Log:Onderon Tournie Round 7

Rotworms vs. Varactyl Lizard Gizzards

OOC Date: September 28, 2021
Location: Iziz, Onderon
Participants: Clan Kora, Bounty Hunters' Guild, Tarq Najjic, Kasia Ashkuri, Tamsin Cas, Pranda Jax, B'haav Adasta, Luna Tokani, Hahtavi, Hadrix Kora, Netep Muri, Tovani Enno, Valeska Jaivon, Jallo Dara, Grom, Sumi Kora

The grand stands of the arena form a large oval of sand with two gates that currently hold our contenders back. The season of blood games has begun, and it starts autumn with a joyful roar of the crowd. The stands are packed full with natives and galactic interlopers hoping to get their rocks off at the brutal massacre scheduled to happen tonight. The royal tower is filled by the King of Onderon and his young Princess daughter, who feast the delectable products of a Dxun hunt. Beast riders take to the air in their giant animals with banners attached to limbs to display the royal colors, and fireworks rocket off into the open, cloudless sky complete with an unprecedented view of the jade moon, Dxun, /close/ by and large.

"GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD EVENING LADIES ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNND GENTLEFOLK! WELCOME TO THE LAST SERIES OF BLOOD GAMES! I AM YOUR HOST, REGAN ROLLIES, AND BEFORE WE GET STARTED... A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS!"

In the underworks of the arena, the Mandalorian led team named ROTWORMs prepare for glory inside a ready room with an iron gate blocking their path up to the sacred sands. Sumi Kora, alleged Alor of Clan Kora, dons her helmet and checks the chamber of her slug throwing handcannon. <"Ready your weapons, warriors! OYA!">

On the other side of the arena, the Varactyl Lizard Gizzards prepare their beasts and charge their slugthrowers and force pikes, ready to give these up-jump victors called the Rotworms /the business/.

The visored helmet covers the upper portion of Tovi's head where the important parts are. Eyes and brain meats. The Wroonian lets out a long tense breath and as the call to ready weapons rises from a familiar figure she lifts up the quarterstaff she had been leaning against and holds it crosswise before her torso. Fingers grip firmly, a slow movement of them to help keep them agile and ready to adjust for what is to come.

"They have mounts? That seems somewhat unfair and weighted in their favor." Whether anyone is listening or not she very much appears to want one of the pretty varactyls. "I want one."

She shifts her weight back and forth on her feet as she shits forward some as she begins to buzz with that nervous energy. She glances at her quarterstaff and eyesquints. "I got this?" Hesitation settles in before she nods to herself. "Yeah...I got this."

Among the Mandalorians gathered with Sumi is a man in black armor with muted dark green and coppery-brown accents. Hahtavi likewise dons his helmet that he's freshly calibrated. He runs through various systems checks using his HUD and checks his jetpack connection. When he's satisfied that all of his armor systems are green to go, he unslings his rifle to check the charge.

This Kora then looks over all those gathered here with his clan tonight. A baritone laughs through his helmet's vocoder at Tovani's remarks, <"Either you do, or you'll be meat tonight. We'll try not to let you get killed on your first outting with us."> She might recognize his armor and his voice laced with ... is that humor?

Hahtavi turns, skimming his helmet's 360 degree field of vision as he notes the level of preparedness of his clan mates and those who have joined up with them tonight.

Back in the leather skirt and the lo-tech. Head lifting at the announcer bellowing, left hand gripping the slug pistol often riding his hip and the helmet with its slight modificatons in the right. "Sounds about standard issue, Tovani." Of course he'd remember the name of the Wroonian he punched across a basement. Because why wouldn't Hadrix, the Al'Verde of Kora.

There's a cigarra in his mouth, puffing slowly, shifted so that when the open visor of the helmet is drawn down over his face it isn't knocked aside. Jetpack puffing with several test squeezes and the silvery metaled blade drawn from its hangar on his back gives a hissing ring before he gives it a test flip around his hand.

"Space... it's about time."

Pants? He needs no pants.

Valeska has a few weapons in front of her -- a rifle, a pistol, a vibrodagger -- trying to decide which to go out with first. The roar of the crowd draws her attention upwards with a slight frown. She's never really been in one of these things before and she's not quite sure how she feels about it on the whole. Sure, fighting crazed savages on Mandalore or dumb thugs in the streets is one thing. But a bloodsport seemed a little.... grey.

But it doesn't get voiced. Valeska keeps her thoughts to herself, ultimately decides on the rifle, and puts the other two weapons on her person to be used later on if she feels the need to do so. "Kill the mounts, then," she offers helpfully, grinning to Tovani with a flourish spin of her dagger. "Personally, I don't think it'll give them much of an edge, but let them think their pets will help them, yeah?"

IN THE STANDS: Dr. Tamsin Cas had been a frequent visitor and just as frequent member of the medical entourage to the Rotguts, in the melee competitions of last fall. And now, here she was again, bag in hand and under as much guard as her own person could allow, making her way through the bodies both sitting and standing in the arena/ While she was not attempting to find a seat as close to the action as possible, she was, clearly, hoping for one where she could keep a weather eye on the combatants, the better to tend to their medical need. Practical //and// efficient.

Grom is here. One can readily discern this fact by the booming declaration, "GROM IS HERE." Whereas in prior engagements the hulking Houk had been clad in magnificent heavy powered armor, with a broad array of blasters a d few adds of dubious legality, the alien warrior is now attired in ill fitting common battle armor that struggles to contain his bulk, with a full sized helmet perched comically atop the dome of his head like a jaunty cap. The only weapon he carries is a notched, pitted vibroaxe. Upon hearing that the foe are riding mounts, he narrows his yellow eyes before roaring cheerfully, "AH, the foe have provided us with SNACKS for the victory feast. GROM APPROVES. Excellent manners."

"Excuse. Please excuse. Mmm, yes, pardon - hands off goods! Excuse." A man with a gymnast's build is sidestepping his way IN THE STANDS, following Tamsin. He's wearing navy denim pants that flare at the ankles, a multicolored shirt half-unbuttoned, and a fluffy fur coat, golden and thick. He also has a handbag clutched close to his chest, his grip only relaxing once he has reached his final destination. "Is close. Hope still has shields, from last year. Tarq Najjic would /hate/ throwing out furs."

Have /you/ ever tried to get blood out of a fur coat? It is indeed a nightmare. He opens his handbag and pulls out a bottle of bourbon and two tough-looking steel mugs. He puts one next to Tamsin, and pours his full of bourbon, taking a sip and stowing the bottle back in his bag. Apparently this event is BYOB. He also pulls out a bottle of water and offers it to the medic.

Sitting in the stands to watch the spectacle is a dark-haired woman in a synthleather jacket over a chromasheath dress and matching ankle boots. Any touch of light across the skin-clinging garment triggers an array of colors depending on how its refracted. Razor straight hair is pulled over one shoulder, and her face is done up in accenting, but bold makeup so that the hoop dangling from the lobe of one ear is left explicitly exposed compared to its more hidden twin. Is she a groupie? She seems like a groupie. One leg crossed over the other, she rests back into the seat with one arm draped across the rest and the other across her lap, where long-nailed fingers lightly tap against her fabric-squeezed thigh in idle count. It's subconsciously timed with the beat of sponsorship advertisements blasting over the arena speakers, much like the gentle nodding of the foot that sways as it dangles, hanging free and clear because of how that leg is hooked over its twin.

IN THE STANDS, B'haav Adasta is likely shocking anyone who knows him well as he makes way to a seat while NOT WEARING A SUIT. Yes, sure, he's not naket, but without a jacket, and the usual fanciful accessories, he may seem as such. The Balosar wears s simple double-breasted tunic with yellow trim, a yellow porkpie hat, and the rest of the ensemble in simple black. A silver cane is held in both hands as he seems to be taking up enough seating for three. Or trying to. Occasionally, he has to shift, flail his arms and make some mad eyes at another spectator.

"I'm holding that seat, yes. Yes, for a real person. And even if it weren't a real person, I'd still prefer their company to you!" Cross? Maybe. B'haav hates holding down the territory, but it's better than the return trip from concessions. The Balosar looks about for one particular Muri - knowing how many of them there are, it's important to specify. He manages to spy a couple of familiar figures a few rows away and on the move. He raises a hand in greeting, but his voice is lost in the roar as the match's sponsor message begins.

Netep Muri, galactic interloper, does not typically off her rocks with bloodsport spectating - maybe off her LUNCH - but she's willing to make exceptions now and again. Like the good 'shaman' she is, she's here bringing emotional support and stability to another via the sheer force of her companionship. And snacks. LOTS of snacks. For a woman small of frame and stature, the little nomad sure can pack her arms full.

A lengthy duster threatens to tangle up Muri's sideways shuffle, hinder leg hikes, as she scoots and climbs her way through the stands with the frantic pace of one who spent waaaay too long deciding what to buy in line and has missed the opening announcements. Around her head and shoulders, a heavy groat wool shawl serves as shield against most flung nasties to protect her glittery, black curls.

"Scuse..eh--ah, yes if you could--eh, frell." Muri squeezes behind a standing body to step onto their seat and makes her way a few meters along thusly, until she encounters a seated form, then hops over those knees. There's a small trail of tumbled crisps, greasy batter bits in her wake but small casualty count, considering her burden. Her eyes, meanwhile, keep roving the line of heads, looking for a yellow hat, yellow hat, yellow-hahaha! There he is.

• FWOOMP* There's a knee encroaching over B'haav's left shoulder and hopefully before it can take any punishment from that cane, the rest of Netep Muri follows to drop on down into the vacant seat. More crisps are lost, as there's only so much room to store the overflow in her cheeks.

<"We are not here to be merciful. The crowd quenches blood.. satiate their thirst! HA!.. The grand horns play the opening, it is time."> Sumi calls back to the team as the rattling iron gate begins to raise up.

The announcer yields to the King, and the main holo display showing the towering suite and its occupants reveals the youthful princess giddy and clapping her hands together. "Do begin this good show, Father!" Her voice is amplified over the speakers. The aging King nods and lazily waves a greasy hand to signal the start.

Thus the horns start blowing and the crowd octave raises. The Varactyl Lizard Gizzards charge into the center of the arena, all fifteen (10) riders and ten (10) mounts alike. The loud mounts issue nervous calls of excitement and blood lust to the tone of:

WUHWOOOOONG WUUHWONGWONG WUUUHWONGONG WUUUHWONG!

It's like a chorus of WUUUHWONGs out there, and it seems the majestic creatures and their beast riders are native, because streamers for the Beast riders are waving al over the stands.

Sumi charges up the sandy ramp with the ROTWORMS banner in hand, planting it once they made it to level ground. The crowd is split.. half crying out ROOOOOOOOOOOTWORMS! And the other some native gobbly gook that belongs to the Onderonian Beast Riders that's half chant and stomping (creating a bass with each step) and half screaming for no apparent reason.

"You are so very thoughtful," Tovani quips back at Hahtavi as a quirked grin spreads to bare white shining teeth. "Either way I am glad I am rubbing shoulders with the experienced." She squares up and looks ready to just stay where she is to defend her ground but let us ALL be honest here, those she is with are going to end up charging forward as she recognizes the fact she is around bigger and better armored figures than herself. "Live and learn.." more for herself than anyone else.

"Maybe, but they are so pretty. Seems a shame to kill the beasts..." Or really anything. She squares off and realizes she had no idea what she got herself into as one comes straight at her with the need for speed. She lets out a sound as Sumi moves forward so thus she does too and tires desperately to duke out of the way. That of course is not going to work when the large creature of a man gets in the way and plays with the thing that had her face picked out for food. "By the Gods thank you!" She declares. "Oh...wait..." she remarks and then realizes its the same figure who knocked her on her ass.

She turns about and while another creature rushes in from the side astride its beautiful mount she uses the momentum to spin her staff about over her head and thwack it good across the chest, freeing him from the poor beast in servitude. "AH HA!" But her hands still ringing from the contact causes her to fumble and her next strike misses, whiffing over his head.

Luna Tokani sometimes goes to other smuggler's moon(s). Not today, though. Today, she's on this exact smuggler's moon (singular). Least importantly, the petite blonde thing is wearing a rather ruddy-looking dress. It would be the same color as the forest if it weren't a little dusty from Nar Shaddaa, but instead it's a touch more olive. More importantly, despite all that, she's remarkably pretty. Like a little gemstone really, if you could brush the dirt off her. Most importantly, she's carrying snacks. Enough for two, which would make some sense after she parks herself directly down beside Pranda Jax and holds out a little tray of finger-snacks towards the other woman.

"It is so loud!" she yells. Or tries to, really. Tough to say if Pranda will hear her.

And the gates open and they pour out, running up as Sumi plants their team flag for the ROTWORMS! Hahtavi runs with her and yells, <"OYA!"> He brandishes his rifle over his head briefly and then keeps moving as the lizard riders move in to charge. He is somehow not targeted right off and is clear to get a great first shot.

The first red bolt that flies from the muzzle of his modified Galaar rifle hits the rider he's aiming at so soundly that it not only kills the rider, but rips them right out of the saddle!

Alas, Hahtavi's second shot missed the rider barreling up on his giant thrashing mount just as the Mandalorian is jostled. This Kora spares a glance to keep tabs on Tovani - but Hadrix is already there, trying to keep her alive and put on a splendid show at the same time. So he keeps himself moving!

The initial charge is halted when the first blaster bolt slams into Hadrix's torso, shoving the big man backwards and nearly toppling him before the big man twists and tumbles into a roll to draw fire meant for other, a nod thrown to Tovani when he hears the thanks. Then he is tumbling sideways to come up on one foot before his jets fire and launch him into the air.

Carried aloft on wings of fire, torso plates scored black and the meat around them red and blistered. The pistol is shoved into a clip on his waist and his blade is half-sworded on his descent. Battering aside a blaster weapon and cutting into the rider's shoulder and absorbing a punch to his neck, rocking him back where he stands on the front of the massive lizard. Off balance - one arm almost pinwheeling before he trusts and removes the aggressor's head from their shoulders. The big man follows his momentum, running toward the Vractyl's tail with an arch of ichor in the wake of the blade tip.

No words just yet, just hard breaths with animal growls on the heels of them.

The ruckus above reaches a fever pitch and Valeska tilts her head with a crack of her neck. "All right, then. Time for a show, yeah?" Her Journeyman helmet slips on with a 'thunk' and follows Sumi up to the ground level. The roar of the crowd would be deafening but the helmet does help in filtering a lot of it out. It's mostly a muffled drone and a hollow reverberation in the helm.

But a moment's distraction is all that is needed for a shot to immediately hit Valeska' in the leg, nearly buckling her knee completely from the impact. Nearly. <"You kriffers!"> And now she's angry. With an audible, sharp grunt and a flick of her wrist, Valeska's jetpack bursts to life, lifting her airborne as her rifle comes to bear. The first shot hits the dirt next to a now riderless Varactyl.

Off to a damn good start.

Grom strikes upon the brilliant (not brilliant) and surprising (highly predictable) strategy of brandishing his axe overhead and lumbering directly at the force like armed monster cavalry. The big idiot deflects one lance thrust, before being jolted center mass with a second. "FOOL. Your have struck the Gromgut. THE STRONGEST POINT OF ALL GROMS. Now remain in one place, Sparkle-stick Snack Rider, so the MIGHTY GROM may smite you!" They do not in fact stand still, riding easily away while From trundles after them, axe high, yelling wordlessly.

IN THE STANDS: The colourful gymnast in the fashionista's guise could not have plopped, well, plopped was such an ugly word, settled, sashayed, shimmied? Moving on! His way into the seat beside someone more and entirely his opposite as Tamsin. Were it not for the fanciful duo-toned hair, and the gilded shimmer of her skin, the good doctor would have seemed, and perhaps still was, a pale wallflower besides the Kuati bon vivant. She, however, did not appear to nothing anything amiss in their pairing, and offered only a, "If the blood reaches this far, I will throw myself in front of your to protect your attire." The water was accepting with a word of thanks, though she did not, as yet, do more than crack the seal, eyes fixed on the opening gambit of the battle. And what a bloody gambit it was, "I think you may need to hold my seat, Tarq." The Rotworms were already being blooded.

IN THE STANDS: (For new audience members) Amidst the cheering throngs, some stand out. Pranda Jax and Luna Tokani are in the stands; further down, B'haav Adasta and Netep Muri are sitting side by side, Muri spilling excess chips everywhere. And a bit further still, Tamsin Cas and Tarq Najjic sit, close enough that they'll be splattered by blood, except technology saves the day.

Tarq's attention is caught for a moment by motion. "Is that... Mmm. No suit. Is B'haav imposter in audience- with-" His eyes narrow. Is that... "-Muri imposter."

His attention returns to the real reason he's here, and he has missed a savage exchange. "Oof. Maybe beasts just faster?" He puts a hand over his heart. "Will defend seat, by Tarq Najjic's honor." Is that even a thing?

"Girl, someone needs to work on your mani. Kinda royal life you livin'?" Pranda murmurs it to herself after watching the close-up holoshot of the Princess. The arm draped over the chair's rest bends at the elbow and curls up. Wrist tilting, her fingers lazily curl towards her palm and provide a flat surface for the gentle puff of her cheek to rest against. Despite the hype of the spectacle, Pranda seems unmotivated to leap to her feet and join in the raucous cheering and heckling that begins pelting both sides as calls for the Rotworms and the Varactyl Lizard Gizzards begin braying back and forth in the crowd. The subtly sticky peel of her lipsticked mouth parting offers subtle hints at the white teeth beyond right before they're obscured again by her lips sealing around the white straw of a drink fetched by her other hand.

She's just finishing the sip when Luna starts slipping back through the row leading to her seat. Pranda's feet tuck in, but there's no avoiding her knees brushing against the blonde's legs. While Luna slips into her seat, Pranda replaces her drink into its spot and slips her hand away from her cheek. Her arm slips forward, allowing her to lean in closer and breach the space between the two chairs. Proximity removes the necessity to yell, even if the gently wet sound of Pranda's lips parting get lost in the chaos of the blood-thirsty cheering. "People really like seeing other people get hurt." Taking one of the greasy snacks, Pranda only slightly leans away from Luna. There's no sense in moving all the way back if they want to carry on any semblance of conversation. Refusing to smudge her lipstick, Pranda tears off a chunk of the meat and passes it onto her tongue, removing the need to bite altogether.

Right out of the gate, the WHIP-CRAAAAAAAACK of slug rounds pock up the sand and hit targets all around. Sumi is the target of three, and while two hit, one PWANGS off her arm simultaneously with the one the blasts through her tie, emerging out the back in a cloud of dark red mists. <"HUTT--SUCKERS!"> Sumi cries out after landing harshly in the sand to cradle her leg. The distant terrible sounds of beasts all around going:

WUUUUHWONG WUUHWONGONG WUUHWOOONG

Prompt her to sit up, not sure weight can be afforded to her wounded leg at the moment. A quick adjustment from her wrist and she activates her jetpack, lifting up off the ground and taking gravity out of the situation.. for now. Her stun baton snaps out to its full length, and mid-air, Sumi charges the baton to generate crackling electricity. She closes in on a Varactyl, bashing it twice from above with sand-crater inducing force that plants the Varactyl in place, unconscious. She goes for the rider, too, but they had the perception to duck.

The rest of the fight is still up in the air as members of the ROTWORMS have a true battle against the Varactyl Lizard Gizzards. So far, at least two of the riders have fallen to the martial prowess and marksmanship of the ROTWORMS, with one injured and woozy after being knocked from their mount. Eight (8) riders remain, and nine (9) Varactyls.

Perhaps it's just the wary and on-guard nature. Maybe the cane really IS providing more support than potential whacking-threats, but as Muri climb-fwhomps OVER B'haav's left shoulder, the Balosar stands - er, sits... - resolute. There's a shift, and he seems almost ready to grouse at yet another interloper, but the snarl dies on his lips as he looks into the cheeky face of one Netep Muri: shaman, and snack-courier finally landed IN THE STANDS. "Is this really the best location to observe a feast? From what I've been lead to believe, this could be incredibly violent. Is that normally paired with a feasting celebration?" B'haav Adasta doesn't seem that bothered by the idea of the violence as the mixed encoding of a celebration being paired with it. He rests the cane between his legs, hooked behind a knee, as he reaches out to unburden Muri of some of her haul.

"Did you get enough?" His eyes move to the INDEED Tamsin as she seems to be holding her medical bag at the ready. As the least useful Doctor in the stands, B'haav holds back and just observes. Nobody needs emergency counselling. Not when they walk willingly into a gladiator pit. He looks over to Tarq, who seems to be making some sort of rude gesture. Or is that... An oath?

IN THE STANDS: "I knew that I could depend on you, Tarq." Tamsin's tone was somewhere between genuine appreciation and amusement, and that, was very much par for the course when she was in the Kuati's company. "I wonder if I should brave the sands, or if I would end up a meal for a reptile who would not even say thank you beforehand." It probably was for the best to wait. She trusted the Koras to summon her if she were needed. Tarq's question, though, took her attention from the battlegrounds and into the stands, "Well, yes, I do believe that is B'haav and Miss Muri, but he does look a bit under the weather, fashionably speaking. Is he under cover do you think?" She glanced back to her companion, "Should we out him?"

There is fighting happening, and though Kasia is late, she eventually makes it to watch at least some of the action. There's a bit of shuffling along past others to get to her seat, then settles there to watch the violence taking place. Once settled she pulls back the flap of the bag she carries and produces a small container of snacks, casually popping one into her mouth.

Luna Tokani's slender shoulders roll as she settles into her seat. Despite all of the action happening beyond the stands, it's Pranda that Luna's eyes are fixated on. Big, twinkly blue things that seem to twinkle a little extra when she's got something she thinks is clever to say. Her own lips part subtly for a ghost of a moment, before she pulls them back into her mouth to bite back whatever she was about to say. She turns to face the fighters and the carnage with a little wrinkle in her button nose. It seems Luna Tokani is also unmotivated to leap from her seat. She does peer curiously back and forth at those who do, however.

"I like the swoop races more," she offers to Pranda. A greasy little morsel is retrieved from the tray she's offering over to Pranda, but she's decidedly less pretty about eating it. Her eyes roll back into her head as she chews, and she can't help but give a happy wiggle in response to the deep fried indulgence on her tongue and between her teeth.

"Ah, it is -so- good," she says. She seems to be more smitten with the food than the spectacle. Tough girl to please, this Luna.

IN THE STANDS: "GROOOOOOOM!!" Netep pops RIGHT back to her feet when the might Houk comes charging out with the rest of the rotworms, which sends another sprinkling of festive crumbs into the air. Those...those might have originated from her mouth.

• Cough*Hack*

Offloading a bag of fry bread onto the Balosar's knee with one hand, Muri offers him her other elbow, letting him choose another item to snag before it all ends up in laps. There's some falumpaset cheese curds, contained in carton, fruit dumplings, the ever-messy crisps, slippery bag of fried chuba legs, and a jug of lum.

"Wh--" *cough* "-at did you get? I dunno if this really qualifies as /feasting/ but..." a shrug "Winter Fete's a kriffin Core holiday, anyhow. S'good excuse to 'make merry', though, hey?" Raunchy grin. "And THAT pairs perfectly with displays of excessive violence, in most circles. Nothing like a brutal show of testosterone to oil one's gears." Hopefully he'll catch the accompanying eyeroll and drop of sarcasm before she nips up a chuba leg from its greasy, paper sleeve and holds it in teeth for safe keeping. Gonna take a minute to balance and stash all these treats.

"Oooooooooof." Pranda flinches at the sight of Sumi Kora taking a blast and immediately pitching into the sand of the arena. The look of pain on her face is so specific that it's almost as if she's the one that's been shot. "She's gonna need to walk that one off." It's spoken out of one side of her mouth more than the other, opposite cheek slightly distended around the food she was chewing. Despite the fact she's just watched the Mandalorian eat it onto the ground and there's a splatter of blood spray coating the sand around her, Pranda seems unconcerned for the warrior's overall well-being. Groupie? Groupie. Seeing Mandalorians get beaten up and injured is just part of the package deal when you know the rocket-packing, armor-wearing, gun-loving crazies who would probably volunteer to have themselves shot at speed through a star cruiser's viewport just to surprise their enemy.

The arm she was leaning against adjusts itself by slipping off its elbow and tucking close to her body. Her hand crosses that boundary between seats and squirms its way past the back of Luna's arm and then between it and the blonde's side so she can extend hers out and curl it up and over in a linking of the two limbs. With the initial shock of the brutal attack on the Mandalorian wearing off, Pranda's dangling foot relaxes from its angled back state and her toes ease their tight curl inside the slightly pointed tip of her ankle boot. Another piece of the snack is torn off and much like her dress does in the light, her fingers shimmer because of the warm grease smearing off on them. The blood doesn't seem to have curbed her appetite.

Self satisfaction and pride radiate off of the Wroonian in waves as her opponent cows under her presence. That's right! So distracted is she that Tovani does not see the incoming Varactyl at her side before it is nearly too late. "Wha...AHHH CHA CHA!" comes the stuttering response as she twist hops just out of the way before it manages to snap at her. Huffing out a breath she catches the movement from the downed rider and with a suddenly heavy turn and strike like she's using a bat she slams the quarterstaff into his chest and sends him flying back to skid across the ground in a plume of dust.

Tovani is hardly done for she twists back around and with a inversion of her grip she brings down the quarterstaff quick and thunks the the lizard on the head. Its response leaves stepping back when it chortles loudly in anger at her. "Oh dear...be nice now.." she says, trying to urge the animal back as she holds up the staff in an effort to shield herself.

From IN THE STANDS, Jallo finally arrives! Better late than never the tall grey haired man makes his way through the crowd and despite the leather bands covering his eyes he seems to almost dance around and between people until he finds a good place to watch the battle. Because once again even though he's not able to see he's gotten himself into a position to observe the battle in his own way his face following the immediate clashes and a smile growing as the flow of the fight starts to play out in his head.

All kriff is breaking loose! Hahtavi dodges as best he may, both rifle slugs and giant lizards thrashing about and trying to kill him. /Somehow/ he comes through unscathed, taking no wounds yet - but he sees Sumi hit and Valeska, both of them going airborn. That's his cue to do the same.

This Kora takes to the air as well, setting off his jetpack as he rockets up into the air. It gets Hahtavi up out of reach of the Varactyls if not the riders shooting. He aims his own rifle as he rises above the arena floor, firing down on the other team. Another rider is killed with a shot taking his head off, splattering gore onto the sand behind him! Hahtavi's second shot is a little too hurried and misses as the mount suddenly moves, throwing the rider off balance and clear of the bolt that was aimed for him or her!

Still running along the length of the giant reptilian, ducking low to avoid fire and angling himself to follow the concaving turn of the tail, Hadrix kicks off to clear the distance between varactyl. Leaving the headless rider behind and landing sideways on the next. Slipping to be astride, the blade comes around the front of the rider. Hooking up to the very top of the neck to gain a very interesting 'HRAGK' sound.

Are his lips moving? One might imagine the Boar-Wolf of Ealor may be telling the one he is choking to rest now. No nightmares. Only dreams. It's a hard scrappy bit of close in fighting - twisting, shifting, and then finally the rider tumbling off of the saddle, leaving the Al'Verde Kora there with no idea how to ride a living mount.

Living mounts make stinkies.

Head turning, Hadrix looks for his next target.

Taking twice as many hits as she has dished out by this point, Valeska hovers in the air questioning her life choices. Leaving home. Ending up as a Mandalorian, of all things. Was Dantooine really all /that/ bad? Farmland for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles...

Screw it. She'll take her chances with the angry lizard birds and the insane riders upon them. <"I hate to be a Downer Dug and correct me if I'm wrong, but this maybe could be going just a /little/ better, yeah?"> This moment of clarity is punctuated by a Varactyl jumping up into the air and snapping a tooth-filled maw at her boot, forcing her to hover just a little higher. Yeah, no. She'll stay up in the air, thankyouverymuch.

Grom hears his name shouted from the stands, and affirms merrily, "YES. GROM IS HERE. Whoever shouted that is MOST PERCEPTIVE." In the middle of his royal address, he is jabbed in one leg by another pike thrust. He seems less injured than he is reminded that a fight is underway. Almost indignantly, he chops through the spine of the unfortunate beast rider, and then proceeds to scold the unnaturally slumping dead body: "Foul. FOUL, Sparkle Stick Snack Rider! From was in the midst of- ...of SOMETHING. Which you gave made Grom FORGET. DO NOT DO SO, AGAIN." Seriously, Grom, he's dead. He won't do it again.

"Ah! There she goes!" Luna says with some excitement as Sumi rallies to her feet to charge forward. She even leans forward a little to point at the charging Mandalorian. Another Groupie? It's not impossible. It's with some bemusement, then, that Luna leans back in her seat and speaks. "I do not understand how she can just get up like that. Sometimes I think she must be made of rock and dirt instead of skin and bone."

She seems to ponder that for a moment or two, lifting her arm to allow Pranda's to snake behind it and then loop over. As if by instinct, the young blonde woman shifts in her seat to angle her torso towards that arm and towards Pranda herself. She lifts the second tray of deep-fried snack food from her lap and sets it on the small space between the two. This one is of the sweet variety, dusted with sugar and some sort of spice. Luna picks at it a few times before shamelessly tugging off a piece that's too big for one bite. She shoves it into her mouth anyway.

"I meamf theymh womth acthually geth hurt righth?" she asks.

"Hhthey're promfethionath," she says. And -then- swallows.

Sumi is snatched right out of the air and held by her torso in the maw of the Varactyl. It tries to squeeze, using teeth that are razor sharp, but the thick armor protecting Sumi's torso has just enough integrity to keep those from piercing through. That does not negate the pressure she feels and screams in agony. In reaction, Sumi shoves the crackling baton down its throat and SHOCKS it into collapsing, allowing her to roll free of the maw, covered in slobber. She is slow to take a knee and is set upon by two other beasts. It's not clear by the stir up of sand dust what's happening to her there.

The rest of the fight has taken a sharp turn as more riders find their ends at the hands of the ROTWORMS. There are cries from the crowd as their favorite combatants are killed unceremoniously by the foreigners, while the other half of the crowd begin to chant:

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOT---WORMSSSSSSSSS--- ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT---WORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMS

<"THAT HAS GOT TO HURT!"> Yells the announcer, laughing after GROM all but dropped his opponent into two pieces with a meaty cleave of his MIGHTY GROM ax.

"I'm pretty sure she totally just got shot," Pranda clarifies. "I don't think they have special effects in this. Also, that guy totally just got cleaved in two." Pranda points it out with a slender, long-nailed finger indicating the Houk who has bisected his opponent with one mighty swing of the ax. It's far from bloodless, given how the separate halves are currently draining themselves into the sand. Pranda wonders if someone will lose their footing on that later, given the muck the sand is turning into as a result. She doesn't miss a beat despite Luna's full mouth and her tongue being pinned down. A quick glance at one of the massive holoboards gives some indication of the current status of the match. Arm dropping back to her lap, Pranda adjusts her own position in her seat to allow most of her lean to be onto the arm of the chair, with the outside of her arm pressed into the arm her own is looped around. Slipping the last chunk of her snack into her mouth, Pranda idly grazes the tip of her nails against Luna's forearm just shy of her wrist, but her eyes remained glued to the spectacle unfolding on the sands.

"Mmm... /maybe/." Doubts about whether this B'haav is genuine persist IN THE STANDS where Tarq Najjic is too distracted by the ultraviolence to truly ponder. He winces as Sumi gets picked up by a beast and chewed on. "How many scars, in medical opinion, you think she has?" He glances aside at Tamsin for a moment. "Bet triple digits. Minimum. Nowhere not cut, stabbed, or broken." He's smiling as he says it, and his tone is appreciative rather than the disgust one might assume. "Yes, bacta is good, but /come on/-" He waves a hand at the field as Hadrix jumps from beast to beast and Sumi shocks her way free of the varactyl. "Beskar, schmeskar. Something bites hard enough, does not matter."

He abruptly remembers his bourbon and the prior conversation: "If B'haav /truly/ undercover, would not be wearing hat."

Angry varactyl is angry! So angry. Tovani's eyes widen as the creature snaps at her again finds a face full of staff. The Wroonian is pushed back, feet braced against the ground as she kicks up some dust. She blinks a few times and stares at it through the visor merely a few feet away with just the quarterstaff between. "Okay, you need a nap. You are so very cranky," she remarks. Her hands slides down the staff after giving a push back to gain some room so she does not find teeth around any portion of her body. With a quick flick of her fingers the quarterstaff comes apart.

Wielding two heavy synthesized batons she ruses the creature and dodging one way then the next the slams the first baton down atop its head again, hitting that sweet point where she struck the first time and with her body bent forward she reverse the other baton and comes up under the chin of the Varactyl to land a aheavy blow near its throat. She watches it sway a moment, shaking its head in surprise before it side steps and crashes to the ground.

"Thank the Gods," she says, looking a little worn out but definitely still whole.

B'haav flinches a little at the most proximal yelling. Who is this Grom? Everyone seems to be chanting and calling the name, but... No one has ever accused him of being up with the who's who, anymore than they've mistaken his wit for humor. B'haav looks from Muri to the Houk where her gaze seems to have settled. He moves one hand to steady the bag of fry bread and, as some grease is already seeping through to the pants beneath, it may become apparent why he's not supporting his usual Refined Aesthetic couture. The other hand debates slowly, making the odd grab and pulling back before he finally takes the box of fruit dumplings from Muri.

'What did you get?'

"I... I brought soup." B'haav now places the dumpling carton on his other knee, holds it in place with an elbow, and leans forward to unbind the leather clasp and retrieve two medium to-go containers from within, each lidded and carrying a pair of liquids - one red, the other a pale cream color - that slosh against their upper confinement as he straightens precariously. "Maybe this isn't the location for soup," B'haav adds, looking around all of the jostling and cheering IN THE STANDS.

Seeing and hearing Sumi swept up into the maw of one of the Varactyl lizard beasts, Hahtavi turns swiftly and uses his jetpack to get closer, rifle up. He aims for the massive beasts that now crowd almost on top of his aliit's Alor and fires away! As before he nails the first shot and then a frenzie of thrashing causes his second shot to go astray.

<"Sumi! Get back up into the air!"> Of course it's up to her but her clansman is concerned and Hahtavi can't see how badly injured she may be while giant lizards fight practially on top of her!

Still up in the air himself, Hahtavi dodges what shooting he may, trying to line up another clear shot at the beasts.

IN THE STANDS: "You are probably right," Tamsin concluded, and so, she lifted a hand to wave in B'haav's direction, though, whether she got his attention or no, would remain to be seen. "Hrm?" And then Tamsin was looking back, just in time to see the aforesaid Sumi shock her way to freedom, "Oh, many. But I imagine they are badges of honour to her kind. And, they are interesting stories to tell." See? Tamsin could look at injuries logically. "I hope I brought enough supplies." Because major ouchie. Things were not looking good down there.

Cast up from the Varactyl he had been astride; maybe that's why none of them tried to bite him, Hadrix Kora doesn't bother to re-angle himself before his jetpack is engaged again, thrusters firing into the saddle and onto the back of the best as he soars skyward. Rolling and bringing one leg around to fire off a rocket-dart at the rider he'd left in the dirt, left hand lifting to point his pistol at another.

One .40 slug slams into dirt, digging a furrow for a shallow impact crater, and the other exploding report melds with the micro-missile taking the fallen rider in the chest, creating a blossom of varied shades red and the slug forces the other to duck in the saddle when kinetic plates do their job, but for the entirely wrong projectile.

At last the big man lands, slamming the guards of his sword against his battered chest plate, beckoning a challenge to come. All the while he stalks towards the giant reptilians again, head lowered and shoulders hunched. No time to talk, only time to draw attention.

Luna's eyes lid for a moment as Pranda explains that the action unfolding on the sands before her is, in fact, quite real. No special effects or fancy holographs. Real blood. Real bisection by axe. She grumbles something beneath her breath and picks at some more of that sweet bread before flicking her big blue eyes over towards Pranda. "I know it's -real-," she says, and then gestures towards the violence and chaos and blood and various viscera.

Whatever she says next is drowned out by the various chanting of ROOOOOOOTWOOOOOOOOOOOORM from the crowd, but that pouty expression is only soothed by the fingernails scraping across her arm and towards her wrist. Cheating. She turns her arm over so that her wrist faces upward, letting more of the landscape of her sun-kissed skin lie exposed for those roving fingernails. Acceptable cheating.

"But they're Mandalorians, right? Storied warriors, I'm sure this is all going perfectly to plan," she says, quite certain. It's then that Luna turns to look away from Pranda and towards Sumi while the aforementioned Mandalorian is chewed on by the angry creature.

"They will be fine!" she says. Less sure this time.

The field is thinning out and Valeska has done well as a distraction, but the anger of being shot -- TWICE -- is still very much there and it demands a viceral retort. Her jetpack flares brightly and with a shift of her body weight, Valeska flies in a downward curve; popping up into the face of a rider still on his mount. With feral yell that is nearly all teeth (you can't see it under the helmet, but trust me) the butt of Valeska's rifle breaks the rider's nose with a sickening -- satisfying -- crack. With a spurt of blood, the mount is now riderless and Valeska feels just a little bit better.

Just in time for Hadrix's knee rocket to explode nearby. So cool.

Grom is distracted from lecturing half a dead man by another rider who decides this is the ideal moment to jab the monstrous alien with a sparkle stick. As the if the last time this happened were in the ancient past, the Houk turns indignantly to the newest rider. "Once- LONG AGO a Sparkle Stick Snack Rider such as you were so greatly as to strike the mighty GROM in the midst of his GROMMING. Grom.. forgets what became of him, but let this be a lesson to you: GROM AXE." The rider had not waited idly while Grom spoke, the cavalier had wheeled around safely and prepared for another charge, having the poor fortune to arrive once again at the precise moment Grom declared his axe, and sent the lancer put of this life in more pieces than he'd entered it.

Jallo pauses from watching for a moment as his attention seems to shift from looking out at the battle to IN THE STANDS where he starts to weave his way through the crowd until he's near Tamsin, "I didn't expect to run into you again here Doctor. His 'gaze' goes back out to the battlefield, "Those are going to be some lovely scars and it's an amazing battle so far."

Kasia is watching the fight, pausing every so often in her snacking to crinkle her nose slightly at the gore on display. Her gaze averts from the fight itself to look around at those nearby to search out familiar faces, which seems more likely given how many of those are in the actual fight. A few waves are given here and there, but her focus returns ahead, specifically to Grom. "WOO! GO GROM!" she cheers for the Houk in particular.

Somewhere IN THE STANDS, the 'perceptive' Grom fan is wishing she hadn't perceived quite so closely now that the gore is really flowing down there. Muri's cheshire grin is suddenly less so and the hollow of her throat ripples with a lil bob'n'swallow of...bile? The woman IS looking a bit clammy, at the moment, what parts of her cheeks are visible around the shrug of fabric. A shrug of third eyelid blinks the rest of the way once, twice, and she exhales a long and steady stream of hair through her mouth(around food). Back in through her nose. And Sumi is snatched up in a Varactyl maw which leaves Muri to fear that the worst possible outcome will very soon make TWO Sumis, so she looks away, reaching across with the jug of lum to make a terribly awkward and cumbersome blind for B'haav's benefit as well.

"Wh--nah. Nahssnah bethocathun futhoop..." His poor judgement in food choice is, at least, a viable distraction. Her non-jug hand rips the chuba leg out of her mouth so she can chew and swallow like a civilized person. "/Soup/?" Again, in case she wasn't intelligible the first go 'round. "Remember th'lizard got into Jynx's hangar?" a gesture of drumstick to the arena below. "Confess I feel a bit o'pity for those down there. Really beautiful creatures, they are." And this moment of conflicted feelings - morality vs need for entertainment - calls for a drink. The lum is lowered to her lap where it hovers thereabouts until she can finish that morsel, drop the bone, and uncork the booze to wash it down with. Muri's eyes goes in search of another voice cheering for GROM when it happens and very quickly puts that jug aloft to salute Kasia's magnificance.

IN THE STANDS: "Ah," Tamsin, looking as a familiar figure made their way in, a hand indicating the seat on her other side from Tarq, "I'm surprised not to see you down on the field. Sit if you like." And then, because it was important to be polite, even with the screaming, and the blood and the gore, "Tarq, Jallo Dara. Jallo, Tarq Najjic." And then there was even more screaming, from man and beast alike, and Tamsin was likely to get whiplash trying to keep track of it all. Thankfully, she was a doctor. She had a hypo for that!

Pranda exhales a laugh that's more in her chest than anywhere else, head shaking and eyes gently rolling at Luna's insistence she knows that it's real. "I just meant they can really get hurt. They'll be fine. Probably. I hope so, anyway. Sumi's our ride." Luna never offers her opinion on the contact of nails to wrist in any kind of verbal fashion, but the adjustment that places the blonde's hand so that her palm is faced up and the back of it is atop the chair's arm rest is evidence enough. Pranda adjusts her own hand so the heel of her palm is on Luna's lower forearm. The squared off tips of her nails graze butterfly touches against the sensitive skin revealed. "That Houk is absolutely murdering people." It might be the most literal thing she could say in that moment, as metaphoric as the aura of it might be.

"I actually don't think they've lost a match so far. Anyway, I'm really going to be in the swoop race next time. This one is on Sluis Van. I went to go race the last one and legitimately went to the completely wrong place and missed it. I don't know if I'll be able to earn any points for the season, but at least I'll get experience."

Sumi is saved by a lunging Varactyl when Hahtavi arrives and ends its life with a well aimed blast. <"Nice rekking shot!"> Sumi cries out, not nearly in the peril as it seemed she was. Excitement colors her tone, and she laughs as she limps back toward the collection of riderless beasts, eager to do more harm than good, and screaming all the same.

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOT---WORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMS-----ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT--WORRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMS

The crowd's octave is almost damaging to the ears, even the Princess of Onderon is throwing her drumstick down at the sands (even though it bounced off the flickering ballistic barrier protecting the onlookers) in disgust of the Onderonian Beast Riders who failed to appease her expectation of prowess. "BOOOOOOO!" She screams.

The riders number less than the Rotworms, two of them already dismounted and in fights with the warriors. One remains mounted on a Varactyl, charging back at the Rotworms with a defiant, yet valiant, war cry. Mandos and Onderonians had long history of blood feuds, and it showed tonight beneath the lunar glare of Dxun, a rumored haven for Mandalorians.

<"BACK IN THE AIR? THE FIGHT'S DOWN HERE!"> Sumi calls back, limp-running toward the last bits of the fight!

At the introduction IN THE STANDS, the Kuati glances over, flattens the fur coat on his shoulder so he can see the new arrival, and lifts his bourbon mug towards Jallo. "Hey there. We met, Tamsin. Tarq Najjic even-" He leans over for a stage whisper that is actually half a yell, "/Did his laundry/." He does his best to make it sound tawdry, winking once at Jallo and miming a kiss in the air before looking back at the battle.

"Like those comedies, with soldier having more medals than space on uniform." He narrows his eyes. "Hope you have splints." It's rhetorical. Of course she has splints.

Luna's eyes lid a second time, though this is a result of those fingernails grazing so delicately across the skin just beneath her wrist. The thin expanse that barely covers arteries and tendons. That's probably why it's so sensitive, really. Her lips purse, and she exhales a steady stream of air (not hair) from between them. For a moment, despite the roar of the crowd and the booing of the Princess of Onderon, the feeling of those fingertips is Luna's whole world. That is, of course, until the drumstick collides with the ballistic barrier and rolls as unceremoniously as that guy's torso did after the Houk cut him in half with the axe.

"Yes, he is quite good at... that," Luna says in agreement. At murder, she means, though she doesn't say it out loud. Her pretty white teeth capture her bottom lip and she shifts again, this time turning her knees so that they're pointed directly at Pranda's. Even her attention is drawn towards the other woman as the topic of conversation ambles towards the upcoming swoop race.

Luna's expression flashes to something that resembles pride. A smile. A release of that bottom lip. Her brow does furrow down a touch, however. There's some worry sprinkled in there as well.

"This time you will know where you're going before you leave. And you will be careful, yes?" she asks. A smug little smile spreads over her features and her voice drops a decibal or two.

"You and your cute little swoop suit," she says. Almost teasing. Almost.

IN THE STANDS: Jallo shrugs a bit at the statement from Tamsin, "I didn't arrive in time and I think my current state would make me more of a hinderance than an asset on the battlefield." He looks over at Tarq and sniffs appreciatively, "That is a good thing. Laundry can pile up and it's a tragic end to good clothing." His attention focuses on the field for a moment, "There's going to be quite a few solid injuries out there. But the blood is just everywhere it's quite refreshing to see such warriors."

One down and feeling good, Tovani is not quite out of it yet. Adjusting her hold on the batons that were once her staff she has to quickly dodge and roll, tucking low against the ground to avoid the rush of another riderless beast. Her eyes wid,e she spins about and pivots to be able to bring down one of the batons down upon its neck, landing a rather heavy blow that leaves it crying out in pain and then anger.

The next following strike with the other baton misses as the creature turns aside. All she has is air with that strike and she stumbles forward with no contact made to help stop her motion.

"Kriff..." she gasps out.

Thank the 'verse that Sumi rises up out of the onslaught as her usual chipper self! Smashing and killing with glee! It warms Hahtavi's heart to see her not nearly as badly injured as he'd feared. <"OYA, Kora! OYA! Rotworms!"> It's a sight to rally them all anew!

Hadrix is still going strong, and Valeska and Tovi are still in the fight. Hahtavi takes a second to check on them ere he drops himself down to re-engage, his own boots hitting the sand. It /is/ less sporting to be flying above when there aren't so many now as before.

Rifle up, Hahtavi fires away at an injured rider as it and it's mount focus on others. He drops the rider but misses another! Back to moving and dodging tails and claws!

B'haav's vision IN THE STANDS of the destruction and devastation below - recognizing only a couple of the fighters - is suddenly abbreviated as Netep's jug covers his line of sight. As he looks down at the containers of soup, it's made clear what a hazard he's brought into the arena. He tries to follow the gesture to the Varactyls below, but... Jug. Nothing but jug for the steel-grey eyes. "They are, but fierce." He also remembered that day. Did he try to... Sing to it? What the kriff had he been thinking? "Still... I do hope that that one ended up someplace nice, not where it's forced to fight to the death in a battle it did not choose..." As B'haav considers, the blinder-jug is lowered and the blood-stained pitch and dwindling opposing forces are again visible. Battered, harmed, but none had yet fallen on the ROOOOOOOOT-WOOOOOOOORMS side, and perhaps that's for the best. B'haav doesn't know any Onderonians.

He claps as another Onderonian falls, looking back to Muri. "Is that... A no on the soup? If you drink it fast enough, it won't spill." That's a practical solution. If Muri doesn't want it, he's not above passing it out in the stands. At this point, the fry bread has allowed a small puddle of grease to thoroughly soak one knee.

IN THE STANDS: "Ah, well, then you are both well met." This was a good turn of events. Introductions done, two companions to watch the fight with, and still plenty more to see. "I am still unsure," Tamsin noted, as her attention returned to the sands of battle, "If it is a help or a hindrance to have those rocket packs they use. What if one of them is damaged and they go flying off into the stratosphere?" These were the sorts of questions which occurred to the good doctor. "What if the base is knocked out of alignment, and you burn your own legs off?"

The jetpack disengages and Valeska lands on the ground once more. Ooooooh, that was a bad idea! It isn't until she is putting her weight on both injured legs that Valeska remembers why she was hovering to begin with! <"Ah, that kriffin' smarts, yeah?!"> Hadrix is nearby erasing the riders in a glorious display. Swinging her rifle back into a proper firing position, Valeska presses the barrel between the beautiful creatures eyes and pulls the trigger.

Red mist and a stump on the neck where the head once was. She's going to pretend that was the critter that was biting at her boot.

A familiar voice yells Go, Grom! The Houk peers toward the calling Human, waving his axe in greeting (splattering himself and the surrounding ground with gore in the process) "WHERE SHALL GROM GO?" An existential question, really. Ah! A Varactyl trying to bite him! "AH. NO. BAD SNACK. GROM IS NOT A SNACK." He swats at the beast with his axe, but when the Varactyl darts back safely, Grom does not pursue it. After all, he hasn't been told where to go, yet.

A sidelong glance towards Luna leads Pranda to doing a double take. The slow stroke of her nails along Luna's wrist comes to a halt and her eyebrows arch up while her chin tucks down a little. It's a long-standing gaze that's uninterrupted by the clash of weapons, the screams of the Varactyls, or even the surge of the spectators around them whenever something particularly brutal happens on the sands. Her lips twitch in a meager attempt to stop from smiling, but there's nothing that can stop her mouth from crooking up at the left corner in a lopsided grin. "Watch the fight." Pranda's nails graze in the opposite direction up Luna's skin until her fingertips press over the heel of the woman's palm. Advancing forward, Pranda laces their fingers together and turns her own attention towards the melee and the rippling of the ballistic barrier whenever it catches a stray slug.

A thundercrack from Hadrix's fist while Hadrix stalks towards the beast riders, less the wild form of Sumi and her mad charges, controlled swings that look wild but scream precision. The Al'Verde's movements are as best described, by a red headed Chieftess in past actions, as Strategic Brutality.

The injured rider is taken in the side by the bullet, to maximize the ricochet within the rib-cage, mincing through organs before Hadrix is up again on twin pylons of blue white flame that carry him to one of those still on their mount. Punch-guard gripped blade smashing into the cheek of the rider to put them off balance before the Boar-Wolf is squeezing his jet controls to put the next jab through the belly as they're carried in tandem away from the reptile mount.

A short distance flight before they hit the ground, rolling, blade tearing free through the side and spilling guts and the big man rolls forward, striding forward again, looking for enemies.

The dust has begun to settle, and a definitive victor still stands. The announcer makes it clear with a booming voice that's punctuated by the fireworks display going off.

<"ANNNNNNNNNNNNNNND THERE IT IS FOLKS... OUR WINNERS OF THE SEVENTH ROUND IN A TEN ROUND SERIES... THE RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTTTTTTTTTT---WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMSSSSSS!">

After the fireworks go off, the combustion is dwarfed by the crowd's cheers. Even the King of Onderon shows favor by rising and clapping, the Princess turns away, arms crossed and irritated.

The battle is over, and medical teams rush the field to preserve what life they can. Thankfully, many of the Varactyls will live, and go on to find peaceful swamps to WUUHWOONGONG in.

In the stands, Muri puts the jug down between her feet and reaches for a container of soup to do her civic duty and chug the stuff before it becomes just one more slip hazard on this nasty, nasty floor. "Kay, give it here, eh? How'd you get this through all the mayhem on your way in without knockin' it over?" Lids, Muri, lids.

It's bottoms-up for the soup in Muri's hands, lid resting on knee, so she thankfully doesn't get an eyefull of the varactyl decapitation, but when bodies suddenly leap to feet all around, she DOES take a knee to the back of the noggin.

There's a great deal of sputtering, gasping, and a large, soupy stain slithering down her leg to puddle around jug. One hand still clutches the container, dripping with a most delectable puree.