Faction Trials by Fire - Tournament [TSE]

[Sith Raconteur]

Bastion
The Arena

Nestled in the heart of Bastion rested the location all eyes drifted to in the past weeks. With the break of the new year and other festivities left in the dust behind, the tourney continued to hold the interest of many in the Empire. Banners lined the blocks near the arena that was fitted with fresh sands and new paints along its towering pillars, the flags brandishing the symbol of their power draped from the upper lip of the walls and cascading down to just above the stands. As days drew closer the idle excitement took hold in the loyal citizens of the Empire, after all, this event only happened once each year, the last ending before the end even drew near.

With only a single day to offer them preparations, the postings of those competing for the honor of fighting the Emperor himself; Lord Carnifex, was listed to the public. Some were prominent figures, names heard and feared, others seemed to be up and comers crawling their way out of the woodwork. Few competing were here for more than just a title, others were overseen by masters looking for apprentices, some deigning whether to keep pressing those they chose or to cast them aside for more virtuous learners eager for power. Whoever the crowd might be, the excitement of the crowds come tournament day could barely be contained.

Stands filled to the brim with citizens and friends to the Empire, food stands outside the arena screamed their wares to the passing masses in hopes of making their final sales as the time drew near for the opening speeches. Only then were the contestants released onto the wide floor before them as gates lifted.

Sixteen contestants poured across the stone and sand to the cheers and screams of those eager to see bloodshed. After a few moments of cheers the voices began to die to a low roar, the projection of a dark figure appearing over the center of the floor.

"Welcome everyone, to this years Tourney. I will keep us no longer than to explain the rules of this skirmish between combatants." The figure paused for a moment until the final rumbles of noise calmed, its eyes cast to the people directly at its feet. "As you may all be aware, this is not a fight to the death, any who bring that fate to another without proper paperwork signed on entry from both combatants will result in a similar fate to the dealer of said fate. That being said, weaponry prior approved by this years entry officials and judges will be permitted, including, swords, lightsabers, blasters, vibroswords, daggers and anything else that may be considered not instantly lethal when used with some restraint."

"Should the event occur that a fight ends not as intended, there is medical staff on hand to deal with emergencies, they will also tend to fighters after their combat ends should so be necessary. Fleeing excessively, or consisting solely on a strategy of evasion will result in a forfeiture, after all the Empire never retreats." Looming eyes cast over the group once more, deep red and filled with a dark burning fire. "Remember, you are fighting not only for the honor of being crowned a champion, but the honor of fighting Lord Carnifex."

With that the figure disappeared and the arena went silent for a moment once more, only then did the voice boom from the observation platform above the stands. "Separate into groups with your assigned combatants." Another pause as they did so, giving them a few minutes of pause, the cheering beginning to rise. "When you are ready, BEGIN!"

--
OOC

Please keep the rules of combat in mind occly as we go through these fights, no forced death, no forced hits, any serious injury to a character requires consent as does everything else. Do not powergame beyond characters capabilities else you will be disqualified as well. Please be respectful of your partners and work with them to come to conclusions you are both alright with, if staff needs to decide the outcome of a fight we will, but its always better to everyone if conclusions are come mutually.

As this is a large group of people there will be four rounds. To keep this moving there is a cap of THREE days allowed between replies; should this not be met the last poster to that pairs fight will be granted the win unless a mutual decision is met by the combatants.

As always please remember to have fun as well, this is what it is for. We are here for a good time and to enjoy knocking some skulls!

--
Pairings

Anden Fancelo vs Sith Norn [Yacmoa-Eaha'm]
Mordecai Zambrano vs Dorian Sicarrio
Lark vs AMCO
Kelsie Sylvan vs K Kaine Australis [Shebs Ordo]
Gryylarc vs Tehkyram
Valeria de la Vallée vs Darth Ledgermayne
Darth Vitium vs The Amalgam
Cara Dorniarn vs Telis Taharin-Zambrano

--
Round 1 Winners

Gryylarc
Anden Fancelo
Dorian Sicarrio
Cara Dorniarn

 

[Anden Fancelo]

​

Preparation Chamber 06, the Arena, Bastion
​

---

​

​

A return to the preparation chambers, with the captain all alone. The only company he had was his gear. A somewhat refurbished set of GHOUL battle armor, the attire of a Gravewalker. The remains of the Sovereignty's former military power. Now an instrument to the Emperor's will. The field pack and shoulder pieces were withdrawn, a means to maintain mobility. The vest itself was re-arranged by the Captain for the tournament. A tournament set in an environment with little to no cover, and possibly enemies in every direction. Tactically, it was near suicide. Especially with the contestant's capabilities that reach areas that Fancelo had no access to.

It didn't matter. His purpose in the tournament was not for the title or the honorary privilege of facing the Emperor in a bout. But to further himself and his place in the Empire. The outsider wanted that much, and the tournament was always a great opportunity for such. Once the captain donned his equipment, he rested against a wall. Letting himself be lost in thought. Wondering about the opponents he may face, the way they fight, the way they are, them. He considered his reactions to certain enemies that he was knowledgeable of. But that was that.

Some time passed and the captain had a lot of time to ponder. Thanks to his military ways, he was already prepared for the match so long before he was called upon.

A knock on the door was made, and the door opened. A gentleman in robes stood there.

"Sir. It is time."

Anden raised his gaze over to the robed individual and rose from the floor. Securing his pistol and resting his tuned pulse rifle on his side, the sling keeping the rifle from falling. With every left step the captain made to approach the exit, the pulse rifle made a gentle sway on the soldier's waist. The barrel pointing his six, and down. He equipped his helmet and a light 'hiss' was produced.

A slightly vocoded voice spoke. "Aye, lead the way."

The robed figure nodded and did so in an instant.

---

​

Moments later...
​

The soldier was amongst the first to pour onto the open area that was the arena. Already familiar with the cheers and screams of the contestants that wished for blood to be shed. Once he was spread out from the other contestants, the soldier placed his gaze upon each of them. Finding warriors in different forms and shapes. And the most physically intimidating, were the beast-like ones. The Captain kept his composure and expression, albeit hidden under his helmet. But a lingering fear resided within him. Some could possibly sense it. After all, he looked to be the least capable amongst this band of warriors.

The call was made to pair up with the assigned opponent, Anden merely went over to the side of the arena where he'd meet his opponent: Yacmoa-Eaha'm. The Captain merely analyzed the individual, and that was that.

Anden Fancelo was ready.

---

​

Sith Norn

 

[AMCO]

Social expectations; even the Sith, for all their power, cannot escape them. Years ago, a different man, a mere Acolyte, had stepped onto these sands never expecting to leave a champion. Knight now, the expectations were different. Heightened. He could afford a loss, could even afford a humiliating one, but it would be inconvenient. It would be embarrassing. The young Sorcerer did not appreciate being embarrassed.

Putting the final touches on the flowing (and easily removable) robes he wore over a set of absurdly expensive skinsuit armour, his Zeltron aide leaned up to straighten his collar, the movement serving to conceal a quickly whispered message. "Lark, Acolyte. Expect foul play, much like yourself. Orphan with an especially traumatic childhood, consider exploiting."

"Thank you Cara, that'll do nicely. Sword, please." Strapping the Sith Sword - a testament to his previous (somewhat inexplicable) victory - to his belt, he smiled softly, feeling the comforting weight of several hidden weapons inside his robes. Just in case, not that he hoped he'd have to use any of them.

---​

The sun beating down from above, glittering magnificently across the as-of-yet untarnished sands, he took a moment to let his eyes drift across his fellow contestants. He had dossiers on all of them, of course. Well, almost all. Taking a moment to squint in annoyance at some Mandalorian nobody ( K Kaine Australis ) and then almost subconsciously at his much more attractive opponent. Damn. There's someone he wouldn't even mind losing to.

Refocusing at the task at hand, he moved to his little corner of the arena, briefly eying his opponent before smiling warmly, his left hand loosely gripping the handle of his sword, its true purpose to enhance his already formidable powers. "Well then, Lark. Shall we dance?"

Lark​

 

[Darth Vitium]

Judith

Darkness, in its totality, engulfed her vision as she stepped into the bright, hot, and sandy arena. A cloak of dark material encapsulated her figure and curtained the ground beneath her, a hood draped solemnly over her face, with only two pale hands exposed, a curved-hilt saber held in each. The loud jeering of the crowd that surrounded them was drowned out by the dull hum that rose up from her chest and into her throat, the words of their presumptuous announcer the only sound to reach her ears before her focus would inevitably shift.

A fight with mercy?

Pathetic.

The silent thrum of her sabers filled her ears as she ignited them, her robes slipped back and off of her shoulders through the will of the force alone, absent any gesture or change in posture. The pale, chalk-like, skin of the Sith Lord that stood with her sabers pointed down, diagonally towards the ground in front of her feet, was put on full display - though it was likely the face that wore that flesh which was most surprising. Like a phantom from a nightmare of a forgotten era, Darth Vitium stood in her classical stance of engagement, a mockery she had made of the Jedi's Makashi Salute through her inverse of it.

This arena demanded mercy from her, and she would, begrudgingly, give it - with every sneer and ounce of contempt she could pair it with.

She opened her eyes, revealing the bright amber of corruption, and took the first step forward.

The Amalgam

 

[Gryylarc]

Gryylarc, secret servant of the Elder, was having a bad day.

The arena was too warm for a Wookiee's comfort. He judged it full of amateurs with guns and weird stances and strange weapons in general. Anything and everything could go wrong.

<An aquatic Kakarodon your opponent is,> said the Elder in the back of his mind. <A Sith marauder like you. One-tenth your age, larger, hmm, stronger perhaps.>

Gryylarc's day was not getting better. The silverback Wookiee leaned on his alchemical hewing spear and triple-checked the power cell on his lightstaff. Maybe some fresh sushi would cheer him up.


Tehkyram

 

[Valeria de la Vallée]

Location: The Arena, Bastion
Background Audio

Valeria, or Lady Aurea as she was known by all except those closest to her, was meditating in the waiting area of the Arena, awaiting the start of the Tournament and preparing herself for the coming combat against her first opponent. She broke her meditation when the gates lifted and exited into the wider arena primary floor. Valeria surveyed all of the combatants to get an idea of her potential opponents before turning her attention to her first opponent whom she had been informed was a Sith Lord though no name was given. Valeria wasn't sure of his species though she could see he appeared to have some sort of crystal skin which she found kind of odd and she felt it might make him a bit more resilient, considerations to keep in mind she supposed. The words coming from the announcer would find Valeria's ears with the rule explanation, a non-lethal fight? She found it strange, after all this was the Empire, but no matter. As the announcer reached the end of his spiel and signaled the beginning of combat, Valeria drew her lightsaber from her hilt and ignited it, the ice blue blade shimmering with frost from the Permafrost crystal within.

"Well sir, I suppose we should begin, you may refer to me as Lady Aurea. May I have the pleasure of knowing the name of my opponent?"
​

As Valeria inquired her opponents name she took up her standard Form IV Ataru stance, modified based on her years of combat experience and training, both Sith and Echani.

Darth Ledgermayne

 

[Darth Ledgermayne]

Silent as the grave. Here in this dark hall he held more in common with the structural materials itself than any other sentient life. Every sound and reverberation were seismic signals coursing through a red crystalline pillar that was in fact his body. The shaking of the gates rising to the top, the distant sounds of battle nearby, even down to the most minuscule details.

Dust wafting up and down from the thump of heavy dense foot steps. The breeze that circumvented his black and red cloak. Navigating it way between crystal and force imbued fabrics. Two red gems reflected a luminescent shine as the Sith Lord turned his head with minimal effort, then a gaze back to a woman that now addressed him.

The first opponent.

The shine of a ignited permafrost blade shimmered in fractal light only briefly before shifting into different locations. Once more the Gutretee's gaze was shifted to the woman. Unflinching dominance held only in silence. He gave no response and gave no intention of drawing his lightsaber though it openly hung on a belt attached to his cloak and red crystalline body.

He waited for the first move while giving the faintest sign of movement from the tilt of his head to the left. In more ways than one it gave the impression of a smirk or was it just the angle? Truly hard to tell. Even so the aura or energy around him reeked of arrogance without even a word said.

Valeria de la Vallée

 

[Kelsie Sylvan]

Equipment: Personal Armor, .48-caliber Enforcer pistol (overhauled to modern specifications), HL-27 blaster pistol (overhauled to modern specifications), Ice Gun, CryoBan Grenades (2), Taozin Amulet, Heart of Naboo, phrik vibroknives (2).
Tag: K Kaine Australis

---

This kind of arena fighting wasn't quite Kelsie's thing. Sure, she could usually get an opponent into submission quickly enough if she tried, but it wasn't the same as real combat. There wasn't quite the pressure of death, or even any significant injury. She was sure her Mandalorian opponent was disappointed, at least for now. Whoever this Shebs Ordo was, he'd be happy to have that no-kill rule in a minute.

Then again, she had to wonder -- who was this 'Shebs Ordo'? Missy had been running a Holonet search for the past hour, but whatever this was wasn't what she wanted. Some Besalisk Mando hadn't shown up, instead it was some human. Mandalorian, as the clan name suggested. Few identifying marks on the armor, either. Considering how easy it was to acquire information with a personal artificial intelligence, Kelsie now hated not knowing things. Still, she did know she needed to win. She had two chances today -- and she wouldn't waste either.

Her eyes slid away from the Mandalorian and to some of the other fighters. One in particular held her attention for a few moments. Here she was, finally going to meet him... one step at a time. The woman focused herself, her gaze returning again to her armored opponent. Flat, sandy arena. No tricks, just skill and combat. Didn't mean she wouldn't try a little baiting.

"Hey, Mando! You got a name? I forgot to check the bracket," she said, putting a hand on her own helmeted head. "Is it true you never take that thing off? I'm sure you're real hot under there. Oo, is that real beskar? I heard it's indestructible." Of course it was. If Kelsie brought weapons strong enough to break beskar, she'd probably be disqualified... at least, if they found out.

Kelsie kept a short distance between her and her opponent, settling into a ready stance, allowing her opponent the first move if he so desired.

 

[Tehkyram]

The rules were technically non-lethal but for Tehkyram it may as well have been do-or-die. This was his return after months of agonizing rehabilitation following his injuries on Mandalore. Now he had to go forth and make a statement, he had to prove his worth to the Empire to regain the standing his abscence had cost him.

His opponent was a Wookie, so they were largely matched in pound-for-pound strength. The Wookie had the disadvantage of the warm climate, which did favor Tehkyram marginally. At the same time though, the spear and staff combo suggested that he shouldn't waste time engaging with his own saber but instead get in up close so as to negate the reach of his weaponry. But enough of the dull formalities of tactics: what did the Wookie feel?

Tehkyram reached out to probe the thoughts and emotions of his adversary. The results were amusing: discomfort, irritation, frustration. Easy to wear down and break through a prolonged conflict. He smiled. This conflict was more than winnable.

 

[The Amalgam]

Wearing: Tainted Epidermis

Armed With: Skin Shears

The Amalgam usually never did something so brazen.

That had been one of The Cult of The Brain Demon's maxims--never draw too much attention from the authorities if you don't have to. Work in the background. Never be obvious.

But she needed power, and authority to advance her goals. The best source of that was now amongst the Sith. And to show you deserved authority and resources you had to flex a little sometimes.

In The Amalgam's case, she was going up against her very first Darth in years! There would be no need for stealth, this was about displaying one's strength in The Dark Side.

To that end, The Amalgam had chosen a heavily tainted light combat suit to amplify her power and her double bladed lightsaber. There would be no killing...a pity, as the sadistic beast hiding under the facade of a curvy petite woman with nearly impossibly beautiful features would have relished in the glory of draining a Darth in full view of the public but who knows? That might still happen someday...

The Amalgam strode into the arena, her alchemized body humming with the Darkness, the corruption it exuded a seething sickness, a stain in the Force, contrasted by the beautiful face it hid under.

Her black hilt, lined with dark jewels at certain points near the emitters activated, purple blades blazing forth as she gave an aggressive spin of the weapon as she advanced, a small smile on her face as she studied her opponent. Curved hilts, Jar-Kai. Makashi User. Never assume these days...

The smile spread into a sadistic grin. The pretty facade broke then, but only for a few seconds as she stood in front of the fiendish, wraith like figure, parts of her face and torso bulging and wriggling like there were rats scurrying underneath before settling back into place, her alchemized body adjusting to the fluctuations of the Darkness within herself and that of her opponent.

She gave another aggressive spin of her blades, face wriggling on one side slightly as she did so, again breaking the facade for a split second.

"You face The Amalgam. Who do I face?" She asked of Darth Vitium

 

[Darth Vitium]

Mr. Self Destruct

"Who do I face?" The Amalgam asked.

Words voiced that seemed to encapsulate all of her disgust, a line that gave an expectation of etiquette in a world where none should have been allowed to begin with. She had dragged their emperor from his covetous reach, fought him to a standstill in her bid to make him take on his responsibility as her - as the Order's - senior and accept the mantle of Dark Lord. She had envisioned a return to a generation of Sith that were greater than the one that came before it, one that had cast aside the self and chose the mantle of responsibility that tied them to the whole, woven through the thread of self-preservation and sewn together with the needle of strength. Her cheeks burned, eyes narrowed, as she allowed her pale lips to part, her response chosen as instinctively as she arrived at her judgement.

"The truth."

Whether the words bore any meaning to her adversary or not were irrelevant, she had no doubt that she was being observed with at least a modicum of interest, if not concern, and it was to them that they were directed. Who she was, at least to this stranger, was of as much importance to this Amalgam as whoever her adversary was to Silara - absolutely, wholeheartedly, meaningless. Her decades in the limbo between the threads of life and the void of death had granted her at least that catharsis, to dismiss her own ego and remember that the true opposition was the pestilent cult of personality that festered in her absence. All that mattered, here, was that she emerge the victor. Names could not help them now.

Unlike her foe, Vitium offered no outward signs of purposeful intimidation. There was no crawling flesh, no attempt at shock or awe, nor any tricks of the body to dissuade her enemy. She saw no need, believing the ocean of hatred that raged within her as a sea of dark to be more than enough to show her connection to the dark side of the force. Her sabers unadorned with jewelry, her clothing black and plain, Vitium began her slow, deliberate, pace toward her foe. Still her sabers were pointed down, angled inward, while her gaze was kept trained on the other woman.

Whether her adversary would engage her, or she they, remained yet to be seen, but the hunger grew all the same.

The Amalgam

 

[Lark]

The cold, empty eyes of Lark were focused on one singular figure: AMCO , a Sith Knight who was only Lark's elder by a few years. The chants and cheers of the crowd became as therapeutic as a lover's hum, the rhythmic noise helped him focus in on the ensuing fight. Lark had been in a handful of tournament bouts before, but never in front of as large an audience as this one. In all likelihood none of the spectators knew who he was despite his tenure as a member of the Sith Empire, and he smiled as he didn't hear his name bellowed out a single time. It was well that none of them knew who he was, it would make it all the more satisfying if he ended up challenging Lord Carnifex after all was said and done.

But the path towards victory wouldn't be an easy one, considering the first of his opponents was the champion of a previous tournament. From what Lark could gather the two were similar in some ways, passable in the art of combat but even more inclined to trickery and deception. Lark was sure that Adrian had a checklist of tricks to pull, and it should be expected that Lark had his own little games to play.

The young acolyte unsheathed his enchanted Sith sword, an elegant weapon the color of frost. Shrouded within Lark's combat vest was a dagger of similar enchantments, to be used when the time was right. But those weapons paled in comparison to his true threat, the twisted Necronomicon chained to his hip. At the moment it served no purpose other than a mystery, an enigma whose true usage was unknown. But under the right circumstances it could become a weapon of unparalleled destruction. There might not be enough blood shed between the two of them to summon anything of worth, but they were not the only ones fighting. Blood would run like rain this evening, every drop only benefited Lark.

And, if need be, he'd turn his blade on himself in order to meet the necessary quantity.

When Adrian's introductory remark fell upon Lark's ears, his entire complexion changed. His hollow gaze were replaced with one of almost unearthly serenity, and an ethereal smile formed on his pale face. "They're expecting a show," Lark said with a soft voice, pointing his sword at his opponent. "But I don't believe either of us truly cares about that."

Absolute silence took over Lark's mind. The murmur of the crowd dispersed into nothingness, the commentator's announcements went unheard. Only Adrian remained.

 

[Sith Norn]

Children, gather around once more for it is time for me to tell you of Yacmoa-Eaha'm, Child of the Phoenix.

On this day upon the hallowed ground of Bastion's arena, he stands, waiting for a foe that he knows deep in his heart he can defeat with the utmost ease. He is a Dark Jedi, a student of Lorale Farmar, a burgeoning Sith. He has slain countless for his father and the Empire.

He has toppled rebellions and entrapped beasts of legend. He has dueled an Apostatious, the worst of his father's kind, and survived. One soldier who isn't even sensitive in the Force should pose no challenge to him at all. He will fight and defeat him in under one minute and move on. That will be it, he had sworn to himself and those that outfitted him in the rooms under the arena. I will defeat him and the rest of those fools and I will be the one to face Carnifex.

This, he swears to himself again and again and again, knowing in his heart of hearts that he holds the skills and capabilities to win this day.

Yet, as Yacmoa-Eaha'm stands in the arena and stares upon his encroaching foe, he cannot help but feel the sensation of anxiety and worry, built from the unusual surroundings. Training rooms and battlefields are like home to him...but the arena, where men and women fought for personal individualized glory rather than a victory for a greater cause...such a concept was alien to the Arkanian who fiddled with the ignition switch of his Lightsaber in thought. Could it allow such a whelp as this man before him to hold enough courage to attain victory? The doubt plants its seeds in the mind of the Dark Jedi who begins grunting, pacing, sweating.

Yacmoa-Eaha'm looks to those around him and takes in their forms and their skills on display. Beautiful, exotic, powerful. They fight with precision. They fight with purpose. They fight for the chance to face the greatest of their kind in personal combat. It is only when he looks upon them and back to his opponent that it dawns on him. Every moment of doubt he has ever held in the Empire has always been tempered by his kin and his father. Every opponent faced with an army behind his back. Not this day. Instead, he looks upon a soldier who believes, in whatever capacity, that he can face Sith and possibly find victory. And he is entirely alone.

His Lightsaber ignites on instinct, his confident expression drops, his brows furrow, his eyes blaze with worry and doubt and anger. His pacing increases, his sweat now matting his hair to his scalp, his grunts devolving to animalistic noises.

"I will defeat you, you know?" he tells his opponent in spite of his heavy heart. Without waiting for his opponent to respond, his pacing turns into a sprint, rushing forward with his weapon held high, the blue-blade of the Jedi a mockery to his past, just as it had to be used to make a mockery of this man and quell the doubt. He would have to win quickly, but without killing as per the rules of the arena. As such, he would aim his blade for the man's weapon or perhaps his arm. Disabling him would render him useless without range and grant me victory.

All he has to do is reach Anden Fancelo .

 

[Gryylarc]

Tehkyram came across as large, hungry, young, and smug. Gryylarc jammed his alchemical spear in the sand and left it there for the moment. Instead he went with his lightstaff, a simple double-ended lightsaber that churned out two crackling red blades. He advanced at a brisk and straightforward pace, as if he intended to just walk through the big Karkarodon. The lightstaff stayed down by his side, pointed forward and back like he was carrying a briefcase. No pretentious stances, no formal guard posture, just one being preparing to punch crimson plasma through the other guy.

"Grrrwrarrrr."

A tiny module on his belt ahemmed. "Lord Gryylarc suggests that, should you desire to further intrude upon his private thoughts, you should first purchase an evening meal for the pair of you together."

Gryylarc's empty left hand came up open, a simple and vicious Force choke. Karkarodon anatomy might be a mystery, but nearly everything with a neck had some equivalent of a carotid.

 

[Anden Fancelo]

​

The Arena, Bastion
​

---

​

The pair stood in front of each other. A visor and a set of cold eyes staring at each other. As the soldier of the Empire scanned the Arkanian, the Sith's stance and his pacing were screaming impatience. Perhaps the overall look of the Captain is to be conceived as nothing but a waste of time for his white-haired opponent. A possible advantage, unless the soldier was misreading the man's posture entirely. In this state of thought, he was cut off as his opponent spoke.

"I will defeat you, you know?"

The statement was not encouraging for the Captain to hear, his opponents in the last tournament at least had some politeness. Except for the Mandalorian. But as soon as the Arkanian finished his words, he broke into a sprint to close the distance. A slight panic was incited with Anden as he went to quickly reach over for his slung pulse rifle. But the swiftness of the Arkanian was something like no other. It would take too much time to draw the rifle. The distance was closed and a strike was to follow. So, the soldier dove over to the side opposite of where the strike came from. Rolling over the sand in an evasive manner.

Anden needed to keep his distance or else he'd be done for. Losing was not an option for the soldier. Not again. As the soldier completed his evasive maneuver to avoid the first blow and his feet connected with the ground. He ran his hand over to take out his holstered sidearm, intent to draw it.

Sith Norn

 

[The Amalgam]

"The Truth." answered Darth Vitium . Such a disgustingly subjective answer to give. Its about what she had expected of a Darth. The Amalgam smirked again, studying as Darth Vitium began her approach in that slow confident fashion. Too reserved. As a villain whose hand she had crushed and thrown to his death had remarked upon seeing the all white interior of the guest room on her ship: No style at all.

She thought about letting Vitium make the first attack but decided against it. She hadn't come here to be passive. She had come here to act, not react.

The Amalgam's muscles across her whole body swelled, some bubbling disgustingly for a spilt second as she slipped into a Force Rage and sprinted forward, manuevering her staff to strike at Vitium from all ends, trying to use the sheer speed and savage spins of her attacks to throw Vitium off her game. She immersed herself in the darkness and rage and hate, trying to use it to anticipate how the Darth would respond to the frenzy. It was a probing attack in spite of the savagery with which it was delivered: The Amalgam didn't actually expect to crack the nut that is a Darth's defense on the first go. But this place, this darkness was fueling her, and she could afford to expend energy...

 

[AMCO]

The crowd cheered as a few other contestants leapt into action, but to him they were irrelevant. His opponent was a mere Acolyte, but so was he when he won the tournament. Anything could happen, especially if he allowed himself to succumb to the hubris so common amongst his Order.

"No, I suppose we don't." Cold eyes flickering to the strange book chained to his opponent's hip, he smiled softly. "But let's give them one anyway. I find that these affairs can be fine sources of inspiration, at times."

Inhaling softly, he let go of the blade at his hip, streams of crimson lightning leaping forth from the sheathed Sith Sword. With a flourish from his right hand, strands of multicoloured energy were pulled forth from empty air and the sand beneath their feet, the vortex of rising emotions and bloodshed past allowing him to conserve his own reserves, for now. Within moments an orb of whirling energies hovered before him, held at bay by his flickering fingers.

It was time to see what was taught of the sorcerous arts at the Academy, these days.

Lark​

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Showtime.
Tag: Mordecai Zambrano

---

​

With graceful steps the dancer stepped out onto his stage. The roar of the crowd was his only music now; the off-beat clapping and jeers as the masses hoped to see the spilling of a most valuable red liquid. For such a bloodthirsty audience, they'd chosen a tournament that would likely have a distinct lack of it. As much as he loved a little danger, Dorian didn't much mind the tournament's rules -- less risk, but same reward, after all. He'd still get a roaring crowd with each strike of his lance or saber. What he did mind was the fact that they'd all been stuffed into the same place together. Sure, the arena was huge and there was enough space, but so many people lessened the spectacle, the struggle of one warrior against another.

Honestly, whoever organized this had no sense in theatrics.

Despite these limitations, the gladiator would do his best to keep things interesting for his soon-to-be fans. He'd never lose, of course, but he mentally rehearsed his injury act as he stepped out into the sandy pit he'd be spending the next few minutes in. At first the man took his time, twirling to see the entire audience that had been gathered to watch this most illustrious of events. Dorian couldn't make out the Emperor yet in the box sitting on one end of the arena, but he couldn't expect him to come watch the first-round rabble. He simply hoped that the other great warrior knew who he'd be fighting.

Which led Dorian to his own opponent -- Mordecai Zambrano. Defeating one of the Emperor's family members was sure to get him noticed; beyond his natural skill and grace in combat. His eyes settled on the Sith standing across from him. A playful grin played across his lips, but his eyes betrayed rapid thinking and planning. "What fine weather we have today, no? A little dry, I must admit, but a fine day for a little fighting."

It was showtime. Dorian would make sure the money of those most adoring fans was not going to waste.

 

[Darth Vitium]

Down With The Sickness

Like a puppet cut from her strings, the Amalgam sprung as predictably as the Sith Lord could have hoped. Smaller, faster, though undoubtedly less than remarkable in strength, Vitium's foe proved to be precisely the exercise she desired to prepare herself for the master of Djem So that was Darth Carnifex. And, just as with the current Dark Lord of the Sith, Vitium placed this stranger cleanly in one of two categories of duelists - one which sized up their foe before they made their move, and one which hoped to strike first was to strike last.

If only this dear, sweet, girl was so fortunate.

The muscles in Silara's right calf tensed as the heel of her foot struck the sandy arena floor, her left leg carrying forwards even as the woman opposite her burst into action. It was the same mistake that Carnifex himself had made, to assume that her smaller stature, lesser reach, and reactive nature would make her the perfect prey for an unrelenting assault. To those that believed in blatant strength, in style over the substance of their art, those that lacked a purposeful outward intimidation were unable to match ferocity on an equal footing.

How wrong they had been, and how foolish of a mistake to make.

As a master of the way of the rancor, the low guard of her sabers and the positioning of her feet, as well as the slow pace she had carried herself with, had all been chosen in design for the perfect storm of retaliation. As the Amalgam drew near her right saber raised to meet the first strike of her foe's saber, parrying it as her left pushed forward and tilted up to strike from below and divert the flow of the second blade of her enemy's saberstaff. Forwards she slid her right foot as her left planted firmly into the sand, not to push herself into her foes guard - no.

As with any offense, a matching defense was necessary - telekinesis in a manner so ingrained in her style of combat that it came naturally to release the strain she placed on the muscles in her right leg with timing only one so versed in the art of war could manage - and a wave of telekinetic force erupted from the ground to repulse her adversary away from her as she shifted her posture and held her sabers facing towards her foe in a more accusatory, offensive, manner with her shoulders back and her elbows wide.

Madness gripped her eyes, and ferocity entered her stance.

The Amalgam

 

[Valeria de la Vallée]

Location: The Arena, Bastion
Fight Music

​

Valeria found the silence from the crystalline man to be quite an annoyance, especially since she had been more polite then she usually would be to what she would consider "the help", surpassed only by the fact that he still had not drawn his lightsaber which she could plainly see hanging from his cloak, it all reeked of arrogance. Was she also being underestimated? Unlikely. She thought, perhaps it may simply be a trap or an unorthodox style to catch her off guard, she decided she'd need to remain cautious but since he clearly had no intention of making the first move she would need to.

Valeria made her move, leg muscles tensing as she began her movement with small puffs of sand coming from around her boots as she quickly closed the distance while letting loose a small burst of Force Lightning aimed at her opponent's face, intended as more of a distraction then anything else though. Once she was within lightsaber striking distance she unleashed a flurry of acrobatic blows, precision strikes that were aimed at various points of the man's large body honed by her years of practice in Ataru. As Valeria finished her offensive she disengaged putting a small amount of distance between them, still within striking range for both individuals though, readying a defensive posture but leaving one final attack in her opening move, targeting her opponent's entire leg with Cryokinesis hoping to freeze it and limit their movement.

Darth Ledgermayne