Ready? Fight!

[Loco]

Dodge left, dodge right, duck... Damri bobbed and weaved smoothly between his brothers swings... Misdirect left, misdirect right... Akil struck fast, each punch like a viper seeking to plunge its teeth into it's opponents face. Quick, powerful, but unrefined. Damri pushed his leading hand forward, not making solid contact with Akil's outstretched right cross, but guiding it away from any meaningful contact. The older Atin'al brother simultaneously brought his lead foot forward into his vod's instep, closing the small gap between the two. Damri's right fist, patiently waiting for it's chance, uncoiled itself into his brother gut. The only ensuing sound was the "whumpf" of air leaving his kid brothers lungs as he crumpled to the ground- Damri leapt back, hands instinctively returning to the guard position.

"Wayii!" Akil exclaimed, gasping for breath on his hands and knees. The brothers occupied a clearing between stacks of shipping containers, mechanical parts, tools, and bustling dock workers. They were stripped to the waist, hands wraps stained in the blood of split lips and minor lacerations. This was their first get-together in months.

"Sooran, shab! K'atini!" Damir spat, laughing. After a brief moment of revelling in his triumph, he dropped his guard and helped his brother off the ground. "Jate, jate, vod'ika. You overexten'ed yourself again. It's the easiest mistake to make." Damri and Akil broke to their water jugs, leaning against the cool metal of the shipping containers. They weren't the only ones here. The twins were nearby, communicating silently with eachother as always. Several of the crew from Damri's ship, a motley collection of maintenance crews and other travelers were standing about the makeshift ring- all just passing time 'til the next real fight. The "Haal' Skira", Damri's practical home away from home since the evacuation, was docked at the Arniik battle station orbiting Manda'yaim for another round of refit and repair. It needed it, after that last scuffle... Damri lost his train of thought staring down at the bejeweled planet he called home. He hadn't set foot on the planet in many months. Not that there was much left of the Atin'al family home, since he blew it up. Akil was supposed to be fixing that. "Yaim?" Damri asked his brother, motioning towards the planet.

"Getting there.", Akil grimaced, "We've had to blast out a lot of new infrastructure since the det charges collapsed the original supports. The whole thing is going to be a lot larger than the original, but compared to parts of Keldabe, we're in good shape. Alimah and I retro-fitted a place for Aeden and ourselves to sleep, but I don't trust the structural supports for the rest of the place. There's a lot of unstable mountain sitting on it still. If it weren't for the beslubbering bundles of credits we've made from Mandalmotors stock skyrocketing the last handful of months, we wouldn't be able to afford it."

Damri nodded. He was glad Akil was taking care of their ancestral home, since he wasn't sure he'd have the stomach for it himself. So much destruction, Damri thought, and so needless at that... He had enough time to think in hyperspace. Damri pushed off from the shipping crate and bounced his way into the center of the make-shift ring, rotating his shoulder blades. "A'right, who's up for another round?"

 

[Nevermore]

The aliit'alor of Clan Fett had been silently observing the various scuffles. The entire soiree wasn't as sanguinary as Vodinh had anticipated, and for that he was appreciative. The leader was dismissive of overt violence, but it occasionally was inevitable. The truth of the matter was, the aliit'alor was attempting to mingle with his fellow brothers and sisters in arms. Socializing was typically the trait of a competent leader, and the recently anointed aliit'alor was prepared to show he wasn't dissimilar from everyone else.

"Ni vaabir," Vodinh spoke up as he approached the ring. The Mandalorian was unsure what sort of vocal counteractions he would receive, but it was irrelevant. He had accepted the challenge, and now it was his obligation to see it through to the end. Sliding the earthen tunic from the perch upon his shoulders, two bystanders approached with bandaging tape to mask and protect his hands. His mutilated right arm, sewn thickly with horrific and gut-churning scars, received an abundance of attention—but nary a word was spoken about the deformity.

Vodinh brought his left hand to his chin, bracing it with the cusp of his hand. He snapped his neck to either side, the bones beneath the flesh cracking in preparation. The aliit'alor loosened himself up by shaking his arms, and assumed a customary unarmed melee stance. It had been too long since he had a good sparring match, and the Mandalorian had a feeling that his opponent was a more than capable combatant.

"Tal'onidir?" he inquired. He didn't want any holding back. The best way to retain your skill was to always push yourself to the limit.

 

[Loco]

Damri nodded, smiling as he formed a fist over his primary heart in recognition as his next opponent stepped forward. Akil mouthed "Fett" from the sidelines- clearly this was someone recognizable, though Damri had never met him. This was not an uncommon occurrence in light of recent events. Akil was based off of Manda'yaim and commonly interacted with various upper echelon types in both the clans and the Manda's new found allies. Damri, however, the patriarch of aliit Atin'al, was a rare sight in this sector as of late- fighting was a good way to keep his mind of the events of the last few years.

Damri began the careful process of gauging and evaluating his enemy. The scars were atypical, a serious injury as opposed to the more common minor scarring present on nearly all of the Mando'ade. It indicated either an indomitable will to keep fighting, or a penchant for making nearly deadly mistakes. It was impossible to tell before the fight began. As always, Damri assessed himself to be at a height disadvantage- with his short stature, the only sparring partners he'd ever out-sized were female, and even some of those gave him a run for it. Damri spat the excess blood and saliva from his mouth and wiped the sweat from his brow as he waited for the Fett's hands to be wrapped. When they were finished, the pseudo-medics stepped back and the man assumed a fighting stance.

"Tal'onidir?"

"Tal'onidir, burc'ya." Damri affirmed with another nod and smile. The veteran assumed his customary guard stance. Right hand forward just below shoulder level, left hand high sheilding his face, legs just past shoulder width- balanced and ready to move. "I don't need rules if you don't, vod."

 

[Nevermore]

"Anything goes," Vodinh spoke with a nod. An ardent feeling tingled Vodinh's spine, and he could hear his heartbeat in his head. The Mandalorian barely heard the pronunciation of the start of the fight over the deafening sound. His feet shuffled in calculated and cautious steps, carrying him closer to the center of the ring. He kept his arms in close proximity to his torso, one slightly in front of the other. The foremost left hand was tightly balled into a fist, while his scarred right hand maintained an opened palm. His posture was kept in form, his eyes fixated on his quarry.

He appreciates a deceptive style, Vodinh thought to himself, his mind cursorily processing what information he had gathered during his observations. He knew he couldn't rely solely on observations though; this spar was no different than a hunt. Even if you observed your prey for days, they could still surprise and overwhelm you if you weren't careful. The acklay that had mutilated his arm had certainly taught him that, but he had taken it down nonetheless.

The Mandalorian shifted the stance of his legs, mimicking his opponent's. He needed the boon of being able to dodge potentially disastrous blows, and the capability to move in either direction on a moment's notice. He awaited the first blow, allowing his opponent the opportunity to remain passive or become aggressive. The fleeting display of combat preference would allow Vodinh to compensate appropriately, but he would need to keep continuous watch for the slightest of alterations. He was out of practice, and didn't want to falter in his very first spar. Regardless of the outcome, he would accept it and better himself.

 

[Loco]

Damri approached cautiously, since it was clear his opponent was doing the same. His feet glided closer as opposed to stepping, so as not to trip on the textured and randomly uneven floor. Akil's problem was overextending himself, and the lack of immediate aggression indicated this would not be his opponents problem in this fight. Damri closed slowly, carefully. The Fett's right hand, the mangled one, remained open. It was either involuntary, or more likely a preparatory defense motion. It would have to be tested. Damri struck quickly, lead hand lashing directly out from shoulder level toward the opponents face. His left hand stayed where it was, his chin pressing into his shoulder to narrow the target of any retaliatory attacks, preparing for any probing of his own defenses. His feet stayed planted, maintaining a safe distance rather than putting himself too close. This was, after all, only a test...

 

[Nevermore]

Irruption had been displayed; the fight was on.

His mind compared his opposition as a ruthless animal in the middle of a hunt. Given the grace and lethality his opponent moved with, the caricature of an aviary animal had replaced him. He could see the seething in his eyes, and the intent behind the actions.

First, blunt the beak.

In retaliation, Vodinh's balled fist spread into an open palm. Shifting to the right Vodinh felt the cusp of his opponent's fist tickle his cheek, and knew that would have been a colossal blow if it had landed. Thrusting out his unclenched left hand, the Mandalorian attempted to seize Damri's arm and pull him forward. His right elbow shifted predominantly in front of him; an attempt to pull his opponent into an attack. His muscles tensed as his arm folded, the boulder of an elbow directed towards Damri's face. It was the more bold of the two attacks Vodinh had conceived, but perhaps it would be an unexpected tactic.

 

[Loco]

Damri watched carefully as his probing attack showed it's results. His opponent was quick, and his actions were those of a good brawler; bringing his opponent close for a hard blow. Luckily for Damri, fighting had long since become more than brawling- it was an art. Damri allowed his opponent to complete the grab, but instead of resisting the pull he leaned into it, thus stealing his opponents own momentum for his own purposes. He knew he was going to take the elbow, but keeping his feet planted instead of advancing with the probing strike and keeping his chin tucked played perfectly into this maneuver. Damri braced for the coming impact.

"Let your opponent graze your skin, so may smash his flesh..."

The tucked chin allowed most of the force of his opponents waiting elbow to be absorbed by his shoulder and collar bone- a little superficial damage from a blow to the cheek was worth the retaliatory strike that was coming. As soon as the Fett's elbow made contact- ensuring that both of the mans hands were occupied- Damri leaped into action. Using a quick step forward and the stolen momentum from his opponents pull, he sent his own elbow shooting forward to the mans face. Almost simultaneously he spun his hips violently, sending a knee flying into his opponents exposed gut. Even without either blow landing, the sheer weight and momentum barreling down on Damri's opponent would surely unbalance him.