Populate Trial by Fire | ME Populate of Wistril

[Aselia Verd]

The warning came a heartbeat too late.

Adelle surged forward and the Dark answered her with hunger, the ancient armor drinking at the edges of her strength. Aselia felt the shift immediately from the stands above as the currents of the Force twisted across the arena. Light and Dark ground together like crossing blades, thickening the air until even the spectators could feel the pressure of it.

Phantom reacted first.

The small spukami lifted her head sharply from where she had been lounging along Aselia's shoulder, ears flattening for a moment as the surge of power rolled through the arena. Her tail curled tighter against the collar of Aselia's armor while she leaned forward, bright eyes fixed on the clash unfolding below.

Aselia's own hand tightened slightly along the stone railing.

She watched Adelle close the distance with a burst of speed, the flash of blue plasma and the heavier arc of the beskad cutting through the haze of dust Mia had stirred into the air. The timing of the strike, the angle of the spin, the refusal to hesitate even with the Reclaimer himself waiting for her.

"Bold move," Aselia murmured under her breath.

Movement in the stands pulled her attention away for just a moment.

Her eyes shifted across the spectators and settled on a familiar figure. For a fraction of a second genuine surprise flickered across her face.

She pushed off the railing and stepped over, Phantom shifting slightly on her shoulder to keep her balance as Aselia came to a stop beside Quinn.

"Well," she said quietly, the faintest hint of amusement threading through her voice. "Yours is not a face I expected to see here."

The wind carried another roar from the arena as the fight intensified. Aselia followed the direction of Quinn's gaze without needing to ask what had drawn her attention.

Reina.

The way Quinn leaned forward, the way her posture sharpened every time the former Jedi moved, made the answer obvious enough.

Aselia's expression softened with understanding.

"…though," she added after a moment, watching the exchange below, "maybe not so strange."

The flash of lightning tore across the arena a heartbeat later as Adelle unleashed it at Isley. The burst illuminated the field for an instant, armor and blades thrown into stark relief as the Dark Side coiled violently around the Reclaimer.

Phantom chirped in surprise at the sudden brilliance of the strike.

Aselia exhaled slowly through her nose.

"She's serious, good. She better be." she said quietly.

Her attention shifted briefly between the fighters below Reina's movements against Mia, Adelle's relentless assault on her father, the rest of the foundlings struggling to keep pace with legends.

For a moment something close to pride settled into her voice.

"Good, they are all taking this seriously."

TAG: Quinn Varanin
Indirect Tag: Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Isley Verd Reina Daival et all
​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Korda would hear a dower mumble of "Except when you are in a contest and beating me badly at something you have never done before." at his kindness line but Omen shaked his head and chuckled with him all the same. "And I guess I could say the same in a way... I don't know if Aren getting me out of the situation I was in before we started co-habituating was fate or just her brashness but I'm thankful it happened. Just like I'm thankful I met you friend, as difficult as you are." The punch Korda received on the arm was half-hearted but genuine, like the way he would have punched one of his real brothers. But to Omen, a brother is the only way he could describe this big man.

The Clone's face twisting told Korda that he at least half agreed. He at least thought the same about war at least. "I'm not saying they shouldn't be used if required and they are wanting to do the task. I'm just saying... putting kids on the firing line should be the last resort. Can we agree in that at least?" It was probably the best compromise that Korda was going to get out of him on the subject.

The way Omen raised an eyebrow as he said "A hardass? I thought you were all sunshine and rainbows Vod. I don't know how I could have been mistaken." in a tone that told Korda in the most ironic way possible that he already knew. "You do know that you are going to have to teach her hand to hand though at the very at least. And I'll be bracing myself for when you through her through a wall when she tries to spar with you." It was at that point he glanced back at the Arena Floor in time to see Jett's flamethrower explode into life, making him pull back in surprise. "Then again, maybe you should be the scared one."

At the mention of Domina Prime, Omen just gave him a look that said "Wimp" without even trying but again he let the conversation move back to Jett. "Not long, I think she has been living with us almost a month, maybe a little shorter. It's funny... At times, she has my excitement and is fidgety and then she also has more natural downs where she is like Aren, almost calm and serene. Guess we do really make a unit." Running his hand through his hair as he looked at the action, a smile on his face as he sat their proud of his student. "Just give me a bit of time to get her any upgrades her suit and weapons need, plus making her feel comfortable with taking your challenge. She is going to have to brace herself for your bad taste in humor alone."

Korda Veydran , for your viewing pleasure Jett Vox and Aren D'Shade

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda snorted quietly at the muttered complaint about losing contests.
"That's because I don't enter contests unless I intend to win," he said dryly.
The half-hearted punch landed against his armor with a dull thunk. Korda barely shifted, but the faint grin that followed made it clear the gesture landed exactly as intended.

"Careful," he added. "Another hit like that and I might start thinking you actually like me."
When Omen mentioned Aren pulling him out of his old situation, Korda gave a slow nod.
"Sometimes brashness is just fate moving faster than we expect."
His gaze drifted briefly across the arena again.
"And sometimes we just survive long enough to realize we were lucky."

Omen's compromise about children in war earned a thoughtful pause.
"Last resort," Korda repeated.
A small nod followed.
"Aye. That we can agree on."
The comment about being a hardass drew a low chuckle.
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
When Omen joked about him throwing Jett through a wall during training, Korda finally gave him a firm shove in return, armor scraping lightly against armor.

"You're the one raising her," he shot back. "If she breaks a wall it'll be your fault for teaching her bad habits."
His attention shifted back toward the arena just as the flare of a flamethrower erupted below.
Korda blinked once.
"…Well."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"Maybe I should be a little concerned."
Omen's explanation about Jett settling into their home earned another quiet nod.
"A month is enough time to start building foundations."
He leaned slightly against the stone railing again.
"Good ones, from the sound of it."

When Omen mentioned upgrading her gear, Korda lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug.
"I've got a few upgrades sitting in the Citadel that could help her along."
His eyes flicked toward Omen briefly.
"Weapons too, if she wants them. Nothing fancy. Just reliable."
A faint pause followed before he continued.

"If I train her, most of it will be tactical assessment. Reading a battlefield before it reads you."
Another small breath.
"And demolitions."
His tone carried the quiet confidence of someone who had blown up more than a few enemy positions in his life.

"That's where I'm most useful."
At that moment Oro shifted lazily along his arm. The small hognose slipped forward, curiosity getting the better of her as she slithered partly onto Omen's arm, about a foot of her two-foot length stretching across before the rest of her body remained comfortably coiled around Korda's forearm.

Korda glanced down briefly.
"Looks like she approves of you."

He didn't bother pulling her back.
"If you haven't started teaching the kid melee yet, I'll handle that."
His gaze returned to the arena floor where the young fighters continued their contest.
"Can't rely on a rifle when someone gets inside your reach."

Another small pause.
"Lately I've been helping train heavy infantry recruits for the Empire too. Clan, no clan… doesn't matter."
His voice carried quiet certainty.
"If someone wants to learn how to survive in beskar and carry the weight that comes with it, I'll train them. just I put em in durasteel mock beskar'gam. make em know how heavy armor feels, that way when they get their true armor, it feels light"

Korda glanced back toward Omen with the faintest hint of a smirk.
"So bring the kid to the Citadel when you're ready."
His eyes drifted back toward Jett again.
"Let's see what she becomes."

Sergeant Omen , (for reading pleasure Jett Vox Aren D'Shade )

 

[Mia Monroe]

Spoiler: Tags

Isley Verd Adelle Bastiel Leddie Gred Jett Vox Reina Daival Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Seris Mataan

In the stands: Siv Kryze Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen (i think that's everyone)

The crack of their helmets connecting made Mia let out a small chuckle. Reina had spirit, to meet her head on like that, it wasn’t her smartest move, but it made Mia like her just a little more. The telekinetic wave threw her back allowing Mia to shift focus as the spear went slack as the Mandalorian in white shifted, using the spear as a pivot point to drive a boot towards Mia’s head, relinquishing the spear as she did.

Mia braced, tipping her head forward to let the kick land atop her head, jarring through her neck and shoulders. In the same breath Leddie was closing the distance.

The spear flipped in Mia’s hand before leaving it, hovering in the air before a flick of her fingers sent it hurtling towards Kael, she didn’t need to look to know it would find its mark, it went where she wanted it to go.

Then Leddie was upon her, with a series of rapid strikes from her daggers. Mia let the attack push her back, the blades glancing of vambrace and beskad alike as the gap between her and Isley closed, the two fights shifting together, her awareness tracking every step and strike behind her.

Leddie retreated, leaving the opening for Seris to move in with swift controlled strikes.

But Mia was not there to meet them, in the beat it had taken for Leddie to pull back, Mia pivoted, speed augmented the shift as she barrelled for Adelle as her hand extended towards Isley, lightning filling the gap between them.

The Liberator slammed shoulder first into the former Jedi with the force of a freighter as the storm tightened, pulling closer to the fight, snatching the stream of fire aimed her way by Jett and turning the sandstorm into one of fire and glass.

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA
The Arena

The next generation fought well.

They were coordinated. They were fearless. And above all? They were creative. When the inevitable wars of the future came, Mandalore had hope in the form of the Foundlings raging against the two Mand'alors this day. But while Isley respected their efforts, victory had not been secured. Not yet.

His adversary, the Jedi-turned-Mandalorian, heeded the sole warning he gave as she advanced into melee range. He could feel the ebb of his armor's darkness. It was leeched. It was dispersed. Good. When facing the Darkness in the future, he knew this woman before him had a defense.

Meanwhile, Mand'alor the Reclaimer's blast of Dark Side energy? It hurled across the battlefield and was absorbed by the Togruta. A wicked grin erupted across Isley's face as he felt the Dark Side being consumed by the young warrior. It was high time these young warriors learned one of the crucial truths of the Galaxy:

The Dark Side Corrupts.​

The Mand'alor simply regarded the Togruta with his gaze for a moment before returning his attention to the woman at his flank. And in that gaze, the echoes of his might which now raced through the Togruta took root. His power seeped into the young warrior's Battle Meditation like a virus. Where once there were feelings of strength and echoes of coordination, now there was fear. Now there was paranoia. Now there was insecurity. Isley had turned Kael's technique on its head - projecting negative emotions and terror into the Foundlings' minds - all because the young warrior had chosen to feast upon his power.

As the old saying goes...be careful what you eat.

But the battle was far from over. The Jedi-turned-Mandalorian unleashed a torrent of electric judgment at point-blank range. The Mand'alor did not flee. Another warrior hurled incendiary charges around him. The Mand'alor did not flee. When lightning and fire erupted around him, consuming his form in literal mayhem?

The Mand'alor did not flee.​

Rather, he outstretched his hand and conducted. His power snatched the inferno around him and gathered it above his palm. The lightning, too, was engulfed in his grasp. Raw flame and Jedi judgment danced together in an abominable form - but they did not tarry long. His attention briefly moved to the warrior bearing twin lightsabers of white.

The flames and lightning were hurled after her.

For it was a simple reminder: they were fighting both of the Sole Rulers, not just one.

Spoiler: TLDR

• The energies consumed by Kael are corrupt
• Said corruption infects the Battle Meditation, turning it into Force Fear
• The incendiary charges and Electric Judgment are consumed and consolidated into a fiery-shocking mass
• Said mass is hurled at Seris.

Mia Monroe Adelle Bastiel , Leddie Gred Jett Vox Reina Daival Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Seris Mataan Siv Kryze Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen​

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen just shook his head, wanting to correct his friend: he didn't enter contests he intended to win; he entered them to crush the competition. Instead, he moved on with another idea in his silly little head. "Yeah, sorry. I forgot that punching you turns you on. Won't happen again." The snicker that came out of his mouth was like Omen had hit the Giant's weak spot, and who knows, maybe he had.

Korda wasn't exactly wrong. He would say that his and Aren's first meeting was more fate's work than his prison escape. Omen was just glad fate shone on him for once in his life. "Well, I'll always be glad that I met Aren, Jett, and you. So yes, I am glad I am still living. Just don't let it go to your head." Though he knew it was probably that Korda was going to lord it over him for the rest of their lives. At least they both agree on the child soldier topic; that was progress.

"Being a hardass isn't a bad thing as long as it's a hard ass with a purpose." And given Jett's novice status, she would need some of that tough love to succeed. Something that Omen's kinder side for people needing help might not be able to give her. And Aren was so busy, she might not be the biggest help either. So, as a recording from a small droid said, Korda was their only hope. "And before you criticize me, I taught her how to dodge at least. What do you think she has been doing in there? Running laps for fun?" If it was the one good thing the clone could do, he could avoid an attack, like how he leaned back to make Korda miss in their shoving attempt.

The flamer gave him pause. "I didn't put that in the kid's kit... Wonder where she got it from if it's not original..." Flamerthrowers usually weren't his thing, too... indiscriminate. He usually had on either a wrist laser or a dart launcher when going into action. Which made how Jett found one quite the question since he didn't have one lying around the house.

The slight smile on Omen's face as he refocused on the conversation told Korda that he was proud of his pupil. Proud that she could stand up to powerful government leaders and hold her own. "Aren and I try our best. This is all new to us, so like most new teachers, we are fumbling around as we go. And it seems to have a good effect on our guests. Guess that means we are half decent at it." Or Jett caught up faster than he ever thought the girl would. "Maybe Jett would be interested, but I think she'll want to keep her family's suit and weapons. They are very special to her of course. But Aren and I might want to look around too. Maybe we will find something we like." Letting Korda talk on, he wondered if Jett had the makings of a future leader. By the requests she was shouting down there, Jett was at least trying her best to present herself as one.

Chuckling as he kept petting the little creature, he decided he liked this pampered pet. "I think she just likes the attention, but she does have some charm to her, I'll admit. And you can rely on a rifle even in close range, you just have to use the butt to knock your opponent out." Technically, Omen wasn't wrong, but Korda was probably right. Wheeling around and shooting a charging foe would never be easy. One's only hope was that you could pull the trigger before you were stabbed through.

Korda training people didn't surprise him. He probably needed something to fill his time just like everyone else. Whether he thought training a potential enemy was a good thing or not was up to the Clan Leaders to decide. "Don't worry, I'll come. If nothing else, I'll come along just to face down and recover my lost honor by losing to you. So brace yourself and get ready to feel my wraith." Or maybe Omen should get ready to be punched in the face because once they reached the citadel, there would be lots of punches to throw around.

Korda Veydran

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Hammer Competition
Tags: Jaikell Wyrvhor​

The hammer left his hands with a heavy spin. For a moment the Prisoner watched it sail down the range, hoping it might surprise him like the first throw had. Instead it dropped short of the better marks and slammed into the dirt with a dull thud.

He exhaled slowly. "Yeah… figures."

It wasn't terrible. Just nowhere near the best. Nowhere near the first throw either. The moment he started thinking about it too much, everything fell apart. He rubbed his palm again and stepped back from the line. Nothing to hang your head about, they would probably say. You stood beside Mandalorians and competed. That counted for something. Still, he had hoped for more. Maybe it was the competitiveness creeping in. Maybe he was just trying to prove something to himself. Some hint that the person he used to be had been worth something.

Instead he felt that familiar hollow feeling again. Lonely. Like he was standing in the middle of a crowd with no place in it.

Jaikell's voice pulled him back. "You're showing what you're made of with each throw. Keep it up."

The Prisoner glanced over and gave a small nod. "Appreciate it."

He watched as Jaikell stepped forward for his final throw. The man spun and launched the hammer with confidence. It flew clean and far down the lane. A solid finish. The Prisoner gave a short clap against his palm and nodded once.

"Well done," he said.

Jaikell asked what he planned to do after this. The question hung for a second before the Prisoner answered. He looked out across the training yards. Warriors moving between contests. The noise of the crowd. The banners snapping in the wind above the fortress walls.

"I'll probably wander a bit," he said. He shrugged lightly. "Take in more of your culture." His eyes drifted across the arena again before returning to Jaikell. "And… thanks. For the words."

The Prisoner gave a small incline of his head, then stepped away from the throwing line.

Spoiler

Spear Total - 37
Hammer Total - 31

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda let out a low laugh at Omen's surprise over the flamethrower.
"Well, look at her go!" he called, giving a small cheer toward the arena. "Doesn't matter what gear you hand a kid, they'll always twist it to fit their style. That's the fun part."

He nudged Omen lightly, smirking. "And that dodge of yours? Nicely done. Seeing openings, feeling where attacks falter… that's half the battle. You're teaching her the right stuff, even if she doesn't know it yet."

Oro shifted lazily in Korda's grip as Omen continued petting her. The hognose let out a soft hiss, then wriggled a little closer, and Korda's chest rose in quiet amusement.


"Feels good," he admitted softly, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "Passing on the old clan's tactics. Clan Veydran… well, I'm the last of it, the leader and represenative by tradition. This is the only way it lives on now, through students, recruits, people willing to listen."

His gaze flicked back to the arena where Jett's small figure twisted, flares from the flamethrower catching the sunlight.
"And I respect her for wanting to keep her armor original," Korda continued, tone firm but warm. "That's a tradition. Armor isn't just gear, it's history. Passed down through families, modified if you must, but still holding the lineage of those who wore it before."

He tapped the vambrace on his own arm, the motion precise. A faint glow traced the bloodline embedded in the metal.
"This armor," he said quietly, "was my uncle's. Died when I was barely old enough to hold a spear. Last words? The only one who could ever wear it… me."

He flexed his wrist slightly, the plates shifting to reveal subtle modifications he had made over the years. "I've made a few adjustments here and there. To fit my style. But the history... it's still intact. You see? Generations of Veydran… and then me. Skipped over my uncle's children, for reasons I still don't question."

Korda's eyes softened as he glanced at Omen. "I hope she carries that same respect for what she wears. It's more than metal. It's who you are, who came before, and who you're trying to become."

Oro gave a soft hiss as if agreeing, curling a little tighter around Korda's forearm.
"And if she's willing to learn, well… we'll make sure she's ready for anything this galaxy throws at her."

Sergeant Omen (for reading Aren D'Shade Jett Vox )

 

[Leddie Gred]

Leddie was quickly swapping her daggers back to their light pistol mode before…. It hit her like a hunk of durasteel. Fear. Fear that seemed to leech into the back of her head. Where she’d buried her deepest fears. But now it felt like she was back.

Back on Concord Dawn.

Back to Hammerfall.

The Sith monsters bearing down on evacuation ships from Clan Tal. The destruction. He adoptive father saying he’d be back…. Inside she was just a scared kid again, watching her new home being ravaged.

Outside, it would look like the young adult had frozen in place, her hands shaking as she dropped her Trayc’kal. She was ready for a lot of things, but this…. It was almost clear she wasn’t.

Isley Verd Mia Monroe Reina Daival Seris Mataan Jett Vox Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Adelle Bastiel + all foundlings

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Verd'goten



The Force shifted as the battlefield changed.

She had less than a second.

Fire erupted at their feet as Adelle shifted barely in time. Fire and glass whirled around the two Mand’alors as the Reclaimer sent a ball of fire and lightning hurtling towards one of the other Foundlings. Mia’s shoulder collided with hers as she rolled into the charge, pushing off with her left foot. The strike and the kickoff rolled her over the back of Mand’alor the Liberator. Adelle would be feeling that later. Glass scraped against her armor.

Gone was the projected drive to attack. In its place, Adelle felt fear lapping against the edges of her mental shields and paranoia echoing her own.

She felt it grip one of the younger Foundlings.

Adelle huffed. Fine.

Just. Fine.

Some of the energy she absorbed from the fire was channeled into a shield around the affected Zabrak’s mind, a single word the Zabrak could sieze and use herself to build her own shields: focus.

Adelle brought up her lightsaber into a guard, beskad held back and poised for a strike on the Liberator, but for a split-second she stayed completely still. For a heartbeat, her focus turned smaller as she actively used Art of the Small, and her presence suddenly shrank from the size of a non-sensitive to that of an atom. She didn’t have time for refined guidance—quick and dirty would have to do.

Adelle expelled the oxygen from the reach of the firestorm. Vacuum pressed in on her for a second as the air vanished around the Mand’alors and herself. With nothing to fuel itself, the fire extinguished.

In the next breath, Adelle released her focus on the air and wind rushed to fill the void as her presence returned to its usual size, contained by Art of the Small. She didn’t need to let go of it, not yet, but both Mand’alors would know. And they would push.

She turned her assault against Mia, beskad and lightsaber flashing as she used Ataru to stay mobile.

Spoiler: TLDR

• Reduced the hit from Mia and rolled over her back
• Created a mental shield for Leddie Gred
• Used Art of the Small to create a vacuum and suffocate the firestorm
• Resumed attacking against Mia

Spoiler: Tags

Mia Monroe
Isley Verd
Kael Varr Basteil 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

 

[Reina Daival]

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

Fire. Who used fire against Force Sensitives? It might work against low levelled ones, like Padawans, Acolytes or just plain ol' Neophytes, but against Mand'alors? A small bubble of frustration popped, tainting the somewhat good mood she had been having with the fight. It was her own fault for expecting foundlings to be as capable as experienced warriors. It had been far too long since Reina had stood amongst those who weren't experienced in battle. She had to control her frustrations, use it as fuel for her own battles, in account to her own pain which is why she somewhat resisted the aid from Kael Varr Basteil Skirata . Not out of stubborness this time. Kael had his own things to worry about. It was best for him to conserve his energy.

Her own gaze was firmly focused on both Mand'alors, as the fire raged amongst the storm. Shards of glass started to swirl around the arena. The Siren almost stepped forward to lend her aid towards Adelle, until she took another look around, barely able to see. Even as someone with rather poor empathy, Reina could sense the panic and fear coming from Leddie Gred , the sound of her weapons dropping to the floor. Her gaze flicked over towards Seris Mataan who Reina finally seemed to realise was familiar. They were both in danger. Though Seris was in the most immediate danger, as Reina could see the Lightning and Flames erupting in the other woman's direction...
​

"They intend to break us. If you go it alone, they will be able to do so easily. We're stronger together."

"You are not a storm that exists only to ruin. You are a force that has not yet learned where it belongs."

As Reina rushed from her position, using the Force to move directly in front of Seris, the Siren knew where she belonged. In the fire and the flames. She was strong. She could deal with pain. She could keep standing. So as the fiery-shocking mass made its way over, she held her arms out, palms facing forward, bracing from the impact before she swung her arms in front of her to redirect the flames, sending them sprawling away into the air. Unfortunately for her...Her main tool of lighting redirection had been given to Quinn Varanin when she had pledged her loyalty to the Echani. Without it, whilst Reina was able to redirect the current away from her core, the pain still erupted her as it travelled through her armour, electrical scars etching themselves onto her below said armour.

It hurt. More than Reina could have imagined. The Lightning she had experienced in the past had never been as strong as this, but she had never faced someone with the power of Isley Verd . Even as strong as she was, Reina couldn't stop herself from collapsing onto the ground, curling somewhat within herself as sparks of electricity crackled off her armour

"Check...on...her...."

She threw her arm out in the direction of Leddie Gred , before trying to get up to her feet as she pressed her hands against the ground. Trying her hardest to use her limited healing capabilities, to get back up to her feet. That was where she belonged, standing. Not on the ground in the way that she was right now.

Get up.
Get Up.
GET UP.​

 

[Seris Mataan]

​

The battlefield shifted faster than any single fighter could control. One moment Seris’ twin white blades were driving forward in a disciplined Jar’kai sequence, the next Mia had vanished from the line of attack entirely, pivoting through the chaos to crash into Adelle with the force of a freight train. Dust, fire, and broken glass erupted around the two Mand’alors as the fight compressed inward, the storm itself seeming to tighten around the center of the arena.

Seris checked her momentum as the engagement fractured again, her sabers lowering slightly as she reassessed the shifting lines of combat. Through the haze, she felt the change in the Force before she fully saw it. Isley’s presence twisted through Kael’s battle meditation like a blade sliding beneath armor, and the calm coordination that had bound the foundlings together began to warp. Before it could fully take hold of her, she broke the connection to Kael.

Then the firestorm came.

Seris felt the surge of power gather before the flames and lightning even left Isley’s hand. The attack tore through the air toward her, a roiling mass of fire and electrical fury that cut through the dust cloud with terrifying speed. For a split second, there was no space to evade, no time to angle away, she took a defensive stance and braced herself for the blow that never came.

The Ersansyr surged into the path of the attack without hesitation, placing herself between Seris and the storm of energy. Fire burst outward as Reina caught the inferno head-on, redirecting the flames away from her with a violent sweep of motion while the lightning carved across her armor. Even with her strength, even with the Force flowing through her, the strike was brutal.

Seris felt the pain ripple through the Force as Reina collapsed. She stopped for a moment, watching the other woman drop to the ground. It was a battlefield, not the time for heroics she reminded herself but at the same time she knew what her mother would expect. Her sabers deactivated with two sharp clicks as she closed the distance in a swift stride, dropping to one knee beside the fallen Siren as sparks still crackled across Reina’s armor. The smell of scorched fabric and ozone hung in the air as Reina struggled to force herself upright.

“Check… on… her…”

Seris followed the direction of Reina’s outstretched arm for the briefest glance, noting Leddie frozen further across the field under the crushing weight of Isley’s psychological assault. The battlefield was unraveling in several places at once. Seris placed one gauntleted hand gently against Reina’s shoulder, the other hovering just above the worst of the lightning burns that had begun to spread beneath her armor. Her eyes closed briefly as she reached into the Force, drawing on the calm discipline her mother had instilled in her rather than raw power.

Force healing was never meant to undo catastrophic wounds in the middle of battle. What it could do was stabilize.

A soft current of energy flowed from Seris’ hands into Reina’s body, the Force knitting through scorched nerves and muscle just enough to dull the searing pain that had locked her body. The lightning scars did not vanish, nor did the damage disappear, but the pain receded enough to let her breathe and perhaps move. Seris opened her eyes again as the healing flowed.

“I will take care of her, but first. On your feet, this isn't over yet, but after this? I owe you, maybe more than one,” she said quietly, though her tone carried a steady strength with a bit of levity and a gentleness that would be all too familiar to Reina. She waited just long enough to feel the Siren's strength returning beneath the healing before rising back to her feet. The battle still raged across the arena, and the creeping pressure Isley had unleashed still clawed at the minds of the foundlings. Seris' attention shifted toward Leddie. The young woman stood rigid several paces away, her weapons lying on the ground where they had fallen from trembling hands. Even through the storm of dust Seris could feel the fear gripping her, the echoes of something far older than the fight unfolding around them.

Seris rushed to Leddie's side, reigniting a single lightsaber on the way, the other magnetically locked to her armor. She laid a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder, feeling the walls being built up around her mind by Adelle. She spoke. "You are safe, don't give in to fear. Focus on my voice and follow it out." Seris projected a feeling of hope into the woman, a small beacon in the darkness of her mind.

TAG: Mia Monroe Reina Daival Leddie Gred Isley Verd @Everyone else
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[Avast Verd]

FEATS OF HONOR

Land Nav Assessment
Acier Moonbound

Avast snorted softly as she slowed near a flat stretch of stone, her datapad lighting her forearm in a pale blue glow while the last nav marker blinked to life as her finger moved quickly to plot in the final stretch.

"Eh nah," the woman said lightly over her shoulder. "Know precious little 'bout you, pickney."

She glanced back at him then, those dark eyes amused but thoughtful.

"You jus' bleed out a whole aura sayin' you spend too much time up here." She tapped two fingers lightly against her temple. "Instead of out here."

Her hand swept briefly toward the land around them.

"Same as di brush. Same as di windbreak. Same as every trail an' broken branch."

Avast pushed herself upright, the datapad chirping softly as it finalized the route toward the next leg of the course.

"Everyting leave patterns."

That easy crooked grin returned, and she gave a slight shrug.

"On a path…"

She jerked her chin toward him.

"…an' on a man too."

Then she turned and started walking again, angling toward the rocky ridge that would cut their time if they crossed it right.

"C'mon now," she called back. "Last trek."

After a few steps she glanced sideways at him again, curiosity bright in her voice.

"So Moonbound," she added casually.

"Why you no tell me what it is you actually do, eh?"

Spoiler: OOC: Sum of Rolls

1st Roll	6
2nd Roll	6
3rd roll	1