Faction Trials by Fire - Tournament [TSE]

[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

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Not a talker. Well, Kelsie wasn't either, really -- her job was to get other people to talk. That was why, despite using her real name and by extension her compromising connections, she'd been able to get into the tournament. Perhaps they'd found her out already... funny how the same thoughts can run through two minds. Kelsie decided that there was no point in deliberating any further on the idea; she knew she could be pretty convincing. And of course they had no reason to suspect simply another contestant in the tournament as a potential threat.

Right, back to the fight.

The thoughts were distracting enough to Kelsie, but at least Missy was paying a bit of attention. As her opponent's weapon was leveled at her, the distinct blue bubble of a personal shield popped up. Any normal ray shield would've offered no protection against a Verpine shatter gun, but the Aspis-type was meant to tank shots from high-caliber slugthrowers. The woman didn't react to the attack in the slightest -- no impact on her body or armor, nor any sound from the firing of the weapon alerted her.

Honestly this fight would be much more difficult for Kelsie without the assistance of Missy. The AI rapidly mapped any and all weapons or systems in addition to a chemical composition scan. A general strategy presented itself to Kelsie, and she quickly switched her shielding systems to the Ekran-types to allow her flexibility in what weapons she could fire. Instead of a blue bubble, the woman was now encased in spectral defensive plates. But enough defense.

She raised her left arm, pointing it at the Mandalorian and firing off a haphazard salvo of stun shots. Maybe her aim wasn't that good -- after all, she was multitasking. A few moments later she was launched into the air, her repulsors firing her towards her opponent. Her right gauntlet's songsteel blade slid smoothly out as she shot towards the Mando, and she brought it to a smooth horizontal slash, aiming for the man's face and the weapon mounted there.

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

The howls of the excited crowd set the atmosphere for the event. A sporting affair, a test of wit and brawn for entertainment, glory, and more. It certainly would be easy to let oneself become enraptured in the occasion.

Her helmet floated behind, carried by the blue ID10 seeker droid which followed her into the arena. She held out her hand and the seeker zipped above, holding the helmet over her plated palm.

"Finished?" She took the helmet and pressed several unseen keys inside. The droid warbled in its mix-matched tones and Cara nodded. "Good. Realign the cover to the left socket five degrees outward." Immediate obedience. The seeker whirled about and grasped the ultrachrome plate of her shoulder, using its two other arms to adjust the float of the cover. After it was done it began to tinker with the duraplast cover of the forearm, to which Cara promptly slapped it away, "Did I tell you to do that? Go busy yourself. Find me after the fight." The droid lowered the two arms shielding its head and floated upwards then toward the crowd, positioning itself as a spectator.

The tourney was flamboyent but more was to be gained than mere entertainment. It was a chance to climb a rung in the ladder of recognition, catch the eye of potential high-standing clientele, or simply stroke your master's ego. Cara was here for all three. And unlike some in the arena, her opponent wasn't a stranger but a. . . business partner. Saying friend is a tad too risky in the tumultuous environment known as Sith "relationships." Even so, Cara found the young man to be of similar mind and ambition, especially ambition. She respected Telis, and she respected his investments into her own financial pursuits. As such, she couldn't afford to be caught up in the fever of an expectant crowd. Slipping into a berserker's fury and impaling your opponent wasn't allowed, not to mention the possibility of being removed from a prestigious business portfolio.

"Well, Mr. Taharin. The best to us both. If your subdermals begin to overheat from exhaustion, please tell me." It was said in a jocular attitude. Her smirk disappeared under the black dome of her helmet, and a red holographic image lit up the outward display. The icon for Dorniarn Foundry Works showed, which fast glitched into the symbol of the Sith Empire. It was fitting to show the colors of their organization for such a competitive occasion. She tapped the side of the helmet and music played inside it. The beat drowned out the crowd and her breathing, steadying her train of thought as she focused on the spar ahead. To get caught up in the uproar was to be swept away by someone else's tune, and that was unacceptable.

The music would fade to the background anytime Telis spoke, his voice having been recorded and recognized by the helmet's comm system. Only three individuals were loaded for this round: the announcer, Telis, and her master. She checked the two vibroknives on her breastplate with a quick tug, ensuring they were locked until needed. She stooped down to tighten the seal of the right boot about the calf; it had a tendency to demagnetize. Walking a short distance away from her opponent she threw a few punches in the air, rehearsing previous exercises that tested the performance of the cybernetics. The strikes were quick, solid, and precise, their movement reminiscent of the mechanical arms that labored on factory assembly lines.

Facing Telis now she slams the reinforced knuckles of duraplast together twice then bent her knees in an Echani pose.

"Ready?"

Telis Taharin-Zambrano

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

Atmosphere was the one thing that Telis needed to get his veins vaunted and alit, such passion not only bringing warmth to his body, but lighting on his network, turning dormant flesh into a lightshow of crimson and blood red. Violent, excited imagery sparked up, hidden beneath his armor save for his neck, the red light so vibrant that were it not for the broad daylight beating down on him, it would have glared into his face and painted his face in the patterning. The cries of awaiting crowds filled his mind, his shoulders shrugging back and his neck being rolled as he closed his eyes for but a moment, and took in the sounds.

“Cara Dorniarn... seems we both have a desire to learn one another’s skills beyond business. I’ve always taken to the phrase ‘business before pleasure...’ but it seems that today will be quite the opposite.” He would smile, flashing his fangs like a snake towards its pray, as he turned to face Cara, her display coming up at the same time as he looked over to her. In his hands he held his own headwear, currently a dormant albeit intricate, marks of red like rust sliced across the face of the helmet. Putting it on, as it slid to meet the colar of his robes, the five-light array are the front blinked into existence, the four golden dots showing no sense of emotion nor weakness, only robotic apathy. He lifted the dark hood of his robes over his head, looking more mechanical than he did human. Stormnight armor, custom-designed by Telis, and made to make remind people that he wasn’t just any soldier - he was The Machinist.

Reaching to the sides of his robes, he pulled out his Twin Dancers, spinning them in a flourish, before flicking them on. Faster than a blink, the two sabers leaped into life, sparks and lances of pure energy dancing through the blood red lasers as he once more gave them another spin, tracing their motion in the air with a faint afterglow. He lowered himself down into a crouch, his sabers held backwards in anticipation, as he lost himself in a trance. He let mortal blood rush just beneath circuitry, flooding his thoughts with nothing but hard-favored and tempered rage. To some, Jar’Kai was an elegant style, full of beauty and artisan. To him, his artisan was replaced with bloodlust and unwrought passion, which focused his vision on Cara. His head lowered, and with a nod, he uttered the one word, which pierced the air with a robotic hum generated from his mask:

“Ready.”

Like a bullet, he leaped forward, landing on his feet and running towards Cara with his sabers held just slightly behind him while he made his advance. He flew across the battlefield like a revenant in vengeful pursuit, the sound of the crowd bleeding away into a dull roar, and the only sounds being clear to him were the sounds of his adrenaline-filled heartbeat, his breathing, and his footsteps pounding into the ground. Reaching halfway through the arena, Telis would toss the saber in his left hand with a vengeful shout, the blade spinning as it aimed for Cara’s right hand while he continued his flight towards the Bakuran, and eventually attempted to lash out at her with a strike to her left arm, with the one blade he had left in his hand.

Cara Dorniarn

 

[Tehkyram]

A choke- devastating for the unitiated, but hardly too much of a problem for an experienced Sith. The crude grasping at the entire neck even gave Tehkyram more time to implement his counter, telekinetically reinforcing his own airway and slipping an invisible hand inside the noose closing in on his neck. The end result was just a slight tightening of the neck rather than an actual choke. Still, best to sell it, take advantage of the enemy's over-reliance on the force. Tehkyram dropped down onto one knee, hand grasping his own neck and squeezing the sensitive bits just to stimulate a bit of pain, which he then amplified and broadcast for his opponent to feel. He coiled his leg muscles, focusing on the strain of the awkward position, anything to convey a visible disadvantage. He needed to be weak, vulnerable, and easy to defeat.

 

[Gryylarc]

Tehkyram

Gryylarc sensed some degree of pain and discomfort, which was good. What he did not sense was the natural, brain-stem-deep panic that anyone felt when being choked beyond their control. Many could overcome it, of course, with relative ease. But he'd sparred enough with the Elder's stable of agents to know what that felt like as a giver and a taker. Either the young shark was faking, playing wounded, or he possessed preternatural control and calm experience.

That, or Gryylarc simply wasn't a threat to him.

Gryylarc had no real idea which was the truth, but regardless, the choke clearly wasn't the optimal choice going forward.

For the moment, the Karkarodon was down on one knee, an awkward and forward-weighted posture. Yanking forward and down via the simple, strong telekinetic grip on Tehkyram's neck, Gryylarc aimed to connect the Karkarodon's face and/or chest with the oncoming point of his crackling lightstaff.

 

[Sith Norn]

The soldier reacts faster than the young man anticipates, dodging his attack with unexpected speed and driving home a strike of humiliation. That was it. He had driven up the utter need to defeat the man in one move and prove his power that the simple act of a dodge causes him to crack, unaware that his opponent is more than prepared to fight. Fighting. That is his desire. That is his need.

The pain of the humiliation intensifies, his obsession driving forth his rage, amplifying his internal strive, his bruises, his tears. It is gnawing at him like a beast of the sea rising from the tides of his ever blackening heart. The desire to win. The desire to regain the adoration and love of his father who he feels...no...who he knows has abandoned him in favor of others in the Spawn. He knows this and it stabs at his very being, drawing forth a deep growl of indigantion.

Upon regaining his sense of location and noticing the man intends to draw his sidearm, the young man hisses at his opponent, twirling his weapon several times in an unnecessary display of showmanship intended to drive intimidation into the heart of the soldier as hatred and fear continues to fill his own. The fight continues and the young man begins to fall down the spiral of the Dark Side even further, a dire fact his father notes whilst watching from the stands alongside his brother.

Despite this, the young man knows he cannot kill his opponent for that would result in loss rather than victory. And so, as he resumes his sprint, Yacmoa attempts to drive forth the blade into the leg of the man, deep enough to debilitate, but not deep enough to completely sever the limb. If the soldier manages to dodge once again and unleashes yet another volley from his pulse rifle, or even his sidearm, Yacmoa must resort to his own evasion and attempt to disarm the man from his weapons. Only then would he find the space to defeat him and perhaps even yield a surrender.

Anden Fancelo

 

[Darth Ledgermayne]

And so the dance would begin... Valeria de la Vallée

Her advance was his invitation to join. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. So did her boots sound off compressing grains of dirt further into the earth below and it spoke aloud. Could no one hear it? Like a faint cry it sounded out for Ledgermayne to take in, not by ears of flesh. No. By sheer vibration of movement. Kinesis. The fluid motions carved a rough sketch of what was to come. Abstract. Left to be interpreted by its host.

Unflinching ruby colored eyes ignited with unnatural sparks. Shining the release of power as a bolt or bolts made contact with a pillar crystalline minerals. His torso. Scorched marks bore its signature into a new canvas claiming the Sith Lord as its own, but to no true avail. The Gutretee species were a spectacle to behold and even more so when considering their inherent resistance to extreme temperatures and the elements. What was assumed to be used for a cheap trick of distraction had been terribly ineffective. After all the sith lord was in fact a crystalline species.

It was only after the attempt was made that Darth Ledgermayne suddenly sunk his dense weight toward the ground, raised up his right leg and slammed his heel straight into the dirt below. Trembling the ground with a force augmented shake and reducing the earth below to produce minor fissures. The impact spraying dust, dirt and fist sized rocks toward the attacking female. How could one attack when off balanced. Their footing possibly removed or altered. How could they defend?

Two could play this game...

With the flick of his wrist Ledgermayne vaulted the lightsaber from his cloak belt with the force and launched it into his hand with a snap-hiss. The light red blade matched the complexion of his own crystalline make up. Holding the saber close in front of him his stand shifted to one of defensive posture. He made no further advance against her and instead waited prepared for what was to come.

 

[The Amalgam]

Unsurprisingly Darth Vitium was more than ready, fending off the Amalgam's ferocious attacks, parrying them, recognizing the Niman in her defense, the telekinetic attack textbook for the style.

Her rage infused body allowed her to take the hit as it flung her backward. She landed, body bulging and warping nauseatingly for a few seconds as it took the damage from the wave before settling.

The Amalgam knew this style as well...it was her own primary style, in fact.

Interesting. So many Sith Lords were into the flashier stuff...

The Amalgam's hand clenched, her corruption seething in her body as she held out her arm. She poured vast amounts of seething, murderous bloodlust and psychopathy into her Force Choke attempt, while preparing to guard against her retaliation, trying to use her own corrupt, rotting spirit to try and suppress any attempts to break the choke on her part. Choking was not her favorite method--she liked to use knives far too much--but it was up there on her list of ways to make her enemies suffer.

And The Amalgam soooo wanted Vitium to suffer. Even if she broke the attempt though, The Amalgam was prepared to defend, whether by saber or by Force.

The beast's flesh on her face bubbled along with the arm held out as she tried to strangle Vitium unconscious.

 

[Lark]

And so it begins.

As ripples of energy surrounded the weapon of AMCO , Lark let a similar energy flow through his being. A simple but effective trick taught to Lark by his former mentor, the swordsmaster Krest. The art of enhanced movement had become almost second nature to him, the intoxicating power heightened his senses and reaction time. Whether evading or closing in on Adrian, the world to Lark would be little more than a blur.

Eventually, at least. No sense in revealing one's true speed a mere second after the battle started. Lark would vary his speeds until his opponent grew accustomed to it, and felt confident enough in predicting his movements. And if the opportunity presented itself, he'd strike with the speed and grace of the deadliest birds of prey.

But this battle might not be decided by speed, nor strength but wit alone. And perhaps a little bit of acting, Lark's true calling. Why rush towards such a dramatic attack, even with the possibility of outrunning it? Instead, Lark began to orchestrate an invisible attack. A bit above Adrian's head, a slight glimmer of light would appear, barely noticeable to all but the most perceptive.

Another simple trick was the crux of Lark's initial plan of attack. Lark cast a dim aura of blue that Adrian alone would see, slightly masking the Force bubble encircling him and his tempest of energy. Acting as though he was not the caster of the spell, Lark narrowed his eyes as Adrian's view would turn slightly azure, pretending as though he too was seeing the trick. Sparing a quick glance to other fights, Lark played as though he was searching for the caster, before turning back to Adrian and offering a cautious smile and a quizzical tilt of the head. "I agree completely," Lark said, feigning as though he believed Adrian created this minor, cerulean world.

Ideally, the minute change of color would camouflage the color of the Force bubble. But holding it in place took a great deal of concentration, and any significant movement would cause the integrity of the bubble to falter. But no action would look suspicious, so Lark reached for the mysterious tome chained to his hip. The indescribably dark miasma it produced hinted at its terrible powers, would Adrian allow its powers to unfurl?

Or would he take the bait?

 

[AMCO]

Power gathered, rippled and coursed, spun into an ever-shifting construct by the Sorcerer's experienced fingers. Even as he wove his strange creation into being, his eyes never left his opponent, narrowing slightly as a haze of azure descended upon the field.

Harmless, or so it seemed. Even so, he did not like it. Eyes briefly flickering to his fellow contestants, he saw no particular reactions. Either they were too focused, or the effect was localised, or his opponent had somehow gotten inside his head. He did not for a moment believe that an external party was responsible, for to interfere with these trials in any way would be to earn the ire of the Emperor. Few survived such attention for long.

Whatever the case, it was time for action.

With a twirl of his fingers and an unnerving pulse of light from within his right arm, the vortex of energy began slowly pouring outward, when what was meant to surround the Acolyte clashed with a barrier around his own person, violent sparks erupting as power clashed against power.

Eyes widening slightly, he smiled coldly. "Something new every day. Bold move, Acolyte." Thrusting his arm outward, unnatural flesh boiling as he turned it upon his own construct once more, his smile deepened. "Bold move indeed." As the last syllable left his mouth, the thing shifted, its nature turning from entrapment to consumption, strands that once competed now seeking to devour the other, strengthening itself.

Lark​

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

Telis's shout was faintly heard over the thrumming music. The Force pulsed through the cybernetics Cara prepared for the attack, held in an unflinching stance as the Machinist made his first move. She imagined the sound the saber made as it whipped through the air at its angle, and she also guessed how it sounded as the crimson bar collided with a tight outward strike from her right arm. The saber was deflected and sent flying to the side, and she kept note of its trajectory as she prepared to meet his next attack.

As Telis neared she elevated her left forearm to take the hit directly, taking advantage of his proximity to place a cozy step into his space. She swung her right arm around, joints whirring as they prepared to release a nasty right hook onto his helmet with a fistful of duraplast.

Telis Taharin-Zambrano

 

[Valeria de la Vallée]

Location: The Arena, Bastion
Fight Music

​

Valeria observed her opponent after her Cryokinesis had failed to bother him, managing to see the stomp that sent reverberations through the ground causing cracks and fissures and managing to Force Jump to a more stable area whilst being pelted with some of the minor, smaller, periphery debris that had been sent her way, causing some minor scratches, thankfully managing to avoid the larger rocks, she wasn't eager to get repeatedly hit by the equivalent of flying punches after all. Valeria carefully and quickly considered her next move. Her opponent had, as expected, been unaffected by Force Lightning but had also been seemingly immune to her signature Cryokinesis. Troublesome. Valeria considered her opponent's crystalline structure considering that, aside of course from lightsaber strikes like the ones he had managed to dodge, perhaps a nice push with a sudden stop would disable him. Valeria took a Form V Shien defensive stance, choosing to be prepared for a retaliation should one come, before focusing her power into a large and powerful Force Push that if it impacted the creature would send them hurtling into the nearby arena wall. Valeria knew of the very real possibility of avoidance or even a Push sent back to her, she knew little of what exactly this opponent was capable of after all, and didn't let her guard down once the push was loosed, waiting.

Darth Ledgermayne

 

[Tehkyram]

The wookie's maneuver was a clever one, but it also marked Tehkyram's gambit playing off. The moment he felt the pull Tehkyram pushed off with his leg in a completed lunge, twisting his head ever so slightly to avoid the staff. He blasted past the extended weapon and instead right into the wookie's furry midsection, tearing him off his feet and down on his back. From there, Tehkyram shifted his position ever so slightly to mount the fearsome competitor and outright throttle him, putting both claws around the wookie's neck and squeezing as hard as he could.

Teyhkram's first gambit was that the wookie would try to get him into striking distance. The second one, the far more riskier one, was that the wookie had no experience in fighting someone bigger than him, more muscular than him, and perhaps more ferocious than him. Force the wookie out of his archetypal comfort zone and strip him of any advantages. That was how Tehkyram was going to win this.

 

[Darth Vitium]

The Metal

If there was one thing she would have to give to her opponent, it was that she very quickly understood that swatting at a hornet was a horrible mistake. Were she less experienced, less capable even, the sudden tightening around her throat might have been reason to give much more concern than the disappointment that had crossed over her face as she realized what her foe was attempting. She couldn't blame her - she had no way of knowing the trials, the tribulations, that the Sith Lord had been through. The generation of today enjoyed a war with a neutered Jedi Order, one that had already been capped at the knees by its predecessors, and came in swinging only at the final death throes of the alliance that had taken down the previous incarnation of Sith that had set the stage for everything the empire stood for in the here and now.

But the Amalgam was no Darth Mierin, her former master, who had held her through the force by her throat and tortured her night and day with the hatred and rage of force lightning - and she was no Siobhan Kerrigen, who had held her lungs in the palm of her hand through her mastery of telekinesis and put her down on her knees. The grip on her neck was tight, it was sufficient even to bruise, but Silara didn't care about petty injuries, she cared about victory, about the results - a battle won but a war lost was no victory at all, and this momentary setback was little more than a trigger to reignite the flames of hatred, the bright beacon of rage, that had long since dwelt dormant within her, like an eldritch horror waiting for its call to feast.

The hunger, the darkness, that had grew within her from the very beginning now boiled to the surface with the wordless launching of the lightsaber from her left hand, propelled through the air like a javelin intent on finding its mark at the center mass of her foe through the very art of telekinesis that held her at the base of her throat. But a simple saber throw, classical though it might be, was little more than a facade for the true intent of her action, to free up her hand. A radiant sphere of pure hatred, the hatred she had carried with her from the moment she had found herself free from her otherworldly prison of Daesumnor, was flung from her open hand - Sutta Chwituskak the ancient Sith tongue had called it, a powerful arcane expression of the dark side of the force in one of its rawest forms. Many that knew her from the era past had known her as an undisputed master of sorcery, and the offensive nature of Sith magic was her forte. Though she longed for the tendrils of the dark side, the ban on lethality kept that urge at bay.

Though the girl had grabbed her by the throat, the Voice had returned all the same.

The Amalgam

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

Telis knew when to take his losses, and as Cara raised her arm to meet his strike, he felt that sense of compliance that was trained in a good fighter. Cara’s arm whirled back, and Telis drew his blade from her arm like a sword from a scabbard, ducking back as he raised his palm to grasp Cara’s mechanical limb in a Meku-deru lock, just for long enough to give himself time to dodge and disengage, backing up as his eyes looked over to his blade, still spinning with its new trajectory. Around him, the crowd was intoxicating and miasmic with their cheering and cries for bloodlust. He was as much an animal as they were, and it poisoned his mind with grandeur, but he had to keep level-headed: he couldn’t allow himself to sink here, lest Cara take a victory without any effort at all.

He let the saber near closer and closer, until eventually stretching out his hand as it drew near, and ripping it from its orbit, back into his hand. With a flourish from both cutters, he would set his shoulders back, lowering himself down, before once more dashing forwards with a burst of force-aided speed, flying soundlessly over the sand of the arena, charging straight for Cara Dorniarn like a brutish berserker. Except, instead of meeting her head-on, he span to the side at the last moment, his blades becoming a red blur around him as he leapt to Cara’s side, bringing a strike towards the side and back of her right kneecap, his mind set once more back into the fight with deadly attention and focus.

Cara Dorniarn

 

[Anden Fancelo]

​

The Arena, Bastion
​

---

​

With his sidearm out and his free hand resting on the sands, the Captain steadied his firearm in the crouched position he assumed. Readying a critical but non-lethal shot. But Yacmoa continued in a sense of persistence, going in for a strike towards Anden's raised knee. The Captain did not want to take the risk, another evasive maneuver needed to be done so the trigger was not pulled yet. A fist was clenched onto the sands and it's arm contracted, as the Captain pushed himself over to the side and allowed his momentum to move him from harm's way.

Another evasive roll on the sands was made, as Anden avoided the possibly crippling once more. A sense of relief grew upon the soldier but it only lasted for so little, this was a battle he was quite unfamiliar with. A bit too fast for an elite soldier like himself, especially with the capabilities of his opponent. The Captain threw his left hand outwards towards the Sith. What burst out from the gloved palm was sand, the tiny rocks and minerals gathered and propelled over to the Arkanian's eyes. Fancelo sought to blind his opponent so an opening could be made.

Once the opening was provided, the Captain did not hesitate. He'd attempt to swing the bottom of his sidearm and collide it on the Arkanian's head to set more of a distance between the two.

Sith Norn

 

[Lark]

Well, that's a shame, Lark thought as AMCO recognized his trick. It had been a longshot, but despite his opponent's wariness Lark was still able to learn much from the brief exchange. Adrian was cautious, and powerful. And the most attentive of people were the ones who were capable of the most mischief. Most men of honor believed their opponents always saw the same as they did, and no matter how dominant their strength might be they could never resort to cunning. Nothing matters in a fight except for victory. Lark would use any underhanded tactic or cheap trick in order to win, and Adrian would too. Honor be damned.

Lark removed the veil of blue, once the illusion was recognized there was no point in maintaining the ploy. It served no purpose other than potentially annoy Adrian, and as amusing as that might be it wasn't worth the energy. He dispelled the bubble as well, the immense concentration it took to sustain the shield was not manageable for an extended period of time.

Although Adrian's initial blast of energy was deflected by the shield, the battle had certainly not reset in any manner. Adrian's curious, aqueous hand proved to be his next plan of attack. Mysterious energy radiated around him, moving in such erratic, strange ways that Lark could hardly understand what was happening. Were those strands strengthening Adrian, or preparing to rush towards Lark? He couldn't say for certain, which left him in a tough position. Adrian was already the stronger opponent, it would be ill-advised for Lark to allow him to grow stronger. But if it was an attack and he rushed in, he'd take a hit he wasn't certain he'd be able to rise from. That arm raised too many questions, was too unknown a factor.

A gentle sigh escaped from Lark. "I suppose it was inevitable," he whispered. The Necronomicon was his unknown, potentially the only tool at his disposal that might counter that appendage of sorcery. The bluff was no more, the tome was drawn. But no blood had yet been spilled, so Lark's own viscous gore would need to be shed. He rose his enchanted sword and swung down, causing a small gash in his leg. Blood seeped from the wound, pooling on the courtyard. The puddle wasn't substantial enough to summon a creature of terrifying proportions, but even smaller beasts had their use.

Lark began a maddening, distressful chant, one that became familiar the more Lark recited it. A half dozen Svariff rose from the bloody hellscape below, ascending to the sky and circling Adrian and Lark's battlefield, careful not to bunch together lest they all fall in one blow. Under the control of Lark, they could descend and attempt to strike any vulnerable spots Adrian might have.

Force Healing wouldn't completely heal Lark's leg, he wasn't nearly proficient enough in the skill to stitch his skin back together completely. But he could prevent it from becoming unnecessarily grievous, for now it remained a minor wound. But more blood might need to be shed, and Lark would bleed himself dry if that's what it came to.

Six more enemies to watch for, Lark thought. Now let's see what that arm of yours can do.

 

[AMCO]

The brief but violent struggle of energy versus shield ended quickly, but his little light show continued, stolen energy merging with the whirling vortex that now surrounded him like a nimbus of sorts.

Before he could seize the advantage, his opponent made another move, one that reeked of despair. As strange creatures were born or brought forth by their master's own blood, Adrian's eyes focused on the tome at his opponent hip, felt the power pulsing forth from it. "There is power in sacrifice, but I must admit to not having seen it used in this way. You're not selling, are you?"

While his tone was conversational, his mind was elsewhere, his gaze flickering back and forth between the web he now wove and the new threats above him. Uttering a quick incantation, he drew his sword and thrust it upwards, in the path of one or more of the birds. Should they be caught in the coiling energy, they would likely be consumed, but they were not the true target. As the energy consolidated into an ever-shifting orb of blueish-red, he slashed the blade downwards, towards his opponent and the blood he had spilt, tendrils of hungering energy hurling down from above.

Lark​

 

[The Amalgam]

Oooo, a saucy one! The Amalgam, inspite of her dismay at the choke being broken by Darth Vitium was rather impressed. To the Darth it was probably nothing, but to the Amalgam it was everything she had come to expect of fighting a Sith. A real Sith, not what the holonet charmingly (and likely all too accurately) collectively referred to as "Darth Wanna-be".

The Amalgam decided more subtle approaches might be necessary. But first, to survive her retaliation.

As the darkness swelled in Vitium, the disgusting beast, momentarily misshapen once more, seemingly melting like wax for a moment as she was stunned from Vitium breaking the hold.

She could not quite evade the saber toss, and it grazed her half melted left arm, which spilled white blood as the Shi'ido evaded a far more worrisome injury.

But that ball of Sith Sorcery. Those words she had whispered.

The Amalgam focused all her might in the concentrated lightning blasts that erupted from wriggling, squirming flesh at the ball of magic.

It stopped it...but at a cost...a massive blast of dark side energy that hit her and slammed her backward. As her body seethed with it, she absorbed a small amout of the blast. But part of her suit was shredded. The skin on the melted part of her face decayed and fell off, bursting into purple flame. Her purple eyes turned a moldy, decaying yellow.

Her flesh bulged and warped from the injuries even as she used the extreme pain and hatred for fueling her next assault. She tried to breach the Darth's defenses to poison the blood, trying to warp the,Sith's very blood cells to turn against her. It was not at lethal strength, which sickened her, but if it worked, it would feel like the stomach flue, being kicked in the stomach, then shot, then kicked again and probably nausea. Lots of nausea.

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

The gears whirred freely as they were released from the lock, pulled back from the initial path they had been planned. Hands and elbows whined as they returned to their position as a loose double arm block.

Telis may have enjoyed the little trick, saving his face from certain realignment. To Cara it translated as a last second decision, an act of desperation. Everything must be expected, planned for, and executed promptly. This outlook was hewned naturally since birth, evolved into the ethic which she performed her feats of engineering, and was bolstered by her chosen martial arts.

Since Telis was relying on his speed of movement Cara remained where she stood. In terms of running she calculated their compared weight; the Machinist, in his robes, was a good deal lighter than she, and shorter. Lateral movement would stay off the board. She remained where she stood with knees bent and muscles set. She waited, watched, predicted.

Telis closed their distance in quick fashion and devoted his strike downwards. As much as they differed in weight did they also differ in strength. The tension in her legs exploded into a vertical leap above his head. As his stroke followed through she landed on his shoulders for but a moment, rolling forward and seizing the back of his armor. As she forced her momentum to accelerate her arms whined in an unnatural rotation, arms remaining straight as she slung Telis backward and across the dirt of the arena.

Cara was down on one knee, her other leg waiting to spring her back to her feet. She surveyed the field and Telis.

The music hit its halfway point. Guess it was time to get rough.

Telis Taharin-Zambrano