Match #2 Sage Bane vs. Elensa Jari (Coruscant)

[Via Dolorosa]

Match 2: ​

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[member="Sage Bane"] vs. [member="Elensa Jari"]​

Judge: [member="Vrag"]​

Planet: Coruscant​

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The Underworld had seen a lot of activity of late, blocks and blocks tapered off around the more rundown sections of it. The inhabitants, mostly comprised of thugs, pirates, slavers, and other scum, had been allowed to remain in their homes. No one else, however, was allowed to enter the 5 mile blockade.​

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The feeds from the street cameras had been rerouted to several locations to accommodate the higher tier members of the One Sith who couldn't be present to witness the match. The Voice of Coruscant had been invited to watch the event at her own convenience as well as any Masters looking for Apprentices.​

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Like rock stars, the two Acolytes assigned to this match arrived in aircabs and dropped off miles apart. Though their focus would be one another, the environment would add some unique challenges for them. But their safety was important to the OS, so hidden among the buildings were some of the finest snipers the OS military possessed with orders to kill anyone that posed a serious threat to the Acolytes. Their lives were more important than the lowlifes that haunted the streets.​

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A klaxon sounded alerting the Acolytes that their match had begun...​

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Spoiler

OOC: Work your way to one another how ever you choose. Remember, have fun. And no Sage Bane, you can't eat your opponent ​

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[Elensa Jari]

[member="Vrag"], [member="Sage Bane"], [member="Darth Venefica"]

Had she been the type to give way to fear or nervousness, Elensa had to admit that she might be feeling it now. The ride in the airtaxi had been silent, bereft of conversation (all of which would have been one-sided, admittedly), her sole instructions being straightforward: find your opponent and overcome them. The Masters organising the tournament had been brief to the point of uselessness, but she suspected that such a thing was designed to provoke the very uncertainty that she was feeling. Although perhaps a student better trained in their ways might simply feel confidence, that arrogant certainty that they will prevail whatever the odds. Elensa knew she wasn't built that way: her life wasn't so pleasant that she could afford the luxury of assuming victory. That is for those fools who do not know what it is to suffer.

The Airtaxi had dropped her off in a remote area of Coruscant, deep in the heart of an area that lacked the civility of those upper tiers: this was Coruscant's underworld. A place to hunt and be hunted, with little care left for the survival of those who lack the ability to be predator instead of prey. She had little in the way of resources available to her: she carried the lightsaber she had constructed when she had been a student among the Jedi, wearing her preferred outfit - a long flowing skirt concealing dark, comfortable boots that reached her knees, a traditional black tunic above, belted firmly at the waist. She carried a few ration cubes in one pouch, just in case this lasted longer than a matter of a few hours. As for water...that she would have to find on her own, if dehydration threatened.

This wasn't what she had expected: Jedi tournaments were civilised, and all conducted within Temple grounds. Opponents would bow respectfully, brandish their lightsabers for the audience to see and recognise that they were evenly matched. The instructors would signal that the duel was to commence, and the battle between them would be fought until one yielded or stepped outside the duelling circle. Here, there are no pleasantries. The first time I see my opponent, they will be doing his very best to beat me into submission, with whatever means he or she has available. The Sith hadn't thought to offer them a clean arena with apparent boundaries. Better to throw us into this place and let us do as we see best. That was the Sith way: make every battle a trial, and every trial a battle. Such could not be done ensconced in an Academy: better that the Acolytes learn the challenge of combat in an unpredictable and unknown environment.

The darkness surprised her - it wasn't truly dark, as it might be were it late at night - it was simply that the underworld was overshadowed by the towering buildings above, which served to block much of the natural sunlight that might otherwise have filtered down. Clever of them to use this environment, she thought ruefully. We will be required to use all our senses to see what is around us. The Sith made nothing simple, beyond perhaps your obvious choices: go forward and risk pain, but live, step backwards and suffer death. Always the choice that life puts before us, perhaps, but the Sith do so love to see it demonstrated as a universal truth.

Elensa left her lightsaber undrawn, resting against her right hip, deciding that it would be best not to proceed on the assumption that she might be attacked any moment. Better to get the lay of the land first, and not offer my opponent any overt advantage. She knew she was unlikely to win this tournament, but that didn't mean she was about to make victory easy for the one pitted against her. To do so would make me fail twice: both in losing to them, but also in failing to provide a true challenge, and letting them taste an easy success. Even had this been to the death, her fall was designed to ensure that the other student would first need to taste pain and suffering, overcoming both in order to grow from it. And who knows suffering better than I?, she thought morosely.

The attack that had robbed her of her ability to speak at least offered her one advantage: no longer did she talk to herself as she had done before - here, she might have expressed a few comforting thoughts, outlined a strategy outloud, perhaps even spoken a few words to her adversary upon their meeting. Instead, they shall meet only my silence and my skills, Elensa noted inwardly. If they have any backbone, they'll not let that intimidate them. That's alright, though, she added mentally. There are plenty of ways to intimidate someone if they let you.

Only time would tell how this would end up, but as silent as she was, the Acolyte wasn't about to go quietly. If I'm going to enjoy a setback, it's only fair to make them pay their pound of flesh in return. She found that she almost enjoyed that prospect. So much for having leftover Jedi sentiments...

 

[Sage Bane]

For a former drug dealer from Nar Shaddaa who was intimately familiar with the playgrounds of the lost and desperate, an urban landscape was Sage Bane’s element. Unfortunately these particular streets felt far from familiar. Their unusual emptiness, sidewalks bereft of grifters and whores, made the entire sector seem like an alien planet, and as Sage stalked through the alleyways and cul de sacs of the Coruscant Underworld, his cloak swelling out behind him, he almost longed for crowds to elbow out of his way. The despondency of the drifters who walked these types of streets was always palpable, and one could feast off of those dashed hopes and dreams, a banquet of misfortune for the most opportune to exploit.

If exploitation was an art form, then Sage was a master of its oily palette. After all, he had learned from the best. As a former slave he had spent many years on the other end of the chain, and his former masters taught him everything he needed to know about preying on the living. He spent his entire childhood fighting other slave children in the pits of Nal Hutta, earning him the nickname kaae dohdoha or “little barbarian” in Huttese. More often than not, the younglings fought to the death, and while it haunted Sage at first and invaded his sleep in the form of nightmares, after enough fights, the act of killing fostered a vicious psychopathy in him, a defense mechanism that enabled him to kill swiftly and without regret. Those experiences would serve him well during the Sith tournament of the Acolytes, where his mettle would be tested against another of a similar skill.

Sage’s black robes billowed over his lightly armored clothing. A lightsaber adorned one hip and a vibroblade the other. A canteen of water hung on his belt. The young Acolyte walked purposefully through the streets, his gait like that of an uncaged tiger, and one who had been starved and beaten.

Tendrils of the Force burst from his body, an attempt to sense the other Acolyte’s presence somewhere amid the gutters and grates spewing their steam. Sage knew he needed to pace himself. His lungs were ravaged from deathstick abuse, and too much running would make his breathing labored and unleash a coughing and wheezing fit. Sage was not overly confident about the battle, but he had a steely determination that guided his steps. As he had done on Dorin, during the purge of the Jedi enclave, he would let the Force be his constellation, and trace its starry path to his opponent. Unless his opponent found him first, which would be just as fortuitous. In order to usher the haste of their meeting, along with his attempt to sense the other, he also sent out a sinuous message, a bold psychic taunt aimed at his challenger, like a prurient beckoning with a bloody hand.

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Come and get me.

[member="Elensa Jari"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Vrag, @Sage Bane, @Darth Venefica

If ever she had found an eerieness in the still silence of her surroundings, Elensa could no longer recall such a time - with her own inability to offer a true expressive sound, she had come to find that silence only offered a platform for reflective thought, of little threat to any but those possessing minds undisciplined in the presence of complete stillness. Though this place has something of that - no noticeable movement, no true signs of life having ever been here, beyond the fact that you can feel an impression of it. That gave her more pause than any true silence could have done: less the absence of sound and life than the fact that this place was full of the memory of both.

Trudging her way across permacrete floor and durasteel ruin, she could not help but notice that this stillness seemed imposed, in some fashion: every piece of gravel, every footstep in the dust, every breath in the air spoke of this place as having been inhabited: this was no lifeless desert, where little tread but simple dust motes being pushed in the wind. This is a place of activity, where the struggle of daily life is played out moment by moment. To her, it seemed harshly alien in the absence of this, as though the familiarity of hustle and bustle existed but was momentarily absent. Is this our challenge, then? To seek out each other in an arena empty of ourselves but echoing the call of the life that once existed here?

Her own soft footsteps made little sound, even with the echo of emptiness all around her. The Jedi had always advocated that it was their way to disturb as little as possible in pursuit of their duty - to do so left ripples in the Force, each having a knock-on effect that might have considerable consequence further down the line. Every action crafted consequence, called for the universe to respond, and thus the Jedi's path was to walk while creating as little disturbance as they might. Perhaps she had taken such lessons literally with the lightness of her steps, the soft, whispering nature of her gait, but she had often felt that such symbolic action worked to best represent her own nature. Even though I am Jedi no longer, my passing need only be felt by a small few.

A whisper in the dark caught her attention, and she span around in position, her feet coming to a stop and moving no further, her long skirts swirling around her as her senses sharpened and then narrowed, seeking refinement to identify the source. Her hand moved to her lightsaber, the pale and slender fingers curving around the cool cylindrical hilt, but she did not yet draw it, uncertain of the nature of what she felt she had heard. I heard a sound but felt no warm breath against my skin, so can I be truly certain of it? She'd learned to be wary of her own senses long ago, understanding that they were fallible, as all mortals were. To over-react to something that may not be there could be an opening that any opponent might use to remove my soul in a heartbeat.

But there it was again: that same whisper. She heard it more clearly this time, as though it were a shout carried upon a gentle breeze that had blown for miles and carried the words to her ears with only faint recognition of their form enabling her to acknowledge them as words, and not mere imagination. Come and get me. Had she been able to, she might have laughed at that, now acknowledging what she had heard, understanding it for what it was. Impressively subtle use of the Force, considering the message it carried. Her opponent was to be no novice, then, but an experienced Force user capable of manipulating it for his own purposes. And that makes them interesting.

It was a pity that the message carried such clear bravado, an invitation to violence that spoke with clear longing for that engagement, just the right tone of challenge and provocation. Any other Sith would accept, and leap at the chance to wipe the smug tone from that voice, she thought, wondering at how such a simple thing might reflect so many different emotions. Such animosity, and this one doesn't even know who I am. That was pure Sith, that sense of needing to challenge even the unknown: better to strike out and gain a potential victory than to sit back and wait. And so they want me to come to them. That at least gave her some understanding of what she would deal with here.

Alas that she could not respond in kind, of course: whoever her mysterious contact was, he would receive no reply of that same nature. For now, it was beyond her skill and understanding, which also suggested that she had an uphill battle to face. Provided that is not their only skill, I may well be out of my depth. It wasn't appropriate to think as much, approaching battle, but the thought existed nonetheless, and lying to herself in failing to acknowledge it would have created more problems than it resolved, or so she felt here. As for my reply, that must wait until we are together. And even then, he will have only what he might comprehend from silence.

She would not go to him yet, though: better to remain, and prepare herself for his arrival. To beckon an unknown is to challenge yourself, but you may yet regret beckoning me to your side, friend, she thought coldly. Suffer by my silence as I do, and be prepared to receive more in due course.

 

[Sage Bane]

Sage frowned as the next few moments revealed only silence from his prey. He was looking forward to that velvety softness of another voice in his mind, one that wanted to return his taunt and exchange it with playful banter, or let slip a thought that might give away a location. Sadly, his opponent didn’t want to play that game. So be it. Sage would find another way to track down the other Acolyte.

His brown eyes flashed across the urban landscape. As he took inventory of the street, they rested upon a maintenance ladder on the side of warehouse. Sage climbed it all the way up to the top and crouched there until he knew the coast was clear. The warehouse rooftop gave an amazing vantage point of the area, and he was pleased to find many of the Underground’s buildings interconnected like a maze. Every now and then Sage had to chance a bold leap where the connection was severed, but otherwise he moved across the rooftops and industrial terraces with ease.

Eventually Sage found himself hunched over and gasping for air. Blast his filthy lungs. He stopped on the durasteel rooftop of a cantina and ducked behind a security terminal to allow himself a swallow of water. Now seemed as good a time as any to pause and call upon his Force power to help him send out a few more whispers into the wind.

Don’t want to play my little game, eh?

Trust me, it will be such fun.

I can’t wait to see the look on your face when I overpower you, and slit your throat from end-to-end, just like a smile.

A few heartbeats later, Sage was on his feet again. He climbed down onto the balcony of a low income housing apartment building, the smells of garbage faintly oppressing his nose. Across the street was a flash of fabric, the edge of a skirt turning a corner. His opponent was nearer than he had thought. Measuring the distance with his eyes, Sage scrambled down to a lower rooftop. His challenger might hear the dim clang of his footfalls as he landed. He was only two buildings away and closing the distance, getting ready to drop down, and make contact.

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

[member="Sage Bane"] [member="Darth Venefica"] [member="Vrag"]


The winding pathways of this urban maze were a simple thing to navigate, though with no clear destination in mind, it was a harder question to determine where she wanted her feet to go. Perhaps it is better to simply let my footsteps be led by the Force, Elensa mused, her blue eyes narrowed slightly in thought. That was a Jedi thought, wasn't it? She'd been having more of them lately, perhaps her mind's way of trying to hold onto ties that she thought she had severed in the violent fashion that had ended that part of her life. A Jedi would take a deep breath and let the Force guide them to where they needed to be. A Sith would make that decision for themselves, and require the Force to go with them regardless. Was it a weakness on her part that such had not been her first instinct here?

She shook her head, a stray strand of her long blonde hair slipping from the plait that she had tied it into earlier, recognising that leaving it in her usual flowing style would ultimately give her opponent a handhold that might be the difference between life and death. She brushed the hair gently across her pale face, though she did not move to retie it - there would be little point now, and the distraction it might afford her would be dangerous indeed, were her opponent to find her as she did so. And the others are watching, even if they do not show themselves. Part of the lesson here was not merely to fight, but to show her capability in many different forms. Allowing such a distraction would not read well.

The darkness of these places were causing her a struggle, too: her eyes had never been suited to the absence of light, an irony she had long had time to reflect upon, given that the Sith ultimately preferred the shadows. As do I, as if to compound irony upon irony. She had found herself stumbling several times as she sought to explore the buildings around her, finding many abandoned and empty, little more than ruins and rubble, though their lack of occupation spoke of some deeper problem at the heart of this place. Is it the presence of the Sith that causes the people here to flee, or has this been abandoned longer than our time on this world? With the low illumination, any clues that her environment might offer in that regard were difficult to find.

She stopped as another whisper within her mind became apparent, this one more scathing than the last, but clearer for all that. Less a soft whisper in my ear, more the voice of someone standing in very close proximity to me. That thought alarmed her, making her reflect upon the fact that the Force ability that it used perhaps functioned in the same way as a person's physical voice: louder and clearer the closer in proximity you were to the speaker. That means he is closing in on me. That makes me the hunted, and him the hunter. She supposed that was no true surprise: the passivity that she often displayed led her to often slip into that role without conscious effort. But I am no weak child, she thought savagely. Back me into a corner and you'll wish you hadn't.

The taunt she could sense within her mind banished the momentary fear she had felt when she had first felt that touch of a mind upon hers. A burning feeling out outrage rippled through her slender frame: to have a man act in such intimate fashion towards her without invitation or permission was an invasion so blasphemous as to warrant severe response. Hapan women did not allow men to act in this fashion: to allow them to act towards a woman such as herself with their base nature was indicative only of their lack of sensibility and a strong indicator of that savagery that had long caused the women of her culture to subjugate the male of their population: only strong women could teach the men to control their base urges and submit to civilised nature. A lesson I shall have to teach this one, in due course.

If he wanted to play games with her, she would oblige him, but perhaps not in the fashion that he intended for her. Perhaps you're used to submissive females, playthings or toys who will simply kneel to your whims and play your pathetic mind games, she thought contemptuously, her expression cold and flaring with a touch of icy anger that would burn her adversary in due course. You would kill me, but I won't end your life. Instead, I'll give you a rare gift: a taste of what it is to be me, she thought with a touch of venom that, had she been able to speak them aloud, would have clearly painted her words with vicious fury. You would bring me death, but I will bring you pain: the strongest lesson of life encapsulated within a small portion of your mind that you will be unable to ignore. That was a Sith lesson.

She came to a stop, her long skirts settling to rest around her legs, ceasing their fluttering as they were no longer propelled by her motion. Continuing to move as I have been simply pulls us further apart, and he clearly wishes to be very close to me, she thought in dark amusement. Better to simply stand and wait, let him close that gap and find her, so that they could begin their little dance. No doubt he lusts for it in the fashion of all Sith: seeking my blood offering more of a passion than any intimate touch I could offer him. So be it. Continuing on my current path offers only a delay of the inevitable.

What that inevitability would be, though, she could not truly say. We'll find out when he finally chooses to face me in person. Then we'll see what he can really do.

 

[Sage Bane]

Predicting his opponent’s direction from his vantage point wasn’t rocket science, so Sage took a shortcut over a few more rooftops and ended up atop what seemed to be a bank building located right along her incoming path. Like a gargoyle on a parapet, the young man crouched on the edge of the roof and watched the other Acolyte arrive. Her beauty was breathtaking. With her angelic blonde hair and flawless skin, she had a markedly different look than most Sith. Of course, the dark sided powers they both used had not yet caused a the corrosion of the flesh, for either one of them. It would be a pity to mangle such an attractive face and lithe, athletic body. Then again, beauty was like a light, and light eventually needed to face the darkness. Why not be the cloaked usher of its inevitable demise?

Once she got close enough, Sage moved like the wind. A precursory look down the side of the building revealed a drop he could make on top of a dumpster. He hooked his hands around the side of the building and dropped down, landing with his knees bent. Then the young man hopped down, his feet touching the duracrete pavement.

With a snap-hiss, Sage’s saber was ignited, its red light glinting off the his dark brown pools. He twirled his weapon once, and took a moment to call the Force into every cell of his body, letting it mingle with the faint ripples of fury that he felt emanating off of her slender form, an delicious storm he planned to fully exploit once it had brewed. Finally he moved with preternatural quickness, using some of the speed training he had learned from a Dark Jedi Knight who had thankfully put up with his unwanted advances long enough to train him, and suddenly appeared in front of his opponent.

Sage had fallen in love with the Ataru form, the way of the Hawkbat. And like an attentive lover, had practiced the form relentlessly until his death stick-ravaged lungs gasped for air and his rangy body gave out. With an animal grunt, his eyes wild and frenzied, Sage immediately launched into a vicious attack on his opponent. His moves like the fluttering wings of a bat, Sage rained a flurry of short, sharp thrusts of his lightsaber at the woman’s midsection.

If his the strikes were successful, his lovely opponent would be dealt a devastating blow right off the bat. If not, they would be enough to at least put her on the defensive while he attempted to gain an upper hand.

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Sage Bane, @Darth Venefica, @Vrag

Her first warning of danger was that sudden flash of impulse that suggested she had to move now, that touch of Force awareness that always remained present within her subconscious mind, but rarely had cause to bother her thoughts. She'd been taught long ago to respond to that touch of shock almost without thinking, understanding that the Force only offered such insight within that instant in which a decision had to be made, for good or ill. The unmistakeable sound of a lightsaber igniting behind her, that sharp snap-hiss that was familiar to every trained Force User within their order, it was this sound that propelled her into a moment of action.

Senses alert now, she heard the weapon humming, casting a reddish hue of colour within the dimness of the room, illuminating it in a way that was both beautiful and yet pretty, the drone of the weapon close and getting closer. She didn't yet see him, the one who held it, but she knew why he was here and that this was the one who had been designated as her adversary. He likes games, yes, but now we're playing for real, she thought as the shock dissipated, hardening further into a deadlier intent. The whine of the lightsaber changed as her pale hand yanked the hilt of her own from the belt around her waist, her fingers tightening around it as her thumb pressed at the activation stud.

A burst of light sprang forth from her hand, a meter-long bar of energy coalescing into existence with a bright blue luminosity that beautifully contrasted with the angry red shine that shimmered against the walls that surrounded them. For a long moment, she wondered at the touch of hesitation that delayed her opponent's lightsaber from sliding between her ribs, but any sense of torpor that existed within that moment vanished within a heartbeat as, out of nowhere, he appeared right in front of her, thrusting his lightsaber towards her, that burning blade jabbing out of what had been darkness to strike out towards her. No game, this, she thought in the nanosecond she had to respond. That's a fatal strike.

Her lightsaber twirled in time with his, the hum changing tone as it moved from that lovely initial ignition to the deadly motion that suggested death were it to make contact, though her opponent was not her target: his lightsaber was. The first jab he directed at her was deflected by a simple contact of her own blade, but he withdrew it with lightning-fast reflexes so that it did not get pushed away and create an opening. The second came barely a moment after the first had moved, striking at the spot where her own lightsaber had flashed across her body, as though that abortive parry had been inconsequential.

A line of searing pain struck across her ribs, burning it's way through the fabric of her tunic and leaving a band of fire running across her flesh. Had she had the ability to, she knew she would have screamed, and the agony of it was almost too much for her. The red blade withdrew rather than persisted as it's wielder sought to follow up on it with a more directed lunge, but she had already stumbled backwards, her boots catching upon the rough stone beneath her feet, knocking her off-balance as she directed all her willpower towards not simply collapsing to the floor. That lurch of motion created a gap between them, offering them both a little space, though of course her foe did not require it as much as she did.

Her blue lightsaber moved between them, extended outward shakily, such that it pointed directly at him, Elensa's right arm stretched forward to give her the furthest possible reach, not with the intent of striking, but simply to keep him at bay for a moment, as she sought to regain her equilibrium, both internal and external. Her left hand pressed firmly against her abdomen, the searing pain that had cut across her skin fading in initial shock only to be replaced with a deeper, more resonant throbbing, a fiery line across pale flesh that did not relent in sensation. It hurt, of course it did, and even as the agony of it attacked her senses and threatened her conscious senses, she had to acknowledge that it wasn't the worst pain she had ever suffered.

That moment of pause gave her opportunity to see her enemy now through tear-distorted eyes, able to hazily encompass more than merely the lightsaber that had stung her so sharply. Taller than she, he was not as muscular as she had expected, appearing lean and wiry to her diminished sight. Likely to be faster, too, athletic more than strong. That was a danger, but she could see little advantage she might press in those brown eyes. Though, looking at him, it doesn't seem as though those eyes are truly brown. Asked later, perhaps she would yet swear that she could see the faintest hint of red, perhaps merely the shine of his lightsaber reflected there.

Tears ran in streams down her soft cheeks now, unchecked by her, but to be ignored in truth, a mark of sensation that she was so familiar with that it was closer to her than anything else. Even when they signify death coming my way, tears are the essence of our lives. Her lightsaber continued to waver slightly in motion, held extended in her hand, the pommel of the metallic cylinder curled tightly against her wrist, providing sufficient strength to allow her to continue holding it, when the pain and adrenaline of it all surging through her system made her want to relinquish it. So much easier it would be, to simply let go and sleep. In truth, she wanted this with a passion that she almost relented to. But if I do, I'll know nothing more in just a moment. Another sharp burning sensation across her skin and she would fall, his victim at the first.

The uptight, formal, prim and proper Jedi Padawan in her would have taken a moment to yield, a soft but clear, confident voice echoing across the room, offering praise to her opponent for their victory, chagrin at her own inferior skills tugging at her, but not forcing the smile of congratulations from her lips. Those days are long past now, though. The Sith did not yield, would not surrender without seeking first to remove a threat to their kind, and the pain that thrust through her with shocking force was but a tool, a sensory acknowledgement to the fact that she had to do better. And I am no Jedi now, to imagine that I can surrender and be treated with dignity. No, they would have to fight until one of them was battered into submission, forced to accept the humiliation of defeat from a gloating opponent. But suffering is my strength, when once it was my weakness. She knew that, too.

A ragged breath issued forth from her lips then, and she took another step backwards, her blade still between them with a view to keeping him back for just a moment. Her legs straightened a little, and she felt herself pushing the pain aside, to keep herself standing and focused. The clarity that had been shattered by that sudden strike had diminished, and would not return in full, not while every breath was tainted by that fire that ran across her stomach, but she blinked her eyes clear of tears, focusing now upon her adversary and acknowledging that his fall would be all that would prevent her experiencing that same fate. Another breath drawn in, her hand steadying, she adjusted her stance, one foot behind the other at a shoulder's width apart, her posture becoming stronger, even though just to straighten intensified that starburst of agony from the cauterised cut tenfold. I cannot let it take me, though, she thought painfully. My pain must be his defeat.

A nod of her head followed, a momentary acknowledgement of that brief few seconds that he had allowed her to recover. As with all Sith, he prefers to play with his food before consuming it, she thought, a wry burst of amusement breaking through her pain. To take me in that moment of surprise offers no true victory - he needs my resistance to feel victory. Stronger will pushing through her pain, she knew that she would have to offer him that now, or be left dead on the floor in the next few moments.

 

[Sage Bane]

There was hissing and sparking as red blade met blue, and Sage's first lunge was deftly blocked. She was certainly quick, but it seemed that he was quicker. The next strike hit and Sage allowed himself a growl of victory when his saber slid across her abdomen, sizzling through the skin, the wound instantly cauterized. The smell of burning flesh flared his nostrils and caused a vivid flash of bloodthirstiness within, like a shark with chum. Sage had emerged from the rift in the Netherworld’s Blood Wastes a changed man, almost on a cellular level. Lately, he was finding himself more feeling more animal than man, especially when faced with an adversary. It would be a frightening thought if he stopped to think about it. However, Sage was not a man who stopped and reflected. He had always acted on instinct, and previously it had cursed him to indulge in every hedonistic pleasure imaginable, which resulted in bouts of addiction to every substance imaginable. However, in the ranks of the One Sith and under the proper training of Matsu Xiangu, he had since learned some restraint.

Sage curiously noted that his opponent did not cry out or scream which struck him as unusual. He would have to settle for enjoying the sight of the tears that ran down her cheeks in rivulets. He let her pain feed him, emboldening him to push himself past the audible wheezing in his breaths. The Ataru form was a punishing one, but he had found that he could use the Force to override the physical limitations of his lanky frame and his bad health.

Despite staggering backwards in obvious distress, his opponent stood steadfast, holding her saber out, steeling herself for the next attack, and he couldn't help but admire her resolve. Such a beautiful thing, too. Such an unfortunate way to meet, he tutted to himself. The Way of the Hawkbat worked best when the enemy was on the defense, so with a short, sharp laugh, Sage suddenly spun around in a complete turn, and attacked at her from her flank, lashing out with a very quick and aggressive strike towards her lower leg, attempting to hobble her.

"Is that all you've got?" he hissed, taunting her in time with his strike, and slipping into a mixture of Basic and Huttese for his next barb. "I thought you'd prove more of a challenge, kaae chik."

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Sage Bane, @Darth Venefica, @Vrag

Attack seemed to be this one's natural predisposition - their silent truce broken within the space of a handful heartbeats, he span around with his lightsaber flashing out towards her, clearly intending on continuing the slow, painful wearing down of her defenses, perhaps even with the full intention of killing her. Elensa didn't know if that would be permitted - they both knew that they were being watched, their every action recorded and judged by the Sith who were staging the tournament, but whether they would intervene to save her life if he made a move to take it...of that, she could not be sure. Perhaps they stage these with a view to ridding themselves of the inconvenience of weaker students, those who might otherwise waste time and resources. The thought sent a chill through her, but it was not one she was prepared to indulge. I don't exactly have the time for that right now.

That spin crossed the distance that had separated them with rapid fluidity, his movements ferocious and possessing a full predatory nature that she had seen among the others time and again. When someone gives themselves over to the kill, their every action flows towards that one purpose. His movements betrayed particular training, the kind that emphasised speed, agility and kinetic force displayed in the smallest of steps, something that she'd seen before, and chosen herself not to learn. Too much wasted in display, efficiency sacrificed for the flashy display of a technique designed to be fast, confusing and ultimately fatal. Clearly her foe was prepared to push himself to the limit in order to push Elensa towards hers.

She took a step back, retreating by pulling her leading foot back to the back one, then allowing her left foot to cross that same distance to again separate her stance into that balanced posture she had adopted. Though it hurt to relinquish the pressure on her stomach, she removed her left hand away from where it had rested across her abdomen, placing the hand steadily on the hilt of her lightsaber, which she now held in a two-handed grip, the right held closer to the emitter, the left at the pommel, to provide her with better strength and control.

The red blade flared in to strike at her leg, and she recognised immediately that such a move was intended to cripple her - to remove her own mobility and thus enable his to take the upper hand, so that he might pressure her with his forceful kinetic motions and overwhelm what defenses she could offer. Well and good, but that's how you deal with someone who needs to move to kill you, she thought. She reversed her grip, pronating her wrist and pointing the blade downwards towards the ground, pulling it across her body until she caught the red lightsaber upon the blade of her blue one, the tip of his caught by the forte of her own, continuing to push off to the side to redirect the blazing weapon that might otherwise have sliced her leg off at the calf.

They both knew how this would play out on the training mat: to take an opponent's blade in prime, the blade pronated so that the tip faced the floor and played across the body, thus moving it away from the target area and creating an opening for a simple riposte: usually either a quick lunge to the chest, or a more forceful slash from left to right, reversing the direction of the parry with the blade levelled at neck height, designed to perform sai cha, decapitating the opponent. But we both know that's how this plays out, so he should naturally counter or seek to evade. That's what she knew she would do, after all.

Combat is about foiling the expectations of your adversary, she thought. The boy had already achieved this with her, providing a surprise attack that had made full use of his speed and positioning, as well as her moment of hesitation. So I must respond in kind. Relinquishing hold of her lightsaber with her right hand, letting the left continue the motion of her parry that both hands had started, she pulled it back to her body core, then threw the hand out, palm facing her opponent, fingers together and the palm splayed outwards.

As she had made her parry, she had begun to gather her own Force energies, feeling the strength of the energetic flow around her and drawing some of it within her, allowing the pain and the sorrow she felt to serve as her conduit, forcing open that ethereal aperture to allow the Force to flow freely through her. The Jedi way was to allow the Force to flow through us through our passivity, our ego-selves pushed aside to allow the will of the Force to take over, she recalled. The Sith require us to use our emotional energies and the will it reinforces to open that connection wide open, and allow power to flow through us as we require it. So it came to her now, a dark shiver of energy that made her feel as though she had touched a live wire, numbing her in a way that was both exquisitely painful and yet pleasurable beyond any experience she might have ever been able to articulate. Only when we touch the Force and let it touch us in turn do we feel truly alive.

It was this she turned now against her attacker, with all the indominitable energy she could summon. The energy centred within her chest, flowing through to all her limbs in a vague, undefined way, but was called forth by her will, her intentions focused on singular device, that energy flowing like water through a series of connected pipes, all flowing to the same destination, gathering as a flood preparing to be released. As she raised her palm and pushed outward with her hand, directing it towards her adversary, so too did that energy flow forth in the same way, coalescing into a shimmering wave of telekinetic force that surged outwards in a concentrated bubble, firing across the short gap between them.

The lightsaber was clearly his weapon. Now he was going to meet hers.

 

[Sage Bane]

Like a fox sinking its fangs into the neck of the swan, Sage had struck so viciously that he allowed himself to savor a grin of victory, but he was fooled by his overconfidence. With the grace of a dancer, his opponent stepped back and grasping her lightsaber tightly in two hands, parried his blow. The two sabers struck each other with the force of a wave crashing onto a shore, and both of them for a moment were almost one, two powerful beings intertwined in the embrace of the Dark Side. Sage could feel the power brimming within her chest, undulating tides of energy building, but as his position was an antagonistic one, he was woefully unprepared when one of her hands shot up and sent out a telekinetic pulse that sent him flying backwards. The duracrete pavement did not cushion his blow, and she would hear a pained grunt as he landed. Like a frenzied animal, he pitched and rolled, scrambling to his feet with an audible, croaking wheeze.

Standing before her in a crouch, the young man sent out a rope of telepathic intentions, dripping with hatred and cruelty, their intent to intimidate and frighten her. They stretched towards her mind flowing through the otherspace between them, attempting to insinuate themselves in her thoughts.

I’m going to drink your blood like wine.

Rip off your delicate wings and pin them to my wall.

Strangle you with your own dark halo.

Submit to me now, and save yourself the pain and the humiliation.

His opponent's silence thus far had irritated him to no end. Such a pity that she didn’t play along. To reward him with the silky hum of her voice in his mind. Some kind of indication that he was heard. Sage was not a man who liked to be ignored. Incensed by the perceived slight, the kaae dohdoha used the Force to acrobatically launch himself into the air in a flying attack. The onslaught was much like the pounce of predatory beast, but instead of claws it was his blade sweeping straight down in a strike aimed at the shoulder of her saber arm.

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Sage Bane | @Darth Venefica | @Vrag

Watching her adversary thrown back towards the solid duracrete behind him had given Elensa a moment of pure satisfaction, but for a moment banishing that stinging pain that the burning crease had left across her stomach, working to counter the scream of aching muscles and frayed nerves that she felt were perhaps all she was left with. The notion that he had not felt it coming, and had thus fallen prey now to her own power left her with a feeling of pleasure that was only made all the more beautiful by the contrasting pain that he had inflicted upon her. Even if she fell to him, as he clearly so wanted, at least she would have the gratification of knowing that she had not left him an easy victory.

She watched with dispassionate eyes as he came again to his feet, less stunned than she had hoped for, moving once more to attack. She felt his telepathic thoughts projected at her in full measure, receiving them as though he had verbally expressed his words for all to hear. He does so like to talk, this one, she noted, clearly making no reply that he might listen to in his turn. She remembered being much the same, once: although Elensa was a member of the Hapan aristocracy, she wasn't the first daughter of her family, and thus hadn't been required to hold to the naturally arrogant, concise manner of speech that characterised her older sisters. On occasion, when she was in the mood, she'd been downright talkative, though with more purpose than this one. I wonder if he speaks this way to reinforce his own strengths, or to cover his own weaknesses by seeking to intimidate?

Had he been a woman, perhaps then she would have felt concern, a sense of fear that she felt he was aiming for. You've misjudged me, however, she thought coldly, deep blue eyes watching him move once more into an appropriate posture to renew his attack. My people do not think of men as something to worry about: you are our toys, our playthings, our servants, only occasionally confidantes, lovers or friends, and only when we know that you know your place. Another woman might have proven herself an opponent: of equal status, such a woman might have challenged her and provoked her. For a man to act towards her as he did...it spoke both towards his audacity and his foolishness. At home, you would find yourself punished for acting in that way. A thin smile broke across her lips as she imagined having this one in a shock collar, being sure to dial up the settings a little and give him a good shock each time he thought to offer one of his useless psychic threats.

Not that she could believe the words he projected at her in any case: neither the threats, nor that lovely naive offer of mercy he had finished off with. If you are my better, you need not offer me any mercy, and would be foolish to do so in any case, she mused. Surely that would only prove his own weakness, showing that he could not defeat her through direct method, and thus required her to surrender to him of her own will. And even if you are stronger, you won't find me falling to me knees at your feet. The Sith could not respect an Acolyte who surrendered so meekly, and although it would humiliate her were he to allow her life after doing such, he, too, would lose prestige from not punishing her for such. So, I trust we are clear on the rules?, Elensa thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. I won't surrender to you, and even if you were to force me to, you would lose much in accepting.

His poise was at least to be admired - even having been momentarily sprawled all across the floor as she had fired him across the room, he was already back on his feet, balance restored, his energies clearly not depleted just yet. Astonishing her slightly, this showing only in a widening of her eyes, he jumped up into the air well above the normal range for a Human, well above the height of her head, turning in a somersault as he sailed through the air, the wicked humming of his lightsaber changing pitch as he directed a slash downwards in a fashion that clearly intended to slice through her. His weapon has tasted my flesh and found a liking for it, apparently, she thought in amusement.

She had him now, though: she hadn't been certain of his style earlier, though she'd recognised the kinetics involved. Might have been Djem-So, Shien or Ataru, but now he's given himself away, the Hapan noted. A Djem-So practitioner would never have been so stupid as to take their feet off the ground in such an unnecessary way: too much time between jumping and landing would deprive them of the opportunity to throw in another few strikes. It gives me a pause, and no Djem-So fighter would offer me that reprieve. Likewise, this was not Shien: he had not waited for her to attack and then turned her own energies against her. This is Ataru, the art of outmaneuvering an opponent to finally catch them off-balance and finish them off. She couldn't be certain if he'd made a cataclysmic mistake by revealing that so early on, or whether he was so confident of her demise that it no longer mattered.

Perhaps this once again fell to underestimating her: that he might reveal his strength so soon in order to add to that desire to dominate her both physically and psychologically. If I'm intimidated by his words and the cut already rendered upon me, evidence of his skill would only compound that feeling, weakening me. He was clever, clearly experienced in sapping the willpower of his opponents, but that again required a submission that she wasn't prepared to offer. Perhaps it would have worked if he'd waited to get my true measure, then turning it against me. Instead, he'd shown her his cards and expected her to fold, leaving him the pot. Sorry to disappoint.

She didn't bother to move aside this time, though a retreat might perhaps have been indicated under most circumstances. I could evade, then step in and cut him to pieces as he lands, she thought, but that didn't strike her as particularly subtle. Besides, he hasn't thought to use the Force beyond augmenting himself as yet, so maybe that's a weakness to exploit. Better, then, to reinforce her own superiority in that area by reversing her attack of a moment ago.

Drawing upon her own Force energies, now continuously gathering them to her so that she might expel them with consideable zeal, she waved her left hand, not to push outwards, but rather in a beckoning, welcoming gesture, in invitation of some promise, carrying a wave of potency with it that condensed the air around him, drawing it towards her in relentless vortex, not to repel or repulse, but to draw forth, to summon him closer and into the range he sought, perhaps even to dislocate him in air, to counter the momentum of his jump and bring him closer to hand. Anticipating his imminent arrival, she swung her lightsaber one-handed, curling it downward with a simple flick of the wrist, the blue bar of energy curving into the air where she expected her foe to land or crash within just a moment.

 

[Sage Bane]

As he swooped down on his opponent, Sage felt himself being pulled in mid air, as if being sucked into a vaccuum in space. The young Sith’s eyes widened as he became humiliatingly aware that his landing was being diverted right into the blue glow of her blade. In order to avoid his body making full contact with her lightsaber, Sage’s torso twisted in mid air along with his saber arm, and he spun sideways into a dive roll on the ground next to her. His lightsaber skidded out of his hand and deactivated itself, the Force connection lost. Then his dance partner’s blue plasma blade clipped his arm as he dove forward, and his skin sizzled. Like a wounded animal, Sage let out a sharp, ragged cry of pain.

Now that they were close enough to touch, he felt a superiority radiating from her. Her aura reeked of it, and the haughty glimmer in her icy blue eyes confirmed it. Something told him that given the chance, the woman would subjugate him, and the thought of that oppression caused his eyes to flash red, a quirk of nature from his half-Chiss blood that happened when he felt only the most intense emotions. A pang of outrage tugged at his nerves. The woman looked down on him. Saw him as lesser being. The psychic dissonance it caused rattled him to the core, and his train of thought began to entertain the sniping critic in his head.

She has found you out. You are a lesser being. A dog to be kicked. You’ll always be someone’s slave. People used you because you let them, and the cycle will never end, no matter how far your training takes you. You're Matsu's little trick pony right now, but your use will run out and she will soon dispose of you.

From his position on the ground, he leaned on instincts honed during his nightmarish pit fighting days on Nal Hutta. Letting out an animal howl, his wounded arm roaring with pain, Sage crouched low, facing away from her, and placing both hands on the ground, swept his leg in an arc around his body, so that his Achilles tendon connected with hers. If his opponent did not counter the martial arts maneuver, the tiger tail leg sweep would flatten her on her back, allowing time for his lightsaber to leap back in his grip.

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Sage Bane | @Darth Venefica | @Vrag

Even in the throes of vicious anger, her opponent knew not how to keep silent, releasing a cry of rage that suggested she had pushed him too far, and so what civility remained in their duel was fast dissipating, courtesy strained to breaking point, leaving this a question of barbarism taken to excess. Or it will do soon, if I'm any judge. That she'd struck back at him and forced him to experience a little of the pain that he had inflicted upon her was perhaps that breaking point for him: perhaps he'd come expecting an easy conquest, such as he made of the playthings he no doubt had at his command. slaves and subordinates may expect such, but I am neither, she thought coldly.

Pulling him towards her and striking out with her lightsaber had momentarily left him within her power, and perhaps it was at that moment that she could have ended it, striking out to snuff his life from him as he was left prone, his own weapon having flown off to one side, no longer his to defend himself with. Elensa hadn't expected such success - at best, she'd hoped to push him off balance, giving her room to overpower him with some well-placed swings, but instead, she had maneuvered him into a position of vulnerability that gave her every opportunity to put an end to this duel. Just as well, she reflected. He's a persistent thing, I'll give him that. For a male.

The Hapan reversed her blue lightsaber and prepared to stab downwards, to offer him a quick finish and put an end to this messy battle, but all thought of such a finale swept away as he somehow positioned himself to strike in his vulnerability, kicking out and connecting with stunning force against her legs, knocking her backwards, her arms windmilling involuntarily in an effort to keep her balance, but knowing inwardly that such was futile. Her lightsaber pivoted with her, and might perhaps have hurt her more than his kick had she not let go of it, the weapon spinning away from her with all the momentum of her fall, the brilliant blue blade deactivating as the deadman switch kicked him, the pressure of her fingers upon the hilt relinquished.

She tumbled onto her back in a flurry of long skirts, her slender legs tangled in the folds of the brocart fabric, preventing her from rising with the immediacy that she would have liked. So undignified, she thought, half-reflecting on the insanity of the situation even as her eyes flashed to seek out the one that had tripped her in such a mundane fashion, wondering what might follow that. Perhaps this means we're abandoning civilised methods and going for brutal hand-to-hand. The impact pushed the air from her lungs in a forced exhalation, a gasp that barely sounded, but was evident nonetheless. Spasms of pain flashed their way along her spine and her shoulders, sore now in a fashion that she hadn't expected, and wasn't sure she'd recover from with any speed.

Worse still, being flat on her back like this made her feel strangely tired now, fatigue crashing into her like a wave, her consciousness drifting but ever so slightly, as though it was all she could do not to fall asleep and nap for a handful of hours. And while I do that, would he wait patiently, bind his injuries and prepare himself to continue when we are better rested?, she asked herself scornfully, drawing upon the Force around her in an effort to revive her to the levels of alertness she'd need to ensure that she didn't receive a lightsaber blade to the chest in the next few moments. Still, what a pleasure it would be to just rest now. If she didn't move, she'd soon be doing that permanently, and that prospect didn't seem desirable at all.

Expecting the fall of a glowing blade any moment, the girl rolled onto her side, trying to create a little distance between her and her male adversary. Knowing how tired she felt now, she knew that it wouldn't be long before one or the other faltered, bringing this fight to a painful close. Though the Force is with us both, so there are no guarantees even of that much. She was drawing more heavily upon it now, though, so it probably wouldn't be long before she reached her limit. Just have to hope that he's undergoing the same struggles. That couldn't be guaranteed either.

As for her lightsaber, she couldn't sense it at the moment: all of her focus now had to be on the young man not a few feet away from her, the one who had tangled up her legs and left her prone on the floor, awaiting whatever retribution he deemed appropriate for the humiliation her attacks had left upon him. All I've got left is myself, for the moment. That meant she'd have to get close to him, closer than she'd wanted, as though he were one of the few who had ever been allowed to step within her carefully-guarded personal space, since the only way to defend herself or seek to end him would be to make sure she did not end up diced into cubes by his weapon. Until she could get back to her feet, though, she knew that this match was his for the taking. Maybe he won't find his feet any sooner than I will. That was all she could hope for now.

 

[Sage Bane]

As soon as Sage felt her weight shift and heard the clatter of her lightsaber hilt hitting duracrete, he knew that his leg sweep had done its job. As she fell, he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. Fatigue had begun to creep into his limbs causing the feeling that he was trying to wade through a thick sap. The energy was draining out of him, but this was his chance and he would be damned if he didn't take it. He rose to his feet, his lightsaber hilt flying back into his grip. With a quick flick of his thumb, the weapon hummed to life once again, connecting their energies, a physical and emotional pair-bond. For a heartbeat, Sage stood and watched her struggle on the ground, his lungs singing out in a long, asthmatic squeak.

Sage’s opponent was prone and tangled in her garments. If he weren't hellbent on dominating her so quickly and viciously, he might have stopped to admire the sight of the helpless woman. He might have even slowly sauntered over to her, regarding her with a disdainful expression, a few cruel taunts falling from his lips accompanied by a fit of snickering. Like a jackal circling a predator’s scraps. No, now was not the time for his bloated vanity to strike. In a nanosecond she would be up on her feet again. The Force would assist him in making sure that did not happen.

LIke a demon, Sage shot over to her and roughly crushed her saber hand under his boot, pinning it. If her bones were broken, so be it. His arm extended, he put the tip of his saber right against her throat, a mere centimeter away. One slip of his arm, one thrust forward, and her beautiful light would be extinguished.

“Submit to me, girl.” he snarled between heavy breaths, his brown eyes flashing red as he stared down at her prostrate body. “Or so help me, this saber will end you.”

In a bestial tone the young man added, “Rules be damned.”

[member="Elensa Jari"]

 

[Elensa Jari]

@Sage Bane | @Darth Venefica | @Vrag

The earlier cut of the lightsaber across her abdomen could little compare to the agony that the young man now inflicted upon her in standing upon her hand, the pressure of his weight grinding down forcefully onto the tender flesh, the rough ridges of his boot pinning her effectively to the floor, though she had a broader range of motion available to her than she might have done had he sought to crush her elbow, or press his foot into her shoulder. Of all her options, he had picked the one that perhaps inflicted the most pain, yet caused the least true damage.

She heard the bones popping under that crushing weight with a detachment that lasted all of a nanosecond, before the pain kicked in and sent an electrifying jolt right up her arm, the compression his boot was causing almost desensitising the nerves in her hand, so all she was left with was considerable referred pain all along the arm, jarring her shoulder and causing the softest of gasps to escape her lips. It was an odd thing, looked at objectively: any other in her position would be screaming in pain, begging for mercy, saying whatever they might to relieve the pain. Not even that option is left open to me. How frustrating he must find that.

All she could offer him was a widening of her now tear-filled eyes, that gentle gasp that indicated the involuntary clearing of her lungs, all she could offer in a silent scream that would not have registered on the most sensitive of auditory monitors. Her hand started to burn as he continued to dig his foot in, and she could well imagine the skin being broken by such sharp, painful contact. Yet, odd as it was to imagine, she felt more alive in that moment than she had done all day, the agony rushing through her, compounding upon that already inflicted, making poignant the sense that in death all this would have ceased, and she would be beyond all sensation, painful or otherwise. Both Jedi and Sith taught that pain sharpened the senses, and that when some would shut down from it, becoming supine and lethargic, giving in to the inevitable, they instead felt more awake, more focused, more alive.

She stared at him now, deathly calm in her expression, the ragged breathing of a moment ago steadier, more relaxed than it had been, the tears still streaming down her face, though now off to the side, rather than spilling down her cheeks. The endorphins that her pain of her crushed hand surged through her, blocking off pain receptors and leaving her feeling oddly relaxed, even though inwardly she knew she had to be in real agony for this to have happened. She hadn't intended it, of course: the Sith always taught that one had to draw upon pain as a means of empowerment, but her body had betrayed her in this, numbing those sensations and leaving her less to feel. But leaving my head clearer. That part was a blessing, at least.

He spat out his demand, commanding her into submission, but if he was waiting for her to verbally declare that victory was his, he would be waiting a very long time. Long enough for my bones to knit themselves together, long enough for our hair to turn grey and for our strength to leave us both, long enough for us both to collapse together on this floor in death, longer than it takes for our bones to dissolve into dust and be brushed away by a stiff breeze. In truth, the way he spoke to her hurt more now than the pain and weariness her body felt, leaving her with that smarting sense of being humiliated in this fashion by a man. And a young one at that. Such insult cannot be borne without restitution, she thought calmly. Can I make it this easy for him?

Her undamaged left hand came up then, brought across her chest, the fingers splayed open for a moment, bringing them up so he could clearly see what she was doing, noting as he had to that she remained unarmed, and had no weapon to hand. The crimson lightsaber hovered close, too close for comfort, but she could not help that now. There was no overt way to avoid his immediate wrath, so perhaps a signal needed to be sent to at least allay the wrath she knew her silence would provoke. Has he not made that evident in his every action today? She could feel it, that annoyance that was quickly pushing towards anger, only serving to turn a civilised being into a monstrous example of brutality.

The first law is obedience, she signed, her fingers flickering rapidly, spelling out each letter in the fashion she had learned after she had first been thrown into this voiceless hell. It had taken time, and considerable self-loathing before she had been able to force herself to learn, but GSL had been her only effective means to communicate. She could not even use it properly now, having only one hand to sign with, but that was sufficient to spell out what she intended. Whether he would understand or not, she couldn't say, but she had to try. Maybe one of the Sith observers would do her the kindness of translating for him. Will you risk their wrath in turn?, she asked, fingers rapidly transitioning from one shape to another, a slight nod of her head upwards giving some indication of who she meant.

There was a very real possibility of meeting death here, but that thought calmed her further, rather than made her fear it, the way he expected her to. You've sought to intimidate me from the first, Elensa thought, her blue eyes locked upon the brown ones of her adversary, hers moistened by the tears that had escaped her without prohibition, his narrowed in anger and with clear ferocity. The fingers she had used to sign with fell silent now, remaining still, resting on her breast as she continued watching him. Fear is a tool effective only against those who have reason to deny death, she mused. Mine should have been some time ago, with my friends and family in the Temple. She let that wave of pain wash over her again, a half-remembered moment where the Sith had sought to annihilate everything she knew, succeeding only in part and leaving her doomed to remember it as a living victim. That should have been my end, she knew, to have fallen with her Master, fellow students and friends. The Force denied me then. Why should it now let you be the one to bring me down?

She closed her eyes then, a soft exhalation escaping her once more as she relaxed, letting the pain and fatigue wash properly over her, but not to fall into sleep or blessed unconsciousness, as if to know more, but rather to let her turn inward, reaching once more for the Force. It was hopeless to attack now, her options limited by her mobility and agony, as always. She could not push him away, not before he sensed it and finished her off, as he promised. She could not summon her lightsaber, for not only could she no longer find it with her thoughts, even if she had, drawing it to her would ellicit that same fatal reaction from her fellow Acolyte. I promised to share my pain with you, though, did I not? If I'm going to die, I should at least be sure to keep my word.

Her telepathic abilities were nowhere on par with his, but for this, they did not need to be. He was stood directly above her, a physical connection made, that barrier broken with little resistance. Elensa knew where he was, so to reach for his mind was the simplest of things in that moment. The anger she felt surging through him was strong, but that fiery inferno raged about her with relentless force. You feel fire, heat rising through you to offer you strength. Experience what I have to feel: the cold, dead weight of sorrow that expresses itself through tears and not flame. In seeking to dominate even her thoughts, he had to make contact with her mind: those messages sent across the void of non-verbal space had created a conduit between them, and she used it now to show him what he needed to see[/i].

The very first sorrow, of course, had come the day the Jedi had come to their stately home on Hapes, to remove her from the safety and familiarity of her family, taking her off-world to Tython. She remembered vividly seeing the serene, cold beauty of the Temple and tears streaming down her cheeks, even as she sought to look proud and calm, as her mother would have wanted it. She remembered those initial days in the Temple, surrounded by failure as she struggled to grasp what they taught. Her anger at being assigned to male teachers and having them try to instruct her. The frustration of trying to fit in and be what they expected of her: not because they demanded it, but because to do otherwise would be to fail. And then, years later, that fateful moment where she had found her home and purpose, then watching as it all blasted away in a torrent of fire, explosions everywhere, shrapnel flying as tall stately buildings collapsed into rubble. Bodies falling, these misshapen bloody fragments dressed in the robes of people she had known. And then blessed unconsciousness, giving way to that uncertain moment when you awake, wondering if it had been a dream. Sitting painfully up to look around, seeing the devastation that had been wrought out of nowhere, and then moving to cry out in horror, and hearing nothing. Reaching up with both hands to touch her throat and finding a bloody jagged line that had cut it's way under her chin and robbed her even of the solace of her screams. Locked inside myself now.

Fast forward again, to this moment. The rush of initial fear giving away to cold intent, the adrenaline surging through her along with the Force energies from outside. That shock of agonising pain as his lightsaber had cut across her, burning nerves and flesh in equal measure, a fiery gash that bled not at all, but left her feeling as if he had ripped her insides out. The anger she felt at the way he mocked her, challenged her, this male daring to harm her, his audacity ripping through her. And now, both battered and pushed, him standing wearily above her with that vicious feral demand, her agony and sorrow combined in full measure, knowing that the end was close and that the pain was so hard now to endure. Feel it all, she thought silently. Experience the pain you see in my eyes. Would you submit?, Elensa asked him without words, knowing there could be no answer because he would never be able to hear her.

 

[Sage Bane]

He hovered over her like a ghoul ready to feed, his weapon arm trembling with fury, saber pointed downwards, ready to be thrust into her throat. And she still stayed silent? Had he not been clear enough that he would flaunt the rules of the tournament simply to hear those two words? Like a lover giving him the silent treatment after a particularly nasty quarrel, her reticence filled Sage with an impotent frustration. Even her streaming tears did not satisfy his aching need to be acknowledged. Sage needed verbal evidence of it as well. It dawned on him that perhaps she knew exactly how badly he craved a sound from her, and was exploiting it to her advantage. She somehow sensed his narcissism wouldn’t be satisfied with merely subduing her physically. In this sense, the pretty little thing might have actually won a large part of the battle, even if she ended up losing the duel.

Sage blinked thrice as her fingers began making shapes from where she lay. In those moments, he was unable to interpret her signs as anything else but strange gestures from a gravely wounded woman. Plus, he didn’t feel that familiar roiling of Force energy that would accompany the casting of a spell. His brows knitted in puzzlement, confusion forcing out his anger. Lungs still giving out a resounding wheeze, he watched her nod her head, hand falling back to a resting state. Their mental link open and fertile, Sage began to probe her mind, and a vivid scene burst into his consciousness. As the vision enveloped his mind, his head was flung back like a shot had been fired at his temple.

He watched, frame by frame like a Holo, the fragments of her history that she chose to share with him. The Hapan’s struggle with her male teachers. (Ah, that was where her subjugation of him came from.) The destruction of the Temples on Tythin and its fleeing, burning bodies. The self-destruction of her own vocal chords. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony. All this time he thought it intentional that she didn’t respond to him. The vision was a gift to him perhaps, an olive branch from a wounded dove. She wanted him to feel her anguish, that much he was sure of. But he was no longer locked out. As painful as it was to relive her tragedy, he was thankful that she gave him the intimate communication he had been craving.

Sage responded in kind by flinging his saber outwards and dropping to his knees, straddling her midsection. It was impossible to do what he was about to do without aggravating her stomach wound, so perhaps his actions weren’t as merciful as he would have liked. However, in his position, he could have lopped off an arm or a hand so in his twisted psyche, his next move was as close to kindness as he would get. He lowered both hands, wrapped them around her slender swan’s neck and began to crush her windpipe. Not enough to kill her, but enough to render her unconscious. Once she had dropped, her head falling limply to the side, he would call for the watching Sith to come to them, offer her medical attention, and hopefully declare him the victor.

[member="Elensa Jari"]