Sith-Imperial Tournament

[Darth Imperia]

Pain. Burning, familiar pain as a beam of plasma sheared through Imperia’s boot, charring flesh, melting rubber, and searing bone. A lightsaber pike, then, not a staff.

With a pained cry, Imperia took a step away from Joycelyn, pulling her foot back just in time to avoid losing it completely – she’d be limping for the rest of this tournament, but at the very least, she’d probably be able to heal the injury later.

At the same time that she retreated, however, the Knight also made her counter attack – not with her lightsaber, of course. Imperia may have been impossibly arrogant, but she had eyes, and she knew when she was physically outmatched. Instead, in the split second opportunity before Joycelyn undoubtedly pursued her, Imperia reached out with the Force, and wrapped her will around a newly formed and beautifully convenient chunk of obsidian in the sand. Then she hurled that hunk of glass at Joyce’s legs with all the speed and force she could muster.

--

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"]

 

[Dok Varuut]

Opponent - [member="Sokar Azad"]
| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"] |

Weapons - Twin Curved Handle Lightsaber (Standard Synth Crystal - Red)

Dok whipped his left hand lightsaber into a arc, bringing it up to deflect his opponents pike, trying to drive it wide and down towards the ground where it would take longer to recover for another strike. Given that it was a quick jab, he didn't expect it to actually make contact with the ground, only that it had to be deflected or dodged, and deflection would be more efficient at this time. As he did this, he made a short underhand jab at his opponents leg with his other saber. He didn't expect this to connect, it was basically a feint, though if it made contact it would be a great help. Instead, his actual counterattack came through the force. Reaching out with his mind, he focused on his opponents hand grasping the pike, and with a smile, began drawing heat out of the hand using cryokinesis. It would take time to actually freeze the hand, but it wouldn't take long for it to start to stiffen, and start going numb.

Dok didn't have the raw power to overpower his opponent, so instead, he sought to take away his opponents ability to press the offensive. All Dok had to do was maintain he defense, and unless his opponent found a way to break the slow freeze of his hand, eventually he would no longer be able to use it, and with that, Dok felt assured that victory would follow. That said, he had other plans and options should this gambit fail, but the fight had already started, and Dok only had so many options now that blades were crossed, or well, a blade and a pike.

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

[member="Darth Imperia"] [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"]

Partial success. She would have preferred to sever the foot entirely, but hobbling her opponent just the slightest was still a step to the path of victory. Especially, Joycelyn thought, when her opponent seemingly relied on speed to make up for her physical inferiority. It was also the first draw of blood, the first out of three successful strikes on the path to victory. She felt quite confident in her ability to inflict the next two as well.

Her quarry retreated, Joycelyn sought to pursue. She could sense Imperia's intent to stop her, Joycelyn could feel the Force swelling. Was she going for the choke? The push? It would not matter, she was on the move and prepared to resist.

TSCHIK

Joyce felt the piercing, tearing sensation of glass ripping into her thigh. The sensation of warm blood spread out from the source of pain. Fortunately, it was not on the inside of the thigh and it had not cut a major artery, but the obsidian had embedded itself well into Joycelyn's right thigh.

Rage spread through the Vahlacanthix as the pain funnelled through her. A tiny trail of smoke rose from the butt end of her staff as a piece of lingan inlay burned into ashes and fell into the sand. With hate in her eyes. Joycelyn thrust her palm out towards Imperia, closed her fist, and brought it down. She sought to seize her in the Force, ripping through the defences with her pain and rage - and burning some lignan ore for power - if she must, and then smash her into the sand.

Focused on this task, she did not heed the creature that surfaced behind her and thrust its stinger into her heel, dispensing poison into her veins.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"I have no favorites, Lady of Secrets. I have only victors."

The Emperor popped an emerald grape into his mouth, chewing the sumptuous fruit slowly as the harsh din of battle echoed alongside the rapturous cheering of the crowds. Emerald grapes were but another of the spoils of war plundered from Alderaan, although their acquisition had been by complete happenstance. A regiment of Legionnaires had stumbled upon a vast winery in the hills outside of New Aldera and had relieved the current owners of their stock, wealth, and daughters. The daughters were given to the soldiers, the wealth was deposited into the Empire's accounts, and the grapes were given to the Emperor as a gift on behalf of the regiment's commanding officer.

What had quickly become apparent was their inherent sourness, a distinct flavor that had quickly won over the Epicanthix Sith Lord as his favorite pastime snack. He had kindly offered the Goddess Ao Xian some of his bounties, but she had declined in favor of small humanoids harvested from a distant Mid Rim world. Their squealing might have turned the stomachs of less hardened individuals, but to the Emperor, they hardly even registered.

His eyes momentarily drifted away from the fight to gaze at the vulpine serpent next to him, the glimmer of callous apathy shimmering in his baleful eyes. "If the organizer is unwilling to admit his failings, then Goddess Ao~" Carnifex motioned for one of his attendants, who gracefully swished a tail fashioned from Amaran skin and hair attached to a wooden rod, "Xian it is prudent that suitable punishment is delivered. I would however respectfully request that he be left in a condition that would not impede his ability to perform the duty he has been given. A brain in a jar should suffice."

[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Taeli Raaf"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"]​

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Opponent: [member="Rexus Wenck"]
ATTN: [member=“Darth Carnifex”] [member=“Ao Xian”]
Gear:

Spoiler

http://starwarsrp.net/topic/118335-mf-double-vibroblade/
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/117516-akaan-beskargam-war-mandalorian-armor/
http://starwarsrp.net/topic/123997-ciryc-aden-cold-wraith/

The Mandalorians, his beloved culture, had once again dishonored and disgraced themselves. Not as a whole, but a good chunk of it made the name “Mandalorian” a word to mock and sneer at. It was Vilaz’s duty, as well as his clan’s, to preserve the true nature of the Mandalorians and not allow the agents of Arasuum taint their ways. Surely the god of stagnation with the aid of Hod Ha’ran, the trickster god, brought plague to the Mandalorian Empire that Mand’alor the Undying created with the help of Vilaz and other loyalists.

So here he was in this live and violent arena with the crowd demanding him and his opponent to draw blood on the earth. Unlike his opponent, a soldier for the First Order, the warlord was not interested in showing off for the millions that saw. Perhaps in the days of his youth he would, but not at his age. Calm and collected, yet fierce and and deadly. Yet like his opponent, he wasn’t here for one thing: proving a point. A mission that few pursued as to not let the true identity of the Mandalorians not be faded away with the pretenders that rule Mandalore and her colonies.

His beskad was sheathed and his double vibroblade was in hand. The weapons integrated in his armor was stripped for this occasion save for the Dinu’ul shielding that mounted on his left gauntlet. While this was a battle, it was not one taken in a theatre of war. It was two beings against one another. Just that.

At the starting position of the ring the Munin looked at his opponent from his visor. Adrenaline was already rushing through his body as he knew the environment he was in. All too familiar and welcoming. In earlier days, it was foreign and frightening for him. Natural and normal, but those obstacles were overcame as he practiced more and more to his lifelong profession as a warrior of Mandalore. An echoing shot was heard which cued the beginning of the fight. Calculations were made before the match started and the warrior already decided which route he’d commit to as an opening. With a balanced stance, Vilaz closed the gap between him and the Stormtrooper, and with the extent reach of one of his blades he made an attempted left to right horizontal slash at the man’s torso and would try to follow up with a stab at the abdomen with the momentum of the slash made. The blade was in proper use as the ultrasonic generator was active.

Not only would he have to focus on the Stormtrooper, but also two Kath hounds that had entered the arena. The appearance of these beasts, corrupted with the Dark Side of the Force, caused the crowd to cheer more.

 

[Vaylin]

Round One
Opponent: [member="Elani Zambrano"]
Equipment: Sith Lightsaber x2 | Shoto Lightsaber x1

She was growing more wary and on edge with every passing moment. Vaylin was use moving through darkness, but this was unnatural. It hung in the air like a putrid smell that wouldn't fade away no matter what.

The Zabrak tensed up as she felt something both through the Force and the ground itself. A concentration in the Dark Side began to emanate from the otherside of the arena. Vaylin moved with caution, heading in that direction with her lightsaber at the ready.

As she approached the ground rumbled even more. She knelt down, placing her hand against the sand and feeling the movements. The sand was being disturbed somewhere out of sight, and Vaylin rushed to discover it.

However it was then that the darkness dissipated revealing that the Zabrak was alone. The surrounding sand was undisturbed, even from footprints. Vaylin was immediately on alert, mentally questioning where Elani had gone.

Turned invisible? Maybe, but leaving no footprints still? Perhaps she was also floating now.

But that line of thought was interrupted when Vaylin felt the sand beneath her quake, increasing in intensity. The Zabrak's instincts kicked in and she dived to the side.

 

[Xevek Nekonis]

Round 1​

Post 3​

Opponent: [member="Khonsu Amon"]​

Gear: Vambrace, Cybernetic Arm, Pike​

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"] |​

​

Xevek's foot met nothing but air as the man chose to not stand his ground against his strike, parrying or blocking the swiping foot, but, instead chose to take to the ground. With nothing beneath him to fight against the steady pull of gravity, the Zabrak's opponent quickly disappeared from his range, dropping to the sand with what sounded like a choked laugh. Through the opening in the bandages, should any attention be given to Xevek's face, a large, feral smirk could be seen to be pulling at his lips and, within his amber gaze, the barest flickers of glee and primal enjoyment were beginning to form.

This opponent was not like the fools that the Iridonian had faced since leaving Iridonia, he did not rely on blocks and parries as his only means of defense. Like the kinsmen and kinswomen he had fought against since his youth, this man knew that it was oft best to simply remove a target from your enemy, prevent them gaining leverage, and that the best way to do this was to give your body up to gravity. Despite himself, despite the tournament situation, Xevek found himself wondering if he might just enjoy this bout before feral rage consumed him mind once more and drove him to act.

Though the strike came quick, the wind whistling as it parted around the length of the blade, his opponent's strike had been slowed by the fact that he had had to re-position himself on the ground so as not to leave himself wide open from the swing he was taking at Xevek's leg, the one he was standing on. As such, even if the time in which it took place was mere seconds, if that, Xevek had time to focus his mind upon feral instincts and read and act.

The blade cutting through the air was of prime concern. Directed at his leg, should it strike not only would it be first blood but it would be a strike that would cripple him for the rest of the bout and which could lead to his loss. As such, letting the blow land was something that he could not allow. However, instinct whispered that the opponent he was facing was not so weak, not so foolish, as that a simple block or parry would work. No, in this case, when he dealt with that blade gleaming with the promise of pain and death, he would have to be the predator hunting prey and act upon an instinct driven plan. Unlike a hunt on Iridonia, however, there were no natural landmarks or aspects of the environment that he could use to his advantage - meaning that he would have to create one.

Grunting harshly as he drew on as much of the Force as he could, Xevek followed his opponent's example in swiftly moving out of the way of a strike. Instead of wasting time jumping or anything similar as he stared down at the crouching form before him, Xevek simply lifted his leg so that his knee was folded beneath his chin. In the same moment, the gathered Force would swing down upon the outstretched arm, focused in its blow as the concussive Force of his will, of his command over the Force, would impact the wrist of his foe with the force of a hammer strike. Perhaps the blow, focused on a specific point as it was would be enough to shatter the wrist? But, then again, it would not matter.

As he hung in the air for a heartbeat, Xevek's gaze locked on the exposed back of his foe's neck and torso, staring intently at his target as the moment ended and he plummeted towards his enemy, gravity pulling him down just as gravity had pulled his target away from him. Leading with the point of the pike, he would aim to drive it not into the shoulder and down through to the heart as he would have done in a normal fight but, instead, sought to send the edge along the man's back, splitting flesh and spilling blood. However, his focus was not placed solely up driving the pike down with his weight, too risky that he would break the tournament's rules and he had no wish to learn the consequences of that. No, instead, he aimed and left the Force do the rest, the invisible grasp directing the pike down and along his enemy's back with more precision than the Iridonian would have.

With the pike no longer in his grasp and as his full 96kg, 6' 4" frame decended on the crouched form of his enemy, a loud snarl escaped his maw as his hands would lash out, seeking to fasten themselves onto his enemy even should he move. His cybernetic hand went towards his prey's neck while his claw tipped right hand sought to grapple with an arm or, failing that, any place where his claws could sink into muscle and flesh and fasten themselves.

​Xevek's foe had been wise to remove himself from the way of the Iridonian's strike with his foot, however, by choosing to take the fight to the ground, he had made a mistake. Growing up among his Clan, Xevek had learnt two ways of fighting in hand to hand and one of them was inspired by the predators that roamed the Wilds of Iridonian. As such, Xevek was accustomed to fighting on the ground, to fighting on all fours and the ways to grapple control your enemy from such a position. If his gaze was to be met as he descended down unto his enemy, perhaps Xevek would look less like a Sith and more like a wild beast surrendering to its primal instincts.

 

[Ellie Mors]

The Game
Round One | Spear | Braith Achlys v. Ara Zambrano
The reckless, albeit guided, persistence of the younger woman was, at the very least, admirable. There had never been a doubt in Braith's mind that she would have tried to press an assault the moment she recovered - it was simply a matter of how, and of when. The young Zambrano didn't disappoint as she pushed through the haze of sand, playing to her strengths and avoiding a direct test of strength against the witch. She felt the rising of her spear and the pressure against her grip even as the younger woman urged it so, providing no resistance to the push against the head of her spear so the tip was pushed up and over her shoulder - clearly providing [member="Ara Zambrano"] with the opening she so desired.

If her spear had been a sword or a weapon with only one end to strike with, that is.

There was a reason the weapon she had chosen, created by Braith herself, was adorned with a narrow spiked pommel at its base. Both ends drained the stamina from those that came into contact with them, and both ends were just as suitable for lethality or harm. Rather than try to force the head of her spear to remain aimed true for her foe as she approached, she simply allowed the telekinetic blow against the larger end of her spear to give her the momentum she needed to quickly plunge the base of the spear down and into the ground in front of her - barring her foe's saber a chance to scorch through the gap in her reach as she leapt backwards from her spear. "What you lack is experience." Braith said, the scent of ozone wafting up from the sandy arena around them. "But you do persevere." She noted, raising both of her hands in a gesture to the very earth they stood on - fire bursting to life near her feet in a circle around her, as if beckoned by some unspoken command, and licked at the air as hungrily as the flames grew rapidly in size and heat.

The air itself was choked, dried, as the witch turned her left hand in a beckoning gesture to her spear, which was ripped from the ground and flung back towards her open palm as any obedient tool should.

A smile played at the corner of her lips.

'They say lightning never strikes twice - let's see how true that is.'

 

[Progflaw99]

Subject: Sokar Azad | Round I
Affiliation: The Golden Company, Stellar Centurion​

Opponent: [member="Dok Varuut "]| (Note: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"])​

Weapons: Light Whip Hybrid | Force Pike | Light Shield/Buckler​

A sharp crackle of electricity sparked as the Force Pike came into contact with the shimmering blade of his foe. Teeth grit in determination, Sokar let his pike be pushed aside by the man’s saber towards the ground. As he saw the flicker of movement in his opponent’s other hand Sokar brought his weight down, the edge of the ignited force shield coming down on top of the lightsaber as he took a knee. Driving it down he sought to not only deflect the saber’s blade but position himself close. Now inside the man’s guard his left side was protected, and below the man’s other saber, he had room to work.

Straining the muscles of his arm and shoulder, Sokar drove the pike laterally towards Dok’s side. Now in close proximity to the man he had severely limited his ability to strike by thrust – but the Force Pike was still a valuable weapon. Near its tip and along a significant portion of the end were elements which were meant to conduct extreme currents of electricity. As his pike had been diverted, bouncing off the sand, he now let the momentum carry it back upwards aiming to strike the man’s ribs with the electrified upper haft.

It was far from a final gambit, but being this close did have its limitations. Sokar, the strategic thinker that he was, found his options slowly diminishing as the distance closed but such was the art of combat. *There is always a way.* The move had been made, but as always, his mind was moving one, two, sometimes even three steps ahead. It was somewhat shocking then, as his hand’s grip tightened instinctively against the cold air – the sudden change in temperature. It wasn’t immediately jarring, and his strike hadn’t been precise, nor had it needed to be, but he could feel the muscles in his hand begin to cramp as the haft came up towards his opponent. Concern brushed up against the edge of his mind. He might make the hit, but would he be able to retain his grip after contact? There was no telling.

 

[Cairyn Midore]

[member="Ignis Imura"]​

​

A sleepless night had left Midore only slightly less energetic than his usual. Still very much a captive among those who'd call themselves real Sith, it'd been some time since he'd had a chance to stretch his legs. The opportunity would hardly go wasted. While his time as a prisoner had left him far more subdued in his actions, he was still a jittery sight to be had in the early morning, fiddling with anything that'd been placed within reach, reminiscent of a caged animal, ready to be let out to play.

This wasn't his first time in an arena, nor would it be his last if he had any say in it. Being a participant over host was odd, though, something to get used to. Regardless, he had every intention of giving both the audience and his opponent the show they deserved. Let out into the arena, forever adorned in his armor, lightsaber in hand, he was a being of contradiction between his innocent face and far from innocent vestments.

Casting a glance about the arena, lingering on the box office above and his opponent across the way, he gave a performer's bow, fitting of his far too jovial self yet subdued in comparison to his mannerisms only months ago. Cairyn was absolutely teeming with energy, yet until his opponent made a move, he remained still, lying in wait.

 

[Dok Varuut]

Opponent - [member="Sokar Azad"]
Judges - | [member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] |
Equipment - Twin Curved Handle Lightsabers (Standard Synth Crystal - Red)

Dok narrowed his eyes as his saber was trapped beneath his opponents shield, and quickly deactivated it to free the blade. He realized his mistake quickly as he saw the pike, as if in slow motion, come up towards his ribs. He might be able to dodge, but odds were no matter what, he would be at least grazed, if not receive a weak but direct hit. His only chance then, was to respond in kind. Dok slid forward, it wouldn't be enough to avoid the electric charge of the pike, but it would prevent the tip itself from finding purchase between his ribs. As he did so, he raised his left arm, and with a burst of adrenaline fueled speed and strength, he brought down his elbow towards the still freezing hand holding the pike.

Dok wasn't stupid, his opponent was almost guaranteed first blood in this battle, but Dok would not allow the tally to remain so uneven as to lose this battle from that one strike alone. He could reinforce his strike with the force, ending the slow freeze on his opponents hand, but he felt as though continuing to weaken the hand before his strike could be more valuable. Finally, the saber in his right hand reignited, his grip tightening on it in the hope that the shock wouldn't get rid of both his weapons, more hopefully neither.

His opponent was similar to Dok in that he never stopped considering his next step, and his opponents next step. Unfortunately for his opponent, Dok was willing to take smaller blows in order to secure a win, now he would see if his opponent could do the same. This was what Dok lived for, dust hung in the air from their clash, there was the crackle from his opponents fight, the sizzling of his sabers, and the small pops from the dust hitting the ignited blades. Now the only question on Dok's mind, much as he enjoyed the combat, is which of the two would recover faster to follow through on their strikes.

 

[Thyne]

"Is it time?" The clone had heard little details of the bout to occur, next to nothing beyond this would be an avenue to express his skills. For the most part, he'd been cooped up, sent on select missions with some trusted individuals within the empire, but often kept under observation. Such was his life, that of an experiment more than a being.

"Not yet," the doctors had told him, taking more blood. They were always keen on collecting samples. And Thyne, knowing no better, was content to offer up his arm.

"Is it time?" He'd ask later, watching other specimens leave, some of them never to be seen again. Sometimes they'd be escorted out, someone waiting for them wherever they went. Thyne had to wonder if there would be anyone waiting for him when he was at last set free.

"Not yet." It was plasma this time. Thyne's heartbeat spiked on the monitor for a moment as the needle pierced his skin. Surely someone had taken an interest in him, for there to be so many studies, right?

"Is it time?" He'd inquired, lightsaber in hand, the roar of the crowd gracing his ears. A scientist looked up from their datapad, raising a brow before realization dawned on them. With some final strokes on the datapad, they nodded, bidding the clone head out into the arena.

"It's time."​

[member="Czernon Zambrano"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Subject: Sokar Azad | Round I
Affiliation: The Golden Company, Stellar Centurion
Opponent: [member="Dok Varuut "]| (Note: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"])
Weapons: Light Whip Hybrid | Force Pike | Light Shield/Buckler


Haft rose. Elbow fell. Two individual locked in combat, everything else irrelevant. Even as the crackle of electricity coursed through the pike Sokar heard the telltale sound of re-ignition as the shield burned at the sand. There was no time left to further rely on the strike of his pike. With a final push he shoved the shocking surface towards the man’s midsection, and as the man’s elbow came jarring down upon his grip, he rolled. Using his left leg to propel himself he felt the contact of the elbow – like a sledgehammer he felt a snap as his muscles and tendons fought to absorb the impact.

Involuntarily he felt his grip loosen, then slip free – and then his back was against the warmth of the sand, then again rolling up onto a knee. Orienting himself to face his foe, eyes darted to the pike now laying at Dok’s feet. A sneer spread across his features as he met eyes with the man. *Time to adjust.* Slowly and deliberately Sokar rose, dust and sand falling from his shoulders, the grime and grit of the arena clinging to his flesh. With a quiet buzz the shield deactivated, his empty right hand reaching for the coil at his belt. This time a grin stretched across his features.

The whip at his waist was a weapon most unorthodox. As any weapon, it had its weaknesses, however its strength lay in its break from conventional weaponry. As the coils of metal slipped free of their leather bond, dust rose. Each tendril rest upon the sand, each one swimming like a viper as Sokar twitched his wrist. It was then that a harsh snap-hiss revealed the true nature of the weapon. Golden wreathed filaments charged with electricity, strands of gilded plasma not unlike his foe’s lightsaber – it was a weapon to behold. For a moment time stood still, then spurred back into motion.

Having created distance between the two, Sokar raised his arm, twirling the pliant weapon before sending both corporeal and non-corporeal elements snapping towards their target. Aimed low, Sokar sought to displace his enemy, tendrils striking sand near Dok’s feet. In a burst of superheated sand and displaced dirt, the strike would slip back just as fast as it had been extended. For a moment, the chill seemed to subside, but the ache in his hand remained. Fatigue. Was it ever the enemy.

 

[Dok Varuut]

Opponent - [member="Sokar Azad"]
Judges - | [member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] |
Equipment - Twin Curved Handle Lightsabers (Standard Synth Crystal - Red), and a captured Force Pike from [member="Sokar Azad"]

Dok grunted as electricity sizzled up his side and through his body. It winded him, that was to be sure, but not so much that he lost focus on the battle in front of him. He eyed his opponent as the whip came into play, coughing lightly as the last surges of electricity burned in his limbs. It was a painful blow to be sure, but he had delivered a strong blow to his foe as well. He had relinquished the hold on the cold, the hand would still stiff from the cold for a little while, but now it was the blow that did his work for him. He only had a moment to react as the whip flashed in front of him, then darted forward like the coils of a snake, vicious and wanting a taste of his flesh. Well, he would give it no such taste. With a flourish of his cloak to somewhat obscure his frame, he rolled to one side.

That said, with the nature of his opponent and his weapon, he could not simply dodge. As he rolled, his mind reached out with the force, and honed in on the scattered draggings of his lightsabers, his opponents mark in the sand from his shield, and where the whip itself had just impacted. In those furrows he honed in on the fresh, poor quality glass. Giving a push, he launched the shards of glass and with them, puffs of sand at his opponent. He could not guard from every angle, and had walked straight into Dok's trap, though it had been intended to wait for when his opponent had lost his shield, but alas, Dok no longer had that option.

As he did so, he pulled the saber in his left hand onto his belt, and grabbed his opponents force pike with the open hand, before rising to his feet, pike angled for a sharp throw at his opponent, simply waiting for an opening. He could not remain here long, so he kept his stance ready move, that whip was fast, had reach, and could be unpredictable. A good showing from a worthy foe, but Dok had no intention of losing in the first round of combat.

 

[Progflaw99]

Subject: Sokar Azad | Round I
Affiliation: The Golden Company, Stellar Centurion
Opponent: [member="Dok Varuut "]| (Note: [member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Ao Xian"])
Weapons: Light Whip Hybrid | Force Pike | Light Shield/Buckler​

​

The satisfying sound of success graced Sokar's ears as he righted himself, moments later he was facing his opponent again, whip lashing out with both solid and corporeal strands. As the whip itself slid harmlessly through the air beside his opponent Sokar flicked his wrist once more. As his foe rolled the tongues of both solid coil and ethereal flame cracked against the air he shouted. The tips flicked towards the place his foe had rolled towards, vicious tentacles lashing out as each strand sought to cause harm, sought out the subtle call of his enemy's lifeblood. In that moment, the battlefield changed.

Even as his whip fought viciously against the empty space, a threat revealed itself. Glass shards flicked upwards at the command of his enemy, seeking their own target in Sokar's exposed flesh. Stopping his strike short, interrupted, Sokar ducked low, protecting his face as he collected an unseen force around himself. Such was not a practiced execution nor a force of habit but of instinct. With a violent exhalation of breath Sokar's frustration was aired upon the arena, a roar of anger flashed across not only the open field of combat but his features to match. Again bared teeth shown betwixt his lips. Though the largest of the fragments had been diverted many broke through, some evaporating against his newly reignited shield, others finding purchase in the soft flesh of muscle. Even more streaking across his darkened skin, almost artistic lines of blood drawn against the near obsidian canvas.

*Pain. Feel it. Conquer it. Use it.* The Force unbidden surged throughout his body, wild like the sun, violent as a maelstrom. He could feel his body rise from the barrage, eyes locking on to the swiftly moving figure of his enemy - then, in an instant his body was driven to motion beyond his control. An instinct. A feeling. A reaction. His enemy now had what he had needed before, something that now would prove to be a dangerous obstacle. Muscles straining against their own fatigue, he could feel his body moving. Without thinking his legs propelled him towards the foe, a sideways snap of his wrist sending the combined talons of solid metal and strings of plasma lashing out wildly towards his opponents left thigh.

 

[LT-137]

​

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"]​

​

As time stretched thin, like oil pouring over ice, the Thyrsian Gladiator found himself unable to give voice to his discontent at that crystalline blade parting nothing but wind. It was an almost certainty that his blade would’ve struck flesh, forcing the envenomed crystal into to deposit its toxin into the hulking creature’s bloodstream. Instead, the man had reacted quickly to the desert-born warrior’s strike, managing to expel a small measure of gathered aetheric power and take momentary flight. With the entirety of his weight carried forth on that anchoring tether, the creature was lucky that he had pushed off the surface of the arena when he did - as it was more than likely his blade would’ve been buried deep in his muscular calf. Had he not witnessed such a miracle with his own eyes, Khonsu would’ve laughed their outlandish claims into submission. While he had faced a Jedi Knight in battle, going so far as to claim his life in the process, the duel was far more grounded than the present affairs. He had fought the man in a ruined space station, encased within his armour, and protected by a crackling barrier of magnetically contained plasma.

Suffice it to say, in the moments that would come after this fight - no matter the intended result - the Thyrsian desperately wished that he was adorned in his full panoply rather than these paltry coverings.

However, as such armaments were denied to the Sun Guard, the man would have to make do with what he entered the arena with. As the sword swept into nothing but empty air, Khonsu knew that his foe would seek to strike him from above. While his form was abnormally twisting about as it rose ever higher, the Gladiator committed himself to the sands once again, this time performing a haphazard somersault towards safety. When the undertaking was complete, a pillar of sand had suddenly erupted behind his person - from the spot where his protected wrist had once been. It seemed the man sought to resort to unseen devilry to claim victory this day, rather than subscribing to the tenets of an honourable duel. Nevertheless, he would never fall prey to such unearthly desires this day, and if the Sun saw fit to smile upon him, he would claim victory at the point of his sword.

In the partial heartbeats that followed after the billowing sands, the chilled atmosphere of the fighting circle had parted with the sound of singing steel. It had seemed that when the creature had taken flight, that he had speared the bladed edge of his weapon towards the earth, an act that would’ve split the flesh across his back in twain - and claimed first blood in the most painful of ways. What the Thyrsian hadn’t seen, with time flowing across the proverbial ice as it was, was that the strike was done with an unseen hand, spurred forth by the primal desire thunderously beating within the hulking beast’s breast. That meant his newfound opponent was unarmed, save for the weapons that he was born with, and the vambrace with the integrated emitter - which likely would produce an energetic barrier in the blink of an eye. With one knee pressed into the sands, and the other raised above, Khonsu was in a prime position to strike at his foe.

While the option that laid before him wasn’t if he should take that chance, as to not follow through was akin to forfeiting the match, it simply became a choice between what he would strike the man with. The back of his closed fist, or the knapped crystalline tip of his blade.

While it would’ve been entertaining to smash his mailed fist into the ashen-haired, and bandaged face of his opponent, following through with such a deed would’ve caused the Thyrsian to spin awkwardly and reach outwards - leaving him in a terrible position to defend himself from any attacks that sought to harm his being. Thus, there was only one thread of fate for him to follow, and that was to twist his body about and lash out with the pointed edge of his crystalline sword. So, with hands unseen, the Gladiator tensed the muscles along the length of his spine and pivoted on the spot. With the man’s planted knee as his guide, he swung about with his leg outstretched - allowing for his dominant hand to carry forth his sword with nigh-lethal momentum. Khonsu knew the rules of the tournament, and that he wouldn’t progress through the rankings if he had made for a killing blow. It was all in how he swung his blade that would determine the outcome of this bout as if he was an inch too high - there was a chance that the force of such a swift blow would tear through the supple flesh below the jugular.

As the creature landed with his gnarled fists in the sands, both placed where Khonsu’s neck and sword-arm would’ve been, the crystalline blade swept through the disturbed winds and sought to bury itself in the man’s augmented, and exposed shoulder.

| [member="Xevek Rakama"] |​

 

[Xevek Nekonis]

Round 1​

Post 4​

Opponent: [member="Khonsu Amon"]​

Gear: Vambrace, Cybernetic Arm, Pike​

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Ao Xian"] |​

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For a Xevek, everything seems to slow to a standstill, the moments between the individual beats of his two hearts stretching out into eternities in and of themselves as the air between himself and his opponent hung heavy with dust, sand and sweat as it was cleaved in twain my the singing length of metal that thirsted for his blood. Plans were made and disregarded within those endless eternities, ghosts of himself and his foes possible futures spinning into being before his gaze, woven by the threads of the Force as it whispered what might be and what could be. Blow after blow landed in those possible outcomes, blood both his and his enemies staining the sands beneath them as parries, blocks and dodges formed a crescendo of possibilities birthed forth by the ethereal and dangled before his gaze.

However, most vivid for Xevek in those impossibly long moments was not the endless possibilities of what might come that spilled forth from the depths of his mind, but, instead, it was the fire burning through his veins. Molten in temperature, the fires sought to consume him from the inside out, each individual dance of metaphorical embers carrying with them a different emotion. Elation, instinctive fury and primal joy thrummed with a joyous dance, their flames bringing with them a heightened sense of reality and life. However, alongside them, came the flames of shame and self-hatred as the searing cold ice started to freeze over those flames, turning them into jagged shards prone to tear him and his enemies. He had given himself to the fight too much, lost himself within the rapid tattoo that had beat within his chest. Where was the discipline that he had so coveted, where was his control and focus? Where was the predator he described himself as.

If, during his attack, he was to glance towards Xevek's bandage covered features, the Zabrak's foe would perhaps bear witness to the fading light of what had been a melancholic, dark grin. Perhaps he would recognise the embers of self hatred that were displayed within his amber eye, encased within the ice that had frozen over the Iridonian's hearts as burning fury turned to a precise, frozen rage. Perhaps he'd see the flicker of determination curl at the corner of his mouth and the tensing of Xevek's jaw as the Zabrak refocused himself, devoted himself to the cold and primaly cunning mindset of a predator once more, not the burning fury of a mindless beast consumed by the allure of a fight.

He had delved too far into those instincts and he had lost himself, but, now, he knew what he had to do. The first step was acknowledging that his mistakes had culminated in this moment, but he refused to let his punishment be meted out by anyone other than himself. He would determine the exact nature of what would be done unto him, not his enemy.

The sound of metal on metal screeched out across the sands as, still crouched across from his enemy, Xevek moved with a sense of grace that came only from experience in fighting from such lowered position. The crystalline blade that had hungered for his blood sank into and through metal as it met the 'bicep' of the cybernetic arm he had purposefully shifted into its path to prevent it sinking into the much more dangerous, for him, location of his shoulder. Sparks of electricity danced around the point of contact as the systems within the arm fought to continue in face of such grievous damage and simply failed. With a surge of pain that speared through his body like a spear, originating form where the arm merged into what remained of his shoulder, Xevek's cybernetic arm fell still and limb with a length of the blade sunken within it.

Gritting his teeth, his next actions played across the canvas of his mind even as his body twisted itself to carry them out, his thoughts calm and focused.

'Close the gap, don't let him recover the blade, keep the pressure. Right leg up into a kick. Claws towards stomach, potential to spill blood. Failure or success irregardless, carry through and plant foot in position to lunge. Close the gap. Left arm useless, keep it between blade and body. Lock blade if possible using twist of body from kick. His right arm is exposed, strike, claw, draw blood and claim the arm. Prepare for a lunge.'

From where he was crouched, only one fist planted on the ground now due to the other having been moved to intercept the swung sword, Xevek contorted his body in a way that his large frame would not hint towards as being possible and lashed out with his right foot in a side-kick, claws outstretched and looking to rake across the flesh of his foe's torso before being planted onto the ground. The contortion of his body leading into the kick had lead to his body turning to the left slightly and, while his cybernetic arm was now, for all intents and purposes, nothing more than a dead weight, it was still a dead weight made of metal that stood between his torso and the bite of his enemy's blade. If his foe was not quick enough in recognising what might happen, the slight upwards and to the left twist of Xevek's body could lead to the blade twisting and becoming trapped momentarily within the arm as the cleaved incision no longer lined up for a smooth and simply withdrawal of the blade.

Trying to capitalise on the twist of his hips from the kick, Xevek's gaze did not move from his enemy's face as his right hand lashed out, carried forward from the snap of his hips, towards the darker skinned man's outstretched forearm. Claws sought to sink and tear into the flesh there, to pierce into the muscle of the arm and lock themselves in place. With his body twisted in such a way, Xevek was leaving his entire right side open to an attack, his enemy's free hand easily capable of landing a strike there. However, in the Zabrak's mind, the possibility that he might be able to seize a hold of his enemy's sword arm, drawn blood and have a solid hold for leading into his planned lunge was more than enough to make the risk worthwhile.

 

[Rexus Wenck]

Opponent: [member="Vilaz Munin"] | Karkin' Kath 'Ounds
Equipment: First Order FO-XD Prototype Armour [White Variant] [X] | Z-6 Riot Baton [X]

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Rexus watched his opponent enter the arena, and snarled at him from beneath the helm. He watched as he approached. Although Wenck knew of the stipulations, in regards to weaponry, intelligence would be key to gather. However with the arrival of the Mandolorian, came the hounds. Snarling, with drool seeping from their maw like a waterfall, creeping now, and approaching slowly, as both men seemed to close in. Wenck however backed up, as the Mandolorian approached. His hand grasped his baton handle, unsheathing it, as he clicked it on. The weapon crackled with electricity, and the stormtrooper grinned, he'd make the man hurt. That's for sure.

The Mando had already lost, in Rexus' eyes. He'd traded an overwhelming offensive for weakness. Well, as weak as beskar'gam could be of course. However, Rexus watched the approaching offensive with a bemused look. He had reach, but Wenck would make him pay for that advantage . The Mandalorian would over extend himself at some point, and would make a mistake. It was only natural. When Munin made the first slash, Rexus' reflexes kicked into gear, and baton met his offensive. He attempted to press the blade down to the ground, using his genetically altered muscle mass, and force to slowly edge the baton up his blade. Hoping to snag, and shatter Munin's blade as he pushed up.

"I'm gonna show 'em..." Rexus huskily breathed out of the helm, as bolts of electricity jolted off the baton, extinguishing themselves in mid-air. "I'm gonna show 'em all what a runt in a tin can looks like..." He intimately purred before a closed fist was launched at his helm.

 

[Elani Zambrano]

Round One
Opponent: [member="Vaylin"]
Equipment: Grappling boa, Talisman of Transformation

The sand rumbled more. And more. And more. And then, for a brief moment, there was silence. The crowd even fell deathly ill as, even they, could feel some dark magic at work. Elani had prepared to test out her new spell and now was the perfect time.

The sand was visibly disturbed in several locations across the arena. Something beneath was coming up. Multiple somethings. From the sands, bones with fleshed only partially ripped off came from below. Skeletal hands with flesh hanging off were seen pulling the rest of the once dead bodies to the surface as 5 fallen gladiator's resurfaced from the sands, grunting and hissing viciously as they laid eyes on their prey: Vaylin. For a moment they stood there, watching and waiting for the right moment. For the right command.

And then, the zombies charged towards Vaylin. Some had weapons, others had their bare hands, but each one's strength was empowered by the dark side magics that had returned them to life.

When the hunger grows strong, the hungry shall hunt.

 

[Ara Zambrano]

Round: 1
Opponent: [member="Braith Achlys"]
Weapon: Ba’Vanim // Back-up Weapon: Generic Lightwhip

A torrent of sparks fell around her as crimson plasma clashed against alchemized phrik, the shaft of the witch’s weapon suddenly blocking the path of her blade, narrowly missing her outstretched leg as the weapon was driven into the ground between the pair. The harsh sound of fabric tearing filled the ring, the soft linen of the young Zambrano’s pants not quite as fast to avoid the spiked pommel that pinned it to the sand as she pulled away, a long gash baring more of her calf and thigh to the mid-morning sun. Thin, white-pink scars traced up her fair skin, a skeleton tree of marred skin, almost subtle enough to pass without notice, yet holding a brighter sheen and shade than the unblemished leg surrounding.

Time had dulled the embarrassment that had accompanied the scarred flesh, what once had been a trigger for the young Disciple to bristle and lash out softened into a sort of pride, a physically reminder of the words that fell from her opponent’s lips, that she had in fact persevered.

”We learn from our failures, Lady Achlys…”

The beginnings of a soft, predatory smile played across her features, the tell-tale smell of ozone stirring a panic in her gut as memories sought to wash over and unbalance her, a primal fear growing within.

”Let us hope, you will do the same today.”

A soft laugh and playful taunt belied the adrenaline surging through her nervous system as the stench of rapid heating oxygen grew stronger.

Run, it screamed, spurring her motions, both feet tucked under the center of her mass until she pushed off of the soft gravel beneath her feet, the pliant ground offering more give than the Master was used to. A stumble as she landed from the flip, fighting to regain her balance against the unfamiliar terrain, placed her well away from the flames that roared to life, their angry tongues lashing out in a circle around the witch, heat and acrid dryness pulsing against the Arch-Queen.

An inclination of her chin offered a respect for the move, meant to yet again keep the Ren at a distance, an advantage to the weapon with the most reach. To brave the tongues of fire to reach the other woman would be foolhardy, more risk than reward. Yet to wait was to offer the spear’s reach an advantage. Her own blade hefted in a guard position as she stabilized, her left hand held out in front of her as power swelled.

For you, My Lord Carnifex.

Darkness cast over her eyes as tendrils of crimson smoke poured from her fingers, uninhibited by the ring of fire erected around Braith, seeking their target with a hungry that only power could quench, to steal from another and strengthen their Master. An ability she'd inherited by the Dark Lord of the Sith himself.

[member="Ao Xian"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]​