Duel A Day at the Fair

[Kyric]

Veridia
Gyouken, the Festival of Lanterns
Braze

Today was a good day–one of the few good days in a while.

Kyric did the hero thing pretty well. He tracked the bad guy, some low-level jobber connected to Black Sun, to a planet he didn't recognize. It was a nice place. Bright and pretty, with huge trees that bloomed with pink petals. The kiffar found the criminal before the sun reached its zenith on the very same day. Psychometry made these sorts of mooks an easy affair. After an hour-long interrogation, he handed the thug off to the local authorities with an explanation of what happened.

Rather than run him out of town, they thanked him for his services! A strange, but welcome, turn of events. They were even so kind as to invite him to stick around the city long enough to take part in a local tradition.

So, he did.

After a few hours of wandering the city, the final vestiges of the day slipped away. To Kyric's surprise, dozens of lanterns began to rise all around him. Like an excited kid, he tried to count them all, but he lost count around the 125th lantern, and yet it still continued. He had to assume thousands, if not tens of thousands of people took part in whatever event transpired before him. It was breathtaking.

It also wasn't really his thing. So he turned away after the novelty of it wore off and signed up for a sword-fighting competition. It combined his two favorite things! Swords and fighting.

He hoped the evening would prove interesting.

I read what's there for the planet, so I tried to match aesthetics based on what I interrupted. I understand the city of Gyouken may not have a holiday like this and I will not take it personally if you want me to edit anything. Just trying to set the scene.

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Kyric

​

Braze had been enjoying exploring the sights, sounds, and culture of Veridia. The Lantern Festival proved to be a delightful experience, its evening lights casting a gorgeous glow over the surroundings. Amidst the festivities, there was a local competition for sword fighters, offering Braze the perfect opportunity to test his mettle. Despite his recent string of poor performances in fights, he couldn't resist the chance to try his hand at something new. Although he acknowledged that as a non-Force user, he might be at a disadvantage in such a competition, he still found the prospect enticing.

Making a silent promise to himself not to rely on the Force, Braze eagerly joined the fray. Wooden practice swords were provided to all participants, and soon the preliminary rounds were underway. With each match, the field of competitors dwindled as losers were eliminated and winners advanced.

Finally, Braze found himself paired with another contestant. With a sense of respect for his opponent, Braze offered a fencer's salute, a gesture he had repeated with each of his previous adversaries.

 

[Kyric]

Before the rounds kicked off, Kyric made something of an effort to select his bokken. He ran his bare hand along the surface of over a dozen faux-blades, listening to their story told to him through his psychometric connection to the force. It was not until his twelfth and final blade did he sense the touch of a master craftsman.

A woodworker who had devoted everything to the development of his skill. The kiffar lifted her blade.

It was perfectly balanced and smooth to the touch. The wood smelled of an aged cedar tree like it was cut from the tree that very morning. He raised the blade to its peak with one hand, then swept it down in an unorthodox strike. The sound of whistling wind was all the kiffar needed to hear.

Perfect.

Part of Kyric wanted to see if anyone made anything of his display, but he decided against it. Tournaments like this were only fun because of the randomness involved. Getting any sort of read on his opponents ahead of time, while the smart thing to do, would negate the whole point of his joining it in the first place.

A good time!

So, Kyric went into the first few rounds completely blind. Many of the locals showed a real talent for fencing, so he matched their efforts and defeated most of them quite-handedly. It wouldn't do them any good to make light of their training. The only real handicap he gave himself was avoidance of the force when not facing a force-sensitive.

Some of the crowd, probably friends or family to those he bested, took to treating him like something of a villain as he continued to progress higher in the rounds, but Kyric chose to make light of it. He played the part of a no-good swordsman, feinting, and heckling his foes in the most light-hearted of ways. Most of them got it, which made the performance all the more enjoyable.

Leading up to the final round, Kyric stood off to the side, moving through the rudimentary forms of some unfamiliar style. He was slow. Methodical. To some, it may have even appeared beautiful.

This is a beautiful place, Kyr. We should come back here sometime.

Kyric nodded to himself amid an exaggerated horizontal cross with his bokken. Agreed. It's rare to find this sort of peace anywhere anymore. Mom would probably love it.

"Excuse me, sir." A young man's voice cut into Kyric's meditations. "The final match is about to begin. Your opponent is waiting."

"Oops!" Kyric turned on his heel and hurried over to the stage. "Sorry!" He called out, cutting around a small group of four spectators before he hopped onto the makeshift stage. "Sorry!" Again he apologized with a big goofy smile. "I kinda got lost in thought, but I'm super excited to do this." He offered the vaunted Makashi salute in return to Braze and grinned.

"Since I kept you waiting, I'll kick things off!"

The kiffar darted in directly at Braze and swiped out in a horizontal strike, only to pull back in the final moment, revealing his feint to side-step to the boy's left. He took hold of his bokken in both hands and mirrored his opening blow, the ebb and flow of his movements equal parts subtle and sudden.

Braze

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Kyric

His opponent, Braze, had an unusual appearance, with what looked like a cybernetic exoskeleton on his left arm. A blade was held in his right hand, wrapped tightly with bandages. Fr this reason alone the crowd speculated that he was injured in some way and were quite impressed and skeptical of how he made it to the finals.

The half-Echani watched Braze carefully, his somber jade-green eyes focusing intently on him. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. This would be a fun game of tag. Previous opponents hadn't offered much of a challenge, but Braze could sense something different about this encounter, and he could see it in the way Braze carried himself. This was someone accustomed to practical blade work.

"I always enjoy new partners ready to play," Braze remarked, his tone laced with anticipation.

As the Kiffar darted in and executed his feint, Braze remained ready to respond. Sensing the shift in momentum as his opponent moved to the left, Braze anticipated the strike and adjusted his stance accordingly. With a precise parry, he deflected the incoming blow, using the force of the impact to step forward into his opponent's comfort zone.

Closing the distance, Braze brought his body closer to the Kiffar, trying his hand at disrupting his balance and breaking his guard. In one fluid motion, he redirected the wooden blade away with a swift twist of his wrist, creating an opening for his own attack.

With controlled precision, Braze attempted to executed a diagonal slash from neck to hip, capitalizing on the vulnerability exposed by his opponent's movement. The wooden blade sliced through the air with speed and accuracy, aiming to catch the Kiffar off guard and score a decisive hit.