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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 Bastiel 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."

​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Spoiler: Tags

In the Arena: Leddie Gred Jett Vox Adelle Bastiel Kael Varr Bastiel 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

 

[Avast Verd]

FEATS OF HONOR

Land Nav Assessment
Acier Moonbound

Avast's lips pressed together as he gave his answer, the corners of her mouth twitching like someone trying not to laugh at a private joke.

"Mmhm," she hummed softly.

The Pathfinder gave another tap to the blue holo display, and it flickered for a moment before resolving into a pulsing marker farther out across the broken terrain.

Ah, dhere it was. A waypoint to their next point on the course.

The tall dreadlocked woman stepped off ahead with a swagger that only came from one with the sort of confidence of one lived. Boots crunched over gravel as she moved ahead of him, shoulders loose, and her pace easy. Not rushing at all, but not wandering either. Just went on drifting forward with the quiet certainty of someone listening to more than the wind.

The Force brushed across the terrain in faint threads. Rock ridges tugged at her awareness like magnets. Little currents in the land that connected one nav point to the next if you knew how to feel for them.

Useful, but that wasn't the point today. The point was the pickney walking behind her. She heard of him. But now wanted to know more. There was something about him that tickled her. Made her curious. And Avast was the sort to pick at whatever curiosity there was until she was satisfied.

So Avast glanced back over one shoulder at Ace, her dark eyes bright with a glimmer of amusement.

"Funny ting," she commented, her voice rolling with that Hard Roll rhythm touched by spacer warmth.

"Is always di ones who say I don't get lost…" She lifted her chin toward the rising rock spines ahead of them. "…dem usually de ones already halfway lost an' just don't know it yet."

A breeze slipped through the brush, carrying the dry smell of dust and stone. Avast slowed just long enough to crouch beside a scuffed patch of earth where an old survey spike had once been driven.

A quick swipe of her finger across the datapad holoscren again, propting another faint marker to blink into existence deeper into the course. A crooked smile and she rose smoothly, pausing only to tilt her head toward Ace.

"So tell mi someting, Moonbound," she said lightly.

"If you so certain you not lost… why you tink dat is?"

Those almond shaped large chocolate eyes went drifting over the land again. She caught signs of the windbreaks, the lean of scrub brush, and the long shadow lines cast by the rocks.

Then she stepped forward again, leading them into the wild stretch of terrain.

"What di ground tellin' you, eh?"

A glance back through the length of beaded dark dreadlock tendrils.

Oh there was more to her queries than met the eye.

"Not jus' for dis little land-nav run neither."

Spoiler: OOC: Sum of Rolls

1st Roll	6
2nd Roll	6

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: Do you wanna build a yurt?
Aurelian Veruna

It was the warmth of Aurelian's hand as it slipped into hers that drew Sibylla's attention.

She tilted her head up toward him, her hazel eyes searching his profile as he was held in rapt attention to the fight and there it was. That small tension around his mouth, the subtle tightness in his shoulders he probably did not even realize he carried -- he was worried again. So, she squeezed his hand once in reassurance, her thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles.

This is why she adored him. Because when it mattered -- when it truly mattered -- Aurelian showed up. And while he may claim that only two people in his life matter in his circle, Sibylla knew that there was more room within Aurelian's heart and life to open up to others. It didn't need to be a vast quantity of people for him to call friends -- no. That wasn't the point.

The point was that she knew Aurelian had so much to offer and was worth having people come to know him -- really, truly know him -- and see him as Sibylla saw him.

That crude painting in the cave, where as a boy he'd painted himself a King surrounded by people that loved him. It may not be exactly what he had imagined, but having a handful who truly did care and love him and wanted the best for him -- even if it meant calling him out on his brazen or maddening moods-- would be good for him.

A family. Friends. People who would show him that family was more than blood and that it was okay to trust and open up more.

Which is why honestly, for someone who claimed he had no intention of jumping into the arena, he looked suspiciously like a man preparing to vault the barricade... or at least heckle the opposition to provide a distraction!

Sibylla's attention drifted back toward the fight just in time to see another surge of the Force ripple across the sand as one of the former Manda'lors fought with the other contestants, dust and grim swirling to hide most from view.

As she watched the fight ensue, Sibylla gave a slight frown.

The Force touched people randomly, that much she knew. But Mandalorians seemed to be collecting Force-sensitive warriors like rare trading cards lately. Genetics? Certain clans more prone to it? Cultural tolerance that allowed such gifts to surface instead of hiding them?
Her mind filed the question away for later study.

Perhaps it was time she resumed visiting the clans she had yet to meet.
Her attention shifted back to Aurelian then, taking in the roughspun linen, the mug of ale, and the way he leaned forward with the enthusiasm of a man watching his favorite dejarik team. For all their responsibilities, he looked… happy here.

The thought tugged another small smile from her.

Maybe they could combine some of those responsibilities. Travel together under the pretense of diplomacy or even undercover. Conduct Clan visits, discuss trade, make the rounds with Adelle as their new Ambassador...

It was a very convenient excuse.

Especially when the alternative was pretending they were merely coworkers as elected officials for another five years. It was a thought that lingered uncomfortably.

Then Mia Monroe's sudden telekinetic push cracked across the arena like a thunderclap, snapping Sibylla's attention back to the fight as dust exploded across the sand.

"What?" Sibylla replied lightly when Aurelian questioned the strategy, arching a brow at him. "I have learned a trick or two since Adelle tossed me on my back once or twice."

She allowed herself a faint smile before leaning slightly closer to him.

"She will be fine," Sibylla murmured softly. "I promise you."

Then after a brief thoughtful pause she added with a faint smile, "We could visit her after the match."

 

[Korda Veydran]

The second spear struck the target with a sharp crack of impact, the wood shuddering slightly as the shaft buried itself among the others. Korda's gaze lingered on the cluster for a moment, measuring the spacing with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years judging the difference between good throws and great ones.

Around him the range had grown lively.
Another warrior, Jaikell, answered Renn's thunderous call with a shout of his own. "VODE AN!"
Korda's lips twitched faintly at that. The spirit of it carried well across the yard.

He watched as Jaikell stepped forward, spear in hand, the man's posture tightening with determination before the throw left his arm. The weapon cut through the air and struck home with satisfying force.

Korda gave an approving nod.
"Strong throw," he called across the short distance, his voice calm but carrying easily over the murmuring crowd. "You're right to step it up. The range is getting competitive."


His attention shifted again as the other man beside him, the one who had taken his advice, sent his own spear flying. The weapon struck just shy of center.

A low whistle slipped from Korda before he could stop it.
"Not bad at all."
The corner of his mouth pulled upward in a brief grin. The man had listened. That much was obvious.
When the Prisoner turned toward him and muttered his thanks, Korda simply shrugged one armored shoulder.
"You're welcome."

He reached to a pouch at his belt and produced a small metal flask. The cap twisted free with a faint metallic click. Korda took a short pull from it, the motion casual, then extended the flask toward the man.

"If you've got the courage to stand in an arena full of Mandalorians and throw steel beside them," Korda said plainly, "you've already earned a measure of respect."

His tone wasn't dramatic. It wasn't ceremonial.
Just honest.
"Most people would've walked the other direction."

For a moment he simply watched the man prepare his final throw. The wind shifted lightly across the range, stirring dust along the ground and tugging at the hanging banners above the courtyard.

The spear left the man's hand and flew downrange.
Korda followed the arc with quiet interest, arms loosely folded across his chest as the weapon descended toward the target.
"Good form," he murmured.
Then he turned back toward the rack.
Only one spear remained for him.

He lifted it slowly, the cool metal settling comfortably into his palm. For a moment he rolled the shaft between his fingers, feeling the familiar balance point, the slight weight forward that made a spear fly true when handled properly.

The noise of the arena dimmed around him again.
The crowd.
The wind.

The distant sound of waves beyond the walls.
All of it faded beneath the quiet rhythm of breath and muscle memory.
Routine.
He stepped forward to the line once more.

The spear came back over his shoulder as his body coiled into the motion. Years of training guided the movement now, smooth and practiced, but even so his eyes narrowed slightly as he judged the distance one final time.

A fraction of a shift in wind.
A degree of angle.
That was all it took.
His grip tightened.
Then he launched the spear with a low grunt of effort.

The weapon tore forward through the air, spinning fast as sunlight flashed along its length. Korda's gaze followed its flight across the range, tracking the arc as it dropped toward the already crowded target.


Whether it would land tighter than the others, or stray just wide, remained to be seen.
Korda lowered his arm slowly, exhaling through his nose as he waited to see where the spear would strike.

Tags: Prisoner #36929 Jaikell Wyrvhor Renn Vizsla

first throw:16
second throw: 13
total: 29

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Reina Daival //: Mia Monroe (mentioned) //:
//: Attire //:

The fight unfolded; force powers and Mandalorian grit collided. She watched, her eyes dancing over the different fighters; some impressed her, others only made her curious. One fighter in particular continued to draw her attention — they were the only reason she had allowed herself to make an appearance.

She watched Reina, her eyes examining and watching the way the woman moved. The former Jedi was scrappy, while her body still moved with the discipline of a Jedi. She had seen enough, fought enough to know the training and the regiment. Still, the way Reina held herself was different from the others.

Her foot bounced quietly as she kept her composure; she did worry for the copper-haired woman. In particular, when she drew the ire of a former Mandalore. Quinn had only heard of the woman through stories; she seemed to have been involved with her parents at some point in their lives. The youngest Varanin didn't mind much; Mia was a Mandalorian — that was enough for Quinn to dismiss.

She felt her throat tighten at the thought, a part of the young Queen wondered if it was her mother, somewhere, somehow knowing she was dismissing an ally. Fine, she thought quietly, and adjusted her thoughts, and the tightness stopped.

Irritating.

Spencer could see all and do what she willed with the Force surrounding her children… but—

Quinn sat up in her seat as she watched the action continue to unfold — again, her attention remained on Reina. She wanted so much to see the woman come out on top… There was even a spark of wanting to try her hand at fighting her as well.

Unfortunately, she was only here to watch.

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT II

As Jaikell stood near the spear range, his grip firm on the spear, his focus sharpened on the distant target. preparing for his final throw.

"Strong throw, You're right to step it up. The range is getting competitive." he hears called to him ( Korda Veydran )

"Wait till you see this one", he says in reply

Drawing his arm back, each muscle ready and strong, his eyes locked on the target, All distractions melted away, leaving only the singular purpose of his Final throw.


With a deep breath, he threw his final spear, The weapon flew through the air, a reflection of his skill and training.


Anticipation and determination mingled on his face as the spear closed in on its destination, poised to reveal the outcome of his final throw.

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

| Equipment: ALL |


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(Final score 47, What a disappointing end i was betting i would score higher on that final one)​

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Hammer Competition
Tags: Jaikell Wyrvhor | Korda Veydran​

Feth. The spear sailed wide. The Prisoner watched it drift past the tighter cluster and bury itself farther out on the target. His shoulders sagged and a groan slipped out before he could stop it.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah… that tracks."

He had tried too hard. The moment he cared about beating the others, his throw fell apart. Should've just not cared.

His eyes drifted toward the two warriors nearby. Both of them had been watching. Both of them had given him advice like he actually belonged here. Great. Now I look like an idiot.

He folded his arms and watched as Korda stepped forward again. The spear left the man's hand with that same calm confidence and struck clean among the others. Another solid hit. The Prisoner nodded quietly to himself. Then the other warrior took his turn. The man had joked earlier, something about stepping it up. The spear cut through the air and struck well again.

Of course it did.

The Prisoner exhaled through his nose, half amused, half defeated. Yeah. I've got a lot to learn. Still, watching them throw gave him something he didn't have before. A line to aim for. If he was going to stay around Mandalorians, he at least knew the level he needed to reach.

He inclined his head slightly toward them. "Thank you, Korda," he said. Then he glanced toward the other warrior. "Thank you… sir." He had no idea what the man's name was.

With the contest finished, he started to step away from the range. That felt like the right moment to disappear. Slip back into the crowd where no one expected anything from him. Before he got far, someone waved them over. "Next group. Hammer range."

The Prisoner stopped. Hammer range?

He followed the others a few steps before realizing what they meant. A heavier throwing lane sat nearby. Thick handled hammers rested along a rack while contestants tried to hurl them as far as possible.

His stomach sank a little. Oh that's fantastic. Still, he found himself stepping into position anyway. Korda had called it courage. The Prisoner wasn't sure about that. Might just be stupidity.

The others were already watching him, waiting their turn. Backing out now would be worse. He grabbed one of the hammers and nearly grunted at the weight. The metal dragged his arm downward as he tested the balance.

Definitely stupidity.

He rolled his shoulders and spun the hammer once, then twice, feeling the weight pull against his grip. The crowd noise returned around him as he took a breath.

Well… too late now.

The Prisoner swung and hurled the hammer down the range.

Spoiler

Spear Total - 37

 

[Korda Veydran]

The final spear left Korda's hand with a familiar rush of air and the low grunt of effort behind it. He watched it fly the way he watched all thrown weapons, calm, measuring the arc, letting instinct do the rest of the thinking.

Steel struck wood with a solid crack.
Close enough.
Korda exhaled through his nose and rolled his shoulder once as the tension left his arm. Around him the spear range was winding down. The targets stood riddled with shafts of beskar, each one marking a warrior's attempt to prove themselves among their peers.

Jaikell's final throw cut through the air not long after.
Korda turned his head slightly to watch it land, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth beneath the light stubble along his jaw.
"Not bad," he called over, voice carrying easily across the range. "Told you it was getting competitive."
His attention shifted again as the other man, the one he'd handed the comm device to, let his final spear fly. The throw drifted wider than the others.
Korda didn't wince.

Didn't laugh.
He'd seen enough training yards to know exactly how that happened. The moment a warrior started thinking about the result instead of the motion.
The man started to step away, but Korda lifted his voice just enough to catch him before he disappeared into the crowd.
"Hey."
He gestured loosely with one gauntleted hand.

"You stayed in the arena. Threw beside Mandalorians and didn't run."
A small shrug followed.
"That counts for something."
His tone carried no mockery, only blunt honesty.
"If you want to improve, you've got the comm."

A faint smirk crept across his expression.
"And if you survive the rest of these trials, drinks are on me afterward."
The arena buzzed again as contestants began shifting toward the next range.
Hammer throwing.

Korda watched the Prisoner step forward and grab one of the heavy weapons. The man nearly grunted at the weight, which earned a quiet chuckle from Korda.

"Good luck," he muttered under his breath.
The hammer left the man's hand a moment later, spinning hard as it sailed down the range.
Korda turned away from the throwing lanes as the next group began forming. The wind shifted through the courtyard again, tugging at the edges of banners high above the stone walls.

That was when he spotted a familiar figure near the viewing area.
Korda's expression shifted slightly, recognition settling in.
He walked over without hesitation and brought a gauntleted hand down against the man's shoulder in a firm clap.
"Been a while."

His voice carried the rough warmth reserved for old comrades.
"Omen."
Korda reached to his belt and pulled free the same metal flask from earlier, twisting the cap loose before holding it out toward the ARC trooper.
"Here."

A faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Helps with the nerves when you're watching someone else fight."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the arena floor where the foundlings prepared themselves.
"So," Korda continued, nodding toward the training grounds.

"Which one's yours?"
He leaned slightly against the stone railing beside Omen, eyes scanning the contestants as he spoke again.
"And Aren… how's she holding up these days?"

Tags: Prisoner #36929 Sergeant Omen Jaikell Wyrvhor
(Total was 40, good job guys, was fun!)

 

[Sergeant Omen]

OBJ 1

The hand pulled Omen back to reality as the match went on below. So far, Jett had held her own, managing to flank the two leaders as shots peppered down at them. It was what the ARC had hoped for, Jett's first introduction. He had doubts about whether the younglings could beat the two leaders, though. An offense was to be coordinated if it was to succeed, and throwing a team together at the last minute against veteran warriors usually didn't lead to success. Maybe Jett and Co. would prove them wrong, though.

Smiling as he looked up into the bitter sun, the ARC held his hand over his eyes to the Giant behind him, patting the seat beside him with his other hand. "Korda, good to see you. And it's not my fault, you haven't busted through one of my walls to visit me yet." Taking the flask in his hand, he took a quick gulp of the liquid fire inside before pointing to the young girl who was almost mimicking his style. "Yeah, I wonder who I've been training? Maybe the only person using a rifle in this contest?" Omen hoped that the joke was enough to justify the smirk on his face. "Her name's Jett. Says she's from a Mando farming colony in the Unknown Region and that she lost her family in a raid. So me and Aren decided to give her a place to stay. The girl's rough, but Aren and I are building her foundation while she lives with us. I guess both me and Aren are adjusting to having a kid around, at least for a little while." The girl certainly was strong and maybe had a future among the Mandolarians if that's what she wanted. He just needed to teach her the skills to survive among them.

"Aren's doing alright, still doing the same thing with her contracting, and we still do the same thing in bed that makes our neighbors complain. So I guess we are still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship." For them, it was business as usual, just with an additional person included. "And you? Still going strong? Anything new in your life?" As Korda answered, he thought of the Big Man's proposal from last time to visit his castle in the sky, and he thought it might take him up on it. It would give Jett some of the exposure therapy she needs to know if she really wanted to be in this life or wanted to make herself into something new.

Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda tilted his head slightly as he watched Jett move below, her form tentative but growing confident with every maneuver. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Good on you," he said, voice low but carrying the weight of someone who had seen warriors in far harsher arenas. "Taking a youngling under your wing… that's noble. It might feel like a small thing to you, Omen, but for her… having a semi-family, even if it's not perfect, it'll mean the world. She's lucky to have you."


He shifted slightly, settling the weight of the Ashen Maw comfortably on his shoulder once more, mag-clipping it into place. The sidearm returned to its holster, the vibroblade slid back into its sheath. A soft, slithering sound caught his attention, and he glanced down to see Oro, his two-foot long hognose, winding lazily around his arm, flicking its tongue with a contented curiosity. The little creature had already nestled into the top of Korda's helmet.

"Meet Oro," Korda said, gesturing toward the small, fluffy snake coiled comfortably against his armor. "Two feet of attitude, can't speak a word, but keeps me company better than most."

He took a slow breath, gaze drifting briefly to the far horizon. "You know… I've seen worse. Yaga Minor, for example. Four Mandos I trained and landed with… only one of us made it off that forsaken rock. I got the Jaig eyes for it. Highest honor in our society. Actions like that, surviving when others don't… it leaves marks, but it also teaches you how to carry yourself, how to guide others when they can't yet do it alone."

Korda's visorless gaze returned to Omen. "If you ever want an extra set of eyes on training… recruits, heavy infantry, clanless warriors, whatever… I'll help. I've taken to training newer soldiers for the Empire. Sometimes it's better to guide them before they learn the hard way."

He paused, letting the words settle, and gave a small nod toward the arena. "Jett… she's got potential. And you, you'll know when she needs it."
His tone softened slightly, the edge of battle giving way to something more personal. "It's good to see you taking her seriously. Makes a difference. For her, for you."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT II -Hammer Throws

"Wait till you see this one", he says in reply

Drawing his arm back, each muscle ready and strong, his eyes locked on the target, All distractions melted away, leaving only the singular purpose of his Final throw.

"Well that was a disappointing throw, On the final one too" he said as he laughs to himself.

"Thank you… sir." ( Prisoner #36929 )

"Of course, I've been training for as long as I can remember and yet you stood with us and still did that, be proud of that." I say to him,

Intoducing himself his says "I'm Jaikell of Clan Wyrvhor" "Whats your name" as he walks towards the hammer throw range.

As he walks the man goes and throws his hammer "Good throw" Jaikell says.

Then he waits for him to move out of the way before grabbing a hammer himself, Spinning around and throwing the hammer as hard as he can.

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

| Equipment: ALL |


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[Serrik Skirata]

"I feel I should inform you that he has marked his prices up by around 150% compared to his regular prices. As a piece of advice, most trinkets, souvenirs or...what is the other term...knick knacks, should be purchased before or after an event. Not during it."

Serrik droned towards a pair of guests, that he was mostly trying to look out for, even as the vendor seemed to glare at him from Serrik's helmet. He stared down at the guests, tilting his head to the side before he held out his vambrace for a moment to project a small map of the area, pointing his finger at the holographic map.

"If you are looking for entertainment, perhaps you would care to watch our Foundlings go through a...coming of age, I suppose you would call it. If you would like to get hands on entertainment, we have various challenges to prove yourself, here, here and here. I wish you a pleasant evening."

He gave a short nod to the guests, letting them head off their own way, finally turning around to face the vendor who had been muttering a series of curses to himself. Serrik stepped forward towards the vendor, to make the height difference ever so more apparent. As the vendor got ready to speak out in defense of himself, Serrik held his hand out for a moment to silence the man.

"Those who are here that are not one of our people, are here as honoured guests. Be that of Mand'alor himself, or one of our fellow vod. I will not stand here and let you scam them. We are warriors, not backstreet criminals. With that being said..."

With all of his lecturing, Serrik took out a credit chit, placing it in the vendor's hand before taking a small roughly made doll from the table and making his way off. No-one could say that he didn't at least try to look out for people. Both Mandalorian and not. All said and done, Serrik found a sufficiently comfortable bench and sat down, preparing to just...people watch.

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE ONE
The Arena

The question was answered.

As Mand'alor the Reclaimer attempted to fling the Togruta into the eastern wall, the Light wailed in defiance. Adelle erected a barrier which shielded the young Mandalorian from Isley's assault before bearing down on him with unhuman speed. This brought a smile to the old warrior's face. His supposition that she would be the mightiest threat of the next generation was all but confirmed - but the other Foundlings were not pushovers. Not by a long shot.

As the dust erupted by Mand'alor the Liberator's tactic, Isley turned to the sensors built into his helm. He could see the Foundlings which braved entering into arm's reach of Mia. He could see the young Foundlings who had decided to target him. And most importantly, he could see the Jedi-turned-Mandalorian bearing down on him with lightsaber and beskad alike. "Guard your heart." he'd growl, his words meant for Adelle's ears alone.

It was the sole warning she would receive before his Armor bared its fangs.

As she drew closer to his form, a miasma of the Dark Side began to seep into the air. Cloying. Vicious. Hungry. The very plates of the armor were created with indiscriminate starvation etched into their forms - and now Adelle was serving as a succulent appetizer. Upon moving into melee range, she'd feel the Dark Side attempting to feast upon her life force. Attempting to drain her vitality, her strength, her power - all that made the warrior herself.

As for the the opening swings of her lightsaber and beskad? Isley intentionally batted his azure blade away with his his Gauntlet whilst moving apace with her, avoiding the beskad's swings entirely. He did not take his eyes off of her, save for one exception: when the five blaster bolts barked across the dusty field. Isley smiled from behind his helm, and once more raised his gauntlet. The bolts were not merely deflected, but rather consumed.

Reprisal? It would be swift. Whilst maintaining the dance with the Jedi, his gauntlet rose - and the power it had siphoned from the saber and the blaster bolts exploded forth. The blast of raw, Dark Side energy cut through the dusty air and was targeting, once more, the Togruta. Why? Because the Battle Meditation he mustered made him stand out like a beacon on the battlefield. A beacon that sorely needed to be extinguished.​

Adelle Bastiel , Jett Vox , Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Reina Daival , Leddie Gred , Mia Monroe , Seris Mataan , Aselia Verd , Sibylla Abrantes , Mia Monroe , Aurelian Veruna + Open​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Seris Mataan Leddie Gred Mia Monroe Quinn Varanin
Objective:

To say Reina was enjoying this already would be an understatement. A fierce grin spread across her face beneath her helmet. She might not have been as well protected as the others, but that was fine by Reina. The Siren wasn't meant to be some bulwark against the Darkness in this fight. She could let herself let loose as much as she wanted. Bringing her blade to clash, alongside the aid of a spear. She was sure the blaster fire would come in handy sooner or later, but the Force wasn't screaming any warnings at her...so she was sure she was safe from any of those blasts herself.

That was when she felt Her. Quinn. Reina didn't see her, not yet at least. The Siren wasn't foolish enough to take her eyes away from the fight. But just feeling the Echani's presence, somewhere near by helped to inspire Reina, her grin growing ever so slightly more. There was no way she could take this safe and easy if her Tárinya was watching the fight after all.

So as Mia snapped her head forward, Reina responded the same, swinging her own helm forward, leading to a rather sickening crack echoing throughout the arena. Fun fact. When you hit something hard against beskar, if it's not also made out of beskar, it's very likely to crack. Something Reina was learning rather quickly as a rather large crack spread throughout the front of her helm...alongside a ringing head. Okay. That hadn't been the smartest move on her part...but it had been fun!

With her head ringing however, she didn't have enough focus on the pulse being sent her way. The Siren was able to somewhat use Force Deflection to absorb the pulse, but she still went flipping through the air, digging her beskad into the ground as soon as she could to stabilise her footing. At this, she allowed herself a quick moment to look around, first spotting Quinn Varanin in the crowd, before then spotting and both feeling the Darkness being sent in the way of Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata . There wasn't anything she could do to help there.

Instead she prepared to once more get close to Mia Monroe . If she wanted to use every trick at her disposal, Reina had to be as close as possible. Damn whatever pain she got in response.​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Kalevala

Equipment:
Apprentice Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Ace followed a few paces behind her as the ground began to slope into rougher terrain, all the while his eyes moved steadily across the land ahead. His mind was still walking the route.

Avast's comment drifted back to him over the wind, irritation flaring in his chest. For a moment the cliffs of Kalevala weren't what he saw. Another face flickered briefly through his mind, Kenji, another half-sibling standing across from him not long ago, making assumptions after a conversation that hadn't even lasted five minutes.

His gaze lifted toward the rock formations ahead before he spoke.

"What is it with you and the others thinking you know me after five seconds?"

There was no real heat in the words, just a tired edge of irritation that had been building for a while now. Her follow-up question hung in the air behind them.

If you so certain you not lost… why you tink dat is?

Ace didn't answer. For what? Just because she was his sister, didn't mean she had that kind of access to him. Not yet. His attention shifted back to the terrain instead. The lean of the scrub brush. The windbreaks formed by the rock spines ahead. The long shadow lines cutting across the ground.

Her next question, about what the ground was telling him. He answered without looking at her.

"Everything leaves patterns."

Ace's chin tilted toward the formations ahead.

"Wind's breaking around those rocks." He said calmly. "Brush is leaning with it. Better cover if the course turns through there. That's what it's telling me."

Avast Verd

Spoiler: Sum of Rolls

1st Roll - 3

 

[Seris Mataan]

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The arena had become a storm of dust, steel, and Force as the clash intensified. Seris felt the surge the instant Mia’s hand closed around the spear’s shaft. The Mand’alor’s grip was absolute, and when lightning erupted along the weapon the energy surged down the metal in a violent crack of power.
The current slammed into Seris’ gauntlets in a burst of white sparks. Beskar held firm, the armored weave beneath grounding the worst of the charge as the electricity crawled across the weapon and into her arms. Instead of letting the shock rip the spear free from her hands, Seris tightened her grip. Her stance lowered slightly as she anchored herself through the soles of her boots, letting the energy bleed into the ground beneath her.

For a heartbeat she and Mia were bound together through the weapon. Seris used the moment rather than resisting it. She stepped into the tension and allowed the spear to become the pivot point of her movement. The Force gathered in her legs in a tight, controlled surge as she rotated around the shaft in a fluid arc. The electricity still danced along the metal as her body carried through the turn.

Then she released the spear.

Momentum carried her upward and across Mia’s line of control as her boot snapped forward, driving a sharp kick toward the Mand’alor’s helmet. The strike was precise and direct, meant less to injure than to break the Mand’alor’s rhythm and disrupt her control of the engagement for a split second.

Seris landed lightly a step away, her weight settling immediately into balance.Her left hand already held the ignited lightsaber she had drawn earlier, the brilliant white blade humming steadily as it illuminated the dust swirling between them. Her right hand moved to her other hip. The second hilt came free in one smooth motion.

A second sharp snap-hiss cut through the chaos as the weapon ignited, another brilliant white blade erupting to life in her right hand. Twin lightsabers now cast pale arcs of light through the storm as Seris squared herself once more against the Mand’alor. She took the stance of Jar’kai.

She stepped forward again without hesitation. The first saber in her left hand swept upward in a controlled diagonal strike meant to pull Mia’s guard high, the second blade following immediately from the opposite angle in a tight horizontal cut aimed at forcing her stance to shift. The strikes flowed into one another with disciplined precision, neither rushed nor wasted, each movement feeding naturally into the next as Seris pressed the Mand’alor with measured pressure.

The Force moved through her calmly, sharpening her awareness rather than overwhelming it. There was no anger in the assault and no attempt at spectacle. Every strike carried the quiet patience Taiia had drilled into her since childhood.

Beside her, Reina was already recovering and preparing to close the distance again.

Seris continued forward with the steady rhythm of twin white blades, the Jar’kai sequence designed not to overwhelm through brute force but to destabilize the Mand’alor’s balance and control long enough for the next wave of the attack to arrive.

TAG: Mia Monroe Reina Daival Leddie Gred Jett Vox Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata
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