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[Kael Varr Basteil Skirata]

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I

Kael felt the dark side energy flying in his direction and started to move. He knew he couldn't fully get out of the way of the blast. Throwing his hand out to meet the blast, he took in the dark side energy and directed it directly into the flame of his connection to the force. Energy was energy; it was neither light nor dark in his mind. It was what one did with it that shaped its force. Vytal Noctura had taught him that in some of his first lessons with the Iron Wolves. He wasn't one of the sisters who manifested the green, smokelike energy, but he did use the blast to fuel his fire and sharpen his focus on his battle meditation. He started to move, thankful to Adelle for teaching him Tutaminis, so that when he absorbed the energy, he only scorched his arm beneath the armor, rather than blow it off. He fought against the pain as he fought to maintain his focus, but he did fall into the loping hunter's walk as he settled into moving meditation. In response, he pressed out harder, brighter, and more solidly with his battle meditation, using the energy and fire to send some rudimentary force healing into Reina Daival , hoping to clear their head before taking his bow out and starting to arc shots wherever he can to either disrupt the two Manda'lor, and using the meditation to make sure he didn't hit his fellow foundings.

Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Isley Verd

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Hammer Competition
Tags: Jaikell Wyrvhor​

The hammer left his hands easier than he expected. The Prisoner watched it spin through the air, sailing farther down the range than he thought possible. His eyebrows lifted slightly as it landed with a heavy thud in the dirt.

Huh. He blinked once, surprised at himself. Maybe I'm stronger than I thought.

Still, he didn't linger on it. The others were waiting. He stepped back from the line and brushed his hands together, letting the next warrior move forward.

Jaikell.

That was the name the man had given him. Clan Wyrvhor. The Prisoner nodded once when the warrior introduced himself again. "Good throw," Jaikell had said about the hammer. The Prisoner shrugged lightly. "Thanks."

Jaikell turned toward him while grabbing a hammer of his own. "What's your name?" The question hit harder than the hammer had. The Prisoner looked away for a moment, pretending to watch the range. His fingers rubbed absently along his palm.

Name. Right. He had nothing.

His mind searched anyway. Empty. Same as always. Just a blank space where something important should have been. Don't make it a thing. So he didn't answer. Instead, he nodded toward the throwing lane as Jaikell began his spin.

"Let's see it." The hammer left Jaikell's hands and sailed forward. It landed shorter than the Prisoner expected. Not terrible, just not as far as some of the others. The Prisoner tilted his head slightly. Probably the armor. That much beskar had to weigh a ton.

He stepped forward again as another hammer was handed to him. The metal felt heavy but manageable now.

"Clan Wyrvhor," he said. "Where are you from?"

The Prisoner spun the hammer once, feeling the pull through his arms as he lined up the throw. Then he hurled his second attempt down the range.

Spoiler

Spear Total - 37
Hammer Throw 1 - 15

Total - 15

 

[Leddie Gred]

Leddie’s eyes went wide as Mia Monroe sent a wave of the Force out, seeming to launch Reina Daival and Seris Mataan . “Osik.” She muttered as short dark sense hit her. One that brought her back to the invasions for just a moment before a new sense of energy seemed to surge through the Battle Meditation. She could do this. Mia was focused on the others.

Leddie took a chance and ran forward, straightening her Trayc'kal back to their dagger positions and armor coat billowing some as she moved. She would surge in close, aiming for a handful of quick strikes to weak points on the Liberator’s Beskar’gam. At the end of the day she was a Gred, adopted or not.

Gred’s knew how to fight up close and personal. Shifting to blasters and more rugged weapons hadn’t changed that. And even if she didn’t have the same level of protection, she could be fast enough to take the opening Reina and Seris gave. And almost as quickly as she shot forward Leddie was reeling back, hoping to avoid a retaliatory strike. She could her best to pick her battles, she just had to keep her mind here. Not the past. Here.

Isley Verd Kael Varr Basteil Skirata

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"I don't know about that. She is barely surviving my jokes so far, but we seem to be getting along okay... We are the first stable thing she has had since she lost her family." Omen couldn't help but wince as he watched the scene develop below. These two weren't anything to sneeze at... The Younglings weren't either, by the way, as Omen watched one of them sucked that energy in... Jett really did have a ways to climb.

A grin graced his face again once as he reached out to scratch under Oro's chin. "Well hey there guy or gal. Aren't you a cutie. And your right, its probably good that they can't talk back. The hissing in your ear at night is probably enough to drive me crazy." And then he fell silent as he listened to Korda say his story, eventually sighing as he looked out at the arena below. "And no you know the reason I don't want her doing this at all. She has got alot to live for and putting on her battlefield right now... We both know she wouldn't have a good chance with the skills and confidence she has. Then again, maybe I'm underestimatiming her..." Omen focused on the flask in his hand for a moment before saying what he meant. "Sending me into the battle "fully grown" at 1 year old wasn't right then and sending her out at 16 isn't right now...But... its her choice."

It was then the ARC pushed it all to the back of his mind. It was a decision that didn't have to be made now. Still he had something to ask. "Maybe you training her or atleast having a part in it is a good decision. Besides, we still need to take that trip to see you city in the sky. Maybe its time." He knew he would probably need Korda's help to train her. The clone himself didn't have the experience to fully help her on his own and Aren could only help so much. Jeet would need all the help she could get in this cruel world.

Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda watched the arena in silence for a long moment after Omen spoke. The clash below, the younglings maneuvering, the veterans holding the line, it all felt familiar. Too familiar.

"No one is ever ready," he said at last, voice quieter now.
"No matter how much you train. No matter how many drills you run. You never forget the first battlefield you land on."


His jaw shifted slightly as his tongue brushed against the gap where his left canine used to be... a habit he'd never quite broken. Yaga Minor had taken more than blood. It had taken brothers. It had taken pieces of him.

"And you never forget the ones who don't walk off it."
His gaze stayed forward, but there was weight behind his words now. Not regret, Mandalorians didn't regret surviving, but memory.

He nodded once toward the arena floor.
"She's sixteen. That's old enough to choose her path. Doesn't mean you have to like it."
A faint smirk returned, softer this time.


"And you're right. Sending anyone into war before they're ready isn't right. But here's the truth... they're never ready. The difference is whether they have someone who prepared them as best they could."

His hand rested briefly on Omen's shoulder, firm and steady.
"What you're doing is honorable. You're giving her something stable. That matters more than you think."
Korda's eyes drifted down toward Oro as the little hognose leaned into Omen's scratch, tongue flicking lazily.
"She's female. At least… I think so," he added dryly. "She hasn't filed any formal complaints."


A quiet breath left him, almost a chuckle.
Then his tone shifted again.
"The Iron Citadel stands open to you. Under my banner, you're welcome anytime. You, Aren… the kid."

He let that settle.
"If she wants to learn heavy infantry tactics, discipline, battlefield awareness, I'll train her. Clan or no clan doesn't matter to me. Strength is built the same way."

There was a pause.
"And… she lost her family."
His voice lowered slightly.
"I know what that does to someone."

His jaw tightened briefly before he continued.
"She had a loving one. I destroyed mine."
The words were blunt. No embellishment. No drama.
"Maybe that's something we both understand from different sides."

He squeezed Omen's shoulder once before releasing it.
"If she comes to the Citadel, I won't treat her like glass. But I won't throw her into fire either. She'll earn every step."
Korda's gaze returned to the arena as another clash erupted below.
"And when the time comes for her first real battlefield… she won't step onto it alone."

Sergeant Omen