Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
Let's Get Down To Business
Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 | Lightsaber 2 | Hook Swords
Azurine knew that this would be coming eventually. For months now, she'd managed to sidestep it, focus on other things—tactics, fieldwork, sparring where her instincts carried her through, where her blades and sheer stubbornness made up for the gaps in her foundation. That and very specifically focusing on being able to tap into her full strength in the Force, bit by bit. But the gaps were still there, and sooner or later, she was going to have to stop patching over them and actually fix them.
So here she was, accompanied by Aris Noble—whom she viewed as a little brother to her nomatter how much taller he was. Standing in the training area of New Cov, waiting for the start of what was probably long-overdue instruction in lightsaber forms.
It wasn't that Azzie didn't know how to fight with a lightsaber. Quite the opposite, actually. That much had never been in question. Combat was in her bones, and she had spent a large portion of her life adapting to the battlefield—first with traditional Iridonian combat, then with a pair of vibroswords, and eventually, after they had finally been able to actually get hands on the materials to build one, with lightsabers. However, the truth was, a good chunk of Jedi basics had never been drilled into her properly.
There wasn't time for slow, methodical progression through the forms in the thick of the era she came from. Her master—stars, she still had trouble calling him that—had made the judgment call to play to her strengths rather than trying to empirically teach everything and risk the dangers that would come with that in the middle of a battle. Ataru had come naturally to her, in part because she was already fighting with the speed and relentless motion that defined the form. She had honed it through experience, through instinct, through necessity. And it had worked.
Mostly.
That approach had also meant that she had never truly built the foundation that most Jedi took for granted. She knew just enough of the other forms to counter them, to predict an opponent's moves, but if someone forced her into a more measured duel where she couldn't rely on momentum and agility to carry her through, she was at a disadvantage. She'd seen that firsthand now in her fight with The Red... and the damage it had caused.
Ataru was powerful, but it had a cost. It burned through stamina fast. It demanded constant motion, constant aggression. It had left her with few options when forced onto the defensive, few options when she needed to conserve energy for a prolonged fight. She had brute-forced her way through those situations before, compensating for weaknesses with sheer willpower, creative problem-solving, and incorporating normal melee skills when needed, but she knew better than anyone that sheer willpower wouldn't always be enough.
Azzie let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders as she surveyed the training area. As strange as it felt to be going back to those basics, she was thankful for it. Force knows she needed it. At the very least, she had managed to be on time.
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