No Honor in the Pits

[Ettiene Kharne]

Location: Daplona, Ciutric IV (Gladiatorial Pits)

Purpose: Pits Fight: Kalmann Ordo vs Lirka Ka

Characters:

Spoiler

[member="Kalmann Ordo"]
[member="Lirka Ka"]
[member="Darth Hashira"]

---

The crowds filed into the gladiatorial pits on this evening as the clouds in the sky broke overheard. The torrent of heavy rain had finally subsided, leaving the dirt ground of the arena a soup of wet mud. The duracrete walling created a large circle which would encapsulate the future combatants within leaving way to rough, duracrete, bleacher-like seating. On one side was a large, extravagant suite no doubt reserved for the head of these savage and dishonorable blood games. Eight large pillars protruded from the ground in a circular fashion, following the twenty foot high wall. They stood fifteen feet from any part of the way and with a large durasteel gate at opposite ends of the fifty foot wide arena. Eschews of brown and red drew dreary images of pain and death upon the walls, the signature autograph of the many that had been brought here to appease the lust of such despicable people.

The Sith did love their savagery and the way they got to revel in the sacrifice of others. This is what passed for their entertainment and their denizens were just like them. Bloodthirsty mongrels that desired nothing more than to bathe in the blood of others for no cause other than their warped views of entertainment. The were a morbid people and those that lived and flourished within their influence seemed to relish these same beleaguered beliefs; the misguided and demented fools.

On the east side of the arena, the Mandalorian, now a slave to these savage people, stood. He was stripped of his beskar'gam and buy'ce. His beskad and other armaments that made him what he was were no longer his, taken from him upon his capture. Instead . . . he now had a garment of leatheris that barely garbed his figure. The rough, yet soft padding hugged his right shoulder and partially shielded the pectoral muscle of the same side. The copped tone of his skin was broken by the pinkish hue of the scars that crossed his figure. His forearms were wrapped with a unknown fabric, likely just something ripped from a homeless hag on the streets, yet it offered at least a minimal amount of protection. A light beard caressed his chiseled jaw line and his vivid blue eyes shown through his expressionless face. In his right hand he carried a simple sword that surprisingly carried a similar weight to it as his beskad that had been taken from him prior.

He flourished the weapon once, adjusting himself to its weight and dug his cloth covered feet into the soft mud. His shins bore a leatheris guard similar to that which wrapped the shoulder. His thighs, abdomen, head and most of his chest remained exposed along with the bicep and shoulder of his left arm. A simple loincloth wrap had been given to him to suffice as a means to try and retain some resemblance of decency. It was pathetic really. What they'd given him, their "prized" Mandalorian slave. But fighting was in his blood and even though there was no honor in fighting for the entertainment of others, he'd rather that than die by the hands of another who reveled in such uncivilized pursuits. No, the honorable thing to do here was simply to survive so that one day he could restore the honor lost in his capture.

He stood now, feet shoulder width apart, simple sword held leisurely to his right and eyes narrowed across the arena to where his opponent undoubtedly awaited him the moment the gates lifted.

 

[Lirka Ka]

The pits had been life for so so long.

It was half nostalgic to be back in them, though they were almost nicer than that rock they called Choah. And her reputation had seemed to lessen some in the space of the great Cultist Empire. Maybe some, those who had held interest in the sport, knew of Lirka Ka: The champion of the Choah belt for over 2 decades, and the slayer of many many sentients. But those had been older times, much older times...she was all but unrecognizable to her old self now.

Older, wiser, somehow even more scarred than before. And of course, had she chosen to be, she would've been much better armed than before. But there was no fun in slicing the worthless bucket head into a few dozen charred bits with her shiny new Klaive, or watching him helpless try and pierce her armor. No, she went with a more conventional approach.

Leather, a few plates of metal, and cloth. That was all, Lirka's rather ridiculously muscular arms were laid bare, and she wielded a sword not too unlike her go to Klaive: a massive blade, close to 6 feet in length, but rather thin. A strange weapon, exotic as all hell: made for the fun fights, and oh did Lirka know how to make the crowd happy. Bloodthirsty lunatics they were.

She was a massive woman, easily several feet tall and a solid brick of muscle: she was built like the seasoned pit fighter she was, though she was sad she couldn't engage in her usual theatrics, not as of now at least: only time would tell how much of a show she could put on for the crowd.

And then the gates opened, and she knew all hell would break lose.

[member="Kalmann Ordo"]

 

[Ettiene Kharne]

So it seemed that there would be somewhat level footing here, even such a thing truly existed when fighting a Mandalorian. Both combatants were ill equipped for dance they were about to partake in and as the gates rose, Kal's blue eyes took in the full spectacle that was his opponent. An enormous female of a race unknown to him. A crude smile broke across his face as he relished the challenge such an opponent would offer. She was larger than him, but fighting larger opponents was nothing he was not used to. Everyone could be beaten, even the largest and strongest titans. He knew this fact better than most as his whole life - the life of a Mandalorian - had built upon the concept of battle. He'd risen within his own, within the Mandalorian Empire, as one of its own elite combatants and his experience in such an arena would play into this scene extraordinarily so.

As Kal stepped through the gate, the earth rattled behind him as the metallic contraption slammed down sealing him within. The crowd erupted in a thunderous uproar, throwing around various indistinguishable chants. They vied and pleaded for blood. For his blood, or for hers. They wanted death, these savage people. They thirsted for it for they garnered great pleasure in such uncivilized practices. The savages knew nothing of honor, a tenet he hoped his opponent did not share with them. Honor was everything and these vermin of the universe without it. They were nothing and needed to be enlightened. Something he hoped to do for them should he ever be freed of this bondage.

He scanned the arena, taking it all in. Every duracrete pillar that sprung vertically from the ground. The circular wall as it housed those unfortunate enough to be thrown into its bowels. The wet dirt and sand that was still a muddy soup. Footing would not exactly be the best here, but he would adapt - he always did. If not, it would be his head and he very much preferred it not parted from his shoulders.

His neck erupted with a loud series of pops and cracks as his turned it suddenly to the left and then to the right, eyes shut and reopening to fall once more on the behemoth of a woman the stood across the pit from. The unfortunate soul that had been thrown into this savage structure just as he had. He flexed his grip on the pommel of the simply sword in hand and extended lazily to his right a moment before relaxing the grip again and allowing the blade's tip to hand mere inches from the ground. His other hand balled into a fist and relaxed in concert to this.

The majority of his scarred visage would be exposed in this fight, but being out of his armor was not completely unusual to him. He often trained in the battle circle back on Ordo without it. It built his tolerance and hardened him to the pain of a physical strike. The higher the tolerance, the less chance there would be of becoming staggered should he be struck.

[member='Lirka Ka']

 

[Lirka Ka]

Was there any fear in Lirka's eyes? Some lingering doubt or wayward hatred for what was about to happen? None, save for the latter to an extent: but the only hatred she held was for the Mandalorian, bucket-head trash. Other than that driving force of rage, funneling the Dark Side within her and the near suicidal determination it filled the woman with there was no fear, remorse, or anything of the sort: she was here willingly, entirely so, and it showed.

The crowds were little more than how Lirka got her paycheck for this bloody work, and of course when bloodthristy lunatics were the reason you get good money it went a long way to try and appease them: truly give them a show, watching people just stab, slash, and crush each other got dull sometimes: give it stakes, add that artistic flick to it that all Sephi seemed to just obsess over.

And with that metal grind, the doors opened: Lirka grinned, the blade in her hand feeling all but weightless. It wasn't quite the weapon she was used to, but it would do. Would make for a better show as well...

Looking out to the messy battlefield the Imperial dogs had laid out for her, Lirka's grin only widen. This would be a fun one, and so did the show begin. With no hint of fear in her body the massive woman practically just sauntered out of her cell, raising her blade tall and pointing it across the field to her opponent, absolutely uncaring if it left her too open in the beginning, and with that action she bellowed a declaration to the Mandalorian scum. Using the force ever so slightly to enhance her voice:

"Jhori var! You took my planet from me, Mandalorian! I intend to take something from you!"

What better plot to a fight could there be? A duel for revenge where the blood would flow like wine. And with her declaration, the fight had begun.

[member="Kalmann Ordo"]

 

[Ettiene Kharne]

Well that was certainly and interesting declaration this behemoth of a woman had thrown at him. Apparently for her, this was much more than a fight for the enjoyment of the bloodthirsty savages of the SIth Empire. He'd never seen this woman before, but he'd apparently taken her home from her in a bygone time. Her planet was apparently no longer hers, or so she bolstered. His people were a nomadic people built upon conquest and bringing honor to Kad and it was clear such things would bring them enemies. There were always going to be those that failed to embrace the enlightened life his kind only wished to bring to others. To free them from their sins and open their eyes to the glory there was in reverence to Kad. A shame it all had to come to this under such dishonorable conditions.

"Olaror bal atiniir," Kal said through an expressionless face. "Meh gar liser." He didn't expect her to understand the words spoken in his native tongue, nor did he care whether of not she would. If anything, he hoped she would not, and that it would infuriate her. With rage and fury, actions became rash and predictable. His captors seemed to believe this rage enhanced their abilities to fight, but this was false. Anger and rage drove rash and uncontrolled choices. Deliberate strikes that created openings to be exploited by their adversary and something he knew he capitalize on here. Everyone made slipped up and made mistakes, it was only a matter of whether their opponent could seize an opening before it closed up again.

Kal stepped forward and toward one of the many large pillars that jetted from the earth below. There was still a significant enough distance between the two, that he did not foresee an abrupt attack from the larger than life creature across from him. Even if she had, and even used the Force to hasten the speed of her approach there would still be enough of an opportunity to change and counter. He waited once he reached the pillar. It was her move now.

[member='Lirka Ka']

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka tossed just about every Mandalorian under the banner of the Mandalorian Empire that had taken Thustra from her. Of course, entirely glossing over just how long it had been since she had abandoned her home by the time of the conquest: making up for lost time, or just more fiery hypocrisy. Likely a large amount of both.

Rage gave Lirka much of her impressive strength, and even more so her pain tolerance: when the Sephi fell into one of her bloodthristy rages there was little that could actually keep her down: or that she wouldn't try her best to simply ignore as to continue in that singular devotion to the utter annihilation of what was in front of her. Thankfully for him, she was not in any such rage. Truly just fulfilling a great lust for battle that burned within her.

And her move was simple, she walked forward. Moving slow, with her blade hanging at her side: a facade of being unprepared, for when Lirka allowed the ever-despised Force to channel through her veins she could move like a lightning bolt. Force Speed was the only ability she had true practice with, decades of practice with, and that showed: even in it's rather unrefined state it made her quite the killer.

[member="Kalmann Ordo"]

 

[Ettiene Kharne]

So it began. The leg of the first assault and hopefully the last. This titan of a woman would make a mistake eventually and at that point Kal would counter and exploit it. Everyone made mistakes so it was not as if he was safe from them either. He only banked on the mere fact that his entirely life had been built around the fight and exploiting the slip ups of others. This is what he'd done for many years against hundreds of opponents now on the field of battle. There was no reason to suspect that anything would be different in this one. And so here we were.

Kal bent his knees slightly as the overly large woman approached.

Her slowness likely a sign of a calculating attack. Thinking of the options at hand. Trying to predict how a Forceless man may attempt a defense. Thinking of the possible repercussions should her strike fail her. He thought this because this is how he would move into an opening attack. So much was a part of the unknown at the opening of a fight. How would one respond? How did one fight? Were they aggressive or passive? Is there something they favor over something else? It was the opening moments that were often the most critical as the combatants truly learned of one another. And learned how the other fought. Kal was a student of this lesson in life and he'd been down this very road far too many times before.

As his knees bent, the tip of his dull blade dug into the coarse sand of the arena, creating a sharp whine as it ground against the metal. The pillar was still on his right [her left] as he waited for her to come closer to him. As he boded his time calculating her every move and how he may respond. What he would do after for many steps into the future. Fighting like this was not a simple scuffle. No, it was a chess match and he planned to score a check mate early and be done with this. He had no intention to give these people the bloody match they wanted. He simply wanted out.

[member='Lirka Ka']

 

[Lirka Ka]

Lirka knew how to calculate, and to some extent she didn't: she was a half crazed fighter when the blood truly started flowing, giving into rage and hatred to fuel her with powerful though albeit wild swings. Speed made up for that one shortcoming though...speed she wasn't showing at all right now.

But as of yet, no true calculations came to her mind: she needed the T-visor on the offensive, lashing out at her, guage every little detail she could muster and unleashed hell upon him. Alas, there would be no chance to kill him with such a little maneuver. Simply for the rules set in place, nothing against a nice and hardy maiming though....

Casually Lirka spun that comedically large blade. Scraping it gently across the ground when it went for it's downward arc: and then she stopped. Standing in the center of the arena, it was simply her deciding moment: the Mandalorian would attack her, or she'd play his game and unleashed one of her offensives.

[member="Kalmann Ordo"]

 

[Ettiene Kharne]

These undisciplined mongrels the Sith called duelists. They were all the same. They were there for a single purpose and that purpose held no merit. Not in the game of life and death. Fame and a "show" meant nothing to the Mandalorian, having only been released from his shackles to entertain the deviance of these animals. Fighting had no merit here. There was no honor in pitting an ill equipped, famished slave against a healthy, much better geared adversary, but such was the situation. He would have to win on willpower and skill alone. His equipment held no advantage. No perks. He may as well have been fighting in the nude with the laughable quality of this so called gear. Still, though . . . this is what he'd been given and thus this is what he had at his disposal to use.

He grinned at that flashiness of his opponent. Their ego and overconfidence would be their undoing. He'd fought many of Lirka's kind before. Perhaps not the species, but the nature and attitude. They were dangerous when allowed to play their game, but feeble should they be pressed away from it. And this is just what he'd have to do. She would play his game and she would be defeated and this hellish contest for the entertainment of fiendish animals would be over. It was as simple as that.

She stopped in the middle of the arena. She didn't press to finish an attack. Pathetic. This game of cat and mouse as she reveled in the concussive roar of the crowd with their maniacal chants and cheers. They would get this blood they thirsted for so much. It was only a matter of time. But Kal was not about to give them the glorious spectacle they pleaded for with such vigor.

No. It wasn't necessary to flourish with theatrical motions to attain victory. It was idiotic to think such things actually aided one in the course of a fight. Kad was his ally and death was his enemy. Lirka was simply a pawn of the greater kingpin. And he would give no such victory to the ultimate nemesis of all.

Even as the titanic female warrior goaded him to press an attack, Kal stood fast. He wouldn't fall for such tactics. His actions would be his own. They would not be coerced and warped by his adversary. He was too seasoned a warrior to fall for such petty tricks. So there he stood, the tip of his blade in his right hand still buried in the sandy ground below.

"Narir va rejorhaa'ir ni gar cuyir atba'a'yu ciryc taab cak,"[1] he said in a manner loud enough she'd be able to hear him and know he spoke the language of his people. If she understood it, fantastic. If not, it made no difference. She was in his arena now and she would find that out soon enough.

---

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet already."[1]

[member='Lirka Ka']

 

[Lirka Ka]

In truth Lirka held little in the way of advanced gear for this fight, it would’ve been painfully one sided if she had been hulking around in her dura-armor combat suit, crushing the Mandalorian like the little bug he was. The only thing that truly had an edge was her blade, that elegantly crafted “Klaive”: a vicious tool that cut through flesh as if it were paper.

[SIZE=11pt]But it should never be forgotten that the pits were Lirka’s home for decades, and there was more than just [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]winning [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]that was important to riling up the crowd and making a good fight. She was a show-woman as much as a warrior, bravado to rise up the crowd: made for a more interesting fight.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]And then she laughed, a thunderous thing.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“Cold feet, Mandalorian? I wasn’t aware this was a comedy show! But talk is boring, tysti eil eilaer os paer!”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Roaring out in her native tongue Lirka was a leaping monster, unleashing a burst of remarkable speed once she did. That was her greatest trick, ridiculous bursts of force enhanced speed to catch her opponent off guard: her Klaive aiming to slash down at his right shoulder.[/SIZE]


[member="Kalmann Ordo"]