Vorhi Alestrani
Blind Brawler
Vorhi nodded and removed his jacket, smirking. "fair enough," he said as he set his hat down on a peg as well and then turned to face her. Her aura, concentrating itself. Focusing. He quirk a brow from the blindfold. He focused, his own energy tingling. It had been a while since he'd dealt with someone who could keep up, and frankly, the last time he'd fought this hard, he hadn't been sober or sane. Her aura was now focused, calm, precise, and....sharp. A trues swordsman, they said, was armed even with their own hands. So it was here. Her aura was arming her. This was the discipline she had studied...enhancement through form. Fascinating.
He focused his own aura, not through his breath, but through his "eyes." Sight, perception, lines, formations, geometry, when all you saw and perceived was given by the force, your way of perception become muddled by your own will and philosophy. When your perceptions were challenged in the way Vorhi's had been, the world looked wilder. Her intent was severe, but still guarded. Pointed towards him, still was a tactical mind, aimed at defeating, conquering, and overpowering him. Her own mind lingered in hundreds of possible avenues of attack, many of them fast, many of them dangerous, each one risking its own path. A hundred possible ways to land a blow. A dozen hundred more ways to miss. Still, his perception of her was not merely of her aura, but of the environment, of the connections between them, of multiple routes from a to b, like a thousand wires of force energy sparking and exploding. Then, nothing. Quiet, simple darkness, and two figures in contrast. He focused on his perception of himself, as his own aura flickered and shifted under his perception. And quietly shifted, from a quiet, calming wind, to a raucous storm. He was stirring, slowly, waking.
He didn't recognize the stance she took. It wasn't echani or teras kasi, and it likely wasn't some variant of Jedi pacification or heavy Sith brawling either. He grinned. A strange woman with an exotic form and a potent will--this day kept getting better. He remained silent, taking his own posture, holding feet slightly apart, one arm lowered into a guard. The "Rancor" stance, designed to move simply, with a linear, guarded posture. A basic form, but excellent for gauging an opponent's defense without risking much in the way of getting countered. After all, it was important to find where to strike before committing. At this point, words were a wasted effort. The pair's movements and form, they made their own statements. And the blind monk's form was unmistakable as he breathed in, a small pulse in his fingers as he seemed to stretch them for the first time in a while. It was like taking off training wheels. He'd been fighting in a gutter for a while now, but this was time for a proper test of skill. Of might. Of technique. He nodded forward. No words, but the statement of his movement was clear, and it would be clear to her as well.
And now, we commence.
[member="Fabula Caromed"]
He focused his own aura, not through his breath, but through his "eyes." Sight, perception, lines, formations, geometry, when all you saw and perceived was given by the force, your way of perception become muddled by your own will and philosophy. When your perceptions were challenged in the way Vorhi's had been, the world looked wilder. Her intent was severe, but still guarded. Pointed towards him, still was a tactical mind, aimed at defeating, conquering, and overpowering him. Her own mind lingered in hundreds of possible avenues of attack, many of them fast, many of them dangerous, each one risking its own path. A hundred possible ways to land a blow. A dozen hundred more ways to miss. Still, his perception of her was not merely of her aura, but of the environment, of the connections between them, of multiple routes from a to b, like a thousand wires of force energy sparking and exploding. Then, nothing. Quiet, simple darkness, and two figures in contrast. He focused on his perception of himself, as his own aura flickered and shifted under his perception. And quietly shifted, from a quiet, calming wind, to a raucous storm. He was stirring, slowly, waking.
He didn't recognize the stance she took. It wasn't echani or teras kasi, and it likely wasn't some variant of Jedi pacification or heavy Sith brawling either. He grinned. A strange woman with an exotic form and a potent will--this day kept getting better. He remained silent, taking his own posture, holding feet slightly apart, one arm lowered into a guard. The "Rancor" stance, designed to move simply, with a linear, guarded posture. A basic form, but excellent for gauging an opponent's defense without risking much in the way of getting countered. After all, it was important to find where to strike before committing. At this point, words were a wasted effort. The pair's movements and form, they made their own statements. And the blind monk's form was unmistakable as he breathed in, a small pulse in his fingers as he seemed to stretch them for the first time in a while. It was like taking off training wheels. He'd been fighting in a gutter for a while now, but this was time for a proper test of skill. Of might. Of technique. He nodded forward. No words, but the statement of his movement was clear, and it would be clear to her as well.
And now, we commence.
[member="Fabula Caromed"]