Ari Weyland vs Diva Liliwen Veline

[Dutch]

We have a historic event here folks! For the first time ever my fellow admin Meira has chosen to take up the sword and join the fray!

Moonfire has accepted her challenge for a 4 round duel! Since it wasn't specified, the deadliness of the duel I'll leave up to you ladies

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THE SETTING

Heat and humidity are the rulers of this swamp moon. Home to a small haven for scum and villainy, the buildings cling to the megalithic trees that dominant this world. Hover gondolas skate from dock to dock, simple traders selling their wares to the spacers seeking refuge. The constant sound of birds shrieking and insects buzzing lend another layer of annoyance, making this a place few want to be in and fewer want to be stuck in.

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Since this is Meira's first duel, it's only FITTING WE MAKE HER GO FIRST

READY? STEADY?

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT

[Meira]

The armor was a life saver. Not because he was in the midst of combat, plasma bolts searing through the air around him. No. The armor was a life saver because of the infernal insects that haunted this god-forsaken place. They were quite literally everywhere and, though he'd only been here a short while, he'd already seen the effects they could have if they found their way to a bit of exposed skin. And in a dark, gloomy place like this, Ari's skin would seem like a glowing sign signalling for all the disgusting creatures in the area to come try a sip. No thanks. The beskar'gam stayed on.

If everything went according to plan, he'd only be here a few hours, an evening at most, and he saw no reason why anything might go awry. It was the getting here that had been so time consuming. It had all started with a whisper, or rather, an overheard musing. Ari had been working with many of the chroniclers of the Jendry clan as he worked on bringing the Basilisk War Droids out of legends and back into battle where they belonged. His efforts had earned him a title that had been lost to history for some time; Mandalore had appointed him Master of the Forge. This new honor had spurred the interest of one of the chroniclers he'd been working with, and the man had taken no time at all to drudge up a nearly complete history of all the previous Masters. In those tales or yore, there arose several references to the so-called Rangir Hammer.

If legend were to be believed, the Rangir Hammer had been blessed by Kad Ha'rangir eons ago and had been given to the ancient Taung so that they might learn to tame and shape the beskar iron that would become central to their culture. It was a sacred artifact, kept by high ranking and favored members of Mandalorian leadership. And in the golden age of the Basilisk War Droids, it was a symbolic possession of the Master of the Forge. But it had been lost for centuries. Not to be dissuaded, the chronicler delved deeper, searching for clues to where the fabled hammer might have ended up.

It had led here. More accurately, it had led to a contact who claimed to be in possession of an artifact similar in description. This contact, after not a small amount of Mandalorain persuasion, had agreed to meet on this swamp covered moon, well out of the limelight. The condition being that whoever came to collect the hammer came alone.

Ari brought the hover skiff to a halt, bumping lightly against the mooring of what claimed to be a trading village. To him, it looked like little more than a poorly maintained scouting outpost. The stench of rotten plant life, seeping up from below the murky surface of the water saturated the air and left it feeling heavy and damp in his lungs. Even through the air filtration of his armor and helmet, there was no escape from the smell. He'd have to settle for being safe from the bugs.

Tying off the skiff, Ari stepped onto the wood planked walkway that led to the village center. From there, he consulted the instructions given to him and proceeded west until he reached the edge of the clusters of shelters. The last one in a small row was little more than a tent, but his sources said this was the place to be. The structure was composed of this canvas over some kind of pole framing. With nothing solid to knock against, Ari stomped a foot three times on the moldy planks he approached on.

No response.

"Grom?" he called out, his voice filtering mechanical through his helmet.

Still nothing.

He moved forward, pushing a flap that covered the entrance aside. Inside, a camp light cast a yellow glow over the assorted belongings of one who appeared used to travel. A rucksack sat in a corner, opened and empty of most of its contents. Those contents populated the rest of the tent; camp plates and pots were strewn on a small table, some clothes were draped over a chair. But what drew Ari's attention was the body on the folding cot. He ducked into the tent, having to stoop to avoid hitting his head on the poles holding the roof in place. The body was old. Wispy white hair stuck out from the scalp at haphazard angles. The skin hung loose over bone. It was cold. Was this Grum? And how had he died?

Turning away from the corpse, Ari spotted a datapad on the table amongst the other items. He lifted it up, activating it, only to find it encrypted. From his belt, Ari loosened a cable and connected the datapad to his own, smaller one, mounted on his left forearm. But as the program began to decrypt the datapad, a rush of movement caught the edge of his vision. Ari's eyes, shielded by his helm, shot up, but could see no movement. Outside of the tent, the sudden cry and rush of wing beats called his attention again. He ducked through the door, this time truly seeing some kind of movement. A figure had darted between two structures a few yards away.

"Hey!" he called out, and gave chase.

[Moonfire]

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ-KER-UPPPCHHHH-LUNK LUNK LUNK LUNKITY BZZZZZZZ-EERKZZERRRCHHHH

"Come on, girl, we're almost there." Diva all but begged, catching the stares of the meandering locals as she made her shuddering way across the wooden planks that served as roads, docks and walkways in this swampy, though oddly charming town.

BZZZZZZZZZZZ KEEEER KLUNK KLUNK KLUNK KERCHOW KAAAHL-UNK! The ancient, heavily rusted speeder protested, engine cutting off with a jerk that threatened to toss its rider from her seat. The hood of Diva's oversized coat flopping back to reveal the youthful, glowing face beneath, her mass of green hair barely tamed into the thick braid tucked inside.

"Easy there, ole Bessie." The girl muttered, patting the protesting vehicle as it grumbled beneath her before pulling it over. The sleepy trading village was winding down in the dying light of the afternoon much to her chagrin. Janus had warned her about being out and about at night. Most bounty hunters worked in the cover of darkness, taking advantage of the shadows, in this aspect, truly Diva was at a disadvantage. As the aging bike sputtered to a stop she tugged the hood back up, the greenish radiance concealed some with a twist of her scarf over her face, exposing only the narrow strip of grass colored eyes and faint cast of light emanating from within.

Hopping off the speeder Diva’s hands moved quick, jerky into the pack on the back of the bike, going over her internal checklist, the datapad at her own wrist blinking out the information she needed. In a stilted shaky voice the girl whispered the information she’d already memorized.

“Target name: Grom Widdershins. Race: Human. Age: Unknown- Estimated 75 to 80 years of age. Home system: Jaemus.” With every recitation the young woman went about prepping her supplies, the old blaster pistol of her mentor weighed heavily in small, fragile hands. Sentimental. Impractical. After this mission she’d have to replace it. She couldn’t rely on Gordon’s style without gaining a hundred pounds of muscle and being significantly less fragile than her Ghostling heritage would ever let her be. She needed to adapt. Use her skills. Knives. Light pistols. Unassuming appearances.

With a long, drawn out sigh, hands shaking as Diva holstered the monstrous gun she began again, tucking the sleeves of her long shirt into the gloves as she pulled in a shaky, ragged breath.

“Grom Widdershins, collector of Mandalorian artifacts and arts dealer. Current information reads that he is possession and in talks of parting with the Ragnir Hammer. Valuable. Bounty is only for the Hammer, Grom is an incidental. Can be dealt with peacefully.” Easy enough.

With an encouraging bob of her head Diva took another deep breath, the exhale almost suffocating through the just-slightly-too-thick scarf. “Rule number 17; Stay calm. If you look like you’re supposed to be there no one will bother you.”

Closing up the pack the girl gave another decisive nod and worked her way up through the village. The tips of her toes, thankfully clad with socks though quite missing shoes to the casual observer, tapped soundlessly across the rough, weary planks of the bayou roads, following the winding twisting paths as she muttered rule after rule, eyes flicking nervously back and forth to each hover gondola.

“Rule number 654; Always know your exits.” Lots of twisting paths, but from first glance she had a handle on where she was. Bessie was back on that dock near the Wookie trying to sell handmade woven baskets. She was moving up, so obviously the way back to her speeder would be down. Simple, simple. No way anything could go wrong.

“Rule number 86: Take the path less traveled.” The hut her contact had reported Grom rented last night wasn’t far according the blinking indicator at her wrist, but a hard right ensured she took the long way. As she rounded the corner she took note of every window, closed only by a loose-flapping curtain. “Exits. Check.”

Gripping at the butt of her gun, Diva lingered out front of the target’s hut, working up her nerve for a long moment. Should she knock? No, no. Thats too polite. She was in charge here. She’d go in, point the gun. Demand the hammer and slip out. Easy enough. Yeah, easy.

Another deep breath didn’t ease the tightness in her chest, nor did the next. But with one more the girl steeled herself and proudly tossed aside the canvas door, the heavy pistol drawing out with a smooth single motion as she announced loudly.

“Grom Widdershins, I’d like to have a taaahl-.” And proceeded to trip, sprawling and catching herself just barely on the edge of the rough, poorly made desk. “-Kah.”

The pistol went skittering across the floor, making a loud thud as it slid under the cot occupied by what was once Grom.

“Oh, dear.”

Taking a quick inventory of her surroundings Diva could plainly see the room had been ransacked, camping equipment of all kinds tossed about, the pack she had initially tripped on discarded and deflated by the entrance. The aged human rolled onto his side, dead. Cold to the touch. Dead for at least an hour, probably not more. Maybe. Crouching down she retrieved her pistol, holstering it again before glancing over the contents strewn about. Someone had gotten the information first and came for the hammer.

Darn, she really needed the money from this. Oh well. There was another, though significantly smaller bounty on this moon, she could at least pay her way off this place after enjoying the local sights a bit. Perhaps she’d even buy a basket. Maybe Janus would like the one that had tiny insects woven into the pattern?

The thud of approaching boots caught her attention just as the pleasant thoughts drifted off. Perking up she dived into a cover by the door, pistol still holstered but clutched tightly as an imposing figure in Mandalorian armour wandered in, inquiring about the dead target. Grom’s buyer perhaps?

If he saw her no doubt he’d blame Grom’s fate on her, she even had the bounty information still sitting there on her wrist! Staying very still she assessed the situation. No way could she take a Mandalorian, especially one in full armour. Not on her best day. Breathe, Diva. Breathe.

Rule 654, exits. Green eyes flicked up the window just above her and as the tall man went about attaching his datapad to the encrypted one of the desk Diva took her chance. With surprising, nearly animal-like agility the girl bounded up and out the flapping window before tumbling down onto the Toydarian trader selling poorly constructed pasta- based jewlery just outside.

“Sorry!” She muttered before scrambling back up, pistol now drawn before taking off in a run, the words of the Mandalorian calling out behind her.

“Rule number 45; Disable pursuants.” The girl cried out, turning about to fire off a volley of shots in Ari’s direction. Where had she parked that speeder again?

[Dutch]

Alright you two troublemakers, I know you share a heated online affair with one another, but this ain't the foo foo girly girl's club. This here is the ARENA. I hope ya'll will get down and dirty, in true duel tradition. Let's see what Ari and Glowstick have in store for me!

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Round 1


Meira
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 3/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 3/5
Bonus: 1/2
Comments: A very strong start, great way to begin a duel. Coolness point for Mandalorian persuasion

Moonfire
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 3/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 3/5
Bonus: 1/2
Comments: BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ-KER-UPPPCHHHH-LUNK LUNK LUNK LUNKITY BZZZZZZZ-EERKZZERRRCHHHH

Total:

Meira: 17

Moonfire: 17

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I really enjoyed how clearly I could see each character's take on this little ho-dunk swamp village. First round is a tie! Interesting!

Proceed

[Meira]

Barreling through what was left of some merchant's stand -his boots crunched over the ruins of a garganelli chatelaine- he drew his side arm, but had no notion of where to aim it. That is, until he had to dodge the shots that came in his own direction.

"Osik!" he grumbled as he ducked between two shacks.

The eves of the roof hung so low that he had to crouch down as he moved along the wall. He came to the other side, finding a small alley that ran parallel to the pathway he'd been on. He turned and continued in the direction he'd seen the figure going, but if the distance of the shots that came his way were any indication, the being was already far ahead. He cursed again, this time at deciding not to bring Din along.

Din was fast. Ari was by no means slow, but his tall frame simply didn't allow for the agility that smaller beings were capable of. Din had boosters and a wild programming that gave a new meaning to reckless abandon. But Din would level this village, and the whole point of this mission was discretion. So, Ari did not call out again. He moved, as quick as he could along the small alley behind the shacks. As he went, he pulled up the infrared on his HUD. Immediately, his vision through his visor shifted and everything became blotches of color.

Ari was somewhat frustrated to see that everything in this forsaken place seemed to idle at relatively warm temperatures. The structures and pathways glowed light green, and the swamp around it all seemed to remain a steady yellow, with blotches of orange scattered about. That wasn't going to help much. But then, as he neared the more populated areas of the village, Ari could see that living beings still showed up a darker orange and red than their surroundings. Good, he thought. Now he just had to find the odd one out.

"Where are you, you shabuir?" he grumbled to himself as he scanned the area.

Beings walked about, some ambling through vendor stalls, others moving with clear purpose. None seemed to show signs of exertion or evasion. Whoever he was chasing had come in this direction. Ari assumed that this was to either hide among other beings in the more crowded center of the village, or to take one of the few vehicles that could get through the swamp a flee entirely. He moved toward the docks, but there were no fewer skiffs moored there than there had been when he arrived. There hadn't really been any other vehicles, that he had seen, in the town. There were a few speeders parked outside of what appeared to be a cantina, and then one rusted old piece of junk he doubted even worked.

Ari, deciding that whoever he was chasing wouldn't be able to flee the village unless they took either a speeder or skiff, positioned himself so that he could watch both. His stake-out began as he hunkered down in the shadow of some workshop's overhang. The shop was closed, or possibly abandoned. A few crates provided cover, should he need it, without entirely obstructing his view of the docks or the cantina. The broken down speeder hid him from view from the front, and the overhang of the shop cast him into shadow enough that, if he kept still, Ari was fairly certain that he'd go unnoticed.