Fine, I'll Start It [Michael Sardun]

[Aran Finn]

Ruusan​

​

History. Home? Once, it had been. For many years, it had been. But this was a very different Ruusan to the one he remembered. A different Ruusan from the ancient feudal Principality he had supported. A Ruusan where the Force was outlawed, and Dark Jedi worked in secret from the capitol, through the church to influence galactic events. That Ruusan had been quaint, full of intrigue, lords and ladies. His day job had been "Lord Constable of Ruusan", for feth's sake. This Ruusan was much different. Home to a small Jedi enclave and a much more modern population. No more Princes, no more Matriarchs, no more Champions. The Three Sister's Cabaret had shut down several hundred years ago. Good riddance. It was just fresh air, nature and a few cities here and there. Na'Varro had heard good things about Foy. Not that he ever planned to visit ...

He'd moved here as soon as he was allowed to. Master Kana Truden was trusted to ensure that he wasn't going to go rogue any time soon, and he aimed to enable that trust. The lure of an old home had proved too much. He and Laura had moved into a cottage on Charny, one of Ruusan's moons, and Na'Varro checked into the enclave daily. Soon, he hoped, he'd be trusted enough to be allowed to carry lightsabers again, and recommence training. Maybe teach a Padawan or two something that might save their life down the track. Maybe he'd get out there and start enabling the safety of the Republic and its citizens. Who knew. But for now, he was confined to a life of contemplative reflection.

That, and training sabers. He'd graduated past remotes eons ago, so instead he simply practiced his forms in the courtyard. He could go through all seven thoroughly in a day, and he'd been at it for days. At the moment, he was deep within the realm of deep thought, going through the motions of Form V. He wasn't young anymore, and all the war wounds had caught up with him, but his technique? Flawless. Perfection. Each movement had been practiced thousands of times. Each movement had been put into practice for real at least once. Most had taken lives. He knew this Form better than he knew anything else. Better than he knew his own daughter. Given he had spent eighteen years with this Form, and only two with her, he supposed that wasn't unreasonable.

Sweat dripped from him as he worked, thinking about his life and completely shut off from the world.

[member="Michael Sardun"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Alen Na'Varro"]

Once he had been the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order, but that was a long time ago.

Years.

And regardless of what others would try to claim, the lightsaber forms were not as bicycling, you couldn’t just pick it back up and do a few trial runs before reclaiming your competence. It needed years of fine tuning and after that daily maintenance to retain your mastery.

Sardun hadn’t been able to do that, or perhaps it was more accurate to say that it hadn’t been on his lists of things to do, more important affairs had been necessary to complete. Besides, punching things had become far more effective for him.

But you have to bend, when breaking is not an option.

So the Jedi Master found himself back on the training fields of the Jedi Enclave. He remembered the forms as a theoretical entity, the ideas that governed them and yet… as his saber flashed through the air, Sardun found himself retreating back towards form VII.

Never a Master, Always the Student.

Form VII had always been aggressive, brushing onto that edge of darkness and going beyond that which the Jedi were used to. It had always intimidated Michael before, too many years of his friends turning to risk it and yet?

It came natural to him now, as breathing.

His form was still sloppy, years of fighting with his fists and knives had done its job, but as the lightsabers clashed against one another Sardun could feel it was all coming back to him.

 

[Aran Finn]

Unlike Sardun, Na'Varro had known which Form spoke to him best from the very start. That long history between himself and the Fifth Form brought love into the mix. He loved Djem So like he would a life partner. That was part of what made him so good at it.

Something made Alen break his practice of the form, switching off his training saber and looking up. There, silhouetted against the morning sky on a slight rise ... another Jedi was practicing. A Master, if his power was any indication. He was a large man; his work with the blade held a silent, almost un-Jedi like fury. Form VII, it was ... Vaapad rather than Juyo. Na'Varro had some experience with that form, but not enough to claim that he was one of the best at it. Darron Wraith held that distinction, at least before his untimely death. Na'Varro just stuck to Form V these days. For that was what he was best at. For a while, he simply watched the larger man reacquaint himself with the most dangerous form of them all, and saw technique improve out of sight. The man obviously had not been practicing with his blades much lately ... so what was he? A former Sith like Alen himself. An outcast newly returned? A former prisoner of the Sith attempting to gain what he had lost? The bearded Jedi Master became curious. Who was this big, hairy man who practiced near him? And what was he made of?

Na'Varro approached the man quietly, spinning the hilt of his saber in his hands as he did so. The man kept working. He approached from the man's left flank, smiling genially. The other Jedi appeared to be of his age ... that, at least, was promising.

"Hey, mate." The experienced Master's voice was deep with confidence, containing a sense of genuine friendliness within it, without being full on and annoying like some could be. "You swing that thing like you know how to use it."

"Want to do some live training? It's been a while since I've had a piece of anyone."

He didn't want to talk, because words are inaccurate representations of things themselves, and the more you used them, the further from truth you came. He wanted to fight, because the way you fought was a true representation of who you were. You couldn't lie in a fight. There were no weak, inaccurate representations in a fight. There was only truth.

[member="Michael Sardun"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Alen Na'Varro"]

In the end Vaapad was not a simple technique, it wasn’t a form that gave a man the power to vanquish any enemy in sight, instead… it was a state of mind. A way of perceiving the world all around you and accept the darkness that was coiled within yourself.

But it was more than that, it was the acceptance that you loved the thrill of battle, the metaphorical weight of the saber in your hand, relish in the satisfaction of winning a good bout and of defeating your enemy. Dangerous, and a path that was filled with perils. But one cannot deny the shadows, one could… simply redirect it into a positive influence? Maybe.

Sardun halted his movements as a man approached, breathing out slowly and wiping away some of the dust and sweat the Jedi sized up his would-be opponent.

Alen Na’Varro, the former Arbiter of the Fringe. I know you.

“Sounds fine to me.” he finally replied, Na’Varro was one of the finest duelists that currently graced the Order- which didn’t say much these days.

But by the Force, did he need some live training.

“I am a bit rusty, though. So bear with me.”

 

[Aran Finn]

[member="Michael Sardun"]

Rusty, eh? In this kind of environment, that wouldn't last for long. Na'Varro sized his opponent up. He would likely prove to be a challenge, even if he wasn't on top of his game. So it followed that the bearded Jedi Master wouldn't go easy on him. If he happened to give him a few thumps in the early stages, so be it. The other Jedi Master would likely find his form faster if he was getting his butt handed to him, and if Alen could help out a fellow Jedi, he'd do just that.

"I'm Na'Varro. Alen Na'Varro." He smiled, saluted with the hilt of his blade, and ignited the green training weapon without flourish. Settling in a defensive stance, weight distributed more heavily towards his rear right foot, knees bent and supple, blade hilt held loosely at his waist in a two-handed grip with the blade jutting diagonally in front of him. He circled to his right, away from and mitigating against power strikes for the time being, and prepared himself for his opponent's first move.

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Alen Na'Varro"]

Sardun wasn’t expecting to win or even put up a good fight really. Didn’t have any illusions on what his time away from the saber had done to his forms, even if he was slowly picking themselves up again, but that was the truth of the matter.

Getting your ass handed to you makes for the best training available.

“Pleasure.” the Jedi Master said, his training saber was ignited once again. Yellow light mixing with the green and bathing both of them in a strange mixture of colors. “Michael Sardun.”

Both of them were famous in their own ways, in their own corners. One an Arbiter and General, the other a Battlemaster and a… General. Sometimes people had things in common, with a Galaxy such as theirs? Was only to be expected.

He breathed in slowly and opened himself to the tides of the Force, Vaapad was more than simply waving a lightsaber real hard. It was entering a situation, feeling the thrill rise up through your veins and cherish the feeling.

It was enjoying the moments of battle.

Sardun smiled briefly, knees bent slightly for maneuverability- Michael could almost feel them whine against the pressure, that hadn’t ever happened in his younger days- and he started circling to the left, keeping Na’Varro in sight.

Lightsaber hummed in his hand and Michael moved, two steps and the dance begun. From the right the first succession of attacks would begin, aimed to slash horizontally towards Alen’s side. Testing of waters, watching the anticipation rise.

 

[Aran Finn]

Michael Sardun. Na'Varro knew the name. He had been a Battlemaster of the Jedi Order once, and with that title came a fair bit of implied meaning. A Battlemaster had to be extraordinarily skilled with the blade. True, he had never heard Sardun's name whispered in the same hushed tones that accompanied the names Ashin Varanin, Darron Wraith or Darth Moridin, just to name a few, but that was likely partly down to not having much of a chance to display his skills. Being a Jedi often restricted that. Na'Varro hadn't seen Sardun at the Cauldron, or any of the other great tournaments of note. Maybe he doesn't fight at tournaments.

Na'Varro sank his mind into his battlespace, concentration combined with the power of the Force. Where once he had been trying to control a torrent, now he bathed in placid water. Would that make him better or worse? This chance encounter with a formidable opponent would likely answer that question for him. But no longer was he thinking in a coherent sense ... his mind was centred around instinct now.

Sardun moved.

Had Na'Varro been watching this on a holotape, he would have marveled at Sardun's choice of a first move. The intent was ... perfect. A simple slash, yet against a right-handed dominant fighter circling to his right with a two-handed grip, it would lock out his shoulders if he parried in accordance with his style and thus seriously limit his ability to fluidly riposte and take the momentum. However, there was no marveling. Just a datum among data, and somewhere in Alen's brain, his opinion of Master Sardun's skills rose. Now, there were many avenues that Na'Varro could take in reply. A parry and a front kick to the chest; a parry, a step onto his right, and a jackhammer Force Shield smashing into Sardun's physical and, in comparison to a jackhammer Shield, fragile form. The first avenue would be risky, and possibly stupid. The second avenue just wasn't cricket in a setting like this. But Na'Varro, in his state, considered none of these. He went with option three, which in his mind at the moment was option one out of one.

Instead of staying rooted in place, he used footwork to mitigate the strategic placement and timing of Sardun's first strike. As he circled, he stepped forward onto his right foot, his two-handed grip coming to around chin height and rotating the hilt rapidly clockwise to intercept and turn away Sardun's blade. It was a short, sharp, punchy movement. Meeting Sardun's blade outside of his left side, he turned it away, and on completing his step forward his shoulders were no longer locked completely. His body had given him some room to maneouvre the blade. Effortlessly turning defence into offence, the movement his body made was disproportionate to that of his lightsaber's tip. He now had a fairly wide target to hit and his blade was inside that of Sardun's. An old, tried-and-tested Na'Varro trademark.

He did not wind-up or take his blade back to generate power, as less-experieced duelists would be forced to do. Instead, his left elbow came down violently while his wrists turned anti-clockwise in a tight circle, reducing the circling of his blade tip to virtually nil and forcing the blade down in a crescent-shaped short slash, starting from outside of his right shoulder and finishing somewhere below his left ribcage.

[member="Michael Sardun"]

 

[Arage Bao]

[member="Alen Na'Varro"]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]When Sardun had mentioned that he was rusty, it hadn’t been a joke, hadn’t been some kind of way to make his subsequent victory something more pronounced. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]He had meant it, years of practice don’t mean nothing if you don’t keep it up and the Jedi Master hadn’t been practicing for close to two-three years now, why saber it when you can punch your way out of problems?[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Why attempt to ignite the plasma, when you can just cut someone’s throat with a pivot blade? What was the point of it all?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]But that was then and this was now.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]The Jedi Master grew closer to the Darkside, his mind barely scratching that faint line and accepting the pleasure of the moment, the thrill of the fight. He grabbed hold of that thrill and the inherent darkness in both of them, closing down the loop and cleansing himself. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Then he acted.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Sardun stepped back on his left foot, swaying back to barely avoid the blade tip - instead of skin, it slightly scorched the fabric of his robe - then with the fury of the moment, he brought back his blade and then smashed it into Na’Varro’s lightsaber to the left when it screeched to a halt. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]It was all about the footwork, about placing yourself just right, about unbalancing your opponent.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Part of him still wanted to use the moment, the closeness, to simply punch Alen in the lower parts of his ribcage. Would have ended the duel right there and there if hit just right, but this wasn’t about that, this wasn’t a war or a bar fight.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]They weren’t in prison.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]So instead, he went with the motion. Utilizing his own smash and the reverse-force that would logically stagger his hand, to turn that into an attack.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10.6666666666667px]Yellow light lashed out from the left towards the closest shoulder, diagonal slash from the shoulder that would end at the Master’s hip.[/SIZE]