Loray Tares vs Alkor Centaris

[Eralam]

Our combatants find themselves in the middle of nowhere.

For miles and miles around, there's nothing. No trees, no rocks, no animals, no people, nothing. Well, nothing except for a sheet of ice.

The field for today's battle is a large, frozen freshwater sea. It's as desolate a place as you'll find. There's no cover to speak of, and a frigid, easterly wind has scoured the surface bare of any snow. The surface is so cold, in fact, that it's not even really slippery, not yet. Discharge too much energy and that might change, but for now, footing is reasonably secure.

The ice is thick enough that it's not in danger of cracking from just being walked upon, but our combatants should be wary none the less. A large enough impact would break through, and once it started to crack, they would both be screwed. It shouldn't be a problem, so long as no one brought a heavy turbolaser or a 2,000 pound bomb.

You didn't, did you?

[member="Loray Tares"]
[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor quietly shed the dark warmth of his robes as he stepped out onto the ice. The cold rose quickly, from his feet upward to his hands and head. The sensation of a body rapidly losing its heat was a harsh one, but absolutely necessary. He continued to move in spite of his numbing extremities, mindful of his course. Grave cerulean eyes set skimmed across the flat, solid surface of the sea as he stretched out his awareness and cleared his mind of all else. Alkor had heard tales that the apparition of a Sith Lord from time gone by roamed this lifeless land. The name Reverance once stoked fear in tens of thousands of people across the galaxy. He had been an ally of Iniquitous and the Dark Tide, enemies of the Old Order and slay sworn to fall by the blade of a Jen'jidai.

But no such man walked these icy waters.

The time of the Dark Jedi Order had past. Echoes of his life whispered past the Corellian Exile as his XJ7 slowly disappeared from view behind him. The endless war that he unwittingly became part of raced through his mind then vanished in the blink of an eye as his control hardened, focused, and honed him like a blade in the heart of a forge. Something else was here, even if it were not his intended quarry. He became acutely aware of it as the pain of his wounds exacerbated by frigid wind circulated through his nervous system. It was intoxicating, the sensation of agony.

His hands hung low to both sides and he bowed his head in contemplation as he waited for the enemy to reveal itself. Out here, the only thing that kept his foe from sight was abject distance. Either he was not close enough to see on a flat plane, he was obscured by icy wind, or...

Well, one could hope that he was not cloaked.

Either way, Alkor kept his mind alert, and his body ready.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

I dreamed a dream...of ice skates on Helska.

A life cast away, fears of the universe put on hold, the man had long ago abandoned ambitions in such global theater. The path carved by him, the One Sith, [member="Aver Brand"], it was enough to sate his thirst for conquest. With a gaze situated on more corporeal and grounded purposes, fixed more upon the stubbornness of the soul to cling to coil, he had found his own form of peace in simplicity. To kill, to be killed, the acumen of a former warrior had all but left him in the face of the moment and reflection of phrik armor staring back through frosted dimples in the ice.

Tattered, broken and rebuilt, he rolled the blackened fingers into a fist. Nails digging into eyelids, the perception of ribboned force and curtains of alignment drifted aimlessly away. A smell wafted away by a gentle breeze, clouds of steam exited the rebreather as he padded across the ice. This was a barren place, though not so barren as to reject his presence entirely. If he thought hard, he might have conjured reasoning for being here. But it was simply not a priority, an unfortunate consequence of departing from the mind that presence that provided balance. The old guard of the Dark Tide would have known a different man then, someone relegated to more numerous and plentiful principles. Here, on the frozen planes of ice and frigid terrain, the man tossed away what rules he might have still clench in outstretched fingers. Sand, like the time that had passed between then and now, gently poured through.

The arm, once slick in the membrane of the masquer, now sat unabated beneath the exodus armor. In tandem with a cybernetics package, Loray had become a tool and nothing more. Hyper focused, obsessed, he felt a presence he had not felt in some time. It conjured memories, the sort with questionable origin. Fact or fiction, he remained immovable in his path and steps. He was here for death, in whatever form it may come.

The armor around the sentient arm bulged and breathed, tongue flopping from the mouth and bile dripping hot drops against the cold. Steam rose as he continued to walk, the arm gagging for breath and comfort, as the dragon cast of the hilt ejected from the palm. A magicians trick of the most organic flavor, the lightsaber handle found clawed fingers wrapping around its form just prior to its ignition. And all the tasty feelings that would come from its birthing, no longer muffled by the Yuuzhan Vong arm.

His armor groaned as he moved forward, wayward warrior projecting foil for the uncontrolled man that once proclaimed title of Lord of Pain. There was no purpose for that now, pain couldn't be lorded or bent to an end. It was the end, one to be appreciated. And as the visor view filled with the image of a man he might have once know, he responded with a tilt and a guttural grow more indicative of beast than man.

[member="Alkor Centaris"]​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Whatever it was, it did not look happy.

Alkor heard the approach tapped out along the ice like a slow drumbeat, but the presence itself did not seem to exist. Or it did. What did he feel? The Jen'jidai tasted despair forever coiled beneath some organic prison in the creature that now faced him as the biot belched out what appeared to be a lightsaber hilt, and he knew instantly the manner of beast he faced. Vongformed. His mind rejected the very thought of a sentient ever experiencing the process. Torture was nothing compared to what the Yuuzhan Vong could do to a body.

His fingers reflexively dipped into the sanguine bandages that wreathed his torso, and he peeled the fabric away slowly. Talking to this creature would be a waste of time. His hands dutifully and with deft, practiced skill wrapped each other. Blood dripped from the unhealing wounds on his own midsection and pain blossomed behind the eyes of the Dark Jedi as the cold ran its fingers across them.

They were two of a kind. This enemy lived an existence dedicated to torment. Alkor let his hands rise and his lungs deflate as he eased back into a ready position. There would be no pretense of probing this time. He could feel the enmity rising like a fell wind.

The lightsaber hilt hung idly at his hip for now, where it could easily be brought to bear.

Crimson ichor dripped from his fingertips, and the acrid stench of blood served to intensify the sensation that wracked his form. It was the tip of the iceberg.

Pain was only the beginning.

[member="Loray Tares"]

 

[Loray Tares]

The powers of the weapon were pronounced, even for the one so accustomed to wielding it. To consuming it, he felt the prying tendrils of its presence and his slow acquiesce into a state of exaltation. To be a puppet for such a thing was far greater purpose than anyone could invoke themselves. With a flick of thumb, the obsidian core poured out from the mouth, spitting flecks of blood through the glowing rods extent. Loray instantly felt the natural inclination of battlemind, the inherent stamina and the corruption of the weapon.

Pistons of the cybernetics package flared with his exhalation, movement of the diaphragm indicative of this event that was soon to begin. The smell of blood, that sweet metallic aroma, was entirely lost on him. Not enough humidity in the air, the dryness of the atmosphere stuck to the plates of his armor as he watched it drip to the ice below. Curious, someone would stand their ground in such fashion. Interesting.

The flash of blood reminded him of that dimly lit world beneath the Grashal. Commitment questioned by the traitorous Yuuzhan Vong dog, the warrior had once cut his own arm from his body, only to receive the escalation. To prove that pain was his only currency, to prove that he could maim himself in reverence of the Yun'O. Those days were but ashes drifting in the fires of his wake, but the scars and consequences remained.

Stepping forward with a single jolt, he charged with a fierce speed. Cybernetics and force and mania all working in motley, the saber swung upwards held in the blackened right arm. As he moved forward, he would step lightly on his left foot before bringing the saber down, swinging from his own left to right. An arc, he intended to cut the unnamed warrior from right shoulder to left hip. As he neared, he wondered what impact the proximity to the saber would have on his new opponent.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Darkness was not unfamiliar territory for Alkor.

The pure evil that the blade gave off, however, symbolized something that he would never become. His thoughts, his emotions, and his very essence revolved around the ephemeral darkness of human nature, which the Force only served to twist and augment. To give himself over to such a thing was blasphemy. Utter weakness.

His eyes narrowed, and he snorted indignantly. The screams in his mind told him to give in, promised him power. The blade wanted him to kill its master and take it for himself. Alkor closed him mind off with a snort, utilizing one of many of the skills he was about to use.

Whatever the creature was, it launched toward him with speed beyond inhuman. Machinery, man, and all things else that this man could claim to be drove toward him with that hedonistic black blade and sough to sever him with it. As a master of Teras Kasi, even without the aid of the Force, Alkor could perceive the man. However, at such a rate of motion, Alkor could never hope to match that speed with his own ability- above human average as it may have been.

He stepped inward, seeped in power stolen from the galaxy itself. The monster had that much right- the manner in which the Force should be employed.

Both hands fired outward, one toward the wrist and the other for the bicep of the saber wielding arm.

The Followers of Palawa had for thousands of years perfected techniques for dealing with lightsaber wielding menaces to their way of life, in answer to the destruction of their homeworld by the Jedi. Such a skill was what Alkor employed now. He knew he could not hope to match the man in outright strength, not with the presence that he bled into the Force.

His left hand sought to press the arm away him at the bicep, and the right attempted to scoop the wrist safely by. As he did this, his left side faced his opponent, and his body turned in a semi-circle to the right. If he succeeded, the beast would end up prone on the ice, thrown and with his arm torqued out of socket.

At this speed, it would happen in the span of only several seconds for both of them, amplified by powerful energies.

[member="Loray Tares"]