Hasjo paced, meditating on the calmness that washed over him. He wasn’t the greatest force user, only capable of basic manoeuvres. His powerful lungs assisting him in the Force Bellow, and Art of Movement had been drilled into him from a young age. But otherwise - he was not very competent at all. Where he lacked, his lightsaber skills seemed to make up for it. Ultimately, the duels he had come across on far fetching planets were those of blades, and not of mind. He had spent much of his time fighting the Sith, and for this the New Order considered him a very serious threat. Darth Ferus, Melakoth, Sokrai, Darth Veles and more had he fought, and some he had fought more than once. He had even come to arms with Darth Vulcanus during a New Order sacking. He learnt through trial and error rather than training. He found that training was only a substitute for the basics, and the more advanced techniques could only be learnt through combat.
A series of droids began to enter the courtyard, and there would be more to come. Training droids mean’t to aid Padawans and Initiates, and sometimes Knights. They held electrostaffs that would stun Hasjo if hit. The Nautolan moved to the table, delicately choosing his weapon. It was best to show what he was worst at first, so that the finale was left for the best; the Lightsaber Pike. Though he was no expert in the Lightwhip, he wasn’t terrible at it either. He was a beginner, to say the least. Hasjo had an innate ability to quickly pick up new weapons and become accustomed to them, though the awkwardness of the whip had proved it slightly more difficult. It was nothing like the lightsaber, and with the wrong hand movement, he may accidentally cut off his own limbs. He curled his green, webbed and clawed hand around the hilt, igniting the Lightwhip with a cerulean plasmatic hiss. It was lengthy, giving him the advantage of distance if he could keep up.
The droids began their advance. Hasjo steadied his breathing, tightening his stance. He had learnt that Makashi was the best form in which to utilise the Lightwhip - at least, for him. The fencers stance gave him a stoic firmness that the others couldn’t provide. Shii-Cho, of which he had mastered, proved to be a very deadly form to play with when using the lightwhip. He had almost cut off his own leg by mistake. Mistakes with the lightship were nothing to be underestimated. They had the potential to be fatal. He swung the hilt over his head in an arc, the long tail sweeping wide. The droids quickly hunkered down, those who didn’t in time had their torso’s cleaved. He twirled his body with the grace of a twi’lek dancer, coming around to deliver a powerful flick of his wrist. His left hand held behind him for balance. The lightwhip snapped with a ferocious clap. The tail had slapped against the closest droid, piercing open it’s right shoulder down to it’s waistline.
The droids were getting close, and he needed something to suit the changing of battle. He deactivated the weapon and tossed the hilt back onto the table. His hand reached out, grasping thin air. His mind worked to bring the baton towards him. The 50 centimetre long metallic hilt flew through the air, slamming into the palm of his hand. He paced around the incoming assailants. Both hands held opposite ends of the baton. He twisted and pulled, the rod breaking into three separate parts, connected by a power coupling. It tripled in length, now 150 centimetres. The couplings were capable of shearing off limbs and flesh, and even a close call would leave a vicious burn wound on the victim. Though the wielder was exempt to this by a series of heat sinks located along the hilt. A droid launched himself at Hasjo, he reacted in the form of Djem So. They broke into a series of quick parries and counter-attacks, neither quite winning. Finally, the Nautolan gained the upper hand. When the electrostaff came crashing down, he swung out with one hand on the San-Ni Staff, the power coupling cleaving through the metal. He dismembered the weapon and lunged forward, his arms moving in a quick criss-crossing motion, cutting the droid into four individual sections. The metal slid apart and the machine ceased to work.
At last, he twisted and pushed the San-Ni Staff back into it’s original form. Hasjo moved his way through the crowd of droids to retreat back to the table. He curled both his hands around the long hilt of his Lightsaber Pike, igniting the weapon with a snap of cerulean plasma. He turned on them, much more confident than before. This was a weapon he had mastered, and Shii-Cho would prove the victor when outnumbered. He moved with sheer lithe and grace. His body bent in a way that no human vertebral could. He lashed out with wide sweeping arcs. He became a martial hurricane, speeding up his movements. His blade becoming a haze of blue as it whirled before him. His body moved in two, three directions at once. Those he touched went down, and those that went down stayed down. A droid grabbed onto his headtresses. Hasjo rode the yanking movements rather than fighting against it, slipping between it’s grasp to escape. He loosed himself into the force. Shii-Cho seemed to place him in greater jeopardy, but it was the way of Form I - he would say.
He twirled the hilt between his fingers with haste, performing the technique known as Su. He raced across the courtyard to a pillar, kicking off and turning his body. He propelled towards the droids in a deadly spin that defied common sense. The move was named in the tongue of Nautolans, a word that couldn’t be said by most other species due to the lack of the same complex orifices. Though it translated into galactic basic as simply; torpedo. For that is what it was. He spun, and became as deadly as one. He shot through the droids, the combination of Su and the leap translating into the torpedo moved, eviscerated the combatants. Leaving them only a pile of broken, mismatching parts. The Nautolan landed on the ground with a stagger, having not quite perfected the landing. No machines were left standing, only a heavy breathing amphibian. The combination of differing forms, weapons and many opponents left him slightly exhausted. The final technique leaving him dizzy. He wasn’t used to such combat, but found himself glad he had done so. His demonstration to the Silver Jedi Council was complete. He would leave it up to their judgement whether or not they would bestow the title of Exotic Weapons Master unto him. Hasjo deactivated his blade and returned it to the table, bowing.
[member="Josiah Denko"]
[member="Sochi Ru"]
[member="Iella E'ron"]
[member="Vexander Graves"]
[member="Rasu Gan"]
[member="Leori Sheltrak"]
