To Kill A King (The Matador/Veiere Arenais)

[WolfMortum]

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"Your Target is the King of Commenor"​

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The Cloaked Figure flickered amidst the holo-emitters, face all but concealed by the heavy armaments that [member="The Matador"]'s newest business associate carried. Here there was no need for personal dealings, the job was to be a one time operation and a Kill Order upon the former Jedi Knight of Svivren, The Knight of Ren's failed Mentor and soon to be ghost of a passed life, just another piece of the puzzle to be broken in order to fully rid himself of the weight that he still carried upon his shoulders, his personal endeavors prying at the corners of his mind the more and more time he spent alongside [member="Ara Zambrano"], constantly testing him and seeking to establish and reconnect him to the individual that he had once been before giving himself over to the full doctrine of Sieger Ren.

"His name is [member="Veiere Arenais"], a Jedi and an extremely notable person within the Systems Alliance"​

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These two were no friends of one another, both professionals within their mutual trade and yet the First Order had seen to Caehl's immediate cessation of hostilities towards the target being put up for a kill order here and now. Through a Non-Aggression Pact and the excess of Trade Businesses between the two governing powers, no trace of this could be allowed to come back upon them, least the balance of power be tilted against the interests of the Imperial Nation. While there were few that had lasted long against the full might of the First Order's military, there were other advantages to the CSA's continued relations that went beyond Caehl's authority and clearance even as a Knight within the Order.

"He is to be killed. How you do this is up to you but ensure that it becomes public knowledge and you will be generously compensated".​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​​Exagora, Ruins of Eleadar

It had been a six weeks since the Matador received a transmission from his new business associate detailing a hit on [member="Veiere Arenais"] in that time, he had studied his target. He had came to the conclusion that this target was, not like any other he had fought before. Beyond, any he had fought before. A true challenge.

​The Matador studied Veiere scrupulously, trying to understand his opponent. He was a man twenty years his elder and a scholar of the force and a Jedi Master. Not only that, but a King of the people of Commenor. He would be impossible to attack within his own territory, and would likely have many Commenor forces alongside him if he ventured far beyond Commenor territory.

​The Matador, knew how beneficial this compensation he was promised would be to his people. But even more so he was interested in facing an opponent worth his mettle, he had heard of various accomplishments from the mouths of many, holo-recordings of citizens or publicised reports that detailed his performances. It intrigued him, to kill a King he doubted would be an easy task. But easy was not his way of existence.

​The Matador was aware of tour groups that visited the ruins, taking in the spectacle as he had himself upon his first arrival. Quintuple towers forever lingering in the air in this great open tundra, their lower levels had begun to shatter, the low gravity of the area holding the debris in the air. It looked like a moment frozen in time, as if the towers had exploded at their base and the debris had been held in suspense, it was truly something. However, over time the spectacle became a novelty for him as he reoccurred his appearances. He wished to spread a rumour, wearing a ragged black cloak wrapped half hazard around his armour, hiding within the shattered towers just within sight of tourists. He waited until the rumour had begun to spread, and people began to fill the touring buses as it appeared a black robed spirit had begun to stalk the ruins.

​The red shine of his thick scaled Beskar plate, would almost ensure the rumour of a dark side spirit spreading. However, a week had passed and no site of the King. The Matador meditated, awaiting the arrival of the fifth and usually busiest tourist shuttle. He focused on his darker emotions, and raised his hands in a theatrical manner. He closed his eyes, feeling the shards of the buildings floating loosely in their low gravity. He tore them from their positions in a vicious whirlwind of force energy, the splinters crashing into the sides of the other towers and splintering off small pieces of concrete and metal. The shuttle burst in the other direction, fleeing the site of the whirlwind. They believed a dark spirit had been summoned to attack the ancient towers. A phenomenon on top of a phenomenon. Perhaps that would draw the King.

​The Matador dropped down his arms, his palms falling flat in the dirt beneath him. The spectacle had drained him for a moment. The Matador let out a low breath, his helmet echoing the sound with a robotic and mechanical tinge. The Matador rose to his feet, and moved to one of the floating pieces of spiral staircase floating in the air, barely connected to the upper building. He rose himself easily, and sat with his leg arched up in front of him, leaning back into metal staircase. It was, comfortable to him. It felt much better than what he had been accustomed to as a child. He rested, he new he'd need his strength. Something in his stomach told him that Veiere would not be able to resist his curiosity. An idle king must come out of his kingdom every once in a while.

​The Matador fell into a sort of meditation, his mind and body resting in a anticipation.

 

[WolfMortum]

Strange occurrences within the Force were not as rare among scholars of the Jedi Order as they were perceived to be by those of civilian life. His entire life, Veiere had spent studying the Force and trying to encourage others to embrace it with honor and respect as opposed to the abuse of power and privileged others could fall into, the lure of the Dark-side calling to them and their sense of self actualization.

There were however, those times were questionable circumstance required a deeper insight and investigation by those experienced in such dealings; thus when the government of Commenor received the news of some sort of force entity terrorizing the people of Exagora, specifically within the ruins of Eleadar, it was Veiere of whom had volunteered for the job. There were others qualified of course, such as The Order of Commenor for which Veiere still had frequent contact with despite having distanced himself to resurrect the enclave upon Deneba; now having returned his focus to the governance and protection over the Systems Alliance, he had the time to take on more of these pursuits.

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He had arrived at the given location, these ruins for which apparently housed some sort of Force Apparition. Civilian's had claimed that it sought to do them harm, giving Veiere the presumption that he was dealing with an entity of the Darkside of the Force, a manifestation of evil or decay for which sought to cling to the living veil refusing to pass on; that or it was some sort of hoax, the people not above superstitious beliefs especially given the confirmation of the existence of the force and spirits of other darker places with the establishment of such Organizations, the Jedi and the Sith both having experience in such fields.

Veiere's robes swayed against the motion of the wind as he walked slowly through the ruins, attached to his belt were the two Lightsabers joined within the pommels of each by a coupling connection for which doubled the hilt in size and allowed for the use of either traditional combat or the practice of Jar'Kai in which utilized the two blades, in this case as a staff. The weapon of the Jedi sturdy and reliable, Veiere had grown accustomed to preferring the two handed grip, using only one of the blades and making the most of it's reach and strength of strikes as opposed to the swift precision of single handed attacks...-Of late, those he had come up against had been larger than the typical criminal encounters most Jedi went there entire lives dealing only with.

In the passing hours of the days afternoon sun, all others had been asked to stay clear of the site while Veiere had conveyed his intent with the authorities and thus entered on his own to handle the would-be threat. With his reach and concentration expanding out across the area around him, he would roam the Ruins seeking out any hint of presence within the Force.

[member="The Matador"]​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador rose from his seated position, and dropped from the elevated position to the ground. Red iron met the dirt with a crunch, the sound echoing as the wind carried through the shrapnel of the buildings that floated perpetually in the air. He felt the ridges of his armour fighting against the feral wind, cutting through the air as he pressed forward but a few steps until he saw the scholar ahead of him.

​His opponent stood in a journeyman's garb, a staff saber hanging loosely from a black belt that clasped tight around his waist. The Matador felt his presence like a pulse in the force. The Matador paced, adjacent to [member="Veiere Arenais"] now with a few metres between them. His weapons and form hidden beneath the ragged black cloak that danced in the wind. A crimson had rose up from beneath the cloak and grasped a thick gruff of the cloak.

​The Matador pulled forward, the cloak tightening around his form, the scaled ridges of his armour cutting through the battered cloth and tearing it from him with little effort. The black cloth fell in two, gliding in the air for a moment before meeting the ground between the two adversaries. Thus revealing the full outfit of the Matador, the Matador rolled back his shoulders, he had sat still for too long. His body was only now beginning to leave its rest.

​His muscles welcomed the weight of his second skin upon it, even as they shared no words. His adrenaline levels were rising, he felt the fingers of his dominant hand twitch as his saber slid from his magnetic grip on his utility belt to his hand. He wished to share no words, he felt no urge to have an exchange with his target. He ignited his saber, an orange blaze stretching to over four feet in length. The blade's energy buzzed with a heavy singe as it's very existence seemed to cut the air.

​The Matador let his excitement and eagerness cause his body to tense as he readied himself, his chest heaving as air escaped him. He kicked up dirt behind his feet as he raised his saber the lengthy hilt grasped in both of his hands as he readied to charge, air escaping his nostrils like a bull ready to charge.

 

[WolfMortum]

The snap-hiss cut through the air from behind him in a sudden wave of dread accompanying the sound, Veiere recognized the blaze of energy that rang out to the air, sizzling as it cracked against the natural environment [member="The Matador"] had unleashed it upon. He hadn't anticipated this so soon, if at all. Force Ghosts were one thing, you could commune with them, decipher their intent over time and even their origins if skilled enough and yet the truth had revealed itself in the physical form of aggression towards him.

The Force screamed from within himself, his aura flaring as he felt the impending attack, his right hand moving quickly to pass his hip, the hilt of his lightsaber detaching itself and slapping into the flat of his palm as Veiere turned around, his weight and momentum carrying himself upon the ball of his right heel to meet his attacker face to face, left hand soon finding the grip of his hilt below the other, another sharp hiss sounding as the green of his blade seared from the weapon, igniting only one of the two sides and wielding it like a man might hold a two handed vibro-blade.

He would seek to deter which ever of the first strikes his opponent sought to make though going on the attack he would not. Veiere's movement carried within the force was far quicker given his light attire, his lightsaber was thrust out in a discouraging horizontal sweep towards the Matador while he sought to step on passed, moving to the side and following through while his aggressor came at full charge. They must have missed each other by inches, Veiere turning again with the small distance between them now and seeking answers.

"Who are you, I am not your enemy! I've come seeking no means for violence, stand down!!"​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

"Who are you, I am not your enemy! I've come seeking no means for violence, stand down!!"​

​Words came, but to no avail. The Matador's initial dashing strike had proved that his opponent was perhaps equally skilled with his blade. But perhaps Oribuir would serve him better, he had stored the blade within one of the nearby towers. He'd call on it if necessary, but for now the lightsaber would suffice. He noted the length of [member="Veiere Arenais"], it was similar to his own. Perhaps it was a more common preference than he had imagined.

​The two examined each other for a moment as the Matador slashed at a diagonal towards Veiere, aiming for his shoulder. His extended blade would give him the advantage in regards to committed strikes, however he didn't wield the blade in both hands; keeping his right hand in an open grasp near the pommel of his blade.

 

[WolfMortum]

His would be opposition gave no insight as to their identity nor their intent beyond bringing harm down upon the King of Commenor. His Presence within the Force however was notable and it was evidenced by such that this fight would be something far more complicated than that of a typical criminal assault. Exhaling slowly between barely parted lips, Veiere used the moment to find his center once more and to seek to calm his nerves and practice the clarity of mind taught through out the Jedi Order in times of such high tensions and moral conflict. Before long however, his opponent was on the move once more, likely wishing not to leave the former Jedi Master with a moments advantage.

[member="The Matador"] sought to move onto the offensive once again, striking out in his sweeping vertical slash for the shoulder; Veiere's two handed grasp around the hilt of his lightsaber brought the weapon up in high guard, using the strength in both arms to seek to parry the blow up and away from him. With the difference in their stance however, the Matador had the advantage of speed against Veiere's advance in stronger blows. Lowering to his knee as he dropped forward, his high guard would lower with him and instead twist with both wrists to be driven forward, the blade turning to seek to pierce him through his mid-section should the other not react fast enough in his retaliation of the maneuver.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador's blade passed over [member="Veiere Arenais"] head as he dropped to his knees, using his bodies dropping momentum to thrust green plasma into the Matador's waist. His opponent was unaware of the metal that made up the composition of his armour. Green plasma met the incredibly thick Beskar plate of his armour, his hunch leaving no space between his waist and breastplate for the saber to pass through.

​The Matador pressed forward, as his arm passed over his opponents head carrying his blade. His blade was now within his opponents defences as his strikes committed to the thrust, the Matador pressed forward as the green blade ran against his crimson plate. His open hand moved backward, forming into a fist. His dominant arm carried his blade, twisting at the wrist as he turned his hand; swinging the weightless blade with a blur of speed, aiming for the forearm of his opponent as his fist launched forward at a wide angle towards the collarbone of his opponent with force enhanced speed and a strike that would shatter bone and flesh.

 

[WolfMortum]

His blade met with the armor of [member="The Matador"], a spray of sparks and energy splashing away from his lightsaber resistant plating, Veiere's jaw tightening as his teeth clenched down upon one another, his senses thrown into a frenzy as the force screamed within him in warning, precognitive alarm to the attack to come and leaving no time for the Master to think twice.

Throwing himself sideways, he practically dived for the sand floor to the right of himself, pulling his legs and arms into himself that he might roll to evade the retaliatory attacks of his opponent. The Matador's speed and control of the blade was almost perfect, the Force flowing through his enemy so fluently that his blade caught Veiere's side just by the tip, enough to burn through his tunic and take a small portion of flesh from his left side just under the arm, the bloody wound instantly cauterized against the heat of his blade and leaving Veiere to stumble back to his feet, hissing under his breath as he sought to ignore the searing pain. He had not taken too deeply to reach the bone yet this would be a scar that Veiere would carry for many a year were he to survive the encounter...

His lightsaber fell solely into the hold of his right hand, his left twisting the lower hilt so much that it sounded in a small click, detaching from the other and returning it to his belt that he might utilize the ease of a standard stance and form taught through the Jedi Order, Soresu. He needed to preserve his strength and stamina, the wound to his side had staggered his confidence and now more than ever his focus needed to be on his opponent, to read and learn to retaliate, to fight in a way that was best suited to whatever strengths and weaknesses the Matador might expose in and of himself.

His boots swept across the sand, his right hand moving to hold the lightsaber sideways before him while his weight would be positioned evenly in a readied stance, his left hand down by his side almost protectively over the wound, first blood had been drawn for this fight yet it would not be the last. Awaiting his aggressor, Veiere's eyes narrowed through the sweat that already started to fall down past his gaze, the heat was rising and within their surroundings there was little a wind to alleviate the fury of this fight.

Poised, he fell to the defense and once more left the next move in the hands of his foe.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

​The Matador pushed forward, the cool insulation of his armour kept him comfortable and unmoving. His form held almost entirely unchanged as his head turned, eyes examining his opponents wound through the slits of his helm. First blood.

​The Matador slowly walked towards his opponent, raising his saber close to his left armpit, the blade extending over his right gauntlet; grazing against the Beskar as his weapon rested in a piercing position as he drew towards his opponent, his right hand then pulling at the pommel of his weapon, the blade curving to the left firstly then rising to the right as his hands fully gripped the weapon, his movement gaining massive momentum and speed as the ignited orange plasma struck at the lower left of his opponents waist, his right hand slipping away to strike at his opponent if [member="Veiere Arenais"] moved to counter his saber strike.