06/11/2026
The stadium of the Aman Military Station, forever orbiting the world of Doorne, trembled with fear, anticipation, swagger, and boasts shouted at deafening volume.
The Contests of Honor were about to begin.
Warriors from countless worlds had been chosen by the luck of the draw to fight on behalf of their people, for the right to exist in peace beneath the stars.
The opening matches would be determined by chance. The dice were cast by neutral representatives of the Hutts, whose only true allegiance was to the wagers they placed upon the outcomes. Whatever fate the dice revealed, each warrior was bound to accept.
Those victorious in the first contests would advance. Those who fell would not yet be cast aside. Instead, they would battle amongst themselves, striving to reclaim their place among the champions and earn one final opportunity at glory.
Twenty competitors entered the arena.
Lightsabers ignited.
Ancient rivalries stirred.
New legends prepared to be born.
At the center of the battlefield stood Master Yoda. Raising a blaster skyward, he fired a single shot into the air.
The Games had begun.
The clashes that followed were fierce beyond measure. Blades of light carved through the darkness as warriors leapt, spun, and struck with breathtaking precision. To some, the battles appeared savage. To others, they seemed almost beautiful—poetry written in motion, composed through violence and courage alike.
One by one, combatants met their fate.
The field narrowed.
Twenty became ten.
Ten became eight.
Eight became four.
And at last, only four warriors remained standing.
4th Place
3rd Place
2nd Place
1st Place
Yet the struggle was not over.
Between contests, the surviving warriors journeyed to the neutral world of Stampede, a frontier planet renowned throughout the sector for producing exceptional competitors. There stood the training grounds overseen by Hollis, proprietor, arbiter, and guardian of fair competition.
No warrior was granted favor.
No alliance held privilege.
All who entered were judged equally.
From the ninth hour of morning until the second hour after midnight, the grounds remained open. There, beneath twin moons and endless stars, warriors honed their skills, forged rivalries, and prepared themselves for the final contests that would determine whose name would be remembered long after the last lightsaber had fallen silent.
🪐
And so the galaxy watched and waited.
For peace.
For victory.
For legend.