B E A C O N
Location: Killing Fields
Objective: A - Rip apart the field
Allies: None Nearby
Enemies: [member="Atham'aali'kema"] | [member="Darth Isolda"] (I'm coming for you soon)
Gear: Plates of Scorn, Great Divide, One (1) Offering Crystal, Simmersilk Bodyglove
Theme: Walking Dead by Z-Trip ft. Chester Bennington
The blade of his strange weapon came fast, striking at her shoulder and bouncing away harmlessly against the alchemized steel that had been forged specifically to combat lightsabers, blasters, and the like, but he made the horrible mistake of continuing this strike towards a position that was much easier for the shorter woman to react to. She didn't raise her sword to strike back when he flourished his blade and stroke at her hip, rather she moved her hand down, one covered by spiked gauntlets that were, honestly, the most protective portion of her armor. Any normal person wouldn't have even considered catching a blade, much less a lightsaber or whatever this sort of weapon was, to be a sane thought, but Braith knew herself to be quite different than the average, mundane, fool who would have tried to parry the strike or otherwise move. She anchored her feet down, her left hand opened and a telekinetic pull was made while she released the sword in her right hand to shove the back of her hand in front of the oncoming blade, catching it rightfully so between the knuckles and the spikes which protruded behind them.
The form the man fought with was one she was intimately familiar with from watching through the eyes of another, eyes of a woman that had preferred it over more brutal forms such as Juyo or Djem So. A mere puppet, perhaps, and certainly there was no skill in Braith's body to fight utilizing the form, but she knew it when she saw it - Makashi - and knew how to conquer its shortcomings. Aggression and strength could bat away the blades of the less powerful, but could result in an untimely decapitation or loss of limb. Speed and voracity was met equally with skill and an arm's length of plasma to parry and counter at every turn. So came the benefit in a combination of such brutal and quick acts of swordplay, of which she was proficient in. Certainly without armor the blade in her hand would have been used in defense against the fluid stroke of Maalik's blade, likely more than capable of shunting the momentum-lacking form right out of her way, but today she had donned her proverbial shield and it would be her crutch in this match up.
"Death is silent."
They were the only three words she expected to say for the rest of the duration of their little duel, and no sooner had the words left her lips than had she pushed her right hand towards the blade that had connected with it, attempting quite clearly to take advantage of the dexterous style of form two with brute strength, and her left moved with a heavy strike from her large sword towards the Chiss, much of her weight shifting with it as she rotated slightly in the direction that the blade moved. Beneath the visor of her helmet, again, she smirked. If this man wanted a fight, a real one, she would more than give it to him, and he would learn a valuable lesson in overconfidence.
Ten thousand years ago she had learned hers, and she was still picking up the pieces from it.
Objective: A - Rip apart the field
Allies: None Nearby
Enemies: [member="Atham'aali'kema"] | [member="Darth Isolda"] (I'm coming for you soon)
Gear: Plates of Scorn, Great Divide, One (1) Offering Crystal, Simmersilk Bodyglove
Theme: Walking Dead by Z-Trip ft. Chester Bennington
[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cygH31hCSI[/media]
Living in war always came with inherent risks, of them death was the least of a wise man's, or woman's, concern. War is cruel, it has always been cold, callous, and uncaring - there was no righteousness the galaxy over that could change or hide that fact. The very words that the Chiss spoke assured Braith of such, reminded her that any reservations on ending a life were for naught and needed to be discarded. It reminded her that honesty, honor, and any form of fairness must be forgotten on the field of battle - why she had created the very armor she wore. Though her plated mail was heavy, encumbering, and restricted her from sprinting or rapid movements beyond moving her arms and hands while standing practically still, it still protected her far better than any mundane armor would have. This would be a fight that could very well end in a death, and she accepted that - pushed out her want to spare this cretin - even as he swung his blade initially.The blade of his strange weapon came fast, striking at her shoulder and bouncing away harmlessly against the alchemized steel that had been forged specifically to combat lightsabers, blasters, and the like, but he made the horrible mistake of continuing this strike towards a position that was much easier for the shorter woman to react to. She didn't raise her sword to strike back when he flourished his blade and stroke at her hip, rather she moved her hand down, one covered by spiked gauntlets that were, honestly, the most protective portion of her armor. Any normal person wouldn't have even considered catching a blade, much less a lightsaber or whatever this sort of weapon was, to be a sane thought, but Braith knew herself to be quite different than the average, mundane, fool who would have tried to parry the strike or otherwise move. She anchored her feet down, her left hand opened and a telekinetic pull was made while she released the sword in her right hand to shove the back of her hand in front of the oncoming blade, catching it rightfully so between the knuckles and the spikes which protruded behind them.
The form the man fought with was one she was intimately familiar with from watching through the eyes of another, eyes of a woman that had preferred it over more brutal forms such as Juyo or Djem So. A mere puppet, perhaps, and certainly there was no skill in Braith's body to fight utilizing the form, but she knew it when she saw it - Makashi - and knew how to conquer its shortcomings. Aggression and strength could bat away the blades of the less powerful, but could result in an untimely decapitation or loss of limb. Speed and voracity was met equally with skill and an arm's length of plasma to parry and counter at every turn. So came the benefit in a combination of such brutal and quick acts of swordplay, of which she was proficient in. Certainly without armor the blade in her hand would have been used in defense against the fluid stroke of Maalik's blade, likely more than capable of shunting the momentum-lacking form right out of her way, but today she had donned her proverbial shield and it would be her crutch in this match up.
"Death is silent."
They were the only three words she expected to say for the rest of the duration of their little duel, and no sooner had the words left her lips than had she pushed her right hand towards the blade that had connected with it, attempting quite clearly to take advantage of the dexterous style of form two with brute strength, and her left moved with a heavy strike from her large sword towards the Chiss, much of her weight shifting with it as she rotated slightly in the direction that the blade moved. Beneath the visor of her helmet, again, she smirked. If this man wanted a fight, a real one, she would more than give it to him, and he would learn a valuable lesson in overconfidence.
Ten thousand years ago she had learned hers, and she was still picking up the pieces from it.