Show Me Your Moves!

[Darth Metus]

In an ever-changing Galaxy, one had a choice to make. Either fall into the abyss known as stagnation, or make adjustments in order to thrive. Dagora-Kel had chosen the latter of the two paths in recent history, and now found himself in the company of those who held power in the Galaxy: the Hegemony. Yet adapting his life to transition from Mandalorian to CEO would call for more than a change in peers...it would call for changes at a fundamental level. Thus far, Dagora had shed his Mandalorian-given name and abandoned the Resol'nare. He had put aside Beskar'gam in favor of something light and unique.

And now, he would embrace the saber over the blaster.

There were many among the Hegemony who were skilled in the ways of combat, some more than others. Amongst these exceptional combatants was a rather enigmatic man known only as "Death's Hand." According to the many hushed whispers surrounding the man, he apparently held skill in a lightsaber form Dagora had dabbled in once before: Juyo. As such, the Dar'manda had made an earnest request of his fellow to impart knowledge of this form in the only language they mutually spoke: By Clash.

Kamino would be the site of their collision, upon a platform adjacent to a cloning facility. Above, the heavens wept perpetual tears and howled with bitter winds. These did not deter the Dar'manda in the slightest, who stood cloaked awaiting the arrival of his opponent and instructor. Within his hands rested Obsidian: a lightsaber that ignited with but a touch of his finger. Heralded by a snap-hiss, a crimson blade of plasma shot forth into being. Dagora would learn, of this he was sure.

He would learn the hard way.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

Kamino​

It’s steps were quick, light, but loud enough to merit notice. Hushed whispers followed the man as he walked from the hangar where he had landed the vessel it had been given. White interiors, so sterile even to this day, clashed with the black he wore all over. Weapons of different makes, and models rested over various artifacts that it wore. A powerful, silver arm stood out most prominently, a reminder that this was no normal man. Implants were barely visible at the base of his neck, long onyx hair hid where they were connected fully. Goggles and a black face shield hid the man’s face, only adding to the menacing figure he imposed. Most humans were short compared to Kaminoans, not this one.

He was nearly their height.

Howling wind met his ears as he stepped out onto the platform, rain splashed on him from the side. The heavy drops pelted against him, but he stood motionless after crossing the distance. A familiar snap-hiss met his ears, and the smell of ozone permeated the air despite the mask he wore. Sliding his terentenak duster off, he laid it off to the the side along with the rifles stapped over his chest. All of the armor’s he had been given were left on his ship, along with his considerable armory. This wasn’t a mission, he was simply sent here to help another member of the Techno-Union out. Whatever that meant, he simply followed the orders as given to him. So he paid little attention when he turned around and a crimson lightsaber blade was ignited.

Except as he looked up at his opponent, he saw an image of a woman transposed with him. She was holding a blue, curved lightsaber. Phantom pains washed over him, and he had to shake the image off with a few blinks. All of this went unnoticed due to his face being covered, but it did elicit a strange response from it. A thought actually crossed his mind, what was that? Realizing he had just had a thought, he busied himself with pulling out the ancient lightsaber hilt he had in his possession. It’s black, gold, and electrum finish was unique, as was the activation plate.

Snap-Hiss!


[member="Dagora-Kel"]

 

[Darth Metus]

A ceaseless sizzle filled the air, joined by a chorus of thunder. The rapid evaporation of rain upon Dagora's saber heralded the advent of his...rather menacing...opponent. Upon stepping out of the cloning facility, the Dar'manda only had a single thought regarding [member="Death's Hand"]: Big. He had seen Battle Hydras, he had seen Rak-Ghoul...but he had yet to stand before a man of such stature. Regardless of this fact, Dagora remained unshaken. It would take quite a bit more than size to send any chills down his spine. As such, he slowly slid his right foot back whilst gripping his saber in both hands. To be perfectly honest, he had anticipated that his opponent would make the first move...or react in some way to his presence...but nothing transpired initially. He simply stood fast, as if sizing Dagora up or something.

However, that moment soon passed and a second snap-hiss joined the choir.

There was no point in formalities or dialogue in the slightest. There was no point in attempting to foster camaraderie in these moments. All that mattered was the clash of lightsaber upon lightsaber. And so, shortly after Death's Hand ignited his saber, a roar burst from Dagora's lips. His passion. His will to fight. His aggression. All came screaming to the surface in that instant. Akin to the thundering skies, his heart began to race away. Fire burned in his veins...this was what he was hungering for: a good fight! As the challenger, Dagora claimed the first move. Pushing off, he launched into a full on sprint across the platform, switching to holding his saber in his dominant (right) hand. Upon entering striking range, he raked Obsidian in a horizontal strike: attempting to rend the man in two.

This was but a warm up, of course. There was no way it would be as simple as that.

 

[Darron Wraith]

In another life, Death would have bowed. Memories it had never experienced were playing out before it’s mind’s eye. Stone walls, made of marble most likely, surrounded the warrior for a moment. Instead of the dark-skinned Mandalorian in front of it, there was another. Fair of skin, with dark hair, they both bowed to each other. The man before him as young, and looking down at it’s arms it was suddenly young as well. A single blonde braid hung by it’s ear, and it noticed how small it’s hands were. Was this when I was a child? Another thought flooded it’s mind as their lightsabers ignited, and they each took a ready stance before the practice duel began. This is a practice duel?

It all faded, and the Mandalorian was upon it.

All thoughts cleared, and there was only time to react. Death’s Hand didn’t bring the amethyst blade up to defend itself, nor did it take a two handed grip. There was no time to adequately make the circuit, or pull a blaster out and shoot the man it was to train. No, it merely stepped back with it’s right foot. The arm of cortosis and durasteel griped the ligthsaber hilt as the blade rested with it’s point towards the floor. It’s hand of flesh raised, and it’s palm opened within a second. Will, focus, and years of training coalesced as the rain fell on the pair of them. Energy built up in the hand, and then like a cannon that power was released right in Dagora’s face.

A Force push like no other was used at point-blank range.



[member="Dagora-Kel"]