Sure Footing

[Luca Donskoi]

[SIZE=11pt]

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Location: Dune Sea, Tattoine​

Objective: Figure Out Why We're Here​

Equipment: Asheran Armorweave | KC-95 'Ace of Spades' Blaster Pistol | Lightsaber​

[member="Adron Malvern"]​

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[SIZE=11pt]

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Sand. It was everywhere and just why people chose a life on this dusty rock of scorched earth was beyond Alden. It was hot, and dry. It felt like razors as it ground against his at each gust of the desert wind that shifted and shaped the dunes of this barren sea. On the distant horizon, the outline of an old Jawa Sandcrawler could be vaguely made clear through the haze of heat that lifted from the ground. Alden was dressed in clothing the caressed his figure much more loosely than his normal garb, and even offered a bit of tattered cloth to shield his mouth and nose from the elements and sand that blanketed the terrain here. He even had a hood pulled over the crown of his head leaving to where only squinted eyes remained unchristened of the ragged cloth. His hands were free of gloves, a decision he was starting to regret as the planet’s twin suns began to bake away at every bit of organic life assembled here.

It was impossible to find a sure footing here as the loose sediment which lay beneath his shifted and scattered with each step making his movements more rigorous and labored than they would normally. He wanted to grimace as the frustration of this place began to settle in, however, he wouldn’t give his master, [member="Adron Malvern"], that pleasure. He was above that and even though he’d vowed to accept the Exarch’s teachings, there were a great many directions his Master chose that held Alden with conflicted regard.

Alden spun on heel in an ‘about face’ manner focussing his attention to the man who he’d come here with. The hilt of his lightsaber hung by his right hip from its hook-loop fastener. Along his left hip, the blaster pistol was holstered. “From the hellish freeze of Ilum to the Gods’ forsaken abyss of Tattooine,” Alden said, not breaking his attention from the man before him, “You sure do have a way with extremes, Exarch.”

 

[Adron Malvern]

Adron hated the heat. He despised it with a burning passion. However, as he stood in the middle of the dunes with his chin raised to the sky, soaking in the sun's rays, you would think he loved it. His eyes were closed, his mind tuning itself to the never ending nether of the Dark Side. Anger, hatred, fury, they were all things that empowered him far past his mortal limits, they defined him and crafted him into so much more. They made him a Sith Lord. His eyes opened and the amethyst crystals turned to his apprentice, [member="Alden Akaran"].

"And you have a way of complaining. Turn your mind away from the temperature and turn it towards your training." The Exarch's tone was soft and low. A humble one, to the untrained ears. However the reality was that he had a chilling regal voice that was much like a dagger wrapped in silk. His eyes were cold and discontent and he seemed the type of man who could not be bothered with the troubles of lesser men. Even when those lesser men were his apprentices.

He wore a dark brown training suit. A simple trousers and tunic set with a leather belt that wrapped over his waist. It was thick and made of thin material to keep the sun from harassing his exposed skin. The outfit even came with a hood and mask to keep the sand from his hair and mouth. Adron pulled the hood up and gestured for his apprentice to follow behind him. "It's time for your next lesson." The Exarch informed with a casual tone. "You were given the crystal to the blade, now you will learn just how to use it." The Exarch reached out, his hand extending to the man's waist. Alden's lightsaber would fly into Adron's hand, through the unseen power of the Force. He glanced down at the weapon in his hand. "You did well in crafting your lightsaber." He muttered, before tossing the weapon back to Alden.

They traveled away from their ship and into the dunes until they reached a valley filled with rock formations that sat upon the sand. Just now the Exarch's hand fell to his own lightsaber that rested on his waist. It was a hilt crafted from songsteel with a signature curve to it, intending to give an edge to a duelist. Adron turned to his apprentice while keeping his free hand fastened behind his back. He held his arm out at the ground at an angle and in the next moment.

A vibrant snap-hiss came to life as the man gazed out at Alden with an interested expression. "Show me what you can do. Maybe you'll impress me." Not likely.

[member="Alden Akaran"]

 

[Luca Donskoi]

[member="Adron Malvern"]​

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The twin suns of Tattooine continued to radiate their intense rays upon the deathly surface beneath their feet in an unrelenting fashion. If there was any moisture to be harvested close to the surface as the planet’s moisture farmers made their livelihood harvesting, it was quickly being evaporated into its invisible, gaseous state. Alden hated the heat and he hated the sand. He held a disdain for this planet, and those like it, that he’d sought to deny for so long. Even Geonosis did not hold a warm place within this man’s otherwise welcoming and loving heart.

Perhaps this was part of the reason that the Exarch had brought him here. So that he might finally crush Alden in their every conflicting philosophies of which were the better emotions to gather strength from. The good nature of love and compassion as Alden sought to maintain, or the volatile nature of rage and pain that Adron persistently lectured Alden to delve ever more deeply into.

Alden didn’t even attempt to negate the Exarch call for his weapon that dangle from its home along his right hip through the unseen power of the Force. Bizarrely, however, were the words that soon befell the lips of the regal man that had called the weapon away from him momentarily. If he hadn’t known the man better, Alden would have actually believed the man to be giving him a genuine compliment about a feat of his. A genuine compliment, without an underlying context to be deciphered. But . . . but nothing ever was so simple with regards to the Exarch and his often unorthodox mannerisms when it came to his training. And in an odd way, Alden preferred it that way. He preferred it when things were not so simply achieved. It gave a purpose and a sense of fulfilment to be had once they way. And the often cryptic murmurings of the Exarch often seemed to play into a focussed training on his mind and intellect, while the direct and explicit contexts appeared to focus training only his physical self and his abilities he continued to gather throughout his journey through a life with the Force.

It wasn’t but a moment later that the hilt he’d crafted found itself hurtling through the dry heat and back toward his now outstretched arm that received it. The act was somewhat graceful in its flow with a seamless catch in silence, without the cackle of loose materials colliding against one another. He didn’t reseat it to its home fastened down by his hip, but instead held it in hand with a comfort that mere weeks before would have seemed foreign, even alien, to him. Only now the weight was familiar. As was its shape and feel. The intricately etched design into the darkened phrik. The Krayt Dragon bone that enveloped much of the lower reach of the weapon’s pummel. The crude, yet simple and effective grip and reinforce guard of the Lorrdian Gemstone encased within. It was something that gave him a sense of pride unlike anything else. Not because it meant more to him than other possessions and accomplishments, but because it was something that was completely and unequivocally him. It was something he had made and there was nothing else in the galaxy like it. And he had achieved this on his own with little guidance from the Exarch. With little guidance from any outside presence other than the Force and something that seemed utterly natural from within. A knowledge he held, but carried no recollection of he came to possess it.

Soon Adron had lead him to a valley buried deep within the sandy sea where rocks reached up through the shifting surface, crudely carved by the windswept sand that constantly pummeled at and eroded them. However, it seemed that at least here the footing would be marginally more solid.

Soon after, the reason for their visit here was made crystal clear as the Exarch retrieved his own uniquely put together blade from its home and snapped the blade to life. The dull hum resonating in contrast to the winds that swept over them. It’s deep purple blade casting an amethyst glow over the sand, recognizable only against a spot of terrain beneath it where the Exarch’s own shadow cast its silhouette.

And so here it was. It was time to impress his Master, if that were a task that could actually ever be accomplished. Throughout his time alongside the man, Alden had found that feat to be one that was likely an impossible one. He carried himself at such a level and with such esteem that attempts to do so were often met with futility. In fact the only thing he’d managed to do that had given any rise from the man had been his abilities as a pilot and just moments before with the inspection of his lightsaber.

Alden’s hand flexed around the hilt of his own weapon, his fingers caressing the hilt. And with a snap-hiss of its own, an amethyst blade sprang seamlessly from the hilt, its purple differing only slightly from that of the Exarch’s as his held a lighter shade. His footing shifted and he brought the blade in front of his body, angling it slightly toward Adron’s position. His left was planted in front and his right foot swept back along the sandy surface, dragging a new line through the loose sediment. His knees were bent slightly and not locked and his weight seemed evenly dispersed. Both hands lay wrapped around the hilt which now shifted slightly to standard perpendicularly to the ground, blade pointing skyward. His weight now shifted too, to where most of it lay over his right, and the left was there only for balance and support. His eyes never broke from those of the Exarch. Sapphire orbs set on ones made of amethyst. And he waited. Committed to forcing Adron to make the first move.

 

[Adron Malvern]

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[member="Alden Akaran"]​

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Time seemed to come to a stop. The master set his eyes upon his apprentice, they were proprietorial in their nature. The way the amethyst orbs gazed at him as the man began to shift his body. He was taking the classical lightsaber stance, with a balanced defensive posture. He was aiming to entice the Exarch into pressing the advantage, revealing the strength and skill that he would be utilizing during this duel. Adron's lips curled up into a thin smile, unseen from under the cloth mask that covered his face. There was the soft kiss of the wind in his ears, along with the low humming of the two lightsabers it made for an unsettling ambiance.

There was some distance between them, several feet in fact. For the wielder of the art of Makashi, distance was an ally. Adron's eyes shifted from Alden's legs, to his arms, to his shoulders, and back to his knees. He was hoping to unsettle the apprentice, make him grow impatient. Alden would need to learn true patience in the art of lightsaber combat, less he fall like those who had come before him. The Exarch brought the blade of his lightsaber up, parallel to his torso as he saluted the apprentice respectfully. The movement that came next was akin to a feather in the wind. Adron strafed forward, his feet drawing low thin lines in the sand as he closed the space between the two of them.

His blade flew forward, cutting through the air in search of Alden's shoulder. The blade would be heavy against whatever defense the apprentice conjured to defend it. Adron held a slim frame, but he was strong and with the curve of his hilt, he was capable of applying a good deal of power and speed to his strike. Still, the blow was not aimed to take the man's shoulder off . Rather, to deflect off of the surface and leave a nasty burn in it's wake. Whether the blow would land or not, the man would begin to strafe to Alden's left, where he had obviously shifted his weight to maintain his defense. The next two strike came in rapid succession. Adron would strike out, not once but twice. His amethyst blade would seek the hand that held Alden's lightsaber, interested on seeing how he reacted to that, shortly after the blade would strike at the wrist in an even, fluid motion following the blow to the hand.

Every movement was fluid and swift, seemingly holding less strength than a more empowered strike could. However, the Exarch prized speed over strength. He did not need to pummel his opponents into dust when he could slice them to ribbons.

 

[Luca Donskoi]

[member="Adron Malvern"]​

Alden wasn’t exactly well versed in the art of lightsaber combat, but that wasn’t to say he possessed no martial training. In fact he held years and years of combatives training in one facet or another, whether that be armed or unarmed. And since he’d taken the extra time to explore certain aspects of this mystical power called the Force outside of Adron’s instruction, he’d gathered a knowledge that might exceed the boundaries of one normally filling his mandate. That in addition to the already heavy workload he continued to shoulder since his being brought on to the Confederate Defense Force - and even more so now that he’d reached the rank he now held. It was amazing he ever had any time at all once one gave consideration to his responsibilities with the Core Armada combined with the rigorous training regiment placed upon him in the limited down time he had away from it by the Exarch furthering his training.

Alden had by this point allowed the Force to fill his conscious being, elevating his senses and his insight into the world that surrounded him. Even to the presence of the Exarch. Coupled with the Lorrdian crystal and his limited knowledge in the Force along with his years of martial training, Alden wasn’t the typical inexperienced subject to the Force. Instead, he was aided in a manner of speaking. Pushed along and guided by a combination of the Force, his training and the precognition bestowed upon his subconscious by the gemstone housed within his lightsaber which hummed with dissonance against that of the Exarch’s.

But even in this exaggerated moment where the wills of two forces collided against one another, Alden’s patience would stand firm. Defiant to the will of the Exarch. A skill, rather a virtue, he’d been forced to acquire as both an officer and a pilot. It was something he’d developed early in his - something about being a Senator’s child in the shadow of his overachieving twin - and further mastered through tireless hours in the cockpit. One had to have a certain degree of patience with faced with the continuous threat of life and death. To carry oneself in with a melancholy calmness even as every fiber of the being wanted you to jump and pursue an abrupt and radical conclusion.

But it seemed this moment of uneasy tension was to be short lived. Broken the instance Alden felt the shift of his master’s position through the Force. A moment which Alden seemed to almost welcome even if a dance of blades was not at the forefront of the abilities he possessed.

His muscles tensed and flair with life for a moment. His eyes opened, allowing sapphires to fall upon amethysts once more. And there, he reached deep into what he’d learned in his dive into the unknown nether of the Force. And it was there he called upon an ability considered core by the basic disciple of the Force. A talent every student which sought a knowledge in the Force developed early in their studies, no matter the teacher. And so Alden pulled it quickly from his own increasing arsenal of talents and abilities. As such, time and space would seemingly decrease to sluggishness around him. The strides forward from the aggressor (Adron) now perceived at a rate of one forcing movement through water and forcibly into a current which pressed against each movement. Force Speed and taken hold and it was within its grasp that the world around him slowed and lines of movement meant to be swift and seamless no longer blurred together.

Alden’s body turned in sequence with the first the first strike, allowing it to sail harmlessly past, made easier by the fact that the strike had not been made with the intention to sever his arm from his body. It’s trajectory had been seen due to the innate properties bestowed by Lorrdian Gemstone, as were hints of the next attacks to come which were aimed to his wrist and hand seeking to singe the flesh and likely force him into an unarmed state of being. A state that was not in the High Marshal’s best interests.

His hand rotated his amethyst blade counter-clockwise and his arm brought the hand upward while he pivoted his body’s positioning in a similar fashion. This allowed the swift strikes carried out by Adron to both deflect from his defense he’d placed unless their course were to be altered and adjusted to counter his own counter. A maneuver taken while still maintaining his hold on his Force Speed ability.

He rounded out his defensive counter with an offensive strike. He took the momentum of his turn to power a sharp elbow toward the rear of the Exarch’s head where the skull met the vertebrae of the cranium. There would be a force behind the move as it was strengthened by both his momentum and by the swiftness his use of Speed had granted him, but the force of the impact, should it connect, would not be enough to deal any significant damage or permanent harm to Adron. It had been aimed to temporarily disable or stun the man and allow Alden to recover and step into his next counter or reversal which was dependant on the Exarch’s next move.

Alden hadn’t let his awareness slip from the blaster that still found itself safely holstered along his hip.

 

[Adron Malvern]

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[member="Alden Akaran"]​

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Alden was far from a novice in combat, yet to see him move was rather amusing to Adron. He adapted to lightsaber combat remarkably well, yet he still held the subtle misses of technique. As the Dark Lord lashed out, he noticed Alden had not only guarded against his moves, he had anticipated them. The subtle surge through the Force with each move, the way his responses were nearly perfectly timed. It seemed his lightsaber was working in tandem with his own mind. The crystal. A small smile formed on the man's face as his blow lashed away from the man. Alden would slowly notice the subtle cues of the Exarch's own style. His moves were full and refined, yet they were minimal and left little energy to be used.

As his blade was met by Alden's, it quickly returned to a static place, nearly parallel with the Exarch's body. Alden's body twisted, moving around the Exarch's. Yet as Alden's feet moved, so did Adron's. Step for step, twist for twist, the Exarch turned in the opposite direction, hoping to meet the man's elbow. As it was, the High Marshal's elbow would slam into the Exarch's chin or windpipe with the direction it took. If it were not for the man's lightsaber.

Adron's lightsaber had not moved place in his hand from when it was deflected by Alden, therefore it stood guard in between Alden's elbow and Adron's face. If the man's blow would continue, he'd be purchasing a new cybernetic appendage. The Exarch smiled, he had spoke just as he turned. "Excellent speed, yet you are not the first to enhance your speed with the Force."

 

[Luca Donskoi]

[SIZE=11pt][member="Adron Malvern"][/SIZE]​

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There was no denying it; Alden was far from inexperienced in the art of martial combat. However, in that same sense, he was far from being anywhere close to an expert. And certainly not when it came to the ‘dance of blades’ that a lightsaber duel recited. An unrefined and unchoreographed collection of eb and flows, where intricate movements of finesse, clashed in a ugly and unruly violence. No, Alden was not so well versed in these things. Instead, his level of comfort fell to the basic military combatives nature. Martial techniques that taught him to return to a position where he would hold an advantage to draw a firearm and subdue an engagement before it ever began. And this showed in his execution against the master swordsman he faced in this very moment.

The two moved with a fluidity, in this chaotic dance of theirs. The windswept seas of sand a bleak reflection of the picture being painted by the two who clashed before it. Adron had adjusted his attack seemingly by instinct - an adjustment hadn’t caught while he leaned heavily into the foresight he’d been given just before. Time, it seemed, moved too fast for an adjustment to be made in any sort of reasonable manner. Especially for one with such little experience in this waltz they’d taken step too.

All in a moment’s notice, the senses ran wild. First, it was just an exasperation of unparalleled pain and agony as limb was torn from the body. Flesh carved away with the ease of a hot knife pressed through butter. Not long after, the vile odor of charred flesh filled the abhorrent space between them. A wound that was cauterized as quickly as it had been given. And even that was not the finale to this ravaging and mutilation of the human body. Smoke wisped into the air. Tendrils of gray and white that hung momentarily before whisked away in the wind’s caress. A disparaging contrast to black of the charred cloth and musculature. The bone carrying the very same complexion as two-thirds of what had been the man’s limb fell limply to the ground. It landed with a soft and archaic thud against the sun scorched sediment that blanketed the floor of this waterless sea.

But the adrynalyne hadn’t allowed Alden to initially truly grasp at the utterly grave nature of his situation. Instead, even his right arm deathly fell to the sun bleached surface, lightsaber still clasped in the severed flesh’s grip, Alden’s left fell swiftly to his hip, altering his own previous intent in pure reflection of the change he faced. It was in swiftness that would have appeared a blur to the average man, that he pulled the blaster from its holster and fired a shot at near point-blank range. The bolt flashed through the dry heat on a course for the Exarch’s right foot, though its intended target had been the much meatier calf muscle. But, that aim had been thrown off and the pain of his newfound dismemberment fill his mind. It tore him from his focus and tranquility. He was plucked from everything he’d taken the time to establish in himself prior to the Exarch’s first glimmer of his intention here. He been forced elsewhere now, mentally distraught with a pain that went without rival from anything he;d felt before. The severity and intensity beyond that of broken boke, of lacerated flesh, and torn ligaments. The utter anguish intensified tenfold from the migraines that had lingered for months after his last concussion as he’d sought to sacrifice himself alongside his ship to save his crew all that time ago back on Umgul.

With an intensity unlike anything he’d experienced before, the cry of pain shot forth from him. A banshee’s wail echoing into the beyond. The entirety of the man’s body tensed. His knuckles whitened around the grip of the blaster before releasing the weapon altogether, allowing it to clatter to the group beneath it. His teeth ground against each other and his face flushed a fiery red. Deep within him the seed of anger and rage that Adron had planted and nurtured from their very first encounter seemed to finally sprout and grow; Alden seethed with a repressed anger. But that anger was not directed toward the Exarch. Nor was it directed toward their location. Not even the situation. No, the anger he felt lashed out to only a single target. It lashed out toward himself. It tore at the walls of confidence and ego. A barrier of falsities ripped from its very foundation, forcing the High Marshal to face an ugly truth. And it was a struggle that was his, and his alone. No one could fight this battle with him.

 

[Adron Malvern]

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[member="Alden Akaran"]​

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The Sith Lord had seen the moments to come seconds before they happened. His mind was linked to his apprentices through the power of his Dark Mark and with that connection he knew his apprentice was not prepared to guard against the defensive maneuver that Adron had used. As the amethyst blade came up, Alden's strike continued to flow. It flowed directly into his blade, forcing the flesh and bone to be burned through the searing hot blade. The Exarch's eyes gazed at Alden's blade as it swung lifelessly passed him. It flowed down towards the ground, slamming into the hard ground below. The blade was still held by Alden's severed arm, with only a low hum to signify where the limb had fallen.

Adron felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as his gaze turned back to Alden. The man was in pain, excruciating pain, yet he had still managed to drive forward. His hand was wrapped around his blaster pistol and the deadly intent could be felt. The Exarch's hand rose and the invisible hand of The Force wrapped around the blaster pistol. The pistol fired, just as the man jerked it away from his body. Still, the damage had been done. Adron had tried to pull the weapon from it's target, however when the bolt burned past his shin, he could feel the searing pain of the blaster round.

A monstrous anger rose in the Exarch as his amethyst eyes glowed vibrantly. The fabric surrounding his leg had been burned away or charred to what skin remained, yet on the right side of his leg the meat had been stripped and only a cauterized gauge remained. The Exarch had suffered a number of blaster wounds in his time, and they were never a joy to deal with. He clenched his jaw tight, finding some small comfort in the fact that where he was in pain, Alden was in agony. He could feel it. Alden's hatred and anger welling up within, causing him to wail out as if possessed. Adron's eyes fixated on the man, forcing his Dark Essence to wrap around the Marshal, covering him in a cloak of the Dark Side. It was subtle, but it would work to lay the seeds of darkness within the man.

Glancing down to his own wound, Adron still said nothing as he was incredibly agitated with his inability to stop the man's attack. He let out a labored breath, before bending down to a knee so he could look to the damage. At a closer look, he could see that pieces of bone had been ripped away and it was a miracle that he leg was not separated from his foot. He wrapped a hand over it, wincing at the pain of the burned flesh. His ability to heal minor wounds and damage was not developed enough to handle such a thing. His hand fell to a small device on his waist, a transmitter that connected him with his own guard. After tapping the device, he looked to the skies and back to Alden. Never once saying a word. He could feel the man's pain in the back of his mind and he knew it was great.

"Use it." He muttered, turning his eyes back to his own wound. "Use your anger to push the pain away. There will always be pain, but if you prove yourself strong enough to push past it, then it will not matter in the end."