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[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT II

As Jaikell stood amidst the bustling energy of the spear range, Witnessing the skilled throws of the men around him, that's when he heard a booming voice

"Show your brothers and sisters what a warrior you have become! If you are to fall, RISE once more! "VODE AN! And may the best warrior win!" ( Renn Vizsla ) "VODE AN" He yells in response and he grabs a spear and raises it in the air.

The arena now seemed to buzz even more with activity, boots scuffing against the packed dirt, the clinking of metal, and the murmur of the watching crowd creating a backdrop to the unfolding events. The coastal wind carried the scent of the sea, adding to the atmosphere of the Mandalorian trial.

That's when he sees the man ( Prisoner #36929 ) from before muttering some words to himself before throwing his spear.. THWACK Jaikell hears, "Almost dead center" his mouth in a slight smile under his helmet
"I'm going to have to step it up if I wanna win this he says"

And afterwards he notices another Mandalorian ( Korda Veydran ), Armor scared and marked with signs of the "Death Watch", with a Crimson krayt skull in the center,talking to the man who threw before him, afterwards he walks up to throw once again,

"Everyone's surprisingly throwing well" he says to them both.

Inspired by the displays of skill around him, Jaikell's resolve solidified. . The rhythm of his heartbeat beating in his chest as he gripped his spear tighter as he arched his arm back and threw his second spear.

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

| Equipment: ALL |


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[Leddie Gred]

Leddie watched as the battle heated up, trying to keep herself from freaking out. This was different than fleet work. Even ship raids. It somehow felt more dangerous despite being non-lethal combat in an arena. Maybe it was facing Mia Monroe and Isley Verd , or the dust storm that Mia kicked up…. But she felt a calm come over her. She knew Battle Meditation, though there weren’t many in the Fleet who practiced it. She still knew it though. She breathed in, internally thanking whoever was providing it. She didn’t know it was Kael Varr Basteil Skirata , but her clan had learned long ago not to look a gift strill in the mouth.

She heard Jett Vox firing her weapon, and then looked at Reina Daival , giving a quick nod as she quickly remembered to set her HUD for the dust. “Right. I’ll be ready.” She said, as she saw Reina and Seris Mataan charge in. Leddie would follow behind them, waiting for opportunity to go for a quick strike, then quickly swapping the Trayc’kal into their pistol mode to try and distract Mia with a few quick shots from light blaster pistols. Until she could find another opening to jab one of the odd daggers at the former Mand’alor.

Siv Kryze Adelle Bastiel Sergeant Omen +any other foundlings)

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes​

Aurelian watched the arena with narrowed eyes, the roar of the crowd swelling around him as steel rang against steel below. Sibylla's suggestion earned a crooked smile. "I know I am formidable," he said, lifting his cup slightly, "but I don't stand anywhere near two former Mand'alors."

He let the words hang there a moment, gaze drifting back to the arena. The pair in the center moved with the calm certainty of people who had survived far worse than a group of determined foundlings. They were Aether's predecessors, right? That thought alone made his stomach tighten.

Aurelian took a long drink of ale to quiet it. The bitterness settled his nerves. Shiraya, he loved this place. Every time his cup neared empty he lifted it and, like magic, someone appeared with a refill. No servants. No ceremony. Just a cheerful refill and a slap on the shoulder from a stranger who already considered him a drinking companion.

He raised the mug again as another cheer rolled through the stands. Then Sibylla suggested he jump into the arena. He snorted. "You won't catch me anywhere near that side of the barricade," he said plainly. His shoulder nudged hers with an easy grin. "And you won't be either. Don't get any ideas." The grin lingered a moment before his eyes drifted back to the fight. "Besides… she's got this."

He shouted with the crowd as the fighters surged forward. The arena erupted into motion, dust beginning to swirl as the Liberator moved across the field. Grit rose in a golden haze beneath the sunlight. Aurelian glanced down at his rough clothing and chuckled. Good thing he had worn peasant rags. He would have hated to see half the treasury's tailoring ruined by flying dirt!

Below them the Reclaimer stepped forward. Something about the way he looked at Adelle made Aurelian's stomach twist. The man didn't glance around the field. His focus stayed locked on her like a hunter watching a single piece of prey.

Aurelian's grip tightened around his mug. Then, without thinking, his other hand found Sibylla's. He didn't look at her. The contact was instinct. Fingers closing around hers as his attention stayed fixed on the arena.

Adelle moved first. Straight at him. Aurelian blinked. "Why is she trying to take the Reclaimer's focus?" he muttered under the roar of the crowd. In his mind the answer was obvious. Let the others wear them down. Circle. Wait for an opening. Then strike for the win like a civilized opportunist. Charging a former Mand'alor head on seemed… aggressively stupid.

He leaned forward against the railing. Then again, he thought, watching her blade flash toward the black-armored figure, maybe that was the point.

He lifted his mug again, half to the fight and half to steady himself.

"Shiraya," he muttered quietly, "she really is going for it."

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[Mia Monroe]

Spoiler: Tags

In the Arena: Leddie Gred Jett Vox Adelle Bastiel Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Reina Daival Seris Mataan Isley Verd
In the Stands: Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Siv Kryze Aselia Verd Sergeant Omen

The tension snapped violently, the force shifting around them. So many pieces, so many styles and yet she could feel the calm that moved over them, recognised the way they shifted to move as one coordinating on a level that could not be heard.

Battle meditation.

That would need to be stopped. But she had a larger problem to handle first, or rather two of them. Reina charged, fast and aggressive. Approval curved Mia’s lips beneath the helm as she stepped to meet her, the song of iron ringing out as their blades clashed, Mia gave her room, letting the strike bring Reina close before forcing the blade down, snapping her head forward, driving her helm towards the Ersansyr’s own with force enough to disorient if it connected.

The spear lunged through the dust, skimming along the edge of her armour as Mia’s torso twisted, her free hand snapping down to wrap around the shaft with an iron grip, the force rippled through her as lightning cracked around her hand, charging through the spear.

Blaster rounds screamed through the dust, the first pinging harmlessly off around before one found the soft armour weave between plates, singing fabric, the flesh beneath glowed briefly before fading as tutaminis absorbed the shot.

Mia took half a step forward, the force moving with her with a telekinetic pulse to throw Reina and the white Mandalorian away, refusing to relinquish her grip on the spear.

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Spear Competition
Tags: Korda Veydran | Jaikell Wyrvhor​

The second spear struck hard. The Prisoner watched it bury itself just off the center of the target. For a brief second he felt the urge to grin like an idiot. He forced the expression down. Stay calm. Inside, though, something lit up.

Boots shifted beside him and a warrior approached. The man's presence carried weight, calm and steady like someone who had stood in a hundred arenas before this one. A gauntleted hand clapped firmly against the Prisoner's shoulder. "Good throw."

The Prisoner glanced up at him, a little caught off guard. "Thanks," he replied.

He listened carefully as the warrior spoke, explaining the grip and the release. Relax the hand. Let the spear slide. The Prisoner nodded slowly, turning the advice over in his head.

So that's what it was.

The man handed him a small comm device and introduced himself. "Korda Veydran." The name stuck immediately. The Prisoner turned the device in his hand, studying it for a moment before slipping it away. He looked back up just in time to see Korda take his own spear and step to the line.

"Korda… thank you, Korda," the Prisoner mumbled.

He meant it. Honestly, he had expected Mandalorians to be harder people. Cold. Shrewd. The kind who only respected strength. Right now there was nothing about him that proved he was strong. No armor. No clan markings. Just a former prisoner holding a spear. Yet the man had helped him anyway.

I won't forget that.

Korda's spear flew next. It struck the target with the same confidence the man carried in his stance. The Prisoner whistled quietly under his breath. Yeah. Tight contest. Another voice spoke nearby. "Everyone's surprisingly throwing well."

The Prisoner turned slightly as the other warrior hurled his second spear. It slammed dead center. The Prisoner blinked. "Son of a…" slipped out again before he could stop it.

He shook his head, half laughing under his breath. Of course they were good. These were Mandalorian warriors. Veterans. People who had trained their whole lives for things like this.

You're lucky you're even close.

Still, the competitive edge inside him refused to quiet down. Last throw. He stepped forward again and pulled another spear from the rack. Relax the grip. He rolled his shoulders and planted his boots in the dirt. The wind brushed across the range. The crowd faded into a dull murmur.

Let it slide.

The Prisoner drew his arm back and sent the final spear flying down range.

Spoiler

Throw 1 - 13/20
Throw 2 - 19/20

Total - 32