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[Kael Varr Bastiel 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 while Seris Mataan had gripped tight to her spear to hold fast. “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 Bastiel 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

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Tags: Serrik Skirata | @Anyone on Obj IV​

Emberlyn seemed preoccupied, her gaze lowered to the datapad in her hand as she wandered through the open-aired market outside the Azure Bastion. The bustle of the growing town pressed around her—vendors calling over the noise of passing crowds, armored Mandalorians moving through the streets with the unmistakable clink of beskar, and the scent of grilled seafood drifting from nearby stalls.

She threaded through the foot traffic with practiced ease, scarcely glancing up from the glowing schematic before her.

A torn shawl draped loosely around her shoulders, the frayed fabric pulled forward just enough to shadow most of her face. The breeze tugged at its edges as she moved, occasionally revealing a glimpse of striking violet-gold eyes beneath the worn cloth.

She slowed near a vendor selling starship components, her attention briefly shifting from the datapad to the table of parts laid out before him. Her eyes swept over the stabilizers and couplings, then dropped back to the schematic.

A quiet scoff escaped her.

Her slender hand rose, fingers tapping thoughtfully against her chin as she studied the diagram.

"I could substitute it for a Z-7 series stabilizer..." she murmured under her breath, swiping through the projection with a flick of her finger.

The holographic schematic rotated obediently above the datapad, highlighting the hyperdrive assembly of a medium starship. Her expression tightened. "But then it means less output."

She gestured vaguely toward the schematic.

"I could replace it when I get closer to the Core."

Her words trailed off as she frowned at the projected figures. The datapad dropped briefly against her thigh with a soft slap before she lifted it again, scrolling through calculations.

"I'll just run the numbers… see how far it gets me."

The schematic minimized, replaced by a glowing galactic map. Trade routes and hyperlanes illuminated across the display as she began tracing potential trajectories with the tip of her finger.

Could she make it to Nubia?

Corellia?

Her lips pressed together slightly.

Doubtful.

The map shifted again, her finger gliding along a longer path toward the deep Core.

"Kuat would be nice to visit..." she murmured with a quiet, amused breath.

The route extended across the display, several alternate paths branching outward—some familiar, others marked with quieter lines indicating older Rekali navigation routes. "Probably have the part I'm looking for there..."

She tilted the datapad slightly, studying the projection.

"But would the stabilizer hold that long..."

Her gaze lifted at last from the display, drifting briefly over the surrounding stalls before settling on the spread of ship components nearby. Her head tilted slightly. Then, almost absently, she spoke toward the vendor without fully looking up.

"You wouldn't happen to carry Z-series stabilizers, would you?"

A beat passed.

"If the output drops below sixty percent, the hyperdrive will shear the mounts before I even make the Core."

She finally glanced up from the datapad.

"...and I'd rather not find that out mid-jump."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Verd'goten



“Guard your heart.”

Adelle’s focus sharpened at the growl but the moment she drew near enough to attack, she felt the pull, an all-consuming hunger intent on feeding off of her. Leeching not just her strength, but her will.

“Shabuir,” she hissed and dropped the unnatural speed in favor of shielding herself with tutaminis. The Dark side energy radiating from the man—or rather his armor—eased. A sense of purpose and unity filled her awareness, carrying Kael’s determination with it. Adelle smiled grimly: Battle meditation. He learned fast. It wasn’t the strongest she’d ever felt but it was enough. Still, she had to separate herself from it—if she had an episode, the backlash would be disastrous for the other Foundlings.

Isley batted away her lightsaber and dodged her beskad effortlessly. Frustrating. The beskar’gam slowed her down. But going against two Mand’alors, Ca’tra had all but ordered her to wear the armor. His offhand caught the blaster bolts, the energy disappearing. He outstretched his arm, taking aim at one of the other Foundlings—she didn’t know who—even as she pressed her attack.

C’mon Kael, go on the offense. She couldn’t protect him, not this time. He had to learn, he had to be challenged, and this, the Verd’goten, was all about being challenged to the limits and overcoming.

Mand’alor the Reclaimer released a blast of Dark side energy. She sensed a change in the battle meditation but it remained. Pride flared before focus clamped back down. Adelle opened a private channel to Aether.

“Aether, it’s him,” she said, voice contained within the helm. She redoubled her efforts, pushing herself to move faster. She jumped into a lateral spin over Isley and swung the beskad at his head, using the spin to add force to the strike and using the strike to add speed to the spin.

“How do you want me to bring him to you?”

As she landed behind him, she gathered the Force to her right hand and pointed two fingers at him. Lightning erupted from her fingertips and arced towards Isley.

He wanted her energy? Fine. He could have it.

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
Aether Verd

 

[Serrik Skirata]

Tags: Emberlyn Kislo

"You know your ships."

Serrik spoke up, having made his way from th bench over towards the stranger's side. Tilting his head to the side, almost out of an expression of curiousity, before his gaze returned towards the selection of ship parts, scanning over them.

"I do not."

Some might have assumed it was a dead pan attempt of humour. Perhaps it was. Though it was hard to figure out, when his visage was hidden behind the black and yellow helm.

"I should inform you however, if you are intending to make for the Core, you should perhaps try and get some form of extra protection. Be it weaponry or shielding. With the reports of Sith holding parts of the core, you can never be too careful."

With that, he held out his gauntlet, projecting a holographic map of the Galaxy, tracing a path with his finger. Tracing it alongside Mandalorian space, before it settled on Zeltros, giving a small nod of his head.

"If you could afford the detour, it might be safer for you to set out for Zeltros. I am sure you could find some entertainment there. Many of my Vod speak of how...enjoyable the planet is. There is also a chance that Onderon may have the parts you need. Like I said earlier...I am not well educated with ships. If you need things welded however, I can lend my aid."

Weapons were Serrik's forte. If he had wanted to learn about the stars, he would have been a pilot. It was only around now however that the Mandalorian realised how rude he had been. Whilst he wouldn't have cared himself, he knew that not introducing yourself could be seen as rude. At least he was somewhat working on his social skills by speaking to strangers.

"...Apologises. I should introduce myself. I am Serrik, of Clan Skirata."

What came next in introductions?...Ah. Yes. Handshakes. He held his gauntlet out towards the stranger, doing his best to appear as friendly as he could...which once again was difficult when one couldn't show their smile, not that he could smile well. Hm...Perhaps he should try to get some kind of LED display...No, no. Ridiculous idea.

"I am sure the vendor here will have whatever pieces you need for now, and at a reasonable price."

His helm moved to gaze at the vendor's direction, almost as if in warning. There wasn't anything he disliked more than merchants trying to rip off hardworking people...Well, that was a lie. He also hated it when people were late. Tardiness was a deadly sin to the man!

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT II - HAMMER THROW

Jaikell threw his first hammer, it didn't go nearly as far as he thought it would,
"Ah- Well, That was disappointing" he said

Jaikell considered the Prisoner's question as he prepared for his second throw. With a focused expression, he responded to him about his origins.

"You wouldn't know it from my beskar'gam but I come from Hoth" he says with a slight laugh. "A cold wasteland of a planet", as he says that he remembers his childhood, being raised with his Vod
They were memories were not of warmth or softness but of the cold floors, the constant sparring and growing up with the now leader of the clan, Manti Wyrvhor.

"We aren't a big clan, just a few of us are willing to leave the planet let alone associate with other Mandalorians that don't follow "The Way" Manti was a bit liberal in that regard"
He says as he grabs the hammer for his Second throw

"But as i was saying, We follow "The Way" and those of us in the Mandalorian Empire have also sworn a Resol'nare to the Black Watch."

"This is actually the most iv ever said to an aruetii before" he says as he swings again and throws his second hammer.

"But you're making a good impression for your people" he says with a slight grunt in the middle of his swing

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

| Equipment: ALL |


​

​

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Hammer Competition
Tags: Jaikell Wyrvhor​

The Prisoner watched his second hammer land and winced. "Yeah… that one was rough," he muttered under his breath. Up and down all day. One throw felt strong, the next looked like he had never lifted a weight in his life. He rubbed his palm and stepped back while Jaikell spoke.

"Hoth." The Prisoner blinked.

Of all the places he expected a Mandalorian clan to come from, that frozen rock was not on the list. He pictured endless snow and cutting wind. Just imagining it made his shoulders tense. Figures. Mandalorians seemed like the type who would grow up somewhere that tried to kill them daily.

He listened as Jaikell spoke about his clan. Small. Isolated. Raised in the cold with his vod. The Prisoner watched the man pick up another hammer while the words sank in.

The Way. Black Watch. Resol'nare. More things he didn't understand.

He added them quietly to the growing list in his head. There was a lot about Mandalorians he clearly did not know. Probably things everyone else here learned as children.

Jaikell spun and threw again. This time the hammer flew far cleaner, sailing down the lane before slamming into the dirt. The Prisoner nodded to himself. There it is. The man definitely had it in him.

Jaikell mentioned something about this being the most he had spoken to an aruetii. The word stuck in the Prisoner's head.

Aruetii. What the feth does that mean?

He considered asking, but the moment passed as another hammer was pushed into his hands. His final throw. The weight settled into his grip again. The Prisoner stepped up to the line, rolling his shoulders once. He glanced down the range, then back toward Jaikell briefly.

"Hoth, huh," he said quietly.

Then he spun the hammer once, gathering momentum. His final throw.

Spoiler

Spear Total - 37
Hammer Throw 1 - 15
Hammer Throw 2 - 7

Total - 22

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian let out a quiet breath as Sibylla suggested they visit Adelle after the match. His eyes stayed on the arena, but the confidence in his posture faltered for a moment. "I'm not sure she will want to see me after," he admitted.

The words came easier than he expected. Still, they left a sour taste behind. Adelle would be surrounded by people who supported her. Warriors who had stood beside her, trained with her, bled with her. People who hadn't been a complete ass the last time they saw her. She deserved that celebration. Not him dragging old moods into it.

Aurelian lifted his mug and took another drink, letting the noise of the arena fill the space where that thought wanted to linger. His gaze drifted away from the fight for a moment. Past the railing. Past the sea of helmets and rough clothing. Something caught his eye.

White hair. He blinked and turned around to get a good look. Quinn Varanin

Of all the people to stumble across in the galaxy, he couldn't get away from her. Aurelian stared for a moment, mildly stunned as the fight raged behind him.

He barely had time to process it before the air in the arena shifted. A sudden crackle of energy cut through the dust below. Aurelian turned back toward the arena just in time to see lightning explode from Adelle Bastiel .

"What the feth..."

His mug lowered slowly.

The Mand'alors were terrifying enough. Now there was lightning flying around like someone had angered a storm god. Aurelian leaned forward again, tension returning to his shoulders. His hand tightened slightly around Sibylla's without him noticing.

Still, his attention flicked back once toward the white-haired Warden in the stands. Quinn being here annoyed him beyond belief.

​

 

[Tessa Thayne]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar | OPEN​

Tess leaned on a stone archway , her eyes fixed on the holoscreen watching the trial unfold, fingers slowly spinning the bottle of beer she held at her side, her fingers collecting the condensation. Her mother was an immovable force, the foundlings needed to move on her as one, not snatch opportunities as she threw each of them aside and even then…

She shook her head, remembering lessons taught in bruises and broken bones, lifting the bottle in a small salute to those choosing to tangle with the Liberator, drinking deep before pushing off the pillar and moving to thread between dignitaries and clan heads all here to support their foundling.

A different screen caught her eye, as she drew near a table laden with food that smelt good enough to make her salivate. The battle was heating Isley and Adelle, a smile curved Tessa’s lips. Of course she’d take the Reclaimer head on.

She drained the rest of her bottle, setting it aside as she grabbed a plate and began loading it with food, her eyes flicking between food choices and the fight playing above for all to see.

​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen just shook his head, chuckling to himself at the random thought that came into his brain. "You say you are a destroyer, and yet you speak like you are my therapist. Now that's a contradiction." Putting the cap back on the flask, he handed it back to the giant. "I just think its funny you ask these kids to fight in war before they can have any of this on most populated planets." Guess that was the thing with Mandolarians he would never understand, their push a resource into the fight they could preserve instead.

The relcuant sigh told Korda that Omen conceded his point. "True enough, I just know she has a long way to go before being battlefield ready. And I'm preparing her to get there." He half felt it was like preparing her for the hangmans noose. There was atleast one silver lining though. "And yes, she is a female which means I don't have to tell her what a period is. That can be Aren's job thankfully." Taking a second to think, he decided for them all. "Give me acouple weeks to get organized. Then we'll come together and make the trip when we all are ready. We are gonna have to prepare her to be crushed by your hugs though. Bubblewrap her or something..." Despite his jabs, look that the timetraveling warrior gave though told the big warrior that he appriated it. Most people wouldn't go out of their way for him. He was glad Korda did.

Korda Veydran , (For Reading) Jett Vox Aren D'Shade

 

[Korda Veydran]

A faint rumble of a chuckle rolled from Korda's chest.
"Even destroyers can show kindness," he said evenly.
He accepted the flask back and twisted the cap on before sliding it into the pouch at his belt with practiced ease.

"The Destroyer God showed me mercy once… when he should have struck me down. Didn't. Let me walk away instead."
His gaze drifted briefly toward the arena floor again, thoughtful but not brooding.
"Contradictions build character."
Omen's comment about war drew a slow nod from him.

"War isn't fair," Korda said plainly. "It never has been. It's not about who's ready. It's about who has more firepower. More bodies. More will."
His jaw shifted slightly as his tongue brushed against the missing canine again.
"I've seen children no older than ten holding blasters in warzones. Not because they were prepared. Because they had no choice."
There was no approval in his voice. Just fact.

"Age doesn't matter to war. Only survival does."
He shifted his weight slightly, resting his forearms on the stone railing as he watched Jett maneuver below.
"But she has a choice. That's the difference."

When Omen mentioned the hugs and bubblewrap, a faint smirk tugged at Korda's mouth.
"I won't lay a hand on her unless she invites it," he said calmly. "Respect goes both ways."
A small pause.
"And if she decides the Citadel isn't for her, she won't be pressured. Strength forced too early cracks. I might be a hardass though"

The period comment earned an actual short laugh from him this time.
"Aye. Women will always be a mystery to me."
He paused briefly.
"Unless it's someone like Domina Prime."
The name slipped out casually, but he quickly cleared his throat and shifted gears before the topic could linger.

"Anyway."
His eyes returned to Omen.
"How long has she been under your wing now?"
The question wasn't idle curiosity. It carried weight, timeline, progress, attachment.
Above them the wind caught the banners again, and below the arena continued to roar as young warriors tested themselves against veterans.
Korda remained still, solid as the stone beneath his boots.
"I'll be waiting," he added finally. "When you're ready, the Iron Citadel will receive you."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Niijima Izumi]

Izumi moved through the market at a calm pace, letting the currents of Kalevala’s growing town pass around her rather than pushing through them. The streets outside the Azure Bastion thrummed with life; vendors calling out to travelers, armored Mandalorians crossing the thoroughfare with the heavy clink of beskar, the warm scent of grilled seafood drifting lazily through the open air. It was louder than the quiet worlds she had known before arriving here, but there was a rhythm to it that reminded her of a busy harbor town.

She wore no armor like the warriors around her.

Instead, a black silk kimono trimmed in deep crimson fell neatly around her frame, its fabric moving softly with each measured step. The garment was simple but elegant, tied carefully in the traditional style. A wide straw kasa hat shaded most of her face, its woven brim casting a gentle shadow over her eyes. At her side hung the familiar weight of her blade, though it remained sheathed. She carried herself the way she had been taught since childhood; back straight, shoulders relaxed, movements quiet. Like a samurai walking through unfamiliar territory.

Much of Kalevala was still new to her. The Mandalorian Empire itself was new. She had joined them only recently, and while she understood their sense of honor and strength, the details of their ships, weapons, and machines were still things she was slowly learning. It was the soft sound of someone thinking out loud that drew her attention.

A woman stood at one of the component stalls, staring down at a glowing datapad while a holographic projection rotated above it. She spoke under her breath about stabilizers and hyperdrives as though the calculations existed in her mind as clearly as the projection before her.

The vendor across from her looked thoroughly lost. Izumi slowed as she approached, pausing beside the stall. Her gaze lowered briefly to the spread of ship parts laid across the table; stabilizers, couplings, salvaged pieces from ships she could not name. She studied them with quiet curiosity, though she understood very little about how they actually worked.

Machines were still a mystery to her. The woman mentioned output percentages, mount failure, and the risk of something breaking during a hyperspace jump. Izumi could not claim to understand details, but she had spent enough time around warriors, craftsmen, and sailors in her life to recognize a familiar pattern. She reached down and gently picked up one of the stabilizers from the table, turning it slightly in her hands. Her fingers traced the rough seam of a weld that had clearly been repaired before. Even without knowing its exact purpose, she could see that it was old. Reused. Carefully, she placed it back among the other components.

“Forgive me,” Izumi said softly, her voice calm and respectful. “I may be mistaken.” She inclined her head slightly toward the datapad in Emberlyn’s hands, the holographic map of distant stars reflecting faintly beneath the shade of her hat. “I do not know much about starships yet. I only arrived in the Empire recently.”

Her tone carried no embarrassment in admitting it. Simply honesty.

“But…” Her eyes shifted back to the parts on the table. “In my homeland, when a weapon begins to fail, it is rarely the steel itself that is the true problem.” Izumi paused for a moment, as though weighing whether she should continue. “If this stabilizer is breaking because the force placed upon it is too great…” she said carefully, “…would strengthening what holds it not also help? Perhaps reinforcing the mount would allow the stabilizer to endure longer,” she mused. “Long enough for you to reach wherever it is you must go.”
​

Tag: Emberlyn Kislo // Serrik Skirata​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT II -HAMMER THROW

Jaikell stood there watching the Prisoner's final throw as his hammer flew through the air.


"You're showing what you're made of with each throw. Keep it up", Jaikell said, his words filled with slight respect and support. He stood and competed with Mandalorians, that definitely deserves some respect.

After he was finished, Jaikell went and grabbed his final hammer, and threw it as hard as he could.


Reflecting on the day's events, Jaikell saw a flicker of potential in the Prisoner's efforts, he never gave up and fought well.

"What are you doing after this?" he said before throwing his hammer.

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

| Equipment: ALL |


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Hammer throw final score
40

Spear throw final score
47​

 

[Jett Vox]

Objective I - Kalevala​

The fight was becoming a blur, and that wasn't even because of the dust storm going on. Each of the fighters were giving their all, and Jett was just a gnat, stinging helplessly at Isley Verd with her weapon on full charge, each bolt firing single shots carrying the full power of the BlasTech tech. Each bolt arced at the Mandalorian attacker with a heavy pulse behind it. Hopefully it would stagger him, or maybe even knock him off his feet, but Jett wasn't betting on it. Instead, she was already reaching into her belt to find her explosive charges. Small incendiary devices that flashed red to show they're armed, but Jett knew that her enemy had some kind of psychic power. She'd seen him use it on Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , and she guessed it could be used to throw just about anything. She armed them all - all five - and clutched them in her fist, then threw them at the ground around Isley Verd , hoping they would latch onto the arena and explode violently, giving her fellows the chance to reach their target.

<bzzt> "Everyone! Now's your chance!" <bzzt>

Then she turned her attention to the other Mandalorian bearing down on them. Mia Monroe and tossed her rifle into her left hand.

<bzzt> "Take cover!" <bzzt> she shouted as Her flamethrower EXPLODED with billowing flame, gushing the superheated gas and flame towards her. It wasn't meant to attack, but rather to keep her at a distance. Jett knew she had no chance of taking either of these warriors on in single combat, and all she had were the tools of the Mandalorian. No fancy spears or melee weapons. Just her armor and her blasters, and a few smaller tricks up her sleeve.

Most of those tricks were only available if they got even closer to her.



Mia Monroe
Isley Verd
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

 

[Emberlyn Kislo]

Tags: Serrik Skirata | Niijima Izumi ​

Emberlyn had only half been listening to the market around her, the rest of her attention still tangled in projected hyperlane routes and percentage outputs. The quiet comment about ships finally drew her gaze upward. For the first time, she studied the armored figure beside the stall properly.

The beskar plating alone was enough to mark him clearly as Mandalorian, but the name he offered carried more weight than the armor itself. Skirata.
Her violet irises, threaded faintly with gold around the pupil, lingered on the extended gauntlet for a moment before shifting toward the second presence beside the stall.

The woman in the kimono moved with a completely different rhythm than the warriors filling the street. Calm. Measured. Emberlyn felt it immediately in the subtle way the Force seemed to settle around her, like still water beside a rushing current.

'Interesting company for a market full of mercenaries.' She thought.

She glanced briefly toward the stabilizer the woman had examined, then back to the datapad in her hand.

"The mount is the problem," Emberlyn said thoughtfully, turning the projection slightly so both could see the schematic hovering above the device.

Her finger traced the highlighted assembly. "But reinforcing it adds mass." A small flick of her wrist rotated the model again. "More mass means more strain when the hyperdrive spools. At sixty percent output it's manageable." She tapped the display once. "Below that, the stabilizer compensates too aggressively and tears the mounts apart anyway."

She paused, then allowed a faint smile to touch the corner of her mouth.

"That usually happens mid-jump."

Her gaze lifted again toward the armored Mandalorian.

"Which is generally considered bad for one's travel plans."

The datapad lowered slightly as she considered the route he had traced moments earlier.

"Sith activity in the Core," she repeated quietly, almost more to herself than anyone else.

Her attention flicked once toward the market around them, as though measuring the weight of that warning against the quiet chaos of the bazaar.

"Noted."

After a moment she shifted the datapad to her other hand and accepted Serrik's offered gauntlet with a light clasp.

"Emberlyn," she said simply.

Releasing the handshake, she glanced back down at the vendor's table and picked up the stabilizer Izumi had inspected earlier, turning it slightly so the rough weld caught the light.

"…Though she's right about one thing," Emberlyn added, her voice thoughtful again as she examined the repaired seam.

Her gaze slid sideways toward the vendor.

"If this is the best stabilizer you have, then reinforcing the mount may be my only option."

A beat passed.

"Assuming," she said mildly, "that it doesn't fail before I leave orbit."

 

[Serrik Skirata]

Tags: Emberlyn Kislo Niijima Izumi

"If you're going to replace the mount, then would that not end up being a repeating series of...well replacements? Replacing the mount. Then replacing the body of the ship. To the point that you'll have paired the entire thing."

He glanced over towards the new arrival, tilting his head in thought once more. He was not able to pick up on any rhythm through the Force about the new arrival, for Serrik was a stranger to the idea of the Force. Of course, he knew what it was. But only theoretically. The actual sensation of the Force, the push and flow, the way that some might feel like a gentle breeze, whilst others were like a raging inferno was lost on him.

There was a part of Serrik that wondered if he should leave now. Being stuck between two women conversing, even if it was about ships, felt like something that he stood out like a sore thumb. For all of his stoicness, Serrik was not...good at dealing with these social encounters. He had even been told so by one of his fellow clan members ( Adelle Bastiel ), who insisted he had needed help with setting up his "Zinder" profile. Why he had needed help, he wasn't sure. Serrik had answered the questions perfectly in his eyes.

"...I presume your ship is like a home to you? An alternative route of transport wouldn't suffice? If not, I am sure you could find someone willing to pilot you to your location."

Perhaps a foolish question, but one he thought he should at least ask. Alternative plans were sometimes necessary. Though he had to try and figure out a problem for the mount. If weight was the issue, would introducing more power help? Or would that make things more complicated? Problems were so much easier when he just followed orders but this wasn't something that had a simple order he could follow. Either way, his focus was taken away from his thoughts as Emberlyn introduced herself.

"Emberlyn. A nice name. Provokes the thought of fire and flame."

His way of saying he liked her name, before he glanced over towards the other stranger, giving her a short nod as Emberlyn once again began speaking of mounts and stabilizers. It was throwing his mind for a loop, but he was doing his best to try and keep his confusion hidden beneath his helm. Folding his arms along his front, as he stared down the vendor, in an accidental attempt of being more intimidating than he meant.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

THE VERD'GOTEN​

​

Siv rested both forearms along the stone rail of Raver Calyui'r, leaning forward just enough to watch the arena floor below. Wind rolled through the open tiers of the structure, tugging lightly at the cloth beneath his armor while dust drifted across the yard.

The fight had settled into its rhythm.

At the center of it all stood Mia Monroe and Isley Verd , steady while the younger warriors worked around them. The Mand'alors barely moved more than they needed to. A step here. A shift of the shoulders there. Just enough to answer whatever came at them.

Siv's visor tracked the side where Adelle Bastiel kept pressing close to Isley, blade flashing as she forced the engagement to stay tight. The strikes were quick, but Isley absorbed them without losing his footing.

A few paces away, Jett Vox kept blasterfire snapping across the arena, the bolts forcing Isley to account for more than the blade in front of him.

Further back, Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata remained still among the movement, holding his focus while the others fought.

Siv noticed the moment Isley Verd turned his attention toward him.

The shift was small, but deliberate. Energy gathered before the dark blast tore across the arena toward Kael's position.

Siv's fingers tapped once against the stone rail.

Below, the younger warriors adjusted, but it was becoming clear they were feeling the weight of the trial now.

His visor drifted toward the other side of the arena.

Reina Daival pushed forward again toward Mia, stubborn even after the earlier exchange had sent her sliding back across the sand. Nearby, Leddie Gred darted in and out along the edge of the fight, slipping forward with quick strikes before pulling back again. From where Siv stood it was hard to tell how much those attacks were landing cleanly, but the movement kept Mia turning, kept the pressure shifting around her.

Between them, Seris Mataan moved back into the clash, twin white blades cutting arcs through the dust.

Siv leaned a little more of his weight onto the railing.

From above, it was easier to see the pattern forming.

The foundlings were still pushing. Still trying to work together.

But the Mand'alors weren't giving them much ground.

His helmet shifted slowly as he followed the movement across the yard again.

"Pressure's getting to them," he murmured quietly behind the helmet.

Not criticism.

Just observation.

Then he fell silent again, watching how long they could hold against it.