A lack of reply really shouldn't be that surprising from a creature such as this. Honestly, it isn't, but one can always hope. Especially if it would have gotten me out of these blasted suns. I'm so tired of the overheating this planet goes through. Fitting place for me or not, this will be my last day on this planet. The time to leave has come. But that is the future, and in the now sweat pores down my face and back as using the Force for such trivialities as keeping oneself cool would be the height idiocy. Of course doing what I'm doing is quite possibly not the wisest action either, but still stronger is my pull upon the Force, continuing to shape it into a specific action in my mind. While half of me is constructing said strike the rest is fully focused on the man in front of me, sidestepping around to my left, moving like the predator that he is. Crouched, ready to move, to spring at a moments notice. To catch his prey off guard and tear it's throat out in a spectacularly bloody mess. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past this monster. Still he wears the face of Soomala's killer, all but the eyes. Those are completely his, and the evil... the madness that is in them will haunt me. Just as surely as Soo's real killer has. Whatever action I take is justified. It must be! How can the Force not give me peace yet? Why do I still see this face every time I fight? Surely it will drive me mad before much longer, unless it already has. Do the mad truly know if they are mad? Do the sane? What is the difference between that vibro-blades edge? Slowly, still circling to my left, away from my blade, the predator with an old killers face prowls in anticipation. Shuffling, almost dodderingly, my steps keep me facing this man of the shadows, ensuring that he can not attack an unprotected flank, which seems to be the credo of predators everywhere. Even myself in times past. Even my self in times yet to come. My blade is held almost absently in my right hand, it's point aimed at the ground, seemingly unready for any strike that is sure to come. If there is one thing this kind of predator does not have, the ones who crave only blood, destruction and ruin, it is patience. He will attack again, and by all appearances it will be to the hand my blade is not in. Still, tricks and traps are always a part of these things, and one can never be sure what will happen. Unless the Force tells you. And even though I draw quite strongly on it even now, it remains conspicuously silent. Thunderously silent. Deafeningly silent. The outside world is the exact same, for even the wind seems to have fled from this clash. The only sound is the shifting of the sane beneath booted feet, and the breath that comes hoarsely from my own body. Am I getting too old for this? Is all my training a waste? Or is it just this planet, beating an old Zabrak down? Finally a sound escapes the man, and the word he utters, rising to a yell... Blatherskite? Shock could have cost me, but the move takes too long. Jumping up and rolling around, obviously for added force, the blow can now no longer be redirected by him. This is the greatest weakness of Ataru. Once started, the blow can seldom be a feint. Shien has many of the same weaknesses actually, not that it really matters. Again sidestepping, to my left, my blade moves to intercept almost laconically, as if I can not muster any more speed. This is a lie. The blade moves in not to block as would any other form, but to redirect again, the angle in my hilt coming into play for the second time this day. The blade slides harmlessly past, beyond even my hand. A reversal would likely be unpleasant, which is why my legs carry me beyond the predator. My off hand comes up as I pass, moving to smack the shadow man in the back of the head, to reassure myself that he is actually real and not just some hallucination from an addled mind. As my body turns to perform the hit, my blade also moves back towards the ground, but this time not in the stance of readiness, but instead in an attack. An assault at the completely unprotected legs of the foe from behind. An attack that could end this fight before it has truly begun. Slowly the sand that was flung into the air settles back to the ground. It is strange the things you notice when fighting, and equally strange the things you don't. Regardless of whether my blow lands, my legs are already poised to carry me backwards and out of harms way yet again. I'm just an old Zabrak after all. One haunted more by nightmares than dreams. One living in the past... One forsaking a future to live a dieing life. Does that mean I have forsaken Soomala as well?
A blur, that is all that his motions are now and I know this will be painful. I see the red of his blade begin to extend, ready to parry my arm. I see and can do nothing to stop the coming contact. I see also that the man of shadow is now going up, taking to the skies almost as though he were light as a feather, even though we both know he is more like a boulder tethered to the bedrock. It is a defiance of all that is good and right that this being should be able to fly, to soar in the bright light of day instead of be sunken deep into the shadows of night. It is moments like these that make me thankful for the balance required for Makashi, the perfect equilibrium that is required to truly master the form. Letting me be prepared to move in any direction, even if that means jumping backwards... which I was prepared to do regardless. Up goes the other, up comes his blade. My hand smacks into the middle of his back, but I am already leaping backwards, bracing myself for the shock of pain that is going to follow. He need not even worry about my blade anymore, as it can not reach the distance needed. AGONY! SEARING! White! PAIN! As my mind starts to work again I note that bits of my hand are now laying on the floor, and the man who did it is still flying through the air. Bloody hells does this hurt. Looking at my hand again, it is odd noticing that pieces are no longer where they should be. The pain nearly causes my to black out again, but the searing from the lightsaber means that I won't lose blood. Most of the fingers on my left hand, however, are now laying on the ground, mutilated and burnt. Two of them still have the first knuckle, but the two longest are now missing completely. Feeling my concentration begin to fluctuate from the pain, I decide that using some of what was being formed into a strike for healing is certainly not a bad idea. A different light now encompasses my being, this is a cool soothing brightness. It seems almost to be an oxymoron. This light is life, it is the thing that makes us all what we are. Binding us together into living things. It is something I had nearly forgotten, but still it does not sooth my soul as it should. All I can remember is the lose of Soomala, and how she will never again feel this life. It saddens me yet again, and I am determined to finish this thing that wear's her killers face. Or die trying. But first... The light suffuses my very being, and suddenly I am without pain, without ache, my exhaustion has fled and my mind is sharp again. Again I look at my hand, and now it is the pinkish flesh of the mended, but the fingers are still gone. Anger rises up in me, anger at this monster for killing Soo. Anger at him for taking a part of myself. It is not a slow thing, almost a flash in a pan that does not stop. But instead of it overtaking me, I use it, for I am one of the few to have mastered what one Mace Windu invented so many years before. The ability to USE the darkness without it touching you, to send it back at the one who has caused it, to use their greatest strength against those who would dwell within shadow. A smile crosses my face as a surge of energy, a Surge of the Force rises within me as the darkness of my opponent enters my being... and leaves no stain. Looking up, the shadow being is standing atop the wall. My smile widens, it is the first time in many years I have used this technique... I had nearly forgotten how much fun it is. How invigorating the power and energy are, almost as if one could take on the galaxy by myself. And the galaxy would be overmatched. Not bothering to dampen that feeling, instead feeding it with whatever emotion I can, my face again falls into that of a stoic. Gathering myself, I pull on a little bit of the Force that now seems so overwhelmingly present and coil my body in preparation to join my foe upon the wall. No longer is the heat a problem, no longer does the sand that is still settling from the others jump bother me. No longer is the glare blinding, instead it shows the world in a more stark relief. With that I push off of the ground, the Force lending my action more power than one unconnected could hope to equal. The rush of the air as I too join the ranks of the flying is also exhilarating, and for the first time do I understand human's fixation with flight. It is an amazing thing to be where normally only a bird can reside Far too short is my time in that realm, and I find myself kneeling on the wall near to my opponent, but far enough away that an immediate strike is impossible. A slight smile forms on my lips, even though my head is still down, the cowl covering my face for a brief moment. Finally I am ready. Finally vengeance will be mine, will be Soos. Regardless of if she wants it or not. Rising to my height, balance not even the slightest of issues, my blade now weaves a pattern of light around me, a stance that allows me to attack from anywhere at a given moment. It is the most unpredictable of styles, the completed form of Juyo, which this man who stands before me seems to favor, if the sense of him is any indication. Nodding slightly to him, it is time to end this. Moving forward one step... My balance is perfect, perfectly focused, perfectly in line... Two... With a sudden explosion of energy, everything that has been pent up in me for the past few minutes suddenly releases in a flurry of motion as my next two steps take me within striking distance far faster than any eye could hope to follow, faster than a reaction can be planned. It is as if teleportation were possible, but it's not. The Force may have kept me from touching other things, and manipulating them remotely, but it made up for this by giving me the ability to augment my speed, my strength and so on many times beyond the normal Force user. My arm comes from below to my left, where my ruined hand now resides, and upwards across my body so fast it's as if one second it was somewhere, and the next... it will probably be past before he can react. It will likely leave his body in two pieces sliding apart, dead before his brain even knows it, cloven from hip to shoulder. Never have I found the man able to dodge, no machine, no being that has seen was able to move quickly enough. There is a first time for everything I suppose, but this does not seem like it will be it. A slight amount of sorrow enters my heart to have killed again, but it is for my apprentice. Always to make up for my failure to her, to give her the vengeance on the darkness that she so richly deserves. Still, my voice cracks again as three words escape my mouth, and tears obscure my eyes. "I'm sorry Soo..."
There are times the Force offers a flash of insight, even to one not seeking such. Even to one so utterly lost to them self that they see no path forward, nor do they want one. My realization that I am one such... Have been one such for years is obviously a heartbreaking revelation. That I have become everything I have tried to fight, that my service to the Light has been so tainted by those things that I used to always revile, that I thought myself ab- Between one moment and the next the world seems to freeze and I know that this man will not go quietly, that I have entered a situation of grave peril and that in some futures I was meant to die. But... I fear death. I fear that cold embrace. Of all the things that I have come to realize about myself this one, perhaps, is the biggest slap in the face. What is the Jedi's tenant? There is no death, only the Force. I have not only betrayed myself, betrayed the Order, betrayed everything I have once stood for... I have betrayed Soomala. It is a very stark and painful realization. I who was trying to show the Order where it was wrong, instead failed to do everything it was doing right. Oh Soo, can you ever forgive me for this? Will I ever find out? Everything is balanced upon the vibroblades edge in this moment. Nothing moves, it as if the entire world, my entire life has crystallized into this moment. The man of shadow has become a nexus of dark, myself of a fading, guttering light. An apt description if ever there was one. But just because a fire is fading, does not mean that it must go out. The world stands still... Decide. Decision. Forgive myself. Die a broken failure. Decide... And everything happens at once. Perhaps it was because of my overflowing abundance of the Force that I was granted this moment, this infinite second to see myself as I truly am. To have a chance, no matter how slight, to survive. And to see what my opponent is about to do. I find myself going back to balance, and how my original form has always required that oneself always be in balance, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually as well. It was what attracted me to Makashi in the first place. But it is not just a balance of those things that is needed, but a balance of passions as well, the fires that keep one alive... and those passions that are best used through Vaapad. A fusion of the two is truly where a Jedi should live, not stifling their emotions and actions, but striving to find the balance in oneself that will bring balance to the Force and the world around them, a balance that will let them truly live. A flash of insight that has a practical application to my current situation as my now mutilated left hand rises of it's own accord, my now decades of training, and the even more obsession with it the past few years, coming into play of their own accord. You see this is the gift of the disciplined, those who seek to better themselves through training, through work and pushing beyond one's limits. In situations such as these the body knows how to react on it's own, and it is only this ability to move without thought, to react without conscious decision that can keep one alive. It has served me in the past, and hopefully it will serve me here. The initial surge is potentially overpowering, potentially bone crushing. My life is within this space of instants, and as the initial blow flows over me it is absorbed into my very being. It is full of darkness, all of those things that I turned to Vaapad to try to control and use for good in myself. While it is not a thing that I have mastered fully, it is something that has it's practical applications even in a less perfect form. Finding myself suddenly overflowing with the Force it must go somewhere, the darkness passes into me, through my very being... And then it finds a release, a use that is for the light, turning this shadow's own strength against them. While it will not completely stop the incoming flood of the Force, it will at least make this decidedly less fatal. Again, my personal styles come into play, those lessons that I have learned from all of the time spent training. Deflection and redirection. Instead of meeting this Force head on, more than enough to still utterly pulverize me into a quite distasteful little pasty substance spread the Force knows where, I must bend it to my will. As such, the complete over flooding amount of the Force responds quicker than thought, again my body reacting without conscious choice as an angular dividing plow of solid energy forms before me, completely blocking all chance of my blow making contact with or harming whoever this man is. This man who wears his own face, shrouded in shadow though it may be. Colliding with the now solid wall before me, enormous amounts of the Force coming from both sides, my saber flies from my hand as the sheer amount of speed meeting with the sudden impact make holding onto it utterly impossible. I do not even try to hold onto it, and pay little attention at the moment to where it goes. The energy, the momentum that it the blow had within it helps to keep the wall in place for a moment longer than would have otherwise happened. Regardless, the end result is somewhat explosive. Concussive Force that would be more than enough to flatten a wall is scattered to either side , above me. But that is not all, as there is simply too much of it to go to just those places. Some of it goes directly the opposite direction, shattering parts of the wall... and damaging anything on or near it. But the deflection is not perfect as some of it made it past, before the barrier could get up, and it knocks my body flat against the part of the wall that was shielded, just as I was. It hurts. But this is not that searing pain of a lightsaber making short work of one's flesh. Instead it is the sudden full body pain that instead causes black outs, that makes movement an utter impossibility for however long it lasts. As the darkness begins to take me, not knowing if I will ever waken again or the shadowed one will end my life, the last thought to flicker through my mind is one of wonder. How blue the sky ca-
The Dark Lord didn't have much to do. In prior duels he'd fenced apart the two combatants, but here - in the debris of Fort Tusken, ravaged by the Jawa-Tusken War, there were two foes, just as dead as the next, in his opinion. He looked from Olan to Lorn, and then back again. "Olan had a character who was, indeed, a tried and tested Jedi archetype that is possibly more played than actual Jedi. Considering how unpopular Jedi seem to be to roleplay - as opposed to Sith - that statement is probably more true than not." Insipid paused with some finalty. "It was exceptionally well done, however. Incredibly. Beautifully. Lorn was a nihilist, definitely, and that has been a concept which intrigues me as much as any of the seven sins that could be attributed to a Sith, or even to something worse. At the same time, however, we were only scratching the surface of Lorn. We had no concept of what he was, or how he had become. Olan was very much defined, in all ways." "But a nihilist wouldn't be deep, not like a Jedi. Sith aren't deep. We can't expect a philosophical discourse worthy of Yoda from the internal thoughts of Darth Maul. It requires a different type of roleplaying. It is considerably more difficult to make a Maul-type engaging. And Lorn didn’t even pretend to be engaging, while he was at it – he was pure ferocity, a carnivore, and I found that darn terrifying and intriguing. The lines of rhyme added to the juxtaposition of madness.” “Thus far I’ve concluded that Olan was a beautifully played Jedi, and Lorn a spectacularly done Sith. Which tells us nothing beyond that Olan’s character has rhyme and reason, and that is what I look for in these duels – which should decide the duel.” The Dark Lord pauses. “I don’t feel the technical issues raised are worth considering, if not because of the minute argument or because it demeans the greatness of these two posters. Nor do I feel the need to concern myself with Trimaj and his propensity towards sand comments which I adore.” “At the end of it all, the character of Olan felt wrong, somehow. It took me a little while to ascertain why it felt wrong, and I ferreted around in the confusion for some time before concluding. Olan is a Jedi Master who left the Order on principle and weeps for the loss of his Padawan. He is also a practitioner of Makashi and Vaapad.” “The two don’t slot together for me. One creates the image of a Qui-Gon Jinn – the other a Darth Tyranus. They’re mutually exclusive. The mentality required for Makashi and Vaapad is very different to that of what would seem to be more of a Soresu or at most Ataru practitioner. When I look into Olan’s mind, I expect to find a Dooku or Mace Windu, maybe even a Shaak Ti at best – but not a Qui-Gon, which I find instead.” Insipid paused. “More importantly, while there was a sense of finality from Olan which was to be expected from his character, from Lorn I felt the glimmer of hope; of progression. When it comes down to it, Lorn found something completely unexpected – and it scared him; his wish to live. It’s resounding, and about as powerful as you could expect from a deranged madman, and completely astonishing.” The Dark Lord of the Sith paused, nodding to the third and final judge. “I choose Lorn as the victor in this duel, and turn over judgment to the fearsome Xan.”