Galactic Tournament: Seren Ordavo vs Azula Feanor

[Sirak Kolar]

The soft whur of the starship filled the silence of the ship’s arena, hidden deep in her durasteel belly. Mere hours before, each contestant was blind folded and taken not only aboard the ship, but into the room itself.

The stands near them were all black, not a person in sight, but the more force sensitive of the bunch may feel a presence, over-watching the fight with sinister intent, while others may feel the energy dampening fields around the arena to ensure a safe battle. Above them, a small cube with four screens, one on each of it’s faces, each lit up with nothing more than a quiet buzz.

The arena itself seemed to have a downward slope to it’s center floor, various blockades made of durasteel erected for cover dotting it’s contrasting elevations. At the arena’s edges, stood a tall energy barrier that could only be disabled from the outside.

Suddenly, a pre-recorded voice, masked by a simple changer, would erupt from the loudspeakers;

“Congratulations, Gladiators! Today, the fight between [member="Seren Ordavo"] and [member="Azula Feanor"] shall take place. When the screen counts to 0, you may begin.”

And as the voice went quiet, the static of the screens was replaced by harsh digital numbers, starting at 10.

Another moment would pass, and 9 replaced it.

8…

7…
6...

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Ebon"]
[member="Azula Feanor"]

Hours of waiting, blindfolded, not knowing what the signal would be. That situation demanded readiness, and Seren prepared by getting a sense of the barriers and changes in elevation around him. At least, he tried. The ghosts had other ideas.

People died in starships all the time. More, this place was clearly a purpose-built arena; it had seen its share of blood. A susurration of wraiths mumbled in the ectomancer's ear.

"-got me in that corner and pounded and pounded until I was seeing from outside my head, what was left of it-"

"-tried to roll, I was always good at rolling, but that karking canted floor put me right into a barricade and then-"

"-shot the overhead box and it crushed me, right through me-"

"-came over the barrier like a hawkbat, and two bolts-"

"-wish I could have told him I always hated him and wanted his-"

"-never paid enough for-"

"-wonder what this button does-"

Wraiths, shades, the impressions left by the dead -- they generally weren't souls, just echoes. Most Sith tombs' spirits were the same deal, if far stronger. The dead had long since passed to the other side, Chaos, the manda, the cosmic Force, whatever you wanted to call it. They'd left their voices.

He removed his blindfold and balled it in his right fist as the countdown started. Rolled his neck, adjusted his left hand's grip on the lanvarok that covered his forearm. Apart from that, he had just his armour, a few knives, and the reactive transparisteel lenses that had saved his eyesight more than once. Standing behind a waist-high metal barrier, he got the measure of his opponent.