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[Seris Mataan]

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Reina was back on her feet, already moving, already choosing to throw herself back into the storm rather than remain behind it. Leddie had steadied, her focus returned, weapons back in hand and pointed where they needed to be. That was enough, this was no time to watch, no time to check in on Reina again. The battlefield did not allow for it.

The storm churned around her as she stepped back into the fight, her awareness widening across the arena as she took in the fractured lines of engagement. Kael was holding against Isley with discipline that bordered on stubborn defiance, barely keeping the Mand’alor contained. Adelle and Mia were locked in a punishing exchange that had turned deliberate and controlled, each strike carrying the weight of something more than simple combat. Reina had already reentered with fire and fury, the edge of something darker threading through her presence now, sharp and unstable but undeniably powerful.

Seris caught the movement again at the edge of her vision as Jett returned to the fight, blaster fire cutting across the field in rapid bursts. Seris exhaled slowly as she advanced, letting the Force settle her center. They were scattered but not broken.

Her hands shifted, both sabers igniting in twin flashes of brilliant white as she stepped into position. In a single moment, she committed, the Force coiled through her legs and released in a sudden, explosive burst of speed that cut through the storm like a blade. One heartbeat, she was repositioning, the next she was already on the move, closing the distance toward Isley with controlled acceleration that wasted nothing.

She angled her approach deliberately, not head-on, but toward his right side, where his focus remained split with Kael.

At the last step, she pivoted sharply, her momentum turning into motion rather than stopping it, and both white blades came alive in a tight, disciplined flurry. The first strike rose fast and precise toward his flank, followed immediately by a second from the opposite angle, the twin sabers moving in seamless coordination as she pressed into the opening created by Kael’s engagement.

There was no wild aggression in the assault, only controlled pressure. Each strike fed into the next, a measured sequence designed to force Isley’s guard to shift, to divide his attention further, and to capitalize on the fact that he was already engaged.

TAG: Mia Monroe Isley Verd Reina Daival Adelle Bastiel Jett Vox Leddie Gred @Anyoneimissed
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[Siv Kryze]

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THE VERD'GOTEN​

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Siv had stayed at the railing overlooking the arena floor of Raver Calyui'r, arms folded as the fight carried on below.

At first it had been what Verd'goten always was—pressure. Veterans forcing the next generation to find their footing under real weight.

Then the shot cracked through the arena.

Siv's helmet turned as Jaikell Wyrvhor dropped into the sand, the flash of his shield wrapping around Reina Daival

Jaikell's voice carried across the arena.

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

Siv rested both hands on the stone rail, watching the shift ripple through the battlefield. His visor moved across the fighters— Adelle Bastiel still holding tight to the center, refusing to give ground to Mia Monroe . Not far away, Kael Varr Basteil Skirata kept forcing himself back into the fight against Isley Verd , even after taking hits that would've slowed most warriors to a crawl.

They weren't breaking.

They were adapting.

Still, Jaikell jumping in changed the rhythm of it.

Siv drummed a finger once against the railing.

"Slaughter…" he muttered under his breath.

Below, Isley's voice cut across the arena in response.

"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?"

Siv was quiet for a moment after that.

His visor shifted back to the fight as Mia continued pressing the field, as the foundlings regrouped and pushed again instead of scattering.

He couldn't say Isley was wrong.

The galaxy outside Mandalore didn't pull its punches.

Siv shifted his weight slightly, like he might step away from the railing.

"If Jaikell's going in…" he murmured.

The thought lingered there.

Dropping into the arena wouldn't be difficult. Level the field. Take some of the pressure off the foundlings.

His helmet tilted as he watched them move again—Adelle adjusting her position, Kael still refusing to fall back.

Siv exhaled slowly.

"…Not yet."

Verd'goten wasn't meant to be fair. It was meant to show you exactly where you stood when things got bad.

Still, his arms folded tighter as he kept watching the fight below.

"But if this turns into a pile-on," he muttered quietly, "then it stops being their trial."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian rolled his eyes, slow and deliberate, as Sibylla tried to draw a comparison. "Not quite the same thing," he muttered.

He had stepped in because it was right. No hidden angle. If anything, it had made his life harder. More dangerous. Quinn? No. There was always something underneath with her. Always a reason that hadn't been said out loud yet. He just hadn't figured it out. Yet.

His jaw tightened slightly as Sibylla's question landed. Wielu. Of course she would ask that now. In the middle of this chaos, with the crowd screaming. Perfect timing. He turned his head toward her, expression shifting. Less irritation now. More reluctance. He didn't want to replay it.

"I leveraged the Vigo's feelings toward the blonde," he said after a moment, voice low. "A light threat. She was unconscious. It didn't go in our favor."

His gaze drifted past Sibylla for a second, unfocused. Mauve had kept most of her assets on a leash. Quinn had never looked like she was on one. Which made her more dangerous.

Where was she now? Mauve was gone. The syndicate had scattered. And Quinn was… here. Watching. Smiling. Making childish gestures like she didn't have a trail of bodies and politics behind her.

Aurelian exhaled softly and took another drink. "I poked her with the pointy end of a needled blade," he added, glancing back at Sibylla. "She responded by nearly ending my life." His mouth twitched faintly. "And she nearly skewered me with a lightsaber. Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me."

He shifted slightly, leaning just enough to glance back toward where Quinn had been sitting. Just to confirm she was still there. Of course she was. Aurelian shook his head and looked back to the arena, though his attention wasn't fully there anymore.

"She's unstable, Sibylla," he said quietly. "Best we keep our distance."

His fingers tightened slightly around her hand again, grounding himself as the roar of the crowd surged and Adelle pressed the fight.

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[Emberlyn Kislo]

Tags: Serrik Skirata | Niijima Izumi ​

Emberlyn's attention lingered on Serrik a moment longer than before—not for the question itself, but for the way it had been asked.

No pressure. No expectation.

Just… curiosity.

It was rare enough here to notice.

Her gaze dropped back to the stabilizer in her hand, thumb tracing slowly along the uneven seam where it had been welded—once, maybe twice—each pass of her fingertip catching on imperfections left behind by someone else's hurried work.

Replacing the mount. Then the frame. Then everything.

A soft breath slipped from her, quieter than the market noise around them—almost a laugh, but not quite.

"Ships change," she said, turning the component slightly so the ambient light slid across its worn casing, revealing scratches, heat scoring, and the faint discoloration of stressed metal. "You replace what fails. Reinforce what doesn't. Improve what you can." A small, absent lift of her shoulder followed, more habit than gesture. "If you do it right… it never really becomes something else."

Her thumb paused along the seam.

"Just a better version of what it already was."

Her eyes lifted briefly—violet threaded with gold catching faintly beneath the shadow of her shawl—before drifting away again, as if the thought had already carried her elsewhere.

At his next question, something in her posture softened—barely perceptible, but there.

The datapad lowered, resting loosely against her thigh, its glow dimming against the fabric as her focus slipped beyond the market.

Ord Mantell came back to her in fragments.

Heat rising in wavering sheets above endless fields of scrap. The metallic tang that clung to the air, sharp and dry against the back of her throat. Wind moving through hollowed-out hulls, whispering through broken frames stacked high like the bones of something long forgotten.

To most, it had been a graveyard.

To her… it had been possibility.

"I found her in pieces," Emberlyn said quietly, almost as if the words were pulled from that memory rather than the present. "Ord Mantell."

A faint smile touched her lips—soft, fleeting, and gone just as quickly as it came.

"I've traveled half the galaxy putting her together." A slight shift of her grip on the stabilizer, grounding her again. "Still am." Her voice carried a quiet steadiness now. "Public transports. Cargo holds. Bartering rides with people I probably shouldn't have trusted."

A soft exhale followed, touched with the faintest trace of dry amusement.

"Whatever it took."

"Coruscant-class heavy courier," she added, a little quieter—but there was no hiding the note of pride beneath it. "She wasn't much to look at when I found her." The corner of her mouth lifted faintly. "Still isn't, depending on who you ask."

Her gaze dropped again to the stabilizer, turning it slowly between her fingers. "But she holds together. And she flies."

"I've rebuilt most of her systems myself," Emberlyn continued, her tone slipping easily back into something more precise, more grounded. "Reinforced the drive housing, rerouted the power distribution, rebuilt the navigation array…" Her thumb tapped once against the casing, a small, thoughtful rhythm. "I'm working on integrating components from a prototype starfighter."

A brief pause.

"My mother's."

The words landed simply. No weight forced into them. No elaboration.

Just truth.

Her gaze lowered again, if only for a heartbeat.

"There was a jump," she added, quieter now—almost swallowed by the noise of the market. "Missile hit mid-transition."

A flicker of something passed through her expression—there and gone before it could take shape.

"My ship took most of it."

Then she moved on.

"So no," Emberlyn said, lifting her eyes back toward Serrik, that faint, wry edge returning to her tone like it had never left, "another transport wouldn't suffice."

"She's not just how I get somewhere."

Her attention shifted briefly toward Izumi, acknowledging her presence with a subtle glance, before returning to the table between them.

"…And replacing everything wouldn't be the point."

She set the stabilizer back down with deliberate care. The faint metallic clink against the table seemed sharper now, cutting cleanly through the surrounding hum of voices and movement.

"But she won't survive a jump to the Core if this fails."

Her gaze slid to the vendor—steady, calm, but now unmistakably measured.

"So," Emberlyn added lightly, tilting her head just a fraction, the ghost of that earlier amusement still present, "unless you happen to have something better than this…"

Her fingers tapped once against the edge of the table.

"I'm going to have to get creative."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Kalevala, Outer Rim Territories

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The ancient stonework of Raver Calyui'r trembled as the raucous cheers and agonised groans from the Verd'gotten outside surged and receded like waves crashing against a rugged shoreline. Each frantic shout and clang of metal upon metal echoed against the weathered walls, sending tremors that coursed through the very foundations of the fortress. Inside, armoured figures, clad in battle-worn beskar'gam, stamped their heavy boots against the timeworn greystone. They pounded tankards in a lively celebration and struck their fists against the deep grooves of the sturdy timber tables, their voices a rumble of thunderous exclamations and strangled laments, muffled by the greater cacophony that left others resigned to conversations over comm-links.

Beyond the framed stonework, the crucible of Beskar and blaster bolts raged on, sharpening the participants' will, even as their bodies were pushed further and further towards the brink. A spectacle for all, now that the surrounding events had begun to wind down, leaving the limelight once again to focus upon those who wished to prove themselves worthy.

Reflective T-Visors stared up at the screens dotted around the hall, their owners perched on the tips of their toes, their voices diminished to a rare hush as they prepared for the approaching moment, ready to rise in victory or just as easily slump into defeat.

Itzhal observed them all with a slight smirk, concealed beneath the cover of his buy'ce, his eyes flicking over the display of different feeds and the crowd's reaction, which served both as entertainment and a potential threat; the Protectorate had done their best to limit the danger, but the reality was that public events always had a level of risk to them, especially with the participants involved. The Verd'goten was both a test and a trial; those who faced it brought their all. If one wanted to expose a vulnerable target, there were few better opportunities.

His men would do their best to ensure that never occurred, not here, not under their watch.

The lawkeeper marched his way down the passage of two tables, a hand pressed against the pauldron of a Mandalorian that would have otherwise knocked him aside, then slipped through the gap left behind by a figure shooting up with another roar of the crowd. His steps clacked against the surface, firm and steady, his visor focused forward, even as the sensors in his helmet revealed the rest of the world to him.

Eventually, his stride carried him towards one of the feasting tables placed to the sides of the festivity, and the woman whom he couldn't help but recognise, "Now, if I remember correctly, Miss Thayne, one said they didn't have business with the Empire."

With deliberate slowness, he lowered his helm, the reflective surface of his visor catching the light as he directed his attention to her sturdy, treaded boots and the dark gleam of beskar greaves encasing her legs. His gaze continued its slow journey upward, taking in the timeworn—yet meticulously maintained — beskar'gam that now enveloped her figure in a shade of nephrite green.

"Or does one consider this visit merely for pleasure?"

Tags: Tessa Thayne​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Kalevala

Equipment:
Apprentice Attire | Lightsaber | Shoto | Cybernetic Arm

Her words carried easily over the wind, light in tone but not in meaning. He caught all of it. The comment about his head. The way she mirrored his own words back at him, turning patterns from the ground to people like it was the same thing.

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't look at her. His gaze stayed forward, tracking the line of the ridge she'd angled toward, already measuring the incline and the footing before they reached it.

"You're seeing what you want to see."

His tone was more dismissive than defensive. He adjusted the placement of his steps, favoring a line where the rock broke uneven instead of smooth. Less chance of sliding if the wind picked up.

Her voice called back again. Last trek. Ace followed without comment, pace steady, unhurried but efficient. His eyes flicked once to the ridge, then to the brush below it, mapping both routes in parallel.

Then she asked her final question. He paused, considering his next words and whether he'd answer. She wasn't wrong to ask, but he wasn't in the mood for existential topics. Not now.

"You talk a lot for someone running a course." Still no bite. Just that same tired edge.

His gaze shifted briefly toward her this time, enough to acknowledge her presence before it moved on again.

"I move. I observe. I finish what I start. You? Something tells me you like to dig and pry."

The ridge loomed closer now, wind cutting sharper along its edge. Ace adjusted his angle again without breaking stride, already choosing his path up before they reached it.

"Faster line's up there." He added, nodding toward the higher ground. "If you're trying to cut time."

Spoiler: Sum of Rolls

First Roll - 3
Second Roll - 3

 

[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

Rage swelled in Isley, his voice booming across the arena as he reminded those who watched why they were here, why he and Mia had chosen this particular brand of poison for the foundlings to face. Had they truly forgotten what had happened to their world? Had they forgotten how they had been broken and scattered? This generation had to be everything those that came before them weren’t.

If she and Isley had wanted them dead?

They would have been dead.

Adelle sailed over her head, Mia cursed under her breath as the dirt shifted beneath her feet her pivot bringing her around in time for the kick to catch her chest, sending her back a step as the distinct shudder of an automatic blaster firing filled the air, one shot caught her pauldron the impact drawing a grunt from her, the energy dissipating across the beskar and searing skin beneath before tutaminis consumed the energy, she let out a hiss of pain.

Her focus shifted back to Adelle as another bolt screamed past her head, pain dulling into little more than background noise and she launched forward to strike, moving from defensive to offensive. Time was of the essence, and she’d been holding back for too long. Beskad and lightsaber clashed in a hiss of sparks as their blades locked, Adelle taking advantage of the moment swinging her own beskad for Mia’s hip.

Mia twisted her own blade, forcing the saber down and away, following the momentum of the swing to catch the blade of iron but not before it kissed her hip, finding the soft weave between beskar plates.

The Liberator did not flinch, forcing the blade aside and driving her assault forward with a series of powerful strikes, pushing Adelle back, away from the others and isolating her from the main fight.

“Stop. Protecting. Them.”

The energy she’d focused on the dust storm shifted to pressing against Adelle, pressure building like a great weight meant to drive her to her knees, to make it impossible to move as she had been.

Reina’s scream slammed into them, dampers built into her helmet working too slow to silence it before pain lanced through her ears, but Mia did not relent her attack nor the pressure. Her left hand snapped up, curling around the lightsaber as it moved for a counter strike, Mia stepped around it in one fluid move, bringing her behind Adelle’s arm, her beskad carving a line up for the former Jedi’s elbow forcing a choice.

Relinquish the saber, or lose a limb.

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Shaking his head, Omen tried to imagine anything about "surgical" about this man. Still, the plan was a good one, and Korda probably had more experience teaching than either he or Aren did. He probably had a better place to train than Omen did, too. "I don't think you'll have to force her to do anything. Shes willing to take instruction from almost anyone who knows what they are talking about, including me for whatever reason." Korda's platitudes did raise his sprits abit. With Korda's help, she actuatly might become half decent at the art of war. Now only time would tell what would become of them all.

End post
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Korda Veydran Jett Vox