Log:Alderaan Duelist Championship

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New Alderaan, formerly D'Qar, is a green jewel from space that grows more beautiful the closer you get. Bastion city, once a frontier village has grown exponentially in the wake of colonization and the popularity of Alderaanian rule. Droalder bay, the very place this tournament was taking place, was a large flat beach of white sand. The bay itself was a rich blue color, with white capped waves prompted by the chilly snow-capped mountain range that loomed around the sea. The boardwalk was distant from this point, but people of all walks had filled the docks with small vendors for food, and even had entertainers showboating their crafts.

Banners of green, white, and gold flapped in the winds, each bearing the sigil of the Great House Cole. Large braziers licked with flames of orange. The sand was marked in several places, bearing the perimeter of several fighting 'squares' where the qualifier matches would begin today. The best seats were taken by the nobles, both Lords and Ladies, they came dressed to impress with Alderaanian capes of various pompous colors. Those who came to watch the participants, and were family or close to them, were given a special pass to sit in the Honored Guest section where warm drinks such a spiced cider were offered to ward the chilly howls of the wind. At her own section, Aryn Cole was seated in a favorable place, with extended family and close friends. She was distinctive for the blonde hair all Coles had, but also her white and green cape. When it was time to kick this off, she motions to her staff and the horns sound. Loud, regal, and attention gathering, a formal guard of blue cloaked Alderaanian soldiers march across the sand and take a position in front of the stands, all of them assuming a parade rest stance.

<"Your Royal Highness, Your Grace, my Lords, my Ladies, Sir Knights, and good folk of Bastion, welcome to the duelist championship!-- I am Lord Naran Baliss, and I am honored to have been appointed to officiate the games today. Let us begin with the salute. Those who mean to participate, come out to the sand and present your swords before the Princess of Alderaan!">

Merek takes the time to put on the dark attire which will represent the House Black to New Alderaan. From the pants which have chains from the belt to the knee, there is as well a shirt, along with a beltcape which he wears. Upon the hip he wears a black sheath, the sigil on the back of his golden-black attire is a hawk with special wings. The sigil of the House.

The man moves forward while he takes a position, unsheathing his weapon while he places the crystal sword blade in front of him with a hand upon the hilt. The bionic hand of his a matte black.

Ban Iskender is seated near the Princess, dressed in a military uniform of white and green, complete with a resplendant half cape tied over his left shoulder by a length of gold cord. An observer today, rather than a participant, the young gentleman watches those who step forward with a solemn eye, before leaning nearer to voice a discreet few words to Aryn.

Barad watches the colorful banners whip and tangle in the cool breezes, which also ruffle his floopy brown ears. Barad takes in the beautiful sights and sounds and pageantry -- and my, what a Spectacle it is! Barad isn't here for the fighting. At least, not directly. (Barad isn't the sort of being who gets into fights unless he _has_ to.) He's here because he feels he wants to support AC. And to see the sights and the spectacle, secondarily -- he's never yet been to New Alderaan!! But Barad's support, in this case in particular, could potentially actually be quite very useful. For Barad's a Medic. And Barad has been working the underside of Nar Shaddaa, . . . down there in the Ko Hentota District. *Famous* for it's stabbings. If you want to get cut, there's no place better, and few places, really, that equal it. Consequently, Barad has gotten really really really good at sewing up and patching punctures, slashes, gouges . . . what - have - you . . . . and so Barad sets up a First Aid station, discretely off to the side of the pitch where it won't block anyone's view from the grandstands. And then Barad leans back to watch the contests, while standing ready to bring aid the wounded . . .

Lozen arrives without fanfare, pageantry, and woefully underdressed for the occasion. She stops, silver eyes opening wide as she stops abruptly and gawps openly. Clearly intimidated by the venue she stops to look over herself in her humble and slightly wrinkled attire and all the galantry, astrocrity, and well heeled in attendance and preparing to participate. She hesitates with an anxious swallow and looks back towards the way she came from, finger of a tiny hand brushing the pommel of her blade as she gives serious thought to forgoing the very event she came alllllllllll this way to participate in.

Kael Greystorm arrives and listens to the fanfair and hmmmms a moment before he walks out to the sand dressed in his finest... casual clothes he thumbs the guard of his sword popping it free of the scabbard before he draws his Crystal Sword to present it to the Princess, sweeping it up to a salute in front of his face then a sweep down all fancy like.

Nerys had dressed for the occasion, yes she had. A fine dress of green silks that accented the redness of her hair, perfectly coiffed in a tumble on her head, and brightened the freckles on her skin. It was a ginger thing. She carried a sword, in its sheath in her hand, though she took the time to find the place that had been set aside for her, and freed her hands before she fell into line with the processional such as it was, that was paying respects to the royal family in residence.

When it came to her turn to present herself, rather than saluting, she curtsied, her style perfect, skirts flared, in the manner of the courts of Alderaan in centuries past, somehow managing to include all in that gesture and not only the New Alderaanian Princess. And when it was her turn to step away, she did so, removing herself to her place in the competitors area, a hand reaching for her chest and tugging at her dress....which tore away with the sort of flourish seen in great stage costuming, leaving her in her usual black catsuit. "That's so much better."

A tournament to test skill, to test bravery, to test finess. Having lost the last most brutal fight in his life on The Wheel, Sajin comited himself to perhaps making up for it by joining the tournment hosted by New Aldaraan...

The only clothing he has besides armor are ratty trousers... suits costing as much as some guns, a bathing suit that was once the nightmare of Spearhead Base, and these shorts.

Hadrix opted for shorts. Cold, warm, the Mandalorian was conditioned to fight in all climes before he finished puberty, and had fought in all before he'd seen, let alone ever put on, Beskar. Stepping forth in shorts. Just shorts. Looking like he's been fighting for over a century and not for fifteen years, vibrosword in hand and face set like stone as he takes his position.

Eyes of mismatched storm cloud gray and blazing crimson look to the announcer and his arm is raised above his head, blade lofted and then lowered, point not quite touching the ground. Salutes. He's had enough of salutes. But his breathing is growing harder. Anticipation. The old shakes.

A tournament to test skill, to test bravery, to test finess. Having lost the last most brutal fight in his life on The Wheel, Sajin comited himself to perhaps making up for it by joining the tournment hosted by New Aldaraan...

Here was the King of Drik, in nothing more than what appeared to be a leather tribal loin cloth. Two pieces held together by some rather peralously placed string. His musicles ripples, hair freshly buzzed at the side and cut up top. He wore his wedding ring on a necklace for luck. It hung down between shapely pectoral muscles. With him, was his large black Ryyk blade, resting on his bare shoulder. Dreamy hazel eyes looked around as he walked slowly yet deliberatly towards his square to see who he would face.

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Leith was sitting in the seats reserved for honored guests. Well sitting was a word, another more accurate word was he was lounging as he was in the back of that particular box. Whose name had given the guards as close companion of there was no telling but Hadrix let's hope you weren't holding those tickets at the box office for somebody else. The Wroonian was cheering and jeering various contests as he sees fit. That and had bag of a salty sweet snack that he was poping into his mouth on ocassion, there was a beer not to far from him. He hadn't started to heckle the crowd just yet.

Roth Kora is in attendance, but, the sword fighter is oddly NOT fighting in this tourney. She doesn't walk in, either. The alabaster armored Mandalorian rockets herself into the tourney grounds and then settles down on the ground. She lifts her hand to give a wave to Hadrix who she sees is preparing. The woman moves her hands up, a hiss comes from the dreadfinder armor as she removes the helm and stands with it braced against her side for the moment. Allowing her face to enjoy some of the fresh air and her hair to catch in the breeze.

Lozen's braid flip-flops over her shoulder heavily a few times as she indecisively looks the way she came, then back towards the list field, then back towards escape. She draws in a deep breath and in furtive attempt to make herself less likely to be mistaken for some beggar hear to take advantage of the crowd she rubs her palms along her shirt trying to will the wrinkles away-only to have them crease and become more defined instead. Her pale lips press into a thin line and she strides out to join the others, having registered to fight and resisting the urge to flee.

Somewhere in those 'special' stands is another young blonde woman. From afar, she might be mistaken for the indomitable General Greystorm, but up close that face is smooth and soft, void of wrinkles and bad brushes with death. It is Aora Greystorm, aware of her spooky resemblance to mother and seemingly impervious to the attention it garners. In fact, it looks like she is barely acknowledging anything taking place, watching the proceedings with an unamused stare from beneath half-lowered lids. The tension she visibly carries in her jaw must be a family trait.

Beside her sits the older version. Grumpy Greystorm 1.0, ignoring the chilly breeze that rolls in off the lake because before long she'll be breaking a sweat, no doubt. "Retire /this/," she leans to whisper into her disgruntled daughter's ear before slithering off the bench seat and prowling into the formation of contestants. Her clothes are as drab as they are practical for this exercise. A sparring match, albeit one that's decorated with waaaay more fanfare than she ever bestows upon her troops in the gym. Ambrosia's hair is all the fancy she's made the effort to be. Mostly, to get it out of the way.

Once the aging battleaxe has reached the end of the current line she turns to plant her feet, at attention, spine rigid and head high, vibrosword still sheathed over back. Her right hand reaches back to pull sword free and with a light twirl over in hand, she takes a knee and bows the tip into the sand. In service to a Princess less than half her age. But these things happen sometimes, when your former boss dies first and names a youthful heiress.

Aryn nods to Ban, turning slightly to silently shrug. Though her time for sitting comes to a close and she rises, casting her cape back against the violent winds. A procession of fighters marches out, all of which come out, draw their fine weapons, and salute. To each, Aryn bows slightly and smiles after straightening up. As each contestant goes to their square, their opponents arrive. Aryn raises gloved hands to signal the music and the crowd voices to die down a moment. A buzzing droid zips near her and circles, projecting the youthful blonde's voice.

"Welcome to New Alderaan. Today, you engage in a duel to show skill at arms. It is not a war you fight here, there is no glory to claim-- Today; it is about you and your opponent. Alderaan cherishes the song of the blade; each of you carries a sword to honor the timeless tradition. Let it be your blade that sings true. Thank you, all of you, for participating in this grand tournament. I look forward to how it progresses." Aryn nods to Lord Baliss who takes a deep breath.

<"Thank you, your Highness.-- Contestants! I will call your names and those you will face. Step lively and prepare.">

<"Square one! Sir Merek of House Black; Sir Forren of House Nalto.">

<"Square two! General Ambrosia Greystorm; Commander Surro Kruger.">

<"Square Three! Al'verde Hadrix of Clan Kora; Sir Laurent of House Lassiter.">

<"Square four! Captain Kael Greystorm; Sir Tebb of House Mohandai.">

<"Square five! His Majesty, Sajin, King of Drik; Sir Rob of House Ionna.">

<"Square six! Miss Nerys Arda; Miss Wivern Peoly of Iridonia!">

<"Square seven! Miss Lozen; Miss Surl Zega.">

<"Square eight! His Majesty, GROM, King of Fale; Sir Fable Sett">

<"Please take your positions and salute your opponents. Remember, the fighting area is beneath the influence of a dampening field. You will be incapable of killing your opponents, but your strikes will cause damage and may even draw blood. Medical facilities are available for those wounded should they choose."> Lord Baliss motions toward the tent where Barad is. <"We will begin the fights.. MOMENTARILY!">

Ban Iskender nods once to Aryn's response, and slips discreetly off to one side, so as to avoid detracting from the ceremonies. He searches about for Lady Kiko, making eye contact with the Alde noble, and nodding once, before withdrawing from Aryn's side and departing the dais.

Merek looks to the Princess, with a nod while he finds the square with Sir Forren of House Nalto. Then he offers a salute while he takes a position, taking the weapon into a stance and waiting.

A towering slab of Houk has waddled north from the city center. Wearing nothing but scales and a loincloth and carrying a massive two-handed (for a mere mammal) blade in one gigantic hand, the reptilian warrior bellow, "GROM IS HERE. Grom had said this before, that that is when Grom was ELSEWHERE. NOW, GROM IS HERE." That established, the Houk gives a toothy grin and asks cheerfully, "Which is the mammal Grom is to strike for glory and fun! Much fun. BUT ALSO GLORY." He peers at Barad, the nearest sentient. "IS IT YOU?" A herald patiently steers to the big idiot toward the waiting Sir Fable.

Roth's tall frame is going to just stand around and look like an Arkanian statue while she watches the tournament get ready to start. When she hears Grom there is a bit of a laugh, "Well, we've got two Kings in the running." she states to no one in particular. "Hadrix, your shorts really show off your calves!" she states, heckling her brother. Then she settles back to relax, settling her helm down as she lets her hand rest on the beskad at her side. She just got out of bacta, she didn't want to go RIGHT back in. She wasn't a flashy sort anyways.

Lozen stides forward, chin lifted high as she lets the self consciousness over everything OTHER than her prowess fade into the background along with the awareness of anyone who is not her opponent. She steps daintily into square seven and dips her chin and gives a smart and precise salute with her sword causing the air to whine and the crystal to hum in the trademake dual-toned salute that is the trademark of genuine ramishi crystal. Salute done her blade tip extends and she holds her blade horizontal to the ground.

Kael Greystorm makes his way over to square four with Sir Tebb of House Mohandai. Offering a salute with his blade, "Good day Sir. I'm Kael as the announcer said." He moves into a defensive stance as he awaits the signal to begin the fights... "Best of luck to you sir, I'll need it."

Having freed herself of her frippery, Nerys reclaimed her sword, drawing from its scabbard and advancing to the square that had been designated for her competition. She walked a lively step, as though she had come for the entertainment and would be willing to endure the pain, and gave no air that she felt it was a competition. "Not the face, if you please," she offered with her usual humour, but she bowed to her opponent with grace and respect both.

Noble houses being named. More history left behind. Truth told it was history he blasted screaming out an airlock into a star he cannot even remember the designator anymore. He can remember the name though. He cherished it until he realized the rot at the core. Rol.

Those thougts are brushed aside harshly by the screams of Grom and the announcement of his foe. Stepping to the square an looking at Laurent, "Akaan olaror Vaan'Aldarani." Lifting his blade to point at the man "Jate'kara Arutiise'verd."

Leith is plopping the salty sweet snack into his mouth and cruching them overly loud. He says reaching for his beer and his eyes all on Nerys as she pulls a quick change. "That one has talent." He seems to be more intrested in the quick change feat than the actual dual. He sits back crunching again. That is till his Gromness himself appears. The Wroonian sets forward and claps. "Best King ever!" He yells. His eyes flickering to Lozen as she flicks around her crystal blade, "What do you know." Then his eyes fall on the unattend hottie that's her older sister got into the competion. "Well Hello."

Almost naked Sajin, his Majesty The King of Drik or more recently... The Greatest Woman (Don't ask) stops in front of the designated Squar after him and his opponant are called forward. The bare skinned man, stretches and flexes just outside the square, warming up his muscles and the like. Rippling muscles make any beads od sweat along with the trible like tattoo's he's aquired over the years dance across his otherwise paler skin tone. His hazel eyes reguard Sir Rob for a moment, giving him a nod and a quiet yet rough, deep, and raspy. "Bobby..." In greeting.

The Handsome man head turns as the Growing voice of Grom enters the area, a wide smile comeing to his pretty plush lips. "You might have this Bobby... I might be to odistracted watching the King of Fale. Hah!"

"Commander..." Ambrosia greets when they meet in their square. A single blink breaks the initial staredown in favor of cursory examination of her opponent's frame and weapon of choice. The way it's held. A graceful bow of her neck comes first, then the half-raise of her weapon to tap lightly against Kruger's. Salutations. "I look forward to testing your metal." A slanted quirk of lip says she is, in fact, in good spirits. There is nothing else she'd rather do with free time than this, right here. Especially if there's a chance she gets to go up against that beefy alien lookin like their old janitor who lost a head to sweet Oran.

Sorry, grandson. Husband. Everyone else.

While Greystorm Sr. is using these last few moments to stretch those limber limbs and warm up menopausal joints, Greystorm Jr. is sipping that hot cider. Er. Was. Little A tears her eyes away from the giant hulk of doom that is HOUK (and the other loincloth in those rings - Sajin) and twists around to fire a small glare over shoulder to the sloppy Wroonian back there.

"Welcome, Champion Grom. Your opponent is Sir Fable! The strongest Knight I know! Aside from you of course!" Cheers Aryn from her spot and clapping. She seems elated to see the massive Houk in attendance to represent her in this heat. For all the contestants, their opponents drew weapons, cast off capes, and prepared for battle. Kind words were exchanged from all, and proper salutes of respect. Then it was a matter of Lord Baliss sounding the execution of battle. Striding down the center aisle where all battle squares were, the caped Baliss made it to the end and lifted his mic.

<"Our contestants are ready.. how about the crowd?!"> A thunderous roar of cheers erupted along the boardwalk; it was LOUD.

<"So be it! Let this contest of skill.. //////BEGIN!!//////">

There's a shift of the weapon from Merek when the call for fighting begins. Then he matches with Nalto, the weapons swinging while one strikes another. It is quite a match of skill, though eventually the man will yield when he's taken a few. Then he's backing away from that fight.

The look of Disdain from Aora was all it took for an opening for Leith. The Wroonian stands bringing his beer and his snack with him and starts working his way through the crowd. Scusy! Scusy! He calls out to Lozen, "Better Luck next time!" Then he finds his way to Aora's side. He bows deeply, "My dear, you are most enchanting. You're beauty rivals your Storied Princesses beauty. I am the Marquis De Naven of Wroona. Is this seat taken?" He then drops into the seat Amber had sit previously. "Are we rooting for your relation to win or lose?"

Grom arrives at his designated dueling area, waving his sword happily at any familiar faces. Or perhaps flailing his sword in all directions like a happy maniac, the truth is in the eye of the beholder. When at last he faces Sir Fable, Grom rumbles in approval. "Ah! Little human queen has wisely sent the MIGHTIEST OF HUMANS to face the Mighty Grom. Strike well, Barely Human! Few are the worthy foes of such stature!" Sir Fable is a giant of a human, standing near to seven feet, and of imposing and powerful build. Yet even he stands eye to sternum with the Houk. It is without doubt the first time he has faced an opponent larger than himself.

The bout begins and Grom lurches onto the attack with speed surprising for one of his bulk. Fable steps nimbly aside, deflecting just enough of Grom's Titanic swing to avoid harm, before the Houk powers through the Human's guard on the second swing. Yet the match is far from finished as the Aldaraanian counterattacks with power, managing a wound to Grom's side. "A FINE BLOW," Grom congratulates, brightly. "You are a stronger than any Wookiee, Barely Human: but you have made the critical blunder of aiming your blow for the Grom Gut- WHICH IS THE STRONGEST PART OF A GROM." The colossal duel barrels on.

Lozen darts forward, right from the get go she slashes and cuts seeking to claim ground swiftly aggressively-not prepared for the fancy woman's failure to be wholly driven back by this and the lightening fast retort. Lozen parries the first but the second strikes two drawing a surprised hiss as she hastily circles to the side, keeping her blade out before her to force some distance as she resizes up her opponent.

Merek finds a place to settle in, while he places the sword back into the sheath, looking for any of the medics tending to people. He offers a light wave to one, then he begins to seal the synthskin with a laser device onto his bionic hand while he finds a flask at the hip to take a drink from with a look to the fighting.

A little late to the festivities, Karys sets herself up in a position to see with a bit of a vantage. She pulls apart some baked good she managed to find upon her way. As the sweet pieces are eaten a little at a time she glances from creature to creature in the fray with her bright blue eyes. She gives a toss of her shorter bottle blonde hair and lifts on her toes to get a better view.

In Kael's square Sir Tebby Tebs springs into action before Kael even realizes that the duel's started. He was distracted likely by something shiny or pretty either one works. A pretty shiny thing even more so! The knight's blade slashing across Kael's chest causing him to stagger back. Which saves him from the follow up attack. Stumbling a bit Kael lunges to find air... Then shifts his stance to slash across... More air. Where the crap is this nimble little knight gone?

Nerys Arda, Space Nerd, despite the fact that she was squaring off against an opponent that she was certain was far her better, did not look apprehensive. Instead, she took her stance, her sword tipped in respect a final time before the battle began. Such as it was. For Nerys was quick, and she darted in, her smaller size adding a nimble grace to her press as she offered her opening gambit. A quick slash of her blade, which did not strike as she would have indeed, for Wivern twisted aside with equal grace, leaving Nerys to take what she could of the other woman's hide as her blade opened a slice on her competitor's side.

Bad move, Space Nerd. The Iridonian lady spun, slashing out in payment for Nerys' attack, her blade far more deadly than the one which had sought her. Thank goodness Nerys thought to plan ahead with her choice of black attire. It did a fantastic job of hiding the blood that spilled from shoulder and hip. But not the flash of pale flesh that was opened beneath the fabric. "I yield!" Pained, but somehow still cheerful, "May your next opponent be much more of a challenge than I've been." The two women shared a grin, before Nerys offered a final salute, such as she could, but before she could make her over to where she could find aid along, Wivern came to help the ginger, now red twice over, off the field.

And it begins. Same battlefield, different planet. The Alderaanian is dancing, twisting, turning. Feint, parry. Sparks fly as the hyper-vibrating length of durasteel meets the saber of the man. Perhaps it's fate, as the Jedi would say - they don't believe in luck. Another bout of feints and ripostes - the next move is styled like the forms under Echans fighting styles - but it ends up for naught.

They rebound and as they circle a flash of silver catches his vision. The one organic eye growing wide as the bionic. More history. Bittersweet now.


Chromium hilt locking to silvered with filigree - Hadrix is brought close, the strike should have been easy - but he's been distracted.

"Now then, Mandalorian - there's a reason your lot are died out or savages in a giant sand pit." Laurent's jibe brings him back around. The one gray eye dilates, pupil blown and spittle flies from his teeth as Hadrix doesn't try any more fancy maneuvers. He does take a blade in his bicep, cutting through - jutting out the back. His left arm though.

Should have hit his right.

Hadrix doesn't stab, slash, or otherwise. His fingers tighten around the grip of his blade and he swings hard, slamming the pommel into the chest of his opponent - forcing him back. Bare feet apart in the sand he hunches, shoulders bunching and the sound he makes is an animal's bay. A hunting akk-dog with blood on his mind and facing an Alderaani noble who hadn't likely expected to be put up against something like the Mandalorian berserker. Successfully blooded by him, or not.

Sajin is still looking over towards Grom as the beginning of the heats are announced, seemingly not paying too much attention to Sir Rob. Poor guy, it must be insulting. Sometimes a brute like the King of Drik had no manners... none at all. Other times his level of Etiquette was on part with the titles he coveted and held. There was a time he never had any title other than his name. "On Guard, Sir!" Bobby sounds, getting the Hapan's attention. Hazel eyes fall upon their opponent once more, burning instead with seriousness and determination. "I go to make this quick... I want to watch the rest of Grom's fight before he or the other guy dies..."

If there was an animal to describe how fast Sajin Kovo Kah-Vernni lept towards Lord Rob, it would probably be a Nexu. Perhaps it wasn't as fast as a Jedi endowed with and shrouded by the force. No, but it was something only an experienced fighter with many many years of combat could likely achieve. His powerful black blade with the intricately beveled tribal engravings rose high and came slamming down upon Lord Rob. He attempted to block, but the strike was so powerful that it broke the man's wrists before cutting into his shoulder and down through the chest, leaving a deep horrendous blood gash.

There wasn't enough time for Rob to scream before the second strike came, laying into the torso. Powerful, it swept the man off his feet, sending him flying into a heap on the ground outside the square. There Sajin stopped, looking over his finished opponent. "Sorry bobby... Ya did good." Then, hefting the large blade over his shoulders, he'd turn to walk closer to Grom's fight to become a spectator instead.

Barad readies his Medpac for the bleeding is about to start in earnest. And, sure enough, the contestanct begin to do their damage. Terrible, terrible damage. And yet, these are all clean cuts. Fresh wounds, of course, are much easier to deal with. Less infection. No gangrene. And, most luckily, no lightsabers. So: No Burns! Aie. Burns are -the- -worst-. Agonizing, and the recovery time is extensive, long, and fraught with perils. Thank goodness, there are none of those. Straightforward sutures, clean Tissue Binding. A bit of synth-skin. A coating of bacta. Barad moves quickly and surely, his fuzzy brown paws performing the motions as he has a hundred times prior. Merek is first on the list of the wounded, and Barad concentrates his attention, momentarily losing sight of the goings - on and informed of the progress of the duels only by the shouts and screams. Most prominantly, those of GROM. . . though others, as well, do reach his ears!

And so it begins. The General and the Commander clash together in a furious blur of steel and bloody mist.

Ambrosia's slender form twists as she drives an aggressive slash and thrust forward, a quickness that draws first blood. First the feint - a swat aside at her opponent's sword arm to clear her a heartbeat of opportunity to thrust into the shoulder, duck, spin, and draw the length of her blade against the Commander's ribs as she passes by to his other side. Where his blade finds her in turn, slashing across her back.

Red mist showers the sand around their feet.

The ClAaAaANg of metal is short lived when Amber attempts to step free of the followup strike, but opponent's blade courses up the length of hers to slip undernneath and give that bared belly a poke.

Just as quickly as it began, so it ended.....or has it? The aging soldier sags forward over the butt of her hilt, weight seemingly propped up BY the sword. But is it? A throaty laugh, wheezy cough, and she eyes the Commander admirably through the sweaty strands of hair hanging o'er her face. Gut wounds....they hurt. If there was anything left to hurt, these days.

The General hasn't uttered a word of yield. She shifts her stance, still with the lean. Baiting?

Roth is fascinated by all the blood! For once the Arkanian herself isn't slathered with it so she sips her drink with a cheery smile and goes about watching. Her pure white gaze looking over the people fighting, lingering on Hadrix and Sajin as they do their thing. Good thing Sar wasn't here. She then finds something to lean against. Keeping track of scores in her mind for the moment.

The fights are off to an explosive round, and blows traded. What normally may have constituted as killing blows were sustained by the influence of the dampener functioning on the field. Such devices have been in use for thousands of years to help people constitute dangerous blows with out dying.

Those who yield or find themselves bested are eagerly accepted by cheering fans and supported. In Alderaan culture, even losing was not a mark of shame. To bear scars in such a battle was a point of intrigue in court. You have experience! You're someone worth talking about!

The injured are led to an area where the medic Barad is on stand by should those who elect to seek medical aid want it. Beyond him, refreshments, food, and even free swag (SUCH AS THEIR OWN CAPES AHHHHH!) are there for the taking. There are no losers here!

"KEEP IT UP, FIGHTERS!"

Continuing to tear apart her pastry, Karys watches as Ambrosia sags and Sajin wins out. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth once its clear of her mouthful. She tears apart another piece and moves around the onlookers. Grom is hard to miss and he gets a thoughtful sound.

The baked goodness distracts her as she continues to feast. Cleaning her fingers she spies Roth and starts her direction lifting her hand in greeting.

Aora scrunches herself up just a little more tightly, eyeing Leith with no small degree of suspicion. "Lose, if it'll keep her home, but...we all know better," said with a /touch/ of bitterness. *Sip*

Leith takes a sip of his beer and offers Aora a poppable snack. "I see. Well, maybe it time you left home? Gave her something to worry about, instead?" Leith takes a drink, "And your name?"

Grom renews his duel with the big Sir Fable Sett. The two warriors are so large that their movements seem to be moving a bit slow, to the untrained eye, due to the distance each step, slash, and parry must travel. Despite being the smaller and faster duelist for the first time in his life, Fable is skilled and no mere pounder, and the passage of blades raises a tremendous din, both from the clash of durasteel and the bellowing of Grom. After a valiant defense, in which the human met a repeated number of downward hacks, Grom finally overpowers his worthy foe with strength no Human could match. A blow drives down and starts Fable bleeding from the scalp, before the follow up blow hammers the Sett into the sand. "GROM WINS," the Houk declares. "In THE LARGEST duel this planet has ever seen! ...At least until Grom can find a ship that holds a sword. Which Grom could then duel. IN ANOTHER SWORD SHIP."

Nerys, having settled into a place by the healers, waves a farewell to Wivern, who was soon off to be treated herself, and, perhaps, to fight another day. or another round, who knew? At the least, Nerys would be there to cheer her on. Her sword she set aside, some kind aid or another returning it to where she had left the remnants of her terribly fanciful dress. For the nonce, Nerys sat, quiet and stoic, despite the blood spilling, content to wait for her turn to be treated and to watch the competition as it continued on.

Lozen circles warily before lunging in and scoring a deep gouge along her opponent's side but the cost of this opens her to two more wounds. It's a good thing she didn't wear anything fancy because she is bleeding from at least three places now, pale skin still remaining slightly flush even as crimson spreads along her shoulder, chest, and left flank. Silver eyes are focused intently on her foe and while the ground she paces begins to show the trail she paces in increasingly pronounced trails of blood it's not clear she even knows she's been hit-though surely she will at some point very soon!

With Jax looking after Senin, Sesti finally gave in to her curiosity. Her current condition means she can't compete, that's her reason and she's sticking to it. She walks around the edge of the crowd to a place slightly off to the side of where Kael and Amber are fighting. "Faker," she mutters in Amber's direction.

Roth looks to the side when she sees a hand raise and there's a dip of her head to Karys, "Hello." she states to the fellow Mandalorian. "Hadrix looks like he may survive to see the later rounds." she tells her with a bit of a look out to the field. "Looks like we'll be seeing some of the heavy hitters sitting it out though." she states thoughtfully as she sees others stepping out.

Sajin shouts in triumph as Grom wins. "GROM WINS, HELL YEAH!" He's got both arms raised up, not a scratch on him. No blood and no bruises either, unless it was Sir Rob's. The king's stomach then growls, hands lowering, one movign to his abdomen... "Alright... I need something to eat." He turns to head off towards the concessions to see what there was to stuff his face with. In all likelyhood, it would be a bit of everything. A table filled with all the fixins. Someone might want to get a bib for our half naked King.

Kael was expecting it this time... But the blood loss from the earlier gash is slowing him down a bit but he still slashes his sword at where Tebb should have been. But now the knight's simply toying with the Greystorm. Waiting for a few feeble slashes before he places another slash across Kael's chest making a nice X with the portion that the slashes cross resting over his heart. Falling to one knee he's barely keeping himself off his back the crystal blade plunged into the ground before him, "I yield." He pushes himself to one knee. Then he manages an almost salute with the clean blade tucking it back into his scabbard before he turns to seek out medical attention. He seems to have some blood loss going on.

Elrych Cometburn comes wandering through the thorough-fare, a big cooked and roasted bird leg in his hand. He seems to be happily munching on it. He stops at the railing, peering onto the arena behind thick rimmed and dark shades. A single earbud hangs in his ear and if one got close enough they could likely hear the music playing through it. The Jedi leans up against that railing lazily, clad in the attire of his station. Dark green, blending in with the landscape of New Alderaan well enough. A black with gold trim lightsaber hands from his black utility belt, openly and unabashed. "Herm... Looks like I coulda made some money..." He knew of Grom, Vhe was an old famiyl friend and Vhe's brother was likely around (probably off with Vhe) "Should have placed a bet on the King."

Barad passes along the row of contestants filing out of the dueling squares. Seeing Nerys still fixed on the ongoing action, despite her wounds, Barad moves on to the next athlete. Or, in this case, nigh - unto - victim. Sir Fable has certainly seen better days. And, by now, he's seeing nothing but blackness, having been knocked out, now bleeding, from the mighty blow of GROM which hammered the poor unfortunate straight down to his knees and night into the ground. Barad rushes over, along with two or three other paramedics. This one . . . yeesh. Yes, -this- patient looks as if it could take them a while! Barad sets to work in earnest, his doft brown eyes examining carefully, his floopy brown ears fluttering back in the breeze. With surprising deft and gentle motions, uncanny for a being with paws his size, Barad staunches the gaping head wound, stabilizes the vertebral collar, and gets to work on the Concussion Protocol . . . just for starters. The list of injured parts seems large . . . .

Laurent of House Lassiter had a date tonight. Lord Beryiis of House Vyuliria. He was going to regale with stories of his victory over the brute, the beast. The haggard patchwork freak.

"It's unfortunate they made you remove your armor. What a shame to see you thus." Blades clash as Hadrix wades in again. Each swing by the Mandalorian is a hammer blow. The rage is there in full force and it pulses like the blood from his arm. New scars. Who'll notice. They circle and sand flecked with blood sprays in an ocean tide from their steps while the noble fends off strikes and wheels to get space, laughing and pointing the tip of his sword at the mountain of a man.

He would drink champagne poured down Beyiis's neck and made to run down his arm to spray from his fingers and the romancing would begin. This beast. This cur. Dreggs from wild space come to pretend at nobility.

Then Hadrix moves. Faster than a man his size should be able to - he springs and closes distance in three steps. The blade in hand a whirlwind, knocking aside blade and cutting through cloth. The scrape of edge on ribs is like a metal squeal. Then blood. So much.

"Unfortunate they wouldn't let you." Hadrix swings the flat against the side of the man's head, putting him to the ground before his foot slams hard onto his chest. Victory.

Karys offers a bit of her pastry but her eyes settle back to the field. "Not sure how I missed him..." The glint of metal on skin causes her gaze to narrow before she notes the others that are leaving the field but those she knows stills her from speaking. She may have offered some of her pastry but she is also quickly tearing apart another piece of pastry. She sticks a piece into her mouth and chews away at it, cheering as she sees Lozen take down her foe. "It would not surprise me. He's stubborn."

"Knew it," Sesti smirks as Amber takes out her opponent. However, Kael is stumbling towards the sidelines with a nice 'X' marks the spot so nicely made for her. She walks forward and puts a shoulder under his arm. "You are letting your aunt show you up?" she asks lightly with a slight shake of her head as she finds a clear space for him to settle down, and pulls aside the ripped clothing as her other hand is already opening her medpac. Old habits die hard for the new politician, as she still walks about with her blade and medpac as part of her daily dress. "Just, sit still. This looks worse than it really is..."

Why was Nerys being so stubborn? She was just sitting there, waving off one medic after another, as they came to try to heal her. What an odd time to be so picky about who got to try to patch up your bloody bits? Ah well, she seemed to have dug her feet in, and was happy to continue bleeding and watching and waiting.

"I feel like I should chuck the armor off, get out the Beskad and run out to say I'm the final fight, but, I do not want Princess Cole to beat me about the head and shoulders." Roth tells Karys quietly. "He's not the biggest thing on the field for once, that's how he was missed." she muses about Hadrix. The pastry was declined, but, there's a grin, "He is really stubborn. But, he's got a good head on his shoulders most times thankfully." she states softly. Roth never talked this much!

Commander Kruger is an honorable sort and does not spare the greying soldier the pursuit of his blade - because those were the rules. You fight until you yield.

It's a continuance that Ambrosia was very much wanting but lacking the momentary momentum to resume. Her silence was all the invitation the good Commander needed to launch what ought to have been a finishing blow. But she drops, keels over. Heavily on her left knee, leaning to the side whilst the vibrosword sings a final time. A broad, upward stroke that flays open Kruger's thigh, up through to groin.

And makes a return trip to his core, assisted by gravity when his failed leg sends him thus.

It's merciful, that gravity. Greystorm's ribs are visibly heaving, meat exposed on her right as she lays there in the sand on her back and smiles. Gleefully. It was a good fight. Kruger yields. They both get a break. Hands clasp over all the blood, good sportsmanship finding a place in all the gasping and groaning. See, Aora? Your mother's not too old. Not yet.

"I think she might have some sharp words but I do not think she would beat you...maybe?" Karys chimes in and then finishes off her pastry, cleaning her fingers quickly before dusting her hands together. "No...no that he is not." Grom is given a look before she clears her throat and nods. "He does...for the most part. He always had a focus in battle. It can be a deadly one but definitely one to have at your side."

"She doesn't give a frag's ass," Aora scoffs lightly but reaches for some of that offerd snack from Leith anyway. "Aora. And that...is her." A frown and point to the old woman bleeding and laughing in the sand.

Lozen isn't necessarily more artful, certainly not more nuanced, but where this is an genteel passtime here it is a matter of survival where she is from and so her motions are without flourish but are brutal and efficent as she works not to kill her foe, but to severe the tendions that hold the sworn and then to give Surl a clear choice-to yeil or have that choice made for her. Lozen sweats, and pants, and her lips are beginning to turn slightly purple as the exertion causes her to bleed more energetically.

"Or the General..." Elrych comented to himself before taking another big bite out of the roasted avian leg. "mmmm, stang that's good..." Something catches his eyes though, a pause. turning his head he focuses on a concession vendor with a big old tray of slurpies. The Jedi licks his lips, a hand reaching out to call upon the force and bring one to him. Instead, as bad luck would have it, someone bumps into him just then. his concentration is disrupted and that slurpy that had just begun floating drops off the tray and splashes all over some lady in a fancy dress and hat.

Elrych has to recover, appologising to the person who bumped into him. He looks back, noticing the trouble he's cause... "Oh... oh no..." The vendor and a few of the Lady's friends start pointing in his direction. "Ah Kriff." The Corellian looks around, as if trying to find the best escape route, big avian leg still in hand.

"Make her regreat it! Let her see that you don't need her. Make her know she's not the only one that can live! And if she doesn't? Well they you're living and that's her fault." He looks over to Lozen somehow survivig the fight and claps. "Ooh, I think the Echani I bet on is bleeding out. That is a problem."

The final fight has concluded with Lozen as the victor of her heat. The fighting has been intense, but moreover, decisive. Sword fights were only longwinded in the holos it seemed, as the anointed Knights who made it to the end did so with skill, and those who fell could rest easy KNOWING their opponents would remember they had fought.

Aryn rises at her stand and raises her hands. The zipping droid returns to buzz around her, amplifying her voice over the loud flapping banners of the Great House Cole. Flags from the other Great Houses were being hoisted now.

<"Good folk of Bastion, citizens of this great galaxy; we have made it to the end of the qualifying rounds to see the crushing reality of a true duel. These contestants have swung sword, and we've heard their songs. THERE ARE NO LOSERS HERE! Wear your scars with dignity intact. You earned it on New Alderaan, and its story will ring true from now until the end!-- Those who advance to the second round have earned the RIGHT to fight Alderaanian Nobility. Duelists from the Great Houses of Alderaan have sworn their swords to a fair match in the grand courtyard of Droalder Palace."> Aryn points up the hill toward the massive looming structure that stared out toward the bay and DOWN at them. Banners, like the ones here on the beach, flapped there too, though more violently from the chilly winds sweeping through the snowcapped mountains.

<"Join me again, when the call goes out, to cheer on the next bout, round two of the great Duelist Championship.">

<"For now my friends; we have fought, WE HAVE CHEERED, and now LET US DRINK AND BE MERRY! FEAST, enjoy the music, dance! And be among family and friend alike. Alderaan endures!">

AND just like that, celebratory music erupted, confetti launched, and fireworks shot out over the bay as people began to cheer! Drinks were poured, grills fired up, and dancing in the squares where blood was just spilled!

Alderaan Endures? "AND GROM WINS."

Roth listens to Karys and there's a smile, "Yeah, King Grom is pretty great." she tells her. "I think we're getting to the end though for now." she tells her Clanmate. With that, she raises her helm back to her helm and slides it on. <

Watching Roth use the advantage of her jetpack, Karys lifts her hand in parting towards her. A brief wave and she lowers her hand again. "Well she seems to have made it, thankfully." Watching the figure recede she glances once more to the fighters and those that stand. She can drink and be merry, and in fact she pulls something from her pack. A bottle is exposed to the light and she turns it slowly, moving it about in her hand.

Lozen steps back and salutes her foe, salutes the audience and lovingly cleans her blade before sheathing it and throwing her blood stained braid over her shoulder. She pauses then as if only just now noting she's wounded. It's studied, a careworn handkerchief is fished out, patiently folded, and held against the worst of her wounds as she glances around curiously. Now that she's survived the first round she's suddenly much less self conscious about her appearance.

His arm from the elbow down is wrapped in a crimson glove, muscles cut and forced to hang lest the muscles already damaged tear. Hadrix's steps are slow and with naught but a pair of black shorts the post-adrenaline shakes are openly visible for all.

Looming for the sidelines, flat of his blade, now deactivated over his shoulder. Staccato breaths. Blood pulsing in slower rivulets down his limb. A bad time to drink, well liquor of any kind. He stops a moment to see silver flashing again. Staring for a short moment before he turns and his head droops. Working his way to the fighters 'bantha pen' where Gripper is watching his equipment and a cloth to clean his blade.

Barad doesn't join in with the drinking and feasting. At least . . . . not yet. Not --- right away. Grom's dueling partner is still getting treated for . . . well, for a very very many lots - of - things, really. It's brutal. To shield the eyes and ears of the spectators from the gory sights, sounds, and smells, an impromptu Medical Tent of sorts has been erected. Right over the site where the duelist had fallen, it covers his half of the 'dueling green.' It covers the inert form of Sir Fable. It covers the blood. . . . . So: the Party commences!

In another life the Jedi would have ran away, over walls, fences, many different obsticals. However, that was a lifetime ago. Now, as he hung his head in defeat, he would meander his way over to the Lady. "I'm so sorry folks. I was just trying to grab the slurpy." He would use his influence over the Force to gain an understanding of what would need to be done to appease the upset woman. Alas, it was a few credits in the promise of a new dress and perhaps a few other payments on the expenses they incured while attending the bout. A bow when the buisness was concluded before the Robed Corellian started towards the exit as the fights have ended.

It ws probably smart he hadn't made any bets, given the way his luck was going today. Then again, he would have insisted that noone tell him the odds.

Kael Greystorm glances over as Sesti starts working on him, "This is why I stick with blasters. They're so much more effective. And with armor means a sword to the chest wouldn't hurt nearly as bad." He looks over at Nerys, "Don't suppose you could patch her up when you've half a sec? And thank you. I seem to have failed in the stick the pointy end in the other guy part of dueling."

Aora smirks, chewing with mouth open, pausing just to insert a sip of cider, swallows the resulting mush. A slow headshake listens to Leith carry on with his pursuit of whatever this is and her hands clap obligingly along with the exultation of contestants and Princess's speech. "She isn't 'living'. She isn't even in there, anymore." Glittering green eyes shift from watching her mother and Kruger rise and relocated their gore to that Echani Leith refers to. "Nah. There's a dampener. It'll leave her some drops left." A pale hand plunges back into the snack back, secures mouthful, and the young woman leaves her present company to go find more cider. Or leave.

Ambrosia offers a final bow to the Stands before dribbling off toward medical, sword wiped 'clean' on pantsleg and sheathed. One hand keeps pressure on her belly unless what's inside decides to slip outside now that she's on the move. Any fellow swordsman she hobbles along by are offered a respectful nod of head.

The bottle in hand, Karys looks up to see the retreating form of Hadrix and begins her walk around the fighting area to meet up with him. She hurries herself along and now no longer burdened with sugary goodness she doubles her speed. "Hail the victorious!" She cries out, finding herself approaching gripper and the equipment that awaits Hadrix. "I figured you might want a drink."

Simply offered she shakes the bottle at him and the extends it in his direction. "I also have a bit of a surprise for you as well but that can wait when you are ready to depart." The gunslinger waits for him to take the alcohol. "Well done."

Nerys sighed as the fighting came to an end. It would be the big green who showed up everyone. Okay, so there were other winners, including the general, but who cared? The Houk was a HULK. "It's probably better I bowed out when I did," she muttered good naturedly to the the man sitting beside her still, but not bleeding, "I would have hated to make him look bad." And she got a guffaw for her troubles.

Another smirk as Sesti works on Kael. "Jax used to stick to his blasters, too. /He/ knew where is skills lay." She gives Kael a wink as she cleans him up prior to patching him to stop the bleeding. She glances over to Nerys and then smiles as Dr. Cole helps her. "She is in good hands," she replies, looking back to assess Kael's face rather than his wound. "You and Nerys, hmmm?" Her gaze glances over to the stumbling mother in law. "I will ask later, I need to go see a General about a bandage." She packs her med kit back together and walks after Amber.

Aryn Cole makes her way down from the stands to join the contestants down by the first aid tents. Accompanied by an equally short armored Lady soldier, Kiko Alde, who walks with a rifle slung over her shoulder, and a half cape to the colors of the Great House Alde.

"Miss Nerys!-- You were so brave! I was cheering for you!" Aryn exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands. "Would you permit me to treat you? I feel awful that you were struck!"

Barad sets to work on Hadrix's wounds next. Really, . . . these wounds . . . are just really not - as - bad. Almost trivial, one might say, in comparison to those suffered, just now, by our Sir Fable. *shudder* The carnage. Barad's work proceeds quite smoothly, and the massive duelist should be up and about soon . . . . and in much better shape that a lot of the others! Kudos to the skill of the man.

Blinking, the voice is familiar and then his head is raised to see the source. The momentary malaise cleansed and a smile actually comes to Hadrix's face. "Oya, Kar'ika. Thank you." bowing his head as he takes the bottle. His voice warmer despite the cracked glass and gravel rumble of it and the corner of his organic eye creases. "This should do well for an after party." keeping still for a medic squirting bacta gel into the wound once it's numbed and cleaned.

"Did you see the whole fight?" head tilting, "I got stabbed today." he motions with the bottle to his arm. "Right here."

Nerys, did manage to set aside the comedy show, such as it was, when Aryn made her way over. "I hadn't expected to do well. My brawn is nowhere near as mighty as my brain." She did not seem quite so defensive as the offer was made, but still..."Yes, I would appreciate the help. I would hate to soak through that dress. It went off splendidly, don't you think?" Because tear-away dresses were win.

Lozen exits the squares without fanfare or entourage and scans the crowd. Her gaze lands on Hadrix and lingers a moment before her chin dips and she turns her back a bit to continue to scan the stands, holding pressure the whole while.

Following his motion to the arm, Karys leans a bit before she glances to Barad. "Treat him well, I will pay for it." That nod given she smirks a bit, the thing a strange sight upon her. "I fear I was a little late but I saw you win. So celebrate you shall." She turns the back about, resting it on her hip to pull out another bottle of alcohol. "I figured you might like that one the most but I have several others. I figured since I was not fighting I should offer the libation."

She grins a bit more and sets the other bottle down so he need not reach for it.

Leith finds himself sans his bag of snacks and just had spent the entire fight listening to the blonde talk about her mother. He sighs, "Why couldn't she have Daddy issues? I like when they have daddy issues." He says rising and carefully steal a cup of cider that a drunken lout had bought and sits down to get for whatever meat on a stick treat this planet has. He makes his way to Lozen's side, "Hey you did well and second round." He says offering her the cider. "Drink this it'll make you feel warm and tingly. " He watchs Hadrix and Kray, "You probably need warm and tingly."

Kael Greystorm looks down at his ruined clothes and then over at Sesti and chuckles a bit, "Talk to you later Sesti. I've got to head back to the Warden and perhaps get a change of clothes I seem to have soiled these." He climbs to his feet and sways just a bit and then heads off towards the starport the ships and sleep.

"Sesti..." Ambrosia intones, looking worse than she feels probably, thanks to the dampener. It's technology or Force or something that she will never understand. All she knows is that it means she's still here, breathing, and will get a chance to dance with a Noble in the ring, next. Splendid.

"Did you bring me a beer? I'll bet the have hot ale, mulled. I smell somethin like it." She's a bit twitchy in the skin now, shivering from the actual chill and the plummet of her own temperature as much of that warm blood is now congealed mash in the sand. Like a nasty sugar scrub.

"It went wonderfully. Win or lose, it was a good and honorable bout. Wear these scars with pride!" Aryn says as a few staff arrive to lay out her medical kit. She quietly thanks them and pulls out the numbing kolto agent to help with Nerys' wounds. "Dampening fields are wonderful pieces of technology. You learn the hard way and live to fight again another day." Aryn is going about closing the wounds now with a binding agent of bacta spray, subsequently covering each mark with a smooth bacta strip to aid in its closure. "I believe this ought to be it, ma'am. Not nearly good as new, but close. With stories to tell!"

Lozen nods once "I did not perform as well as I would have liked but while I mend-I will practice." She traces her gaze back to Hadrix and then looks away "I do not deserve warm and fuzzy. I shall leave you to mingle and...make friends." Her nose wrinkles a bit "I can find another ride back so you may stay and possibly host...company...on the way back if you so like?"

Barad finishes up with Hadrix and scans the contestants for a better half. Ahah! There's Lozen . . . Barad quickly makes his way over, jogging on his big 'ole paws to where the wounded Echani is keeping grips on her own injuries. "May I?" Barad offers, and, once assent is given, sets to work to staunch the flow of blood and bind the wounds with gauze. In Lozen's case, it's more of an accumulation of multiple lacertions, none of them lethal. In the work of a few minutes, they're doing much better

Nerys, likely aided by said field, was a good patient, not even giving lip or slapping Aryn's hands away, as she watched the woman work on her injuries. She seemed, oddly, fascinated by it, or curious, as though this were not at all something she was used to. "Well, at least until I can't. But that is what a good cosmetic surgeon is for." They exist folks, true facts. "I've lived in this skin for a long time. I suppose I shouldn't be so precious about it though." Nerys' tone was back to being amused. "Thank you for your skill, and your consideration." She would not keep the doctor longer than she needed. There were still others injured. And a party to get to.

"Thank you" Hadrix rumbles again, voice humble as he is gifted the bottles. Once plasters are in place around his bicep there is a moment his own gaze falls upon the smaller for and the corners of his mouth sink as if to cut the chin from his face.

"Would you share a drink with me? It's all arutiise here... but they're unified... I feel like the arutiise." the bodysuit is slipped on and his plates are affixed one by one with the help of the ID10 droid.

"I don't think they'd understand me."

Leith shrugs, "YOu live to fight another day besides I had to work hard to steal that drink." Leith sighs, "Please tell me your not going to go waller in self pitty again." Leith was a hypocrite. "You can sleep in your old bunk. It's not that small of a ship. Along as you're not going to waller till you get up on your feet. Leith shrugs as Barad goes to work on her. "Let the past go. "

"This place is delicate and mannered. It is a good place of sorts. But we are not meant for it...no," Karys agrees as she glances towards the others. A faint smile curling her lips but then it whisks itself away as she slow nods. "We can speak when you are ready, Hadrix. Of course. I will take the bottles and you lead the way. Get you set up proper with all these and then make sure you do not do anything stupid to open your wounds."

She lets her gaze settle on Lozen a moment before blue hues tick towards Leith with a curious study. But as armor is being affixed the gunslinger grabs at the bottles.

Lozen's chin lifts, "I am not near injured enough for you to talk to me like THAT and still stand within arm's reach of me." She warns irritably, "I don't plan on sleeping, I appreciate the ride. If you needed credits why did you refuse my offer of credits for the ride here?" She stiffens a bit as suddenly there's a stranger in her personal space and then she realizes the intent and nods once, "Yes. Thank you Doctor....?"

"General," Sesti intones in the same exact tone back. "I have not reached the ale tent, yet. And I do not have Jax's talent to summon one here for us." She raises an eyeridge in Amber's direction. "One of these days that trick will not work, old dog," she warns lightly, with a slight smirk returning to her tone. She reaches into her med pac and fishes out a hypo. She manages to reach over and press the blood coagulant against the bleeding wound as they walk, knowing the woman is /not/ going to stop until she has a drink in her hand.

"Be well, Miss Nerys. It was a pleasure to see you again." Aryn clasped her hands over her heart and gently bowed, turning only to watch her. A slow nod to the side saw her gear packed back up, and Aryn began to make her way to the party. Joining her kinsmen brought a big, beautiful smile to her face as the dancing began, and music played loud. Someone brought her a glass of brandy, and Aryn began to join the crowd in their singing and making merry!