Everything in Moderation [Amaethon]

[Vrag]

War in and of itself was quite good at keeping a fighter in shape — that is, if they didn't die trying — but the Knight was, quite obviously, still around. Now that their greedy expansion across the core had calmed somewhat, Vrag found herself missing the thrill of bloodshed and the tight burn in her body after a good day of battle.

She still kept up her merciless, unrelenting regimen, however, a poor replacement for the sting of tired muscles caused by diving for cover one time too many, or perhaps taking a blaster bolt to the gut. Even with plate armor and a layer of padding, the energy still left an impression on the body of the combatant. With her healing factor, such minor details were never really a problem, but it was still better avoiding them altogether.

That is why the fierce duelist resolved to devote more time to the most balanced of Forms, the Way of the Rancor.

Niman.


[member="Amaethon"]

 

[Amaethon]

[member="Vrag"]

Amaethon walked out towards the Knight on the training grounds at a measured pace. Taking his place across from her, he inclined his head. The Acolyte studied Vrag while he waited for her to begin. Up close, she was even larger than he had seen. All muscle, the same height if not taller than most near-human males.

She had survived a number of engagements with the Republic and their Jedi allies. That had given her a reputation of someone to be aware of, feared and respected. Not liked, no, Sith felt no affection for their comrades.

A lightsaber specialist, she had been willing to lend her time to teach. Amaethon himself had something of a lower opinion of the lightsaber. It was a tool, in his mind, useful at times but not something to rely on. The Force was the greatest weapon.

 

[Vrag]

She gave the man a small nod of recognition, and nothing more. This was a place to test their mettle in physical combat, and words were rarely useful in such a situation. The Knight wasn't so foolish as to discount their value completely — if nothing else, they could serve as a distraction — but more often than not the woman found herself preferring the sound of silence.

At the behest of the Acolyte himself, Vrag was willing to forgo her usual test round with the vibroblade in favor of going directly to the lightsaber. It was quite a foolish thing to do unless he knew what he was doing, but she wasn't there to stop him. The firrerreo cared little for what would become of him in this bout of sparring, and would only spare as much as to keep him alive. Senseless waste of lives was frowned upon by the Sith, and the woman herself thought it similarly pointless, but anything save mutilating injuries was fair play.

Her thumb brushed across the button on the hilt, and the familiar hiss filled her ears as her blade sprang to life. Carefully she placed the other hand on the grip as well, wrapping her fingers with an odd sort of gentleness around the pommel. Her body was relaxed as she settled into an opening stance, the red beam of her weapon pointing skyward. She moved easily against the rough mat covering the floor of the training chamber, providing both cushioning and purchase for those who did battle in these halls. The woman would circle slowly around her opponent, never crossing her feet as she did so. Her blue eyes remained hidden by the darkened visor, glued to the mask her adversary was wearing.

With both of them denied the option to read the other's expression, this could yet prove to be an interesting fight.


[member="Amaethon"]

 

[Amaethon]

[member="Vrag"] ignited her weapon and Amaethon followed suit, assuming a simple middle guard. He was deliberate in his footwork, not allowing her to out flank him. His best guess was she would attempt to press him, to make him fall into her rythmn. The best swordsmen always did so, never playing their opponent's game, instead imposing their own.

However, simply throwing himself at the Knight would be stupid. Therefore, he took the middle ground and began to make a series of small, probing jabs. She of course would bat them aside without thought, he knew, but he wanted to find a weak spot....

 

[Vrag]

Niman was called the Moderation form because it was — supposedly — a good balance of Force and blade usage and thus fit for almost any situation, should one lack something more appropriate. Vrag liked it because it was, in a sense, versatile; it gave the fighter something to fall back on when circumstances changed, as they are wont to do in battle. A duel in a controlled, isolated environment was good training for beginners, because there were less unknowns to keep track of, but at a certain point, such practice became moot and even detrimental to a fighter's ability to hold their own in combat.

Her opponent, [member="Amaethon"], was still in the first stage of weapons training, that much was clear. Regardless of the Form one was using, any attack made should always present a threat to the other duelist. Meek, half-executed slashes and thrusts served only to expend energy and reveal openings to one's adversary where such things could have easily been avoided.

The firrerreo made to exploit one such window of opportunity when the Acolyte jabbed towards her again, using the leverage provided by holding the hilt two-handed to try and knock his blade off-course, slamming it towards the floor. If successful, the woman would turn her lightsaber to the fore with a simple shift of her left hand on the pommel, and she would attempt to thrust at his right shoulder; if she were fighting an actual Jedi, Vrag would've executed shiak upon their heart, or at the very least, the abdomen.

She wasn't, however, and so the attack would merely damage him, not kill him. Waste not.