't rush in like the others. Just planted her feet and watched the field, ready to move wherever the fight turned.

Siv watched that for a while.

Spears weren't common anymore. Most warriors leaned on rifles or speed.

A quiet breath left him behind the helmet.

"Good weapon," he muttered.

His visor lingered on the spear a moment longer than the rest.

Old habits were hard to forget.

Below him, beskar rang against beskar again and the crowd surged louder as the trial pushed forward. Siv stayed at the railing, watching the fight take shape.

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Spear Competition
Tags: Jaikell Wyrvhor | Renn Vizsla | Korda Veydran​

The spear crossed the range and struck the target with a solid thunk. The Prisoner blinked, almost surprised it had actually landed. A grin tugged across his face before he could stop it.

Not bad.

The weapon quivered in the wood, buried cleanly among the other impacts. For a moment he simply stared at it, chest rising as a quiet thrill crept in. His arm still hummed from the throw.

The grin didn't last long.

Another warrior stepped forward beside him and launched his spear almost immediately. The weapon cut through the air and buried itself slightly tighter toward the center. The Prisoner's grin slipped away.

"Ah… come on," he muttered under his breath.

He opened his mouth to say something to the man, maybe a half joke, maybe a complaint. Before he could speak, movement rippled through the arena stands. The noise shifted as a heavily armored figure rose above the crowd. The man's voice thundered across the yard. The Prisoner froze where he stood, spearless hand hanging awkwardly at his side. He slowly turned his head, watching the armored warrior address the gathering like some ancient warlord.

Blood will spill.

The Prisoner glanced around the courtyard. People were throwing spears at targets. No one looked like they were about to bleed.

Did I miss something?

Maybe the speech was meant for the fighting pits. Maybe the man had already enjoyed a few celebratory drinks. Hard to tell behind that helmet.

He scratched the back of his neck and muttered quietly to himself. "Pretty sure this one's just wood and bragging rights."

The speech ended with a thunderous strike against armor and the roar of the crowd answering. "VODE AN!" The Prisoner flinched slightly at the sudden noise. Right. Mandalorians.

His attention returned to the range just in time to see another warrior step forward. The man apologized for his delay, calm and composed as if the whole arena had been waiting for him.

Was he late? Or early?

The Prisoner frowned, trying to follow the rhythm of things here. It was hard when you didn't even know your own past. The warrior threw. The spear flew clean and struck even closer to the center.

"Son of a…" the Prisoner muttered. A spark of irritation flared in his chest. Something competitive.

He stepped forward again before he could talk himself out of it and grabbed another spear from the rack. His boots planted firmly in the dirt. He rolled his shoulders and drew in a slow breath. They know what they're doing. His eyes flicked across the armored warriors nearby. Beskar plates. Clan markings. Confidence.

He had none of that.

Just throw. The Prisoner pulled his arm back and launched the second spear.

Spoiler

Throw 1 - 13/20

Total - 13

 

[Korda Veydran]

The spear struck well enough.
Korda watched it quiver in the wood for a moment, the shaft vibrating faintly where it had buried itself among the others. It had flown clean, balanced and direct, cutting through the air the way a good spear should. Not perfect, but solid. Respectable.


He let out a slow breath through his nose as the tension left his shoulders.
The arena carried on around him. Boots scuffed across the packed dirt. Metal clinked softly as spears were lifted from the rack. The low murmur of the watching crowd rose and fell like distant surf against stone walls. Somewhere above them, banners snapped in the coastal wind drifting in from the sea.


Movement beside him pulled his attention.
The warrior beside him, the one who had thrown just before, stepped forward again and loosed his second spear. The weapon cut through the air with surprising force before burying itself into the target with a satisfying thunk.


Korda's visorless gaze followed the throw.
A faint nod followed.


When the man stepped back from the line, Korda closed the distance between them and brought a gauntleted hand down against his shoulder in a firm, approving clap.


"Good throw," Korda said.
His voice carried the quiet steadiness of someone who had watched countless warriors test themselves in arenas just like this one.
"The first one too. You've got strength behind it."
His eyes flicked briefly toward the target again before returning to the man.


"Relax your grip just before release," he added, tone calm, instructional rather than critical. "Most people hold the spear too tight when the moment comes. Let it slide from the hand instead of forcing it forward. The weapon will find its own line."


He paused, studying the man for a moment longer. There was something uncertain in the way he carried himself. Not weak, far from it, but searching. Like someone still trying to remember the rhythm of something they had once known.


Korda reached to a pouch at his belt and produced a small comm device. With a brief flick of his thumb he transferred a contact frequency before holding it out.


"If you want another set of eyes on your form," he said simply, "or if you ever need advice…"
He placed the device into the man's hand.
"Reach out."
A small pause.


"Korda Veydran."
No rank. No clan boast. Just the name.
His attention drifted back toward the range as another breeze rolled through the arena, carrying the distant scent of the sea with it.

The targets ahead were growing crowded now, spears jutting from them in uneven clusters of steel and beskar. A good problem to have.


Korda stepped back toward the rack and selected another spear. The weapon settled easily into his hand, cool metal against his palm despite the warmth of the afternoon sun.


He rolled it once between his fingers, feeling the balance point.
A slow breath filled his lungs.


The noise of the arena faded again, not disappearing entirely but dulling into the background where it belonged. The wind brushed against his cheek. Dust shifted faintly beneath his boots as he stepped back to the line.


Routine.
Years of training lived in the simple motion that followed.
One step.
Then another.


The spear came back over his shoulder as his muscles coiled. His eyes narrowed slightly while he gauged the distance again, measuring the arc in his mind before committing to the motion.


Confidence was useful.
But overconfidence ruined throws.
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second...
Then he launched it with a short grunt of effort.


The spear tore through the air, spinning fast as sunlight flashed along its length. Korda's eyes followed its path across the range, tracking the arc as it descended toward the waiting target.

Whether the throw would land tighter than the last, or drift just slightly off the mark, remained to be seen.
Korda lowered his arm slowly, breath leaving him in a controlled exhale as he waited to see where the spear would bite.

Prisoner #36929 Jaikell Wyrvhor Renn Vizsla

Last roll: 16
Total:16

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda lowered his arm slowly, breath leaving him in a controlled exhale as he waited to see where the spear would bite.

(forgot to roll)