Populate Trial by Fire | ME Populate of Wistril

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian kept his eyes on Quinn Varanin a moment longer than he should have. He watched the way her gaze moved through the crowd. She was looking for someone. Quinn never traveled without purpose. That much he knew.

So who?

His jaw tightened. Then she spotted him. Of course she did. Their eyes met across the stands, and for a brief moment the noise of the arena faded behind the pounding in his ears. He tracked her expression carefully, waiting for whatever smug remark or gesture she had prepared.

It came quickly. The middle finger. The tugged eyelid. The tongue. Aurelian stared. For a second he simply blinked at her, stunned by the sheer childishness of it. Then the heat rose in his chest like someone had kicked open a furnace.

Shiraya give me strength.

His blood began to boil. The Warden of Eshan had always had a gift for that. What made it worse was the knowledge that he couldn't respond the way his instincts suggested. Not here. Not now. The urge to throw her in a prison cell and forget the key existed sat comfortably in the back of his mind.

Instead he turned away. Barely.

The vein in his neck pulsed as he looked down toward Sibylla, who was still holding his hand. Her calm voice cut through the irritation building in his chest.

She saved my life, you know.

Aurelian exhaled slowly through his nose. "She did not save you on Moorja out of the goodness of her heart," he said quietly. His tone was controlled, but the edge in it remained. "She probably wanted something. Or someone."

He flicked another glance toward Quinn, noticing the people seated near her before forcing himself to look back toward the arena. The fight had exploded into chaos while his attention wandered. Fire had erupted across the sand. Then suddenly it vanished.

Aurelian leaned forward again, focusing.

Adelle moved through the dust, she belonged there, holding her own. Her lightsaber flashed blue while the heavier arc of her beskad followed close behind. She stayed mobile, circling, never letting either Mand'alor settle into a comfortable rhythm. The woman fought like someone who knew she was outmatched and refused to care.

Aurelian lifted his mug again as the crowd roared around them.

"She was probably hoping to get on the good side of Bastila with you," he muttered after a moment. "Nothing more. She wants something from that Sal-Soren."

He took a long drink of ale, letting the noise swallow the irritation. Then he nodded once toward the arena.

"We can go see Adelle after." His mouth curved slightly. "I'll be the bigger person."

​

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Jett Vox​

The Prisoner watched as the young warrior pulled off her helmet. His brow furrowed immediately. He had not figured out Mandalorian culture yet. He knew they raised warriors young. That much was obvious from the way people talked about foundlings and trials. Still, seeing her face made something in his mind hesitate.

She looked younger than him. Not a child, but close enough that it made the chaos across the arena feel worse. Lightning cracked again in the distance while armored figures clashed with bursts of fire and wind. And she was sitting over here eating a snack.

The Prisoner leaned a little farther over the barricade, studying her for a moment as she shoved her hair back into the helmet and stood up again. "Are you sure?" he asked. There was honest confusion in his voice.

He pointed across the arena where the storm of energy and weapons continued to rage. "Because you're over here and they…" He trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the mess of lightning and fire. The words didn't really exist for what he was seeing.

He couldn't blame her for stepping away. Truthfully, he had not even considered entering that arena himself. Watching from the barricade was dangerous enough.

Still, something about the trial gnawed at him. These Foundlings were supposed to stand together, right?

He shifted his weight against the railing, studying her armor and rifle again. She was armed. Equipped. She clearly belonged down there more than he did. "Are you leaving?" he asked. The question was genuine.

He rubbed his chin and glanced back toward the fighters again. The Prisoner looked back down at her. "They need you," he said simply.

 

[Siv Kryze]

.​

THE VERD'GOTEN​

​

Siv had been leaning against the stone railing above Raver Calyui'r since the fighting started, helmet angled toward the arena floor. From up here the chaos sorted itself into patterns.

And one of those patterns was obvious.

At the center, Mia Monroe and Isley Verd barely needed to move. The fight kept revolving around them anyway, every push from the foundlings eventually running into the same wall.

Siv watched a few exchanges before speaking under his breath.

"They're not chasing anyone," he said quietly. "Just letting the pressure build."

It was the kind of control you only got from experience.

His visor shifted to another part of the arena.

Adelle Bastiel was still working close to the center instead of drifting out with the others. Siv watched the distance she kept with Mia for a moment.

"Smart," he muttered. "If you back off too far, you're just giving them the whole arena."

Across the sand, Reina Daival had taken the lightning earlier after redirecting the flames meant for someone else. Seris Mataan had already pulled her clear long enough to keep it from turning worse before stepping back toward the fight herself.

Siv gave a small nod at that.

"Someone keeps an eye on their own. That matters."

Further out, Kael Varr Basteil Skirata drove himself forward again despite the spear he'd taken earlier. The charge looked heavier now, less careful than before.

Siv watched it for another second.

"Pain'll push you forward," he said quietly. "But it'll also make you sloppy if you're not careful."

His visor drifted to the edge of the fight where Leddie Gred had slowed down compared to earlier. The quick strikes he'd started with weren't coming as easily now.

Siv tapped a finger against the stone rail.

"Take a breath and get back in it," he murmured. "Standing still out there won't help."

For a moment he just watched the arena again.

Then Siv pushed off the railing and stood a little straighter, arms folding loosely across his chest as he kept his attention on the fight below.

"Still a long way from over," he muttered.

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT I -The Fight

"This is meant to be a fight, Not a slaughter" his yell Echoing in his mind.

His hand instinctively moves towards his Big 88 Hand Cannon, as he looks down at it, that solidifies his decisions he wasn't just going to sit there,

he has been wishing for a fight anyways, To show them the strength behind a True Mandalorian. Like a Wraith, Jaikell leaped into the chaos of the arena, his Mandalorian instincts kicking in "This is what I lives for" he thinks to himself as he whips his Hand Cannon out from its Holster, as he jumps in he uses his Rocket Pack to cushion his fall,

His gun in hand he takes aim and fires his Slug rounds at the nearest Target ( Isley Verd )
(16 Rounds in total but he fired 3)

A beat passes as he fires his round and as he does he stands in front of Reina Daival ) And uses his "Rallypoint" Ability that comes with his Jorir Armor so it guards us, (which effectively creates a shield that extends two meters out in either direction and is two-and-a-half meters tall, basically a deployable wall in the thick of battle.)

"Hello there" he says "We met before on Taris" he says with a slight smile under his helmet.

"Hopefully this gives you a chance to recover more, We need everyone we can get."

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

| Equipment: ALL |


​

​

 

[Jett Vox]

Prisoner #36929

The Verd'goten - Stage 1​

<bzzt> "Leaving? No. There's nothing I can do against... that... and if anything, I'm more of a liability than a help. Nothing I have is effective against any of them, and I'll probably break my neck if I try to wrestle the tempest they're throwing around." She shook her legs one by one, more dust and sand spilling from the spaces in her armor plating. She gestures out towards the fight, "They have laser swords and can move things with their minds. What would you do against that?" <bzzt>

<bzzt> "The way that I see it, my best contribution is to stay the hell out of it." <bzzt> Jet was clearly angry. Nobody liked feeling useless, and it wasn't exactly cowardice to step back from a battle, though they'd probably say she was one anyway. Jett didn't really care. Coward or not, she had nothing that could turn the tide of this battle. Besides, from her vantage point they had started winning.

<bzzt> "Look, they're winning now that I've left. Doesn't that suggest I made the right choice? They don't need me. I'm worse than useless out there. The way I see it, is I have a lot more to learn and a lot of training, and a lot of preparation before I can help win a fight like that." <bzzt>

She said nothing for a long pause, then looked back up at the stands where the encouraging man stood. Under her helmet, her mouth was tightened into a pout and her brows were furrowed in anger. Anger that became more and more vicious. Jett seemed unconvinced, but she asked anyway;

<bzzt> "What would you do if you were me?" <bzzt>

The storm raged on as if punctuating her insignificance.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen just shook his head, managing to chuckle as they watched the show. "Yeah, well, your house isn't the one going to turn into a blaze if she gets her mixture wrong." Still, he was impressed; it was clear she was trying hard. "As for the dodge, let's just say I got a leg up from practice." Korda didn't need to know about his force abilities for right now. Let them be a pleasant surprise if they ever get into action together.

The Clone was listening as he caressed the tiny snake's head like it was just a regular house pet. "Guess I'm kinda the same in a way. I'm certainly the last of my generation. Teaching is the one way to keep my brothers memeories alive." Guess that was one of the reasons he kept trying with Jett. Though Jett was feeling something different right now as she slumped down against a wall, seemingly giving up. Omen narrowed his eyes as he watched a young man who looked like he had just gotten out of prison with long flowing black hair, walk over to her to see if she was alright. He was half tempted to do so as well, but the girl needed to fight her own battles. They would find out later what had brought Jett down.

"I don't know if she could keep that armor anything but original. It's not like she had a lot of credits on her when we found her." Omen had yet to ask the girl if she wanted to make any modifications to her gear or what she was interested in. Guess they still needed time to get to know each other.
But the ARC was certain that they would make her more than just a Farmer before they were done.

Korda Veydran

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Jett Vox​

The Prisoner looked back out over the arena. Lightning cracked across the ring again. Fire curled through the wind like something alive. Armored figures moved through the storm while blades of light flashed in sudden bursts.

She wasn't wrong. It looked impossible. He rested his forearms on the railing and stared at it for a long moment. His mind tried to picture himself down there in that chaos. The answer came quickly. No chance. He wouldn't last ten seconds. So what was he supposed to tell her?

She looked up at him, waiting. The question sat there between them. What would you do if you were me?

The Prisoner rubbed his jaw slowly. Truth was, he didn't have a real answer. He didn't even know who he was half the time, let alone how to guide a Mandalorian warrior. Still, one thing had become clear today. These people respected courage. He had heard it from the stands. From Korda. From Jaikell. From the way the crowd reacted to anyone who stepped forward, win or lose.

He let out a slow breath. "I'm no Mandalorian," he said finally. His voice carried a quiet honesty. "I don't have the gall to stand where you are right now."

That much was true. Watching from the railing was about as brave as he had managed today. He leaned forward a little farther, looking down at her through the wind. "But you are."

The storm cracked again across the arena. The Prisoner gestured toward it with a small motion of his hand. "If there's one thing I've learned today, it's that Mandalorians stare down the impossible and fight against it anyway."

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe the point isn't beating them." He nodded toward the figures throwing lightning across the arena floor. "Maybe the point is standing with your vod when everything says you shouldn't."

The Prisoner looked back down at her helmet. "The odds look terrible. I get that." He shrugged lightly. "But that seems to be the whole idea."

A small silence passed before he finished. "All you can do… is try."

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda let out a low chuckle at Omen's comment about the flamethrower. "No such thing as a pure recipe," he said, shaking his head as Oro flicked her tongue at the jerky he offered her. "Light, heavy, disintegrate, depends on the hand and the mind behind it." He grinned faintly, tapping the Ashen Maw resting against his side. "Mine? Extra spicy, of course. Can't have it boring."

He tore off a piece of jerky, handing a small chunk to Oro before popping his own into his mouth, chewing deliberately. "Keeps the nerves steady," he said around the bite, glancing at Omen. "Here, try a piece. Helps with the arena jitters, or the spectating ones."


Korda's eyes softened for a moment as he studied Omen. "Teaching… that's a good way to keep the memories alive. For brothers, for clans, for yourself." Oro slithered lightly up Omen's arm, curious and relaxed in the quiet moment. Korda laughed quietly, watching the little snake explore, then added, "Anyway… that girl, she'll learn. She'll survive. And if you want, I can show her a few tricks for tactical assessment, demolitions… things that'll save her when the world tries to eat her alive." Oro curled tighter around Korda's forearm, flicking her tongue as if punctuating the offer. "All part of keeping the clan alive, in one way or another."

Sergeant Omen

 

[Mia Monroe]

Spoiler: Tags

Isley Verd Adelle Bastiel Leddie Gred Jett Vox Reina Daival Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Seris Mataan Jaikell Wyrvhor
In the stands: Siv Kryze Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen Prisoner #36929

Mia felt the shift in the fight, the fear that rippled through them before being silenced. Leddie was the first to be compromised, freezing under the weight of her own fears as Adelle rolled over her back. Mia pivoted smoothly, keeping Adelle at her front as fire and lightning ripped forward for Seris, only for Reina to tank the attack, crumpling beneath it.

Seris moved to her side, forgoing the battle in favour of aiding her comrade, before moving to help Leddie. Mia's gaze found Jett, sunk against the arena wall, as vacuum pressed in around them extinguishing fire, sapphire orbs glinted beneath her helm as they moved back to Adelle, the beskad in her grip spun once as she set her feet.

Adelle was the biggest threat in the moment and she would be neutralised.

"You fight like you are alone, like the weight of the battle is none but yours to bear."

When the air pressed back in, Mia stilled it, the storm around them seized, dust and shards of glass glittering in the light before falling as Adelle pressed her attack, the clang of iron filling the space around them, as she met each attack, her feet moving only to keep Adelle in her sights as the lightsaber was turned aside, glancing from her vambrace or palm.

"If you take any lesson from today, let it be this one;"

Mia guided the fight, moving herself not to keep Adelle from striking, but to set her between anvil and hammer. She felt a surge of fury coming from Adelle's son as he stormed forward, pressure squeezing around her heart. Mia guarded herself, defenses shifting against the pointed and violent attack, but not before pain lanced through her skull and the warmth of blood trickled from her nose beneath the helm.

"This is meant to be a fight, Not a slaughter"

The crack of a slugthrower ripped the air, but Mia was not the target. The fight was about to shift again, veteran boots had hit the ground and were moving in.

Mia smiled.

"A mandalorian is never alone."

Lightning cracked in her hand, arcing forward, but not for Adelle. It ripped around her, slamming into Isley's extended gauntlet.

 

[Jett Vox]

Prisoner #36929

The Verd'goten - Act I​

A frustrated scowl, a dry frustrated exhale and a roll of her eyes which was hidden under her visor, but not fully obscured from her body language, Jett shifted her shoulder, making her rifle jump up on the strap. She grabbed the weapon from the air and said loudly; <bzzt> "Fine then, I'll try, I'll go out there and get swatted like a swamp gnat. All for nothing. Don't say I didn't warn you though. When they're scraping 'Jett Porridge' out of my armor, I'm going to make sure I'm cursing your name..." She stopped for a second and looked up at him again. "...Which I can't exactly do, because I don't know your name." <bzzt>

Jett shook her head and turned around, staring down Mia Monroe and Isley Verd from her safe place across the Arena. <bzzt> "I swear, I do the dumbest things because other people say I can." <bzzt>

Then, with a crunch of sand and rocks under her beskar-soled boots, Jet began the quick march forward. Back into the fray. She lifted her DLT-20A Pulse Rifle to her shoulder and took aim through the rangefinder. Her sensors in her helmet stayed off this time, giving her a clear view with no interruptions, and she bore down on the two stationary Mandalorians in the center of the Arena, giving no ground to the Foundlings who chipped away at them like R2 units chopping at a Dagobah swamp tree. Chipping away, but nobody making a dent.

Jett levelled her weapon, flipped the switch to fully automatic, and let fly with a 'POWPOWPOWPOWPOWPOW', her forward march only hesitating with each shot, which pushed her back slightly, or just halted her forward step. The blaster was strong, and each firey-red blast arced towards Isley Verd and Mia Monroe , indiscriminate of which target they might hit - if they hit anything at all. A tight grip on her weapon insured a tighter cluster of bolts, which streamed one after the other from the weapon as it heated up and threatened to turn bright red.

The weapon was a Pulse Rifle, but referred to as a 'Laser Rifle' because the ammunition was capable of punching through armor, disintegrating a target in full sniper mode, but no matter which way you looked at it, the DLT-20A by BlasTech packed a wallop. Jett just kept marching forward, ignoring the others, but hoping that her weaponfire would at least provide cover for the rest; Adelle Bastiel , Kael Varr Basteil Skirata , Reina Daival , Leddie Gred and the others. She fired unrelenting, staggering bolts until her weapon overheated and would fire no more, when she would switch it to her free hand, dragging the strap through the dirt, so that her right hand could drag her DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol from her hip holster and start shooting single blaster bolts until she could eventually get close enough to start charging the weapon.

<bzzt> "I've really... really had enough of this." <bzzt>

This act was quite a bit reckless, but Jett was beyond caring. Sometimes you just had to go in guns blazing, full heavy infantry, to get a job done. The unfortunate thing was... Jett was probably right. This wouldn't get the job done, and in a few moments she probably wouldn't be standing anymore...

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I
The Arena

It seemed they didn't understand.

Why was it that two former Mand'alor would rise from retirement to stand before the Foundlings and to test them so brutally? Was it for their own amusement? Was it for their own ego? Gods forbid. No. This was to teach the next generation just how high the stakes were. Fifty long years ago, Mandalore itself was broken by the Sith Empire. Mand'alor the Infernal was betrayed - the accord she struck with Darth Carnifex torn asunder, just like Mandalore's north. Before that, the Jedi had wounded Mandalore time and time again. Modern history was a patchwork of stories, showing that the Jedi and Sith, Republics and Empires, would not hesitate to take the sword to Mandalore's flesh.

Thus, the next generation must be ready. They must be bold enough to stand against literal gods made flesh, if necessary. They must be cunning enough to play to one another's strengths and to turn their disadvantages into victory. This is why Mand'alor the Reclaimer and Mand'alor the Liberator stood before them on this battleground. This is why they pushed the Foundlings so hard. Not for their own sake. Not for their own glory.

But to prepare them for what would inevitably come their way.

The battle continued to rage on. The young Zabrak froze, dropping her weapons as fear took root. The Jedi-turned-Mandalorian couldn't capitalize on the blow she scored upon Isley's brow, focusing instead on suffocating the flames which had now littered the battleground. The tactic took some of the bite out of the fiery-shocking mass that Isley launched; but it did not eliminate it entirely. She then focused on contesting Mia in the melee. The fiery mass was ultimately stopped by one young warrior who leapt in front of its intended target. She tanked the blow beautifully, falling to the dirt in the process.

For a moment, Isley was proud of how the young warriors relied on one another. They didn't give up. They didn't fal-

Wait.

As the young warrior fell to the arena floor, still covered in the electricity from the fiery mass, the one who had unleashed the fiery ordnance to begin with disengaged. She moved to the edge of the arena and began to conversate with an observer. Isley's gaze narrowed beneath his helm. Of all the things happening on the battlefield, it was that which divided his attention. So much so that the wielder of white lightsabers was able to resuscitate her ally unopposed. Enough that Isley did not immediately raise his guard when the Togruta lashed out against him.

The Battle Meditation which he had corrupted came to a close. In its place was pain. Pressure built in his helm and in his chest, causing the Mand'alor to stagger forward a step. Blood flooded from his nostrils and mouth freely before he, with a frustrated grunt, repulsed the telekinetics which attempted to lay him low. His sulfuric gaze settled upon the warrior then as he began to charge; and as he advanced, fierce words rose above the crowd. This is meant to be a fight, not a slaughter! were the words which filled the former Mand'alor's ears.

"You damn fools." he seethed aloud, his voice thundering across the field. "Do you think we're here for our health? No. This generation needs to remember what they're up against. Beyond our worlds, the Light and Dark await to destroy them. Shall I lead them to the slaughter by holding back? Shall I offend our Way by leaving them unprepared?"

Mia's lightning coursed into his gauntlet - the opportunity was there. The Togruta was advancing. The young warrior who had decided to take a break from combat chose now to remember that she was Mandalorian and that there was no such thing as giving up. All he had to do was take the shot: he could take a shot at either soul...but instead, he siphoned the power partially. The lingering electricity hung in the air, devouring the rounds which were fired from the bystander who now entered the field.

Now, instead of a subsequent blast, emerald flames danced upon both of his wrists momentarily, depositing some old reliable pieces that had fallen out of his own use. Once they were in place, Mand'alor the Reclaimer advanced. His dominant hand flew to his utility belt, plucking free a duo of sonic charges. He hurled them across the field - one for Jaikell, and one for Jett.

As he advanced, Jett's blaster rifle sang true. Though he weaved as he stormed forward and altered his path, the space between Isley's shoulder plate and collarbone fell victim to one of the bursts. The energy ripped clean through his flesh, causing a momentary pause in his advance. Nonetheless he charged, the pain giving him valuable fuel, until he was within arm's reach of the Togruta. There, his beskad came down mightily, attempting to strike the young warrior's torso with a savage overhead strike.

They wanted just a fight? Fine. He'd give it to them.​

Mia Monroe Adelle Bastiel Leddie Gred Jett Vox Reina Daival Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Seris Mataan Jaikell Wyrvhor
In the stands: Siv Kryze Aselia Verd Quinn Varanin Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen Prisoner #36929​

Spoiler: TLDR

• Isley is distracted by Jett's disengagement briefly
• Kael's attack damages his brain/heart momentarily
• Isley addresses the crowd/foundlings about why they're going BTA
• Isley converts a portion of Mia's lightning into his Talismans, equipping a wrist rocket and whistling birds
• The remnant lightning destroys Jaikell's rounds
• Isley charges Kael, taking a heavy shot from Jett's rifle as he charges
• Isley throws two sonic grenades as he advances, one at Jaikell, one at Jett
• Isley attempts to strike Kael with his beskad
• ???
• Profit

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: What happened that day?
Aurelian Veruna

Did she truly just do that?

Sibylla blinked once. Then again.

Across the stands, Quinn Varanin had responded to Aurelian's pointed look with what could only be described as a most undignified series of gestures. The middle finger. The tugged eyelid. And, most astonishingly of all, a raspberry.

It was… impressively childish.

For a heartbeat she simply stared. Then a soft, helpless laugh slipped from her.

There it was again. The sort of familiarity Sibylla noticed before. Standing beside Aurelian now, it became unmistakably clear.

Quinn reminded her of him.

Oh, there were notable differences, of course, but from what the blonde had once confided to Sibylla, and from what Sibylla herself had observed, the resemblance in temperament was undeniable. Even setting aside the matter of the Force.

Which only revived that unsettling question Sibylla tried very hard not to entertain -- What might Aurelian have become had he possessed the ability to wield the Force himself?

It was a path she refused to let her thoughts wander down. The notion alone was troubling enough, and fortunately it was no longer a possibility worth dwelling upon.

Instead, Sibylla gently squeezed his hand, doing her best to ground him to her and get him to focus once more on the fight. The arena erupted into another wave of noise.

"Perhaps," Sibylla conceded quietly. She couldn't completely take that off the table, especially in learning just how important Bastila was to the Queen of Eshan -- but that is what made things complicated, didn't it? She had not yet had the chance to talk about it with Bastila Sal-Soren , but it begged the question.

What, precisely, was unfolding between them?

Sibylla tilted her head slightly, thoughtful, considering Aurelian's assertion that she wanted something out of Bastila. The pad of her thumb began to trace a gentle circle over the top of his hand, the slight ticklish sensation coaxing him to relax as much as to try to consider outside the box.

"....but she did not have to intervene at all."

The crowd roared again as Adelle cut another brilliant arc through the dust below. Sibylla's gaze followed the movement briefly before returning to him. Those hazel eyes that looked upon Aurelian with affection studied him with empathic understanding.

"Much like you did not have to intervene to save mine ."

He had defied his father's command for her death. Not for her. Not for some measure of power or control. Simply because some part of him had known it was wrong. Yes, the prophecy the Shaman had given him played its part. But the decision itself had been Aurelian's.

Just as Quinn's had been her own.

Sibylla studied him for another moment, the noise of the arena fading slightly beneath the weight of the thought that followed.

"…what happened on Wielu, Aurelian?"

Her voice was quiet, almost casual, though the intention behind the question was unmistakable. In the chaos of that corridor her attention had been elsewhere when he knelt beside Quinn's unconscious body, blood staining the floor around them as he spoke with Mauve.

Then the next thing they knew, all chaos had erupted and Sibylla had darted in front of Aurelian immediately to save his life. She still bore the very faint scar along her collarbone where she'd been hit. It was barely visible, but if one knew where to look, one could see the subtle lightening of the skin.

A small reminder of just how quickly everything had nearly ended.

Both of them dead.

 

[Aselia Verd]

Aselia felt the shift in the arena the moment it happened, but Quinn's question held just enough of her attention that she answered without immediately looking away.

"No," she said simply, her tone even beneath the helmet. "Seems appropriate, actually."

Her visor continued to track the movement below as she spoke, following the surge of fire and Force as the Mand'alors pressed the Foundlings harder, shaping the battlefield into something far less forgiving. When Quinn added that she would hope they were taking it seriously, Aselia gave a faint tilt of her head.

"True, but that doesn't mean all foundlings do. The Verd'goten isn't meant to be forgiving." Only then did she glance toward Quinn, catching the unmistakable gesture directed toward the King of Naboo. Aselia paused for a fraction of a second before a quiet breath left her, something just shy of a laugh.

"Trying to start a diplomatic incident from the stands?" Her visor followed Quinn's earlier line of sight long enough to confirm it, Aurelian, Sibylla, before she dismissed it just as quickly. Politics could wait. The arena could not. Her attention returned fully to the fight below just as the battlefield shifted. Fire erupted, then vanished.

Aselia leaned forward slightly against the railing, her focus locking onto Adelle as the flames were torn apart by the vacuum and the air rushed back in. Even from this distance, she understood what had been done, and something in her posture eased, interest giving way to something warmer, more personal.

"Well… that's new," she said, softer now.

She watched Adelle move through the exchange and turn the fight back onto Mia, the shift from reactive motion to something far more deliberate. There was a grounded confidence in it now, and Aselia found herself following the details without meaning to, the placement of each step, the timing of each strike, the way she chose her moments instead of forcing them.

"She's adapting," Aselia said, this time angling her helmet slightly toward Quinn while keeping her attention on the arena. "Not just reacting." Below them, Adelle pressed forward again, blades flashing as she forced the Liberator to meet her. Aselia's helmet dipped faintly, an almost unconscious acknowledgment.

Her attention flicked briefly toward Isley, measuring his position, before returning just as quickly to Adelle. When she spoke again, her voice carried a warmth that hadn't been there before. "She didn't hesitate. Covered someone else, reshaped the field, and kept her momentum. That's not easy to do, especially not here. Shes doing too much, though."

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

 

[Leddie Gred]

For a moment, Leddie wasn't fully sure where she was.... But then she started hearing it.

focus.

"You are safe, don't give in to fear. Focus on my voice and follow it out."

Leddie was pulled back, remembering where she was. Not Concord Dawn. Not the Sith... as much as it felt like it. Kalevala. Right. She looked at Seris, nodding has she brushed her armor coatback from her hips. "I'm ok.... I'm.... Let's finish this." She said, drawing her Mite revolvers instead of picking up her Trayc'kal. Then the saw someone else. Jaikell Wyrvhor . He wasn't wrong though. Her dad definitely wouldn't be running something like this, even being a manda'ukor. She looked at the two Mand'alor there.

"A mandalorian is never alone."

Ok. She liked Mia.

"You damn fools." he seethed aloud, his voice thundering across the field. "Do you think we're here for our health? No. This generation needs to remember what they're up against. Beyond our worlds, the Light and Dark await to destroy them. Shall I lead them to the slaughter by holding back? Shall I offend our Way by leaving them unprepared?"

Less so Isley. Well... no one ever said Gred's were the friendliest with Mand'alors. Leddie was quick to aim her pistols for Isley, noticing where Mia had sent out lightning. The loud thuds from the barrels were sparked with ion energy as she let four rounds fly.... Or at least she want four stun rings, instead she got 1 stun ring, and two ion bolts flying at the Verd. "You said it'd at least fire, Yarle...." She mumbled to herself before staring the man dead in the eye. "I'm starting to see why Jagyc'buir tends to like the Fleet more than here." She made real sure Isley heard that one. Pistols already primed to send out more powerful rounds, be they stun or ion at this point. She was really wishing she packed some particle rounds though just for this. Still.... three in each cylinder, one reload each. 16 shots.

Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Jett Vox Reina Daival

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Jett Vox​

The Prisoner watched her reaction build before she even spoke. The shift in her stance. The tension in her shoulders. Yeah… there it is. He almost said something else, maybe walked it back, but she was already moving. Her words came sharp and fast, full of frustration. He caught most of it, especially the part about getting herself killed.

Fair.

When she paused and pointed out she didn't know his name, he let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Yeah… working on that," he muttered to himself.

Then she turned and marched straight back into the storm. The Prisoner blinked. Well… that worked a little too well.

He leaned over the railing again as she raised her rifle and opened fire. The sharp rhythm of blaster bolts cut through the chaos, red streaks punching into the storm where lightning and fire already clashed. She didn't hesitate. Didn't stop. Just kept pushing forward.

He shook his head slightly and let out a quiet huff. "You got this," he called after her, a faint grin pulling at his expression.

Not that she could hear him over all that. Still, he stayed there, arms resting on the railing as his eyes tracked her through the chaos. He had no place down there. He knew that much. But he had said something. Pushed someone forward instead of letting them sit out.

For now, that was enough. Maybe that's all he could do.

The Prisoner settled against the barricade, watching the fight unfold as the storm raged on.

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

The Verd'goten



Pain.

Adelle had never liked it, never liked being around it. It bled into her own senses through the Force, often giving her echoes of whatever had hurt the other person. In this case, she felt her muscles twitch, trying to sieze as she forced herself to focus on meeting Mia’s attacks. She knew that feeling.

“This is meant to be a fight, not a slaughter!” someone called out.

"You damn fools." he seethed aloud, his voice thundering across the field. "Do you think we're here for our health? No. This generation needs to remember what they're up against. Beyond our worlds, the Light and Dark await to destroy them. Shall I lead them to the slaughter by holding back? Shall I offend our Way by leaving them unprepared?"

"You fight like you are alone, like the weight of the battle is none but yours to bear. If you take any lesson from today, let it be this one."

Mia kept repositioning, forcing Adelle’s Ataru dance to follow along a certain path or adapt. It was unending and she had a hard time figuring out the Mand’alor’s angle. She deflected a strike with her saber and countered with her beskad before pointing her lightsaber at Reina, channeling the Force. She couldn’t heal the injuries properly without contact, but she could give the merc a second wind.

More puzzling than Mia’s maneuvering was what she said. Keeping one of the Mand’alor’s occupied so others could exploit openings was fighting alone? For a moment, Adelle landed between the two Mand’alors and realization struck hard.

"A mandalorian is never alone."

Sparks flared in Mia’s armored hand and Adelle readied her tutaminis to take the hit.

Lightning struck Isley’s gauntlet instead.

Kriff. She had to move.

Adelle leapt into the air over Mia, placing the Liberator between her and the Reclaimer. Green light flared around Isley’s wrists. He tossed two grenades before charging with his beskad. At Kael. Adelle blocked Mia’s next strike and pushed it aside, aiming a front kick at the woman’s chest. Even if the kick didn't land, the opening allowed her a moment to do what she needed to.

She raised her beskad toward Kael and threw up a quick barrier. It was nowhere near strong enough to stop the attack completely, but hopefully it’d take enough of the force behind it that Kael would only be bruised. Her mind brushed his with a single word: <<Control!>>

Mia was on top of her again almost immediately. As far as the Liberator’s accusations went…

“Old habits,” Adelle said as she caught Mia’s beskad with her lightsaber, her own beskad slashing up at the woman’s hip.

Spoiler: TLDR

• Used Revitalize on Reina
• Got stuck between a rock and a hard place
• Leapt out
• Kicked at Mia like a Spartan
• Shielded Kael and shouted at him through the Force
• Still fighting Mia

Spoiler: Tags

Mia Monroe
Isley Verd
Kael Varr Basteil Skirata
Reina Daival
Seris Mataan
Jett Vox
Leddie Gred
Aselia Verd
Aurelian Veruna
Sibylla Abrantes
Siv Kryze
Sergeant Omen
Quinn Varanin
Jaikell Wyrvhor

 

[Kael Varr Basteil Skirata]

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I
The shield slowed him just enough for him to see the descending Beskad, allowing him to twist so it only sliced through the Plastoid armor and body glove, peeling it from his chest like one would remove skin from fruit. This revealed to everyone that he had no true Beskar armor, only a cheap imitation. A moment later, he felt his Buir's voice brush his mind like cool ice water, quenching his rage in the chill of repremand, "Control!" she had said. He had only a moment to process this before he realized he was easily within striking distance of The Reclaimer. He quickly drew his tonfa, slipping into the beginning stances of Soresu, ready to block The Reclaimer from advancing further towards Adelle. He shielded his mind from his opponent and only focused on keeping Isley busy and keeping his now unarmored torso from being sliced to ribbons. He would not falter; he would merely defend, wait for an opening, and then strike until the others could regroup and start fighting together again.

Parry, dodge, deflect, strike, repeat. This is what he thought of while stepping and maneuvering to keep himself between the former Manda'lor and the others. As he worked and moved, he finally spoke breathlessly to the old one. "I have to thank you, Ijaat Alor, for teaching me many new ways to fight. I was a hunter and was alone for many years, until the one fighting your counterpart found me. She is right, a mandalore is never alone. I now have family, I now have a pack, and when this is over and I finally and officially swear the Resol'nare, I will be a Mandalorian." With this, I see my opening, plant myself, and take a deep breath, accessing the fire in my soul that connects me to the Manda, and force-push the Manda'lor with all my might, wanting to pin him against the arena wall.
Adelle Bastiel Mia Monroe Isley Verd

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen took a bite of the jerkey as he shook his head. Only Korda would have a flavor to his flamethrower fuel. "Thanks." When Omen looked down again, he smiled as Jett got off the bench and charged back into the fight. Guess the wild looking young man had made an impression on her. Made him wonder... No, he wasn't a matchmaker and shouldn't think like one. All he should do is shout Jett's name in an attempt to support her.

As the match went on, Omen shrugged as he replied "I hope someone remembers me... I'm just trying my best, even when I'm out of my depth. Its all I can do. And you can teach whatever you want, just don't put enough stress on her. She doesn't need to feel like average soldier, she needs one on one attention to fill her lack of knowledge." They were playing catch up with her immersion and training into the Mandolarian culture and Jett was going to need every second to match her peers overall. It was the only way to be fair to her.

Korda Veydran , Jett Vox

 

[Korda Veydran]

Korda chuckled, letting a low, amused sound rumble through his chest as he shook his head. "No promises on one-on-one tutoring," he said, his tone teasing but firm. "My style is more… surgical. I watch, see what she already knows, and then build off of that. Culture, history, skill, tactics... anything she's missing gets filled in while I adjust what she already has. If we can figure out her parent's clan, I'll teach her in the ways of her ancestors. If not… well, we'll make do. Her style, mixed with what I know, will be enough."

He glanced down at Oro, letting the little snake slither around his arm while he offered a piece of jerky to Omen again. Oro sniffed it and happily accepted, hissing softly before curling back into Korda's gauntlet. "The trick is balance," Korda continued, chewing thoughtfully. "Not forcing her to be something she's not, but guiding her enough so she doesn't fall behind... or worse, get hurt because she doesn't know any better."

He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning the arena below where Jett had thrown herself back into the fray. "You're doing right by her, brother. She's got someone watching her who cares, and that makes all the difference. I'll fill in the gaps she needs, and we'll make sure she can hold her own… whatever path she decides to walk."

Korda tapped the vambrace of his armor, the engraved bloodline marks glinting faintly in the sun. "Tradition isn't about making someone follow the past blindly, it's about giving them tools to survive in the present. That's what she'll get from me."

Then he offered Omen a small grin, jerky held casually between his fingers. "But enough philosophy for now. Watch the kid. Cheer her on. And when she's ready, she'll surprise you both."

Sergeant Omen Jett Vox

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Isley Verd Mia Monroe Seris Mataan Jett Vox Jaikell Wyrvhor Adelle Bastiel Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Quinn Varanin Aurelian Veruna Sibylla Abrantes I think Korda Veydran and Sergeant Omen are also in the crowd?
Objective:

"You don't...owe me...anything."

Reina was not in any real place in the moment to refuse the healing coming from Seris. It would be enough to get Reina back up to her feet either way, as she tried to dwell on the pain. The frustration that was building up inside of her. It meant she was alive. The pounding headache, the rushing of blood. It meant she was still alive. She was fighting. She could succeed. She could do this. A small grimaced grin spreading across her face, as she pushed herself up to her feet, though as she looked up, the grin almost dropped from her face almost immediately.

She was battered. Bleeding. Burnt. And there was...someone who had just walked away. To eat something off to the side. Whilst the rest were fighting for their place in the Galaxy. Rage started to fill her, as she clenched her fists tightly, balling them up as much as she could as small flickers of flame trailed amidst her fingers, as she was doing her best to try and stay calm. To stay cool. But then they had the nerve to come back in. As if they had realised they had messed up. They didn't get it. You don't get a second chance in an actual fight. You abandon people, they die.

At the same time, another Mandalorian had seemingly came out of the spectators, standing straight in front of her. Using a shield as if to protect her. As if to imply she needed protection, when the Mand'alors hadn't even targetted her when she had went down. Now? Now she was a target because of him. She seemed like someone who needed to be protected. To be coddled. It twisted and tore her up inside, as the Siren was doing her best to keep her frustration under control. Ultimately she knew he didn't mean any harm, but this was meant to be her chance of proving herself. He was a full Mandalorian already, and treating this as if it was a regular day. Talking to Reina, as if this was some kind of social event. He didn't get to take this away from Reina.

"I don't care about Taris. I don't want to be reminded of the Jedi."

Those who had already abandoned her. Those who had pushed her on a path to try and figure out where she belonged. She was trying in this moment to try and find her place amongst the Mandalorians. A place that in the worst parts of her mind, she felt as if he was trying to take away from her. No. No-one took that away from her. Not again.

"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are."

As she spoke, Reina's frustrations, anger, pain all mixed together into one. Combining itself with her Ersansyr nature, as each word came out with more venom. More rage in it, before she released it in a scream that echoed amidst the arena. It hadn't been the controlled release she had planned earlier. The one she could do on command as an Ersansyr. This scream was filled with her rage and frustrations.

"DOING?!"

The sonic wave erupted from her, her throat throbbing in pain almost immediately, as it twisted from an actual word into just a blanket screech. If it hadn't been for the Dark Side fuelling the scream, she'd have torn her vocal chords from the force.

"Are you trying to make us weak? Do you honestly think this is too much for a Mandalorian to go against? This is nothing. If they don't learn here, they'll learn in death. If anything, you will make this so much worse for the rest of us."

Reina had seen how the Jedi and Sith fight. She had been on both sides. Seen them kill and be killed. And if to prove her right, the Mand'alor she was unfamiliar with seemed to agree. And also as if to prove her own inner thoughts about being made a target right, she saw the sonic grenade being thrown their way. The Siren reached her hand out, to use Mechu Macture in an attempt to destroy it mid flight, yet in combination with the dark emotions swirling within her, instead of the typical purple stream of electricity that would be produced, the sharp white lightning of Force Lightning erupted from her fingertips instead, exploding the grenade mid-air.

"Those with a shield...should be on the frontlines. Taking the aggression of their foes away from those they mean to protect."

If the Mand'alors were going to be stepping up their game, so was Reina as she reached down to her hip, pulling her Lightsaber from the belt and igniting it, letting the crimson glow illuminate her cracked helm. It was time for her to get back into the swing of things, even as pain and fury continued to flow through her. She would not quit, as she rushed back into the fray.

Either she would survive standing. Or die trying.​