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The arena is set for the second annual Silver Sanctum Coalition Tournament.
Many Jedi have gathered to witness the ‘battles’ between the combatants, from Padawans to Knights and Masters, all battling to see who will rise to the top, who will be the cream of the crop?, the icing on the cake?, the best of the best?. It is early morning, the sun has risen to herald a bright new day, avian circle in the Voss sky, the flowers are blooming and the bees are buzzing and there is excitement in the air. And lots of chatter ..
In the arena there is a seat at the end of the room, on which Grand Master [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] will watch over the tournament. With brushed back golden hair, beard trimmed and a set of sapphire blue eyes, and a calming demeanour, the grand master will cast those wondrous eyes upon his Jedi charges and step in if and I say IF, the duelling gets ‘out of hand’.
Before the duelling shall commence, each combatant will acknowledge his presence with a respectful bow and so to, to your competitor, before they begin.
That made it somewhat terrifying for someone who had grown up enclosed in the durasteel coffin of Coruscant's lower ghettos. So much open space. He was used to looking upward from the sewars to a sky that was forbidden for his eyes to see, cast behind building upon building until the only space left for those without was what meager segments between the pipes they might find to squeeze into. Here, he stood upon the mountain side, peering down on the world amid a sky that stretched from horizon to horizon with only the clouds to break up an otherwise limitless blue field.
The young Pantoran was seated in a graveyard.
Hugging his knees to his chest, the blue-skinned youngling gazed out in the direction of the Nightmare Lands. Beside him, an offering of frankincense burned into the wind before a small memorial that had been erected in honor of a Silver Jedi padawan. A lonely victim in the brief, yet bloody war between the Silver Jedi and the Primeval. A Togruta, her name had been [member="Asaak Tey"].
Coming here was something of a ritual for the boy. The humble stone in her memory served as a reminder of who... of what he was.
A thief.
A murderer.
That, and so much more. There was so much baggage one carried in a name, hereditary titles one gathered in so short a season as a mere eleven years. Outcast. Homeless. Begger. Worthless. Street rat. Urchin.
Transformed by the power of the Dark Side of the Force, he'd since added still more titles. Killer. Assassin.Monster.
Worthless still? As a believer in that which was Primeval, he liked to think that Halrormalenth had a purpose for his life. And shuddered at the thought that the purpose might have been to be the one who killed Asaak Tey. He wanted to be a light in people's lives like the light of Nogras, illuminating the heaven in the form of the stars.
...and yet, growing up in the shadows and dark places where civilized man had no place, he was like an angel that was afraid of the light.
Picking himself up from off the ground, the boy made his way through the winding, jungle paths that led toward the arena tucked into the side of the ancient temple. Even from this far, he could feel the Dark Side -- hear the whispers on the winds that blew from out of the Nightmare Lands. His mind was troubled, his soul disquieted. As many times as he had come to the home of the Silver Jedi, peace remained elusive. Denied him.
As he reached for the door, the young boy paused and gazed down at his own, outstretched arm. Turning the palm upward, the youngling's amber eyes examined the thin black lines that still marred the blue flesh where he'd been pricked by a terentatek's horn. A faint echo seemed to speak inside his mind and said, Peace is lie, there is only passion.
"...the Force shall free me," the boy uttered aloud, echoing the last line of the Code of the Sith as he applied his hand to the handle and pulled open the door. Striding inside, the young Pantoran stayed toward the back of the room until he was called forward.
He had left Azi, an amphistaff that was more a familiar than a pet, in the care of [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]. He no longer wore white, instead he was dressed in black. An open collar, short sleeve shirt without decoration. A plain silver lightsaber handle wrapped in leather dangling from his belt the only thing he carried with him, save for the prayer chain that was worn around his neck, just visible beneath the lay of his shirt collar.
Stepping to the center of the arena, the youngling touched the fingertips of both hands together as he inclined his head toward the golden haired man that emerged from the other side. Softly, the Primeval adherent offered a blessing to his opponent. "May the light of Nogras shine upon you. May the shadow of Balagoth be far from you, and may Halrormalenth grant blessings and peace to you."
Standing straight, the boy turned toward the now familiar form of [member="Thurion Heavenshield"], to give a bow in acknowledgment of the Grand Master of their Order. Then, turning back toward the taller Jedi across from himself, bowed a second time toward him.
There is only passion.
A red light illuminated the boy's slight frame in a dark, hellish light. The blood-like blade of the Sith lightsaber radiating with the unstable, unnatural energies of a crystal forged through the arcane rites of the Dark Side. Bringing the blade up, the boy flipped the weapon around as he adopted a reverse grip.
Sliding his feet into a loose T-stance, the youngling dropped his center of gravity in a pose that was distinctively familiar to Teras Kasi. The lightsaber was held in the style of Shien, in his right hand with the blade angled back along the underside of his forearm, while his left hand was empty as he held it out in front of him.
Voss might be a peaceful place, but this room wasn't. An arena, rarely used, but now crowded with all sort of members of the Coalition. There'd been more than one duel already today, and there would no doubt be more after this one. Some of them had been impressive, others had been completely underwhelming. Audren was here not only for the entertainment but also for the opportunity: already there had been techniques displayed that he'd never seen, ones he'd look into learning himself.
His opponent in this case was one Boo Chiyo. The Sephi thought he recognized the name, but couldn't come up with any details. No missions they might have both been on, nothing. Disappointing but not surprising, in all honestly. After all, the Coalition was rather large. As the two stepped out of the crowds, he took in his opponent. It appeared to be a child: blue skin with green tattoos, dark hair, and maybe fifteen years old if his species aged like most. Yet one had to be a verified Knight to enter at this level, so there was obviously some skill and experience there. Disregarding his opponent as young and inexperienced would be foolish.
The young participant bowed his head and touched his hands together briefly. Unsure if that was considered a bow, the Knight inclined his head to the same degree. He faced Grandmaster [member="Thurion Heavenshield"] once he got further inside the cleared area and bowed properly, then turned and again performed a full bow to his opponent. Bows complete, the young boy lit a lightsaber. Crimson light sprang from the hilt, and mutters started springing up with it. The color did necessarily make it a Sith blade...but the darkness did. For his part, Audren was not phased. He'd wielded a Sith's blade for a considerable amount of his time as a Jedi and could deal with it. His own lightsaber was a brilliant orange, not far off in color, though it was firmly in tune with the Light Side.
Unlike the Pantoran, the Sephi did not take an elaborate or even formal stance. His feet were set about shoulder-width and the ignited lightsaber blade was held in an almost relaxed state, pointed towards the ground. He didn't move to attack, though he did set himself to be more aware of the Force. It wasn't yet time.
Shuffling his forward foot so that the toe was aimed to the right, the boy shifted his weight slightly as he prepared to step out in reaction to an attack...
...that never came. Instead, the man pointed his blade down toward the floor.
Now, the young Pantoran was not an aficionado when it came to lightsaber techniques, but what form pointed the lightsaber at the floor? There was that crazy turtle defense one, what was it called? Form Two? Form Four? The Soreeshimo or whatever one, which had the blade angled parallel overhead. And then the Ataru one that was just gymnasts on Force steroids, with a lot of twirling blades. But, neither of those pointed the blade down to the floor.
That he knew of.
How many lightsaber techniques were there, anyway?
When it seemed that no attack was imminent, the boy stepped off to his right. Dropping both arms by his side, the crimson blade extended up his back so that the tip protruded above his right shoulder. His pace was methodical, as though measured, as the youngling circled around the Jedi's left.
An assassin never rushed into an unknown. Knowledge was power. Power achieved victory. These were the foundational tenants of the SIth. His illusions and sleight of hand techniques that drew on the Dark Side understanding of what the Jedi referred to as Mind Trick would be useless, but if he could get behind the yellow-haired man for a moment, he might be able to drop into the shadows and disappear for a moment.
Avoid confrontation. Seek the element of surprise. Overwhelm the enemy.
Arena based combat cast to the winds the very essence of how he fought. Which is to say, how he didn't fight. If one got into a martial combat without any clear advantage, then the outcome was subject to any number of random events. The boy was taught that the only fight you picked was the fight you had won before it had even begun.
And here, he knew nothing about this Jedi.
"Why is your lightsaber orange?" the young Pantoran asked. It wasn't a critical tone, but a genuine curiosity that was expressed through a quiet, soft voice. "I thought lightsabers were just blue or green."
Well, blue, green, and red. But red was usually the gang colors of the Sith and that kind of went without saying.
For a duel, this was tame. Neither one of them was attacking, they were instead talking. Talking. The younger one was moving, circling his opponent, while the Jedi was slowly turning to keep the other in view. And of all the questions that could have been asked, the topic of discussion was the color of lightsaber blades. Genuine questions too, unless his internal detector was way off.
"The color reflects the crystal, the crystal reflects the user. Not all colors have meaning, and they can range the full spectrum."
Even black apparently, though the Sephi had no idea how that actually worked.
As he turned to keep the younger person in view, Audren began to lay lines of Force power along the floor of the fighting area. Narrow threads, no wider than his pinky finger and barely anything in terms of raw power. Just as the boy was circling, seeking to find an advantage that he could use, so was the Knight plotting. Given the masses of people watching, there would likely be a future opponent of this round's winner present. And the next, and the next. Revealing all one's tricks during the first round was foolishness, but losing because what had been revealed hadn't been enough was as well.
Without warning, the Jedi took two quick steps towards his opponent. The steps weren't enough to bring them into lightsaber range, another one and a half or so were needed for that, but it was a test of how the younger one reacted. Previously he'd been standing nearly still, only turning to watch the boy. Now he was suddenly moving closer. Some would retreat, some would move towards their opponent, some wouldn't budge. How the opponent thought was crucial in finding out how he fought. Finding out how he fought meant finding out how to win.
The crystal reflects the user. "Huh," the youngling said. Nothing more, nothing less. So, what if one used an artificial crystal? The crystal powering Boo's lightsaber hadn't been the result of any quest where he'd gone soul searching in crystal caves. It was the product of a Sith alchemical process that was well documented and researched. Simply put, it wasn't magic. It was just following directions.
Jedi definitely placed a significance on the lightsaber that was wholly absent from what the Pantoran had experienced as the apprentice of the late Darth Scorpius. In a way, he was jealous. The weapon he wielded was just a tool, of no significance more than one might give a pencil or a hammer. The weapons of the Jedi seemed to have this almost mystical aura about them. They were special. They were unique.
At the same time, the message kind of reinforced the notion that he had that the Jedi each believed themselves to be these special little snowflakes. And when everyone was special, then no one was. They merely celebrated mediocrity.
The Jedi moved forward.
The first step, Boo had a moment in which to decide how to react.
The second step, the boy had made his choice. The red blade twirled from behind his back as the child reversed his grip and brought the blade up over head, taking the opening stance of Form V as he stepped forward and popped up into the air slightly.
Normally, his tactic would be to avoid. But, he was already locked in the enemy's sights and the Jedi was closing in. That meant he'd need to change the play.
Plan B. If you can't avoid, overwhelm.
A slight telekinetic assist added weight behind the downward arc of the red blade as the Pantoran demonstrated the Falling Avalanche.
The younger being reacted to the rapid steps, just as had been intended. He hadn't know quite what the reaction would be, but the fact that there was a reaction was good. Right as the second step happened, the kid's red lightsaber twirled and came up over his head and was then brought down in a powerful strike.
Of course, it would have been more threatening had Audren not towered over the child.
A flick of his wrist turned the lightsaber around. It was still pointed at the ground, but rather than angling slightly towards his own feet it now pointed outwards. Then his own arm rose, bringing the orange blade up in a vertical motion while held horizontally, a simple response to the strike. His motion didn't aim for the oncoming blade though. His own weapon, set on training mode, was aimed at the boy's arm(s). This was not a real fight, and he had no intention of permanently maiming his opponents, but if the strike hit as intended it would simulate losing one or both hands.
The success of the move depended heavily on the Knight's speed and his opponent's momentum. In an opponent roughly his own size he wouldn't necessarily need to move, but given the relative height differences that would be the safe bet in this condition. As he struck, he moved slightly to the left. Not enough to nullify his own strike of course, that was still on path for a solid hit near the center of his blade. It was just enough that a falling blade wouldn't hit his head or arm. Fast, precise, and efficient. Was he giving away his style too soon?
It wasn't much of a warning, but it gave the boy an indication of where the blade was likely to go. Extending his right arm outward, and rolling his left wrist, the boy made the slightly change to the trajectory of the blade and how he was holding it so that when the man's blade swept up the two shafts of light intersected at odd angles.
The Pantoran youth could actually manage to hold himself up like that, balancing against the point where the two blades met, but to sustain this would mean that the Jedi was lifting just shy of forty kilos.
Pushing back from where their blades connected, the blue skinned boy sprang backward to land back on his feet. He was more of an acrobat or gymnast than he was a duelist. The blood red blade spun through the air as he again reversed his grip on the handle, blade angled back along his forearm pointed toward the elbow, as he assumed something akin to a loose shock-boxer's stance.
The younger combatant showed an impressive ability to think on his feet, shifting his arms to one side and rolling them to alter the course of his blade and intercept Audren's at an unusual angle. Almost instantly however, he performed a leap backwards from the fulcrum of the blades and reset himself, once again holding his blade in a reverse grip. Too bad, had Blue held the block Audren could have used it.
But the Knight could also think on his feet. Almost as soon as the boy had landed, Audren was throwing a minor burst of Force power at him. It was more or less designed to put the Pantoran off-balance, as the Sephi was immediately moving towards his opponent. It wasn't a lunge or a run, just a quick and steady movement into range. As soon as he was within range, he lashed out with his blade in a single-handed, quick flick of a strike at the boy's rib cage.
The reverse grip that the boy held his hilt in was well-known for its defensive capabilities. There was a slight degradation of offensive ones, but not significant. However, there were still ways around the more able defense. Notably, if the Pantoran moved his blade to intercept Audren's own, the Sephi would turn his off just before point of contact and turn it back on just beyond. Any other response wouldn't see the flickering-blade technique, which he was sure had a formal name he didn't know.
