Populate Trial by Fire | ME Populate of Wistril

[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]

.​

THE VERD'GOTEN​

​

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 Bastiel 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.

​

 

[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

​

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 Bastiel 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

 

[Jett Vox]

Arena - Objective I​

Jett stumbled back at the ferocity of Reina's scream, falling and losing her balance to land squarely on her posterior, Isley shouted, and his voice rang in her ears, shocking her with her very first bout of tinnitus. A ringing howled through Jett's ears, and it seemed like the whole Arena paused for a moment. Her blaster rifle clattered across the sand and dirt, and her visor barely protected her from the blaring light when someone - Adelle Bastiel , she guessed - shot lightning out of her fingertips.

Stunned, but not for long, Jett raised and then clenched her empty fist and aimed her gauntlet towards Isley, who was now within her range. Though her weapons were scattered, she still had tricks. Tried and true Mandalorian tricks. Only slight pressure from her glove released a catch, then with a snap and a hisssss a whip-cord snapped from her gauntlet, towards the big Sith Mandalorian's legs. If succesful, it might give them a minute to act, and could wrap around Isley Verd 's legs, to give them the advantage. If she was really lucky, the whipcord would climb up and bind his arms to his sides.

Jett then stomped her heel down, and the snikt sound of a blade extending from her left foot was consumed by the sounds of fighting and yelling. If the whipcord worked and wasn't cut or disabled, she would trigger the reel, and yank as hard as she could, either pulling herself closer, or yanking him off his feet - though the second was unlikely since he was physically bigger, stronger and heavier than her - and try to kick that left foot up at his groin, and with insane luck, the dagger could very well slip into his armor and fully disable him. Either way, the move would leave Jett wholly disadvantaged on the ground - or so one would think. She wasn't entirely defenseless down there though.

Now, the most important thing was that this move could potentially leave him open for Kael Varr Bastiel Skirata , Reina Daival , and Seris Mataan to land some unhindered attacks. But that would all depend on how Isley Verd reacted to the traditional Mandalorian attack.

And then she started singing; Loud through the voice amplifier in her helmet;

<bzzt> "Kandosii sa ka'rta, Vode an!

Coruscanta a'den mhi, Vode an!

Bal kote, darasuum kote,

Jorso'ran kando a tome!

Sa kyr'am Nau tracyn kad, Vode an!" <bzzt>

Mia Monroe Adelle Bastiel Leddie Gred

 

[Tessa Thayne]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar | Open

Tessa was halfway through a skewer of meat covered in a sticky sweet and spicy sauce when someone started speaking to her, the voice was familiar but it wasn’t until he dropped ‘Miss Thayne’ that she realised who it was. Itzhal fething Volkihar.

“Shit.” she muttered, setting the half eaten skewers back onto the plate she had balanced in her other hand as she sucked remnants of the sauce from her fingers turning to face him properly, letting out a heavy sigh.

This was the second time he had interrupted her food.

And she did not like the way he just looked her up and down.

“Itzhal.” she replied coldly. “Are you going to make a habit of interrupting my meals? Because it's a sure fire to shorten your life expectancy.”

A week before Aether had pinned her for smuggling Wildfire, Itzhal had sat opposite her in a bar and advised her to stop what she was doing, told her that he believed they could do better and had even offered her a clean slate. And she had told him to stick it.

She set her plate down, reaching for a fresh bottle of beer and drinking deep. This was not going to be a fun conversation for her. “I didn’t have business with the Empire. And now I do. Circumstances change.”

Her eyes flicked back up to the screens, the balance in the fight shifting again. Her mother was isolating Adelle. A frown creased her forehead briefly. That wasn’t good. She shifted her focus back to Itzhal. “Surprised you didn’t see my name slide over your desk when I got busted.”

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

Sibylla listened without interrupting, even as the roar of the area washed over them in waves, amid cheers, metal striking the sand, and the occasional flare of the Force that sent the crowd into a fresh frenzy.

It was still strange. Watching this kind of fight, feeling the wild pulse of adrenaline, yet her worry for Adelle twisted inside her as keenly as any surge from the arena. All the while, Sibylla's thumb traced slow, thoughtful circles across the back of Aurelian's hand. Her brow furrowed, just slightly, each word from him deepening the tightness in her chest.

"A needled blade," she repeated softly. There was no reproach in it, only a mild, almost thoughtful dryness. Her hazel eyes found his, catching the fleeting hint of humor in his expression, and for a moment her lips curved despite herself.

Wait, was that a little too dark of humor to be amused about in hindsight, considering what came in the wake of it all? Part of her was perturbed at that. That the faint, dry, dark humor of Aurelian's admission was coated with provoked her own mild amusement.

What was that telling her? No, no. Don't overthink it. If Aurelian could make a joke out of nearly being skewered by a lightsaber, then she could also find some mild amusement at his delivery of it.

"You realized Mauve held some… particular regard for her... and you chose to make use of it." Sibylla clarified quietly, "By threatening Quinn."

She thought back to how everything had fallen into place. It had been a high-tension affair. Envoys injured, several of the Wielu Councilmen dead. And at the core, the realization that Black Sun had their fingers tied to Nar Shaddaa's Bank movements as well as the blockade.

They had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. And, in hindsight, it was evident that the criminal organization had every intention of taking over Sepan Eight and Wielu by whatever means necessary.

And Aurelian was never one to mince words -- or actions.

On one hand, they had the rest of the delegates and Wielu officials to protect. On the other hand, Aurelian, by all intents and purposes, threatened a person to force the cooperation of another. One could imagine waking to a needle dagger wouldn't suggest it was being done out of kindness. Had Sibylla been in the same shoes... well, waking up to an unfamiliar face who was pressing a dagger with pointed emphasis and hearing the way Aurelian typically spoke to those he held in disdain... well...

"Which explains the slap," she continued, almost conversationally as the pieces settled neatly into place. "And the attempted skewering." It had been a risk. Did she approve of it? Hindsight was twenty-twenty. Would she have done the same?

Sibylla wasn't sure. She'd try other options, but Aurelian's mind worked differently. He'd seen battle, trained in the military, and read survival cues she hadn't. A thought came to her and her thumb stilled briefly against his hand.

"Tell me," she added, voice light but curious, "what would you have done, had you been in her position?"

A second passed.

"Or if she had been me?" Her gaze drifted briefly toward where Quinn had been seated, though she did not linger long enough to invite further provocation.

Not to mention, there was wealth to unpack at Aurelian's revelation. Unstable, perhaps, but she couldn't decide if she believed it. Was she truly unstable? The word pressed against her thoughts, teasing out uncertainties she would rather ignore. Her attention drifted to the fight below, where Adelle carved a swift arc through the dust.

"I will grant you she possesses a flair for dramatic retaliation," she allowed, her eyes returning to him. "But I am not convinced distance will solve anything."

Another roar erupted from the crowd as Mia launched a series of assaults at Adelle, trying to push her back and prevent her from protecting the others.

"Much like Adelle trying to put herself in harm's way and injure herself like that. Come on, woman, let the others handle themselves as well!"

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

ACT I - The Arena

Jaikell stood in the arena Hand cannon in hand
This wasn't His day to prove himself he thought to himself,

But this was nothing like his Verd'goten
Lightning storms coming from peoples hands?
Force healing?

"I don't care about Taris. I don't want to be reminded of the Jedi." she said ( Reina Daival )

Jedi, Sith, They are both the same, Both either tried to use Mandalore for their own power, And both attacked Mandalore.
And now what, You have Ex Jedi, and Ex Sith, Here? in our Arena,
Using Our words?
but thats when she screamed..
"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. "DOING?!"

Like a bomb just went off next to him
"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."
She said as she used some type of lightning to destroy a grenade out of mid-air

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

"Why do you think im here, to PROTECT you?"
"Look around here and tell me what you see"
he says while shooting more slugs at Isley Verd

"Im here to show you how a MANDALORIAN Fights"
"Not with the Force, Not with tricks, Not with their screaming shouts"


"With Beskar" he says as his shield disappears and using his Rocket pack dashes to the side
and shoots a line of smart-rope at Isley Verd trying to wrap him up and pull him towards Jiakell.

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

| Equipment: ALL |


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[Niijima Izumi]

She did not pretend to follow every technical detail; the percentages, the strain calculations, the precise mechanics of hyperdrives and stabilizers; but she understood enough to grasp the shape of the problem. More importantly, she understood the tone beneath Emberlyn’s words.

Her gaze rested quietly on the stabilizer as it was turned in Emberlyn’s hands, then lowered slightly as the story unfolded; not with dramatics, but with the steady, unadorned weight of truth. Ord Mantell. A ship built piece by piece. A journey stitched together through persistence rather than ease.

It was… familiar, in a way that had nothing to do with ships.

When the stabilizer was set back down, Izumi stepped forward just slightly, her movements as measured and deliberate as before. The soft fabric of her kimono shifted with her as she came to stand a little closer to the table, though she still kept a respectful distance from the others.

Her hand extended; not to take the component, but to gently turn it where it rested, aligning the fractured weld with the light. She studied it for a moment, eyes half-lidded beneath the shadow of her kasa.

“A blade that has been reforged many times,” she said quietly, more thoughtfully than instructively, “begins to remember its breaking points.”

Her fingers hovered just above the seam, not quite touching.

“You can strengthen what surrounds it. You can reinforce it, support it, compensate for its weakness…” She paused, then gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of her head. “But the fracture does not disappear. It waits.” Izumi withdrew her hand slowly, folding it back into the opposite sleeve. “You speak of your ship the way a warrior speaks of their blade,” she continued, her voice calm, carrying neither judgment nor challenge. “Not as a tool to be replaced, but as something that has endured alongside you.”

A faint softness touched her expression then, subtle but present.

“That is not foolish.” She shifted her stance slightly, turning just enough to glance between Emberlyn and Serrik before returning her attention to the table. “But even the finest blade must be set aside if it will break in the next strike.”

The words were gentle, but they did not soften their meaning.

Her eyes lowered once more to the stabilizer. “If this piece cannot endure the journey you ask of it, then reinforcing the mount may only delay the moment it fails… not prevent it.”

The sounds of the market seemed to fill the space between her words—the distant calls of vendors, the movement of armored figures passing by, the hum of a living place that did not pause for individual concerns.

Izumi inclined her head slightly, as if acknowledging something unspoken.

“You said you are still rebuilding her,” she added. “Still improving her. Then perhaps this is not a question of choosing between replacing everything… or replacing nothing. But choosing what must change now… so that the rest may survive long enough to change later.”

She let that thought settle before continuing.

“In my homeland, we do not see repair as the loss of what something once was.” Her voice softened slightly. “We see it as part of its story. But we also accept when a piece has reached the end of what it can give.”

Izumi fell quiet after that, her hands once again resting neatly within her sleeves, posture straight and composed.

“I do not know your machines well enough to tell you which path is correct,” she said finally, with a small, respectful inclination of her head. She felt as though she had not been as helpful as she had wanted to, her eyes cast down at the vendor's table, unable to focus on either Emberlyn nor Serrik,
​

Emberlyn Kislo Serrik Skirata​

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian rolled his eyes the moment Sibylla mentioned the slap. Once was not enough. He did it again, slower this time, as if the second pass might better express just how ridiculous he found that line of thinking.

Was she really trying to justify Quinn's actions? He turned to her with a look that hovered somewhere between disbelief and mild offense.

The noise of the arena surged, but he barely heard it now. This had his attention. "She was unconscious," he continued. "She had no part in those negotiations. And somehow I'm the villain for using leverage in a situation that was already collapsing?"

He shook his head, taking a quick drink before continuing. "I wouldn't have been in her position. Neither would you." His tone sharpened slightly, more certain now. "They were causing chaos in the other room. The talks were already slipping. I used what I had to make Mauve back off the people of Wielu."

Aurelian's grip tightened faintly around the mug. "It was a threat. That's all. I wasn't going to follow through. I didn't even know who she was." That last part lingered longer than he intended. He exhaled through his nose, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

Why am I explaining this?

The thought hit him mid-sentence, and he didn't like the answer that followed. Because Sibylla was looking at him like that. Thoughtful. Weighing him. He looked away first.

"I assure you," he said, voice cooling, "distance from a Sith Princess solves everything."

His gaze flicked briefly toward where Quinn had been, then back to the arena. "Why play with fire when you can just avoid it?"

The finality in his tone made it clear he was done with that line of conversation. Below, Adelle moved again. Drawing pressure, redirecting it, forcing the Mand'alors to respond. Aurelian leaned forward slightly, attention locking back where it belonged.

"She's pushing too hard," he muttered, more to himself now. "She doesn't need to carry all of them."

His jaw set as the fight intensified. Whatever Sibylla thought about Quinn, she wasn't changing his mind today.

​

 

[Avast Verd]

FEATS OF HONOR

Land Nav Assessment
Acier Moonbound

Avast let out a soft, breathy laugh.

"Mmm," The young Pathfindere gave a deep hum from her throat, seemingly unbothered. "Everyting people see… start from what inside dem first, yeah?"

She didn't press it. She didn't need to.

That dark gaze followed his line up toward the higher ground, tracking the slope, the broken edges, the way the wind cut sharper along the ridge spine. The datapad dimmed as she lowered her arm, trusting something older than the tech now.

"Yeah, dat line faster," she agreed easily, then over her face came a flicker of a mischevious grin. "Also where most fall pon dem face."

Avast shifted course without hesitation, angling toward the climb he'd chosen anyway, boots finding the rougher breaks in the stone like she'd walked it before. The Force tugged faintly along the path, little threads lining up with instinct. She climbed a few steps ahead, then glanced back at him.

"I don' pry," she added in a light, amused tone, "I jus' notice when tings talk loud without sayin' much."

A hand reached out briefly, steadying herself along a jut of rock before she pulled up onto the ridge line, and was promptly blasted by the wind gusts as she climbed up. Yup, the wind hit harder up there, but it smelled cleaner, fresher.

She inhaled it, then cast a quick look toward the final marker's direction, already adjusting their heading.

"C'mon, Moonbound," she called, stepping forward into the last stretch. "Let's see if you finish as clean as you claim."

Spoiler: OOC: Sum of Rolls

1st Roll	6
2nd Roll	6
3rd Roll	1
4th roll	1

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Aurelian Veruna

"I was not insinuating that you would follow through," Sibylla responded quietly, and she gave his hand a squeeze to show her support for him.

"It is not who you are," Sibylla told him quietly, and she meant it. "We were all in a highly stressful situation. Looking for ways to descalate and save lives with the least amount of casualties."

It wasn't the time, and certainly the place, to discuss it further, and she knew from the way Aurelian swiveled the conversation that he was done with the matter. He was bleeding annoyance, and she wasn't the sort to keep stirring the pot unless it had to be done.

In Sibylla's mind, however, she could only think back to how Quinn was born into privilege, made to meet specific obligations and expectations, endure the legacy of powerful mothers, and confront the use of the Force and how it tempts as well. She was a Princess, set to inherit the Sith Empire. A Queen of Eshan.. and now a Warden for Mandalore. A handful of titles she would need to juggle and eventually come to a point where a decision would need to be made on how she balanced them all or let go of others.

It was not a life Sibylla envied in the least.

Which is why, after talking to Quinn on Moorja, and the blonde saving her life, whether or not there was an ulterior motive, made Sibylla want to learn more.

If she stayed her hand, could she be reached in another way? If she had done the same to Lysander, would things have been different?

"I am not making excuses for her, Aurelian. Her choices are hers as much as yours and mine," Sibylla finally added softly before taking another sip of her ale, then returned her attention to the fight. Sibylla bit her lower lip, feeling that anxiety rise again.

"The more I see these fights progress and the display of the Force use... the more I think we need to train not only ourselves, but our military on anti-force techniques. Perhaps we need to contract the Mandalorians to assist with such training and prepare...."

A deep breath came and she slowly let it out.

They both knew why. She didn't have to say it.

Whatever was brewing at the borders was only going to escalate further, and there would come a time when the decision to act on it would need to be made. It was already churning in the Senate, and after Moorja, even more voices joined that chant.

And they had to try to prepare as much as they could for when, not if, that bubbling cauldron bubbled over.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian's brows furrowed at her words. That's not who you are. He didn't answer right away.

For a brief moment, the noise of the arena dulled again. Her certainty sat heavier than the accusation ever could. It pressed somewhere uncomfortable, somewhere he preferred not to look too closely at.

Was she right?

His lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze drifted, unfocused, toward the dust-choked arena below. Given the same moment again… the same pressure… the same chaos… would he have stopped? Or would he have driven that blade a little deeper and solved the problem permanently?

His jaw tightened. He seen to his own father's demise. That thought came uninvited, sharp and unwelcome. It always did. A quiet, ugly truth that never quite stayed buried. Sibylla didn't know. She hadn't asked. She still looked at him like that. Like he was something better than what he actually was.

He swallowed, suddenly aware of the heat under his collar, the faint tension creeping into his hands. For a second, he almost pulled away. He wasn't the man she thought he was. He was worse. He was just masquerading at someone who deserved her.

Then she shifted the conversation. And just like that, the pressure eased. Aurelian exhaled, slower this time, grateful for it even if he didn't say so.

"Yeah," he said, voice steadier now. "We can ask Adelle for help."

His gaze sharpened again, locking onto the fight. "And not just her," he added. "If this is what we're dealing with…" He gestured vaguely toward the arena, where the Force tore through sand and air like it owned the place. "We need to understand it. Learn how to fight it."

His fingers tightened slightly around Sibylla's hand again, grounding himself in something real. "I'd rather not rely on luck the next time someone starts throwing lightning around."

He leaned forward slightly, attention fully back on the fight now, though the earlier thoughts lingered in the background.

"I'll make sure we're ready," he whispered, almost to himself. He knew that the day she uncovered who he really was and walked away, he would have to leave her unprotected. Until then, he would do everything in his power to prepare her for the moment he could no longer keep her safe.

​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Kalevala, Outer Rim Territories

​

Naturally, the sensors in Itzhal's helmet picked up the muttered response—isolating the background chatter and amplifying the low-volume utterance until it was practically music to his ears, the sole source of directed frustration amongst the chaotic rabble. Familiar features on a face carved with displeasure turned towards him, a bloody stain on the corner of her mouth twisted with the light of the nearby fire, until only a faint outline of sauce remained, the last fragments of the meal that he'd interrupted. Again.

"I will try to keep the advice in mind," Itzhal tilted his head, a concession offered. She wouldn't be the first person to threaten to kill him, though; he could admit it had been at least a couple of weeks since the last. A lot of criminals, understandably, didn't enjoy him executing his job to the letter. If they thought that would stop him, however, they were more foolish than they looked.

Son, most of these people know why these laws exist; they just don't care. They'll leave as many broken bodies as they need to get whatever they want. Sometimes, they're justified; other times, well, that's not up to us. We're sheriffs, not judges, not juries, not executioners. We exist to protect those who need us, to ensure the laws that keep them safe remain enforced, and sometimes that means we have to stop people who break those laws.

No, words and threats wouldn't be enough to stop him.

"Unfortunately, I was preoccupied at the time," the Morellian admitted with an almost lax shrug as he thought back to his encounter with Drexan Ordo, a simple man, but reliable as the rising of the sun. "Hostiles assaulted a supply run on Ordo; I ended up on the second train."

With another set of steps that curved around the rather annoyed Mandalorian, Itzhal settled his hip against the cool frame of a stonework column.

"By the time I'd taken steps off-world and away from all that forsaken sand, you were already pardoned. Not that there was much I could have done, or was inclined to do, under the circumstances," Itzhal said, his visor tilted forward, Tessa's face reflected in the centre of the glass. "I heard you burned a lot of bridges."

Tags: Tessa Thayne​

 

[Aether Verd]

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Darksaber​

FEASTIN' AND CHATTIN'

The levity of the moment had been interrupted.

In one breath, Aether was asking his daughter if she saw anything she liked. The fiery-haired woman was just about to start rattling off her preferences, getting so far as naming a mere two items she'd like to entertain...when Aether saw a figure on the screen that practically caused his jaw to drop. His surprise manifested in a question that caused the young woman to practically stammer out a response: "W-Who?" she asked.

Mand'alor the Iron's gaze fell upon her as he motioned to the screen, indicated the warrior who fought alongside Mand'alor the Liberator.

"Him. My father."​

He let the surprise linger for a moment before he shook his head lightly. No doubt this was the doing of Mia Monroe . He knew that the two of them were part of the old generation of Mandalorians. And perhaps those were connections that truly lasted a lifetime. As he returned his attention to Torva, the voice of Kirae reached his ears. The young warrior's candor caused a light smirk to form upon his lips. She even procured a skewer of meat for herself with a telekinetic tug.

"Thank you, Mand'alor the Obvious." Aether said simply, before reaching out a hand to gingerly poking the side of Kirae's now unarmored head. There'd be time aplenty it seemed after the event for navigating the how and why of his father's sudden appearance. But for right no-

His wrist buzzed with a message. Looking down, Aether saw the words of Adelle Bastiel as text upon his datapad. His gaze narrowed at the question...and then he replied with a quick, deft dance of his fingers: If you can manage, get him to stay put when the fight's over.

With thus said, he returned to the moment. Particularly to Kirae's question. Aether smiled. "I imagine you wouldn't recognize her, it has been a while." he began. "This is Torva, my daughter. You saved her life on Ketaris when contesting the Firebreathers." Aether then motioned to Kirae for Torva's benefit. "Torva, this is Kirae, Shield of Mandalore and eater of skewers."

Adelle Bastiel , Kirae Orade , Torva Vikar

 

[Isley Verd]

Assets: Armor | Lightsaber

KALEVALA - OBJECTIVE I
The Arena

The battle raged on.

And likewise, the frustration which roiled within Mand'alor the Reclaimer's chest only continued to grow. His focus was primarily upon the young Togruta who dared to engage him in the melee. His beskad came down in a furious arc, only to impact a hastily-erected barrier erected by the Jedi-turned-Mandalorian. This was not enough to halt Isley's blade, but it did slow the impact - leading to a solid strike where the Togruta's plastoid breastplate and bodyglove were torn asunder.

As the pieces fell to the ground, Isley remains aware. The young Gred warrior fired a stun ring and ion bolts in his direction. The ring he deftly avoided whilst the bolts he deflected with his beskad, returning them to their sender. The former Mand'alor was about to capitalize on the young Togruta rambling before him when the Force shrieked forth from him. An impressive Force Push thundered from Isley's adversary - and Isley jumped. The Push collided with his form thunderously, causing an angry grunt to fall from his lips.

But, in what was becoming a pattern in this battle, Isley used the might of the Togruta for his advantage. The Push hurtled him back, removing him from the melee range as Seris joined Kael. Moreover, he whip-cords which were launched after him missed their mark, for he was no longer engaged in the melee with the young Togruta. Upon landing, he speaks:

"It's time we tie a bow on this test, eh Mia?"​

From thence, Isley counterattacked. His blade raised for a moment, the Force raging within, before focusing...on the Jedi-turned-Mandalorian. The sensation would be one that adversaries of Mandalore were all-too familiar with. The feeling of the very Force no longer being their ally. The tactic was identical to the Ysalamiri native to Myrkr. He created a bubble around her, forcing the presence of the Force out of her grasp. It would require focus to maintain and to keep it moving apace with the woman's actions - and focus it would have.

Isley then turned his attention onto the warriors before him.

Relying upon his Taak'tabi boots, Isley leapt into the air mightily. His wrist raised immediately, firing a salvo of low yield whistling birds across the field. The assault focused on Leddie, Jett, and Jaikell. The explosive darts screamed across the air, locked onto their forms with aggressive tracking. Like any whistling bird, they were smart, able to twist, maneuver, and dodge in order to find their mark. Yet unlike the true variety, they lacked lethal teeth. But Isley was not done - he hurled yet another pair of ordnance down to the surface.

A sonic grenade for Seris and Kael to contend with. A concussion grenade for Reina. His helm directed each not to wait until hitting the surface to detonate, but rather did so when they were airborne, unleashing the forces of the ordnance mightily. The sonic grenade's explosion would carry penetrative force, meant to wound - not kill - behind plates of armor. The concussion grenade was pure force, meant to throw - not slaughter - the victim from their position.

For Isley, this battle had gone on long enough.
​

Mia Monroe Adelle Bastiel Leddie Gred Jett Vox Reina Daival Kael Varr Bastiel 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

• Cleaves through Kael's breastplate and bodyglove.
• Deflects Leddie's ion bolts back upon her, dodging the stun ring.
• Is struck by Kael's Force Push and sent hurtling back
  • This places him out of range of Jett and Jaikell's whip-cord attempts
• Casts Force Suppression onto Adelle.
• Leaps high into the air, augmented by his boots
• Fires whistling birds at Jett, Jaikell, and Leddie
• Throws a sonic grenade at Seris and Kael, detonating it in advance to expose them to the sonic damage
• Throws a concussion grenade at Reina, detonating it in advance to expose her to the concussive damage
• ???
• Profit