SWRPF Archive The EUC-RPF Masters Tournament

IC: Mika'sai'Jeisel
Tipoca City, Kamino

Time seemed to slow for her as her opponent sped up, spinning around her, she kept moving sweeping to follow in a vain attempt to follow through but was not quick enough.

Not quick enough, was the dull thought a moment before the pain struck washing her mind clean for a brief moment. But for once the nuisance of the rain had worked in her favor, that and her poor footing for her attempted maneuver with Juyo. She had slipped and fallen in her turn, twisting her ankle in the action, a small pain to be sure...small being relative as she a mere moment later would call it miniscule in comparison to the blossom of pain in her left side as a lightsaber sung from it's swing and her turn to the left combined in it's rapid motion.

Get AWAY from ME! was her one thought and impulse as the force snapped and popped like a bubble imploding in water to send a large shockwave out. It expanded rapidly punching the water away and out from under her form just miliseconds before she hit the ground, and flinging away the Jedi to probably slide along the platform and maybe bumb one of the edge-lips that surround the main pad.

Inexoribly she winced, as she cracked her eyes open once more, just as one might crack open a stuck wooden door with great effort before it finally gave and her eyes opened the rest of the way. She found her lightsabers blades were humming just inches from touching herself, deactivating them she muddled through the pain as she reached down to touch the wound which elicited sharp shot of pain and an involuntary yelp from it.

The wound went, she could now tell, from just barely left of her spine out to exit on her left side from approximately T-5 out nearly in reverse of the rib direction. Clutching her side for support she found each breath bringing new pain as she stood and turned, applying her weight on her right foot as the other merely imitated supporting weight, and her right hand slowly letting go to bring in front of her vision. Dripping with blobs of black blood quickly congealing into a pudding consistancy to fall to the ground. She had second and third degree burns, lungs intact but most likely some burned or singed ribs as well. Between her species blood and the effects of a lightsaber to a wound she probably wouldn't drip much more blood, or need fear of blood loss problems, but as it matched her armor her opponent probably wouldn't even see it unless a bone in it's white condition was visible through the swath.

"I never would have...expected a Jedi Healer...to stab a woman...in the back to draw...first blood." she managed to say, each part of the sentence an act of will and an act to delay the next meet a moment longer as she gathered her wits and mind about her.

TAG: The_Loyal_Imperial
Force Power's Used: Force Wave
Force Power Used Previously: Force Push x1

 

IC: Shey Pallask
Tipoca City, Kamino

His lightsaber had managed to connect with his foe, that much Shey had been able to see, but any further observation from his point of view was quickly made impossible the wave of Force energy that erupted from the Jensaarai's body. Had both of his feet been planted firmly on the ground, he might have managed to escape with only being pushed back across the platform. However, his spin had not yet come to a stop, and his single foot was insufficient to prevent him from being picked up and carried by that wave. Thankfully, his spin had taken him around and behind the Jensaarai, so his flight did not end with his plunging off the edge of the platform into the sea.

Instead, his movement came to an abrupt halt thanks to one of the towers that ringed the outer edge of the landing platform. Colliding with the wall, he heard a distinct crack quickly followed by a sharp pain spreading across his chest. "Not good," he thought as he struggled to return to something resembling a defensive posture. His outstretched right hand still clutched at his lightsaber, for his failure would have been assured had he lost it to the ocean. "Feels like a cracked rib, at least one, probably more." Attempting to climb back to his feet, he promptly dropped back down to the ground on one knee. "Bad landing must have taken my right leg out, too." He cursed silently. He would be in no condition to continue the duel as things were if his last blow hadn't finished the Jensaarai. Concentrating through the pain, he drew on the Force once more, letting its flow relieve his pain and banish his fatigue. It wasn't a permanent solution, and his bones probably wouldn't be able to take another hit like the last one, but it should be enough to see him through the next clash of blades.

Easing himself back up onto his feet, he took stock of what fate had befallen the Jensaarai. Judging by the armored warrior's position, his blow had dealt considerable damage, but it did not appear to have been fatal. Not instantly, at least. Now that he had grasped the truth behind his foe's weapon, extreme caution would have to be taken to avoid falling into another trap. He had no great experience against such a weapon, and he had no wish that this be his first and last encounter with it. Advancing three short steps, he then planted his feet firmly once more and drew his lightsaber up into a horizontal guard position. He doubted his leg would last if he tried another rapid movement, even with the aid of the Force, so he would have to wait for his opponent to come to him.

TAG: Mitth_Fisto
Force Powers Used: Rejuvenation (1)
Force Powers Used Previously: Force Push (1), Force Speed (1)

 

IC: Mika'sai'Jeisel
Tipoca City, Kamino

She found herself finding him standing yet, still posessing his blade, and in appearance his senses as no blood visibly dropped from any of them. Yet he did not reply nor give her words weight, just as well to one who barely had the breath to give them, though many would have weighed them more heavily.

With her breathing thus shortened and both their unmoving stances she took the time to remove her helmet, to look her opponent, her Jedi...him in the eye. As she raised both hands she stopped nearly there, slowed by the pain and weight that the pressure seemed to heep upon her left side from the simple act of raising that arm.

Unclasping the seals she lifted it slowly, revealing perhaps for his first perception the face of female Devaronian with it's white fur, short and rustling as the air played with it for a moment before the water weighed it down. Her lips were thin and drawn together and in like one is often won't to do from steady pain, hiding what color of magenta they possessed from the viewer. The nose was not a major thing except the tilt of the helm to raise it over so as not to catch it up with it, and the enexorable draw of pained breath such action leveled for gained altitude and motion. Neary the last was her eyes, watered well before the rain fell to and likely to have been so more often then not in recent times from their redened condition that surrounded her amber eyes. Which were a shade lighter, and minus the reddish tinge of her brown spots high on the forhead, that were revealed as she lowered the helmet to her right hip to attach and wait for to be called to service again as her lightsaber in her right hand pressed deftly on the ears atop it.

For but a service she would not know if she could stand another bout with the male before her. Her steps were slow and limping as she drew nearer her left hand bent at the elbow as she mouthed a single word, 'Sorry'.

She delved into the force as her blades shot forth once more in her right hand the left bent at the elbow as she took a few swipes through the conjested air, ever mouthing slowly that same word like a mantra. For she did not want to do this to one she would rather call nosey neighbor or busy budy, but yet she knew she had to survive this fight.

Her eyes caste about the space between them, which was still a good distance, the force lashing and raising spheres of rippling water barely larger than a pinky to float and seem to begin to dance in the space between them as her mantra, breathing, and wincing quickened as from a great exertion tears now coming forth from the corner of her eyes.

The three and twenty sphere's danced in the interum of the gulf between them, closest yet to her, vibrating with ripples as water landed on them and a recipricatory drop was let loose opposit.

"Sorry!" she shouted with nearly a scream, for she was about to not keep her word. The sphere's rippled greatly at this before shooting forth with greater speed than balistically propelled metals in a fan shaped spread centered about the Jedi's knees with it's crest a hands breadth above his head.

Balistikinesis, that was the name of this technique that left her gulping in air and rain water as her body visibly and painfully shook, awaiting what the outcome would be.

TAG: The_Loyal_Imperial
Force Power's Used: Telekensis
Force Power Used Previously: Force Push x1, Force Wave x1

 

I'm going to go with Mitth_Fisto as well, and like Sinre, I'm forced to rule on equally superfluous reasons (hey, I think it is, but you know, after reading it, I really don't have much to go on outside of these annoying small things!). And in the absence of a "tie" option, I gotta rule on something!

Everyone took injury (perhaps too much!), everyone offered insights into their character, we did some dialogue, we fought fairly and evenly. No poster really outwrote the other, in length or in quality. The duel was much more simple compared to the last two high intensity duels, so I didn't spy any missteps or bending in physical laws. There was some vagueness to me regarding the length of Fisto's saber at the beginning (and for the moment, I thought we were going to have a repeat of the I-5/Kev duel. But it was resolved with minimal issue, and in my opinion, was also offset by some vagueness of TLI's jump behind Mitth. These were tiny little sticking points that I might have used for judgment if they weren't so evenly balanced!

The healer thing is not all that big of an issue here. Yah, I guess TLI could have done better with it, but thats not where I'm making my judgment. Instead, I'm calling the duel for Fisto in her last two posts. At first, I was unhappy with the fact that Fisto's character didn't seem to have that strong of a motive for throwing the first blow. But as the duel progressed, I became more and more pleased with the enigmatic way Fisto played his duel.

I think Fisto was really good in giving TLI the opportunity for great role play, and both TLI's non-acceptance of these obvious hooks, and his more standard RPing style look less amazing in comparison. What specifically I am referring to is Mitth's 6/24 post at 12:30am, where he makes the highly thought provoking comment at the end that was ignored by TLI. While there is no law against ignoring taunts, 1.) IMO it would have made for more interesting RPing, and 2.) I wonder if a Jedi could in good conscious ignore such a comment. Sith, yes. Jedi..... I dunno.

And then the last post by Fisto. While TLI does not get to respond to this, the post goes to reinforce my idea that Fisto is doing a better job writing interesting posts. Why is this character apologizing? It is clearly an emotional scene, one that I want to enter, moreso b/c I want to know why this person is saying such things. While normally such vagaries would annoy me, b/c the background scene clearly infers the reason, I get an idea why. Yet I am still wondering the exact reason.

In any case, I don't seem to get this real depth of writing by TLI. Again, he does a great job, but comparatively, I find the more engaging writing in Mitth_Fisto's posts. TLI's writing is more analytic, incorporating thoughts and background as good posts should. However Mitth does all this, *plus* he infuses an artistic, emotive aspect that bumps him up a little more.

Good job by both!

---

This advances Mitth_Fisto to the semis, to face off against whoever wins in the Trimaj-Fins duel. Sinre should have that up tomorrow maybe. Or something soon.

Best!
-I_H

 

Tournament News:

At the request of the next pair of duelists, the next round will begin on Monday, probably afternoon (Eastern Time).

Also, as Sinre has ran into a spat of RL, I will be posting the next setting for the duel.

So look for it then.

-I_H

 

Tatooine

[image=http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/7f/Tatooine.jpg]

"We've finally managed to fight off the remaining Sand People from Fort Tusken. As the last one fell, I was overwhelmed with profound pride as the fortress had at last been recovered from the hands of the foul murderers who have soiled its halls for so long. I look forward to sending word to... what's this..."

Perhaps no place on Tatooine stands more ominous as the ill-fated Fort Tusken. An outpost northwest of Mos Eisley, the structure was built on grounds sacred to the nomadic sandpeople. Within its walls, many settlers lost their lives. The sandpeople, determined to keep their land, waged a three year war on this outpost, culminating in one very bloody day when the Fort could take no more. It is a tragedy all too common when different groups of people meet. Long abandoned, nobody knows what lies behind the walls of this mystical place. Some say sand people deities. Others, the ghosts of the slain soldiers. And still others, nothing at all.

It is in this cursed place that the third duel of the Masters Tournament meets. The contestants will have nothing but the howling desert winds, the relentless twin suns, and a haunting legacy to keep them company.

[image=http://images3.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/thumb/f/f6/Fort_Tusken.jpg/800px-Fort_Tusken.jpg] [image=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v734/Imperial_Hammer/swg3_16.jpg] [image=http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v734/Imperial_Hammer/swg3_14.jpg]

TAG: Fins and Trimaj (in that order)

 

Lorn
Fort Tusken Tatooine

The heat reminded him so much of Arkania. The deserts on the southern continent weren´t as hot as Totooine, but back then when he had lived there they had been just as unbearable to him. And whenever he was reminded of Arkania he was reminded of his Master´s eyes. The brown, lively eyes of his Master, growing cold. Loosing their expression. Theconscious fading from them. As his soul faded into the force. Only a final thought remaining in his presence, echoing into the word. Betrayal.

Yes, indeed Lorn had betrayed him. The order. Himself.

But the price had been worth it. This moment of truth. This moment of perfect understanding he experienced when he felt them . . . fade. When his hands altered the course of the universe. When he was in control. In perfect control over his own destiny. Sooner or later he would fail.
He would die in the process of understanding.

It had yet to happen. The sooner the better. Until then all he lived for was the moment of triumph. When neither the force nor the galaxy itself could deny him. When he took life.

The Jedi had picked a strange spot to wander. But Jedi were strange. He had been strange. Back then. So few Jedi left. Soon he would need to look for Sith, Imperial Knights of whatever enemies he could find. But Jedi were the real deal. Much sweeter. The fact he had been one of them made it so much more personal. The betrayal of him to their order made it so much more . . . intimate.


With every passing moment my desire unmet,
the whispers surround me of a thousand now dead
my muscles, bones and will grow only weaker.
Hide little Jedi, run and take cover so deep,
in your dreams in your dreamy sleep
you will be hunted and I´ll be your seeker.

A childe´s rhyme. Of any of these great, tragic hunts for Jedi. Sometimes he wondered if all his life was inspired by these songs. And if anybody would once write one about him. His lips curled into a dry and sadonic smile. His body tensed. he had cowered on top of the walls of the Fort Tusken for now. But leaped down into the hot desert-sand. And the Jedi´s presence appeared in the force. Became a part of his expanded awareness. As if summoned by Lorn.

Would this be the one to slay him? He doubted it. It didn´t matter. It was Jedi. A true Jedi.

Sweet, sweet moment of truth.
We only fight the battles we choose.

Grinning his lightsaber flipped into his hand and he slowly walked into the center of the path the Jedi would come. Symbolically blocking it.

Tag: Trimaj (we agreed beforehand I would meet him this way)

 

IC: Olan Hurdren/ Desert/ Tatooine

Sun. Sun and sand. They're everywhere on this planet, so different from the ones I' was once used to. There is no green here, not even in the places there should be as in other deserts because this is a blighted place. Something happened here, many years ago. Something on this planet changed and made it the barren wasteland that Tatooine has been known as for millennia. A fitting place for a Jedi who is not a Jedi. An even more fitting place for one such as me to die.

I'm sure you all know the tale. Master is different, views the tenants that have been taught since the founding of the Order as incomplete. Master is kicked out from the Order for threatening the status quo, for seeking change and growth, which without all things stagnate and die. Master leaves and starts a school of similar thought but with his teachings as the backbone of their credo. School does well, and things change for the galaxy. Surely you all know this tale, and are familiar with it. It is very true for me, all save the last part.

Sand swirls as my feet stir it, leaving little clouds behind me, making it rather obvious where I am and what direction I am headed. Fort Tusken, the place the sand people received their more common name. I know not why I go there, but it is almost as if the Force beckons me to that place. I have been there before, and it is a place of greater darkness than this planet. Many lives ended there. Many lives, like the one of my apprentice.

Fools, all of them. I saw the fall coming, I knew we had to be more proactive in the galaxy. Not always waiting for things to develop, but striking first, searching the shadows for hidden enemies. There is a saying, the best defense is a good offense. In times where your life is in jeopardy, or those who you are trying to protect, this saying has never been truer. For this I was asked to leave. For teaching this my apprentice was taken from me, and the Jedi asked me to re-immerse myself in the teachings of the Force and seek a truer path. My choice was to give up what I knew in my heart to be true, or leave in shame.

No, not in shame. Only shame in their eyes. For me it was upholding what I knew should be self evident to any but those who would blind themselves intentionally. So I took their Walk of Shame, removing myself from the Order and offering a place for any who would follow me, any who believed that the Jedi's teachings were too strict, too stifling, too outdated. My speech seemed to be for naught, until my apprentice, dear Soomala, came and stood by my side. At least she believed in me even if these others did not. Together we would do more good for the galaxy than the others combined. I knew this would happen.

Looking up I see the Fort is much nearer, and there is a darkness within the deeper darkness of the place. Something waits for me there, or maybe someone. It doesn't matter, for I will meet it as I have met all things the Force has led me to: head on and to the best of my abilities.

My head falls again, mainly to keep the glare from my eyes, partially because my mind is stuck in the past. It has been stuck in the past for years, just as I have. I will die in the past. I know this. But there is nothing in the galaxy for me now. There is no Order, as the Sith have destroyed it. There is no apprentice, for Soomala is dead. Dead.

A tear runs down my sun baked skin. My mind hurtles yet again into the past...

It was within a year after we had left. I did nothing to hide where I was, as I knew others would follow and want to learn what I had to teach. Yet none came. Soomala and I had trained, and trained, meditated and sought deeper understanding of life and our place in it. But at last the time for action had come. If no one else was to come then I would- We would show them. Soomala had agreed with me, so it was no longer my philosophy but ours.

We headed out into our new home, letting the Force lead us where it would, much as I am right now. The darkness nears, I can feel it beating at my soul, just as we n

 

Lorn
Tatooine, Fort Tusken


Oh what a Jedi.

So good, so sad. So unsure, so dead.

There was much about the man that resembled him. Lorn hadn´t failed to recognize that. His robes were simple, like Lorn´s. The hand was on his lightsaber, but yet the blade had not hissed into existence. No doubt was in him. Not of the existential kind of doubt, at least. But a slight odor of desperation. Also something they shared. But that was something so much harder to admit for Lorn.

And they both knew one of them would die. Both were ready to be that one.

Straightening his black tunics for the last time, Lorn took his lightsaber from his belt and sighed.

"Why have you come here?" The other man asked.

Why oh why. Because I wanna kill you or because I wanna die?

Lorn couldn´t help but grin. He opened his mouth to release some intimidating claim of power. But it escaped not. It was captured in his throat and was not released. His smile faded as he shut his mouth again.

?Hm.? Is all he said. Looking down on his still deactivated lightsaber.

Then he looked up again. The smile returned to his face, as he gazed at his prey with a lowered head. Is he a . . . good Jedi? Free of anger? Free of fear? His mind unbowed in the now and here?

Again his mouth opened, to tell the Jedi he was here to kill him. To eradicate him from the galaxy and make everything he could have accomplished in the future undone. It did not leave his lips. Got drowned by the frustrated confession that all of his precious philosophy only served as a fascade for his need to kill. Or wish to die?

?I . . . ? He began again. But didn´t know how to end his sentence. His lightsaber ignited and he pointed it away from him to the ground. The classical opening he had used so many time before. Slave to passion, slave to tradition. Deny the fashion, speed me to perdition.

Again an uncontrolled chuckle. His lightblade deactivated again and he looked up.

That didn´t feel right, either. It felt so noble. Too much like a Jedi . . .

Lorn shrugged and then . . . without actually answering to the man . . . he jumped. Pushing himself with the force forward he leaped towards his opponent. His blade hissed alive in it´s brilliant blue and came down on the man. And finally . . . finally something escaped his mouth.

An angry roar.

Tag: Trimaj

Used Power:
Jump 1

 

IC: Olan Hurdren/ Desert/ Tatooine

Brows knitting in surprise, there is an amazing amount of conflict in this man. A desire to kill, to have turned his back so utterly on what he once was that there is no stain of it remaining on his soul, and yet wanting to die for having done said thing. Obviously he wants to say something, the frustration for being unable to emanates from him. Frustration. What does this pathetic... no, not Sith. He has fallen farther than that. Regardless what can he know of frustration? Watching the one thing you care about dieing while you can do nothing, that is frustration. Regardless of all the noises to the contrary this thing can't know that. So few left who could.

For some reason he has yet to strike at me, yet to even move. For some reason he seems surprised to have a still unlit blade in his hand. Glancing down I note with some surprise that my own hilt is now in my hand. How did it get there? I didn't call it there. Training. All of my training is causing me to react to the threat before me unconsciously, or instinctively. It does that with anyone, because there are times in a fight that you either react or die, there is no time to think. Those are the times that the training will keep you alive. Against your own desires at times.

Another tear slides down my coal black cheek. Ignoring it my blade springs to life, a blazing orange like one of the Tatooinian suns at dusk. It does not come straight off of my hand, as the hilt is angled. Change what your opponent expects, put them on their heals from the beginning and you start out with a victory. Often times that can be parlayed into a complete one. Often times.

The smile is back. How long has it been since I smiled? My head shakes slightly, it matters not. Smiling is for those who live rather than those who train. Maybe this is what I have spent my life training for? If so I can die. I can end this existence that is nothing but pain for I am a failure. I failed the Jedi. I may not have agreed with them, but I did not want to leave. I certainly did not wish death upon them. To be almost the last of their lights left in the galaxy... I who am not even a Jedi anymore. I have lost peace, and it shall never return in this lifetime. Possibly not in the next.

A single word. "I." Nothing else needs to be said. This shadow creature, he is here to kill me. We both know it. All that remains is for the first strike to be made. For once it will not be made by me. Why should it be? Why should I waste what energies I have left on moving? I'll have to do something about that, but not yet. Wait until I really need it.

As the blade of the dark man springs to life... This was once a Jedi? Blue fire come from the hilt. For a moment all I see is that blade, mirroring my own stance. This man who has fallen so far, fallen, dare I say, even into madness was once one of the lights that blazed in the galaxy? How many of his fellows has he killed?

Looking again at his face, still obscured, still slithering about in a strange unrecognizable fashion, I see the face of a traitor.

Then the blue disappears. Confusion. There is much of it in this moment, coming from not only him but myself as well. Could this many be saved? My heart questions what my mind knows. This is not a man to save, this is a man to be put down like a mad vorskyr. While there is conflict the dark stain on his soul is one such as I have never felt before. Maybe Luke Skywalker felt something similar so long ago on his father, but I am not a Skywalker and this is not a sane man.

Why do I feel as though this man actually understands me? It is a terrifying thought, but staring into his eyes, the only facet of his face that is clear, there can be no doubt. Unnerving does not begin to cover this revelation. My eyes widen, and again I wonder... could this man be saved?

A shrug. He doesn't know any better than I. What we don't know is the true question, but that will likely remain unanswered as there is no longer time for thought of that kind.

I must admit, I did not

 

Lorn
Tatooine, Fort Tusken

The man sidestepped him. An unexpected maneuver. And their blades clashed. Lorn felt the impact and felt alive. And his enemy . . . the Jedi . . . felt distracted. Pain. There way always pain.

Why do they find us always so fast,
bygones and deeds from our dark past.

His blade whirled a few times, while the man withdrew. There was power in this one. Gathering. Lorn cut through the air another time. The energy-blade hissing in the air as it ionized it.
But he himself stepped back and the Jedi, prepared to meet him again with his blade, was left to wait once more. Lorn raised his lightsaber above his head. Ready to perform the next attack but in no hurry to do so. And with small sidesteps he circled the Zabrak before him.

"We couldn't have done this inside? Out of the suns?" The Jedi asked. He talked. They always did. The Jedi wanted some reaction. Some sense. Something he could use as a solid lead to the core of things. The Core of Things. Which did not exist and never had, as Lorn knew. Does nobody understand? Where my honor was once bound and where it finally went?

That the Jedi still thought there was something to be understood, anything to be actually really understood in the galaxy . . . made them such wonderful prey.
Even the Jedi´s voice seems to think the words were pathetic. Failing him. Sounding weaker than his precise defense appeared to be. Pathetic. The Jedi was pathetic. Everything actually was. Even Lorn himself. It was a pathetic duel in a pathetic universe. It was a fight of two wrecks in an existence of ruins. And that was why Lorn did the only thing that actually made sense. Ruin more. Ruin it all.

And for all those who fight with remorse,
meet my blue blade,
no, no don´t be afraid,
it´s the will of the force.

"BlatherSKITE!" Lorn hissed disgusted and it was with the second part of the word he hurled around his own axis and cut down. Aiming for the mans torso in a simple but precise strike.

Tag: Trimaj

 

IC: Olan Hurdren/ Desert/ Tatooine

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 o

 

Lorn
Tatooine, Desert

Still the force keeps on floating into his enemy. Still building up for what is soon to come.

Philosophy has abandoned the mind and soul of Lorn. Only his blade and his enemy exist. A fluid entity called a duel to the death.

Lorn feels nothing but disgust for the discipline and restraint of the other. Concentration with which the power of the force is used by the Jedi. When there are so much easier ways.

Anger. Faster, faster . . . His anger commands his muscles and bones. Faster, faster . . .

The Jedi´s attacks are abrupt. Movements and circles. The old masters had names for such attacks. Much like they had names for the way of Lorn´s blade and it´s fluid, swift and one-handed use. names lost in Lorn´s anger.

Lorn´s attack passes the Jedi. Like the Jedi´s body passes Lorn´s. He allows himself not to feel frustration. Not yet. He accepts his failure to meet the enemy. Through acceptance of another´s strength you find his weaknesses. That is something that many dead have taught him. They all had their strength. They all died.

Anger. Faster . . . Faster, faster . . . Drawing on anger. Anger has become an imperative. Nothing but anger. Faster . . .

The moment his blade rushes free, his left hand leaves it. He allows it to hiss through the air and come back on it´s own into whatever place his instincts command it. Guided by anger alone. Faster, faster . . .

It´s his left and free hand that will deal with the danger. Accelerated by the anger now rushing through his veins. Guided by his demand of another´s undoing. There is no time to take his second weapon, so his anger calls it. Faster, faster . . . There is no time to block the fist to his enemy´s fist so his anger allows it. Faster, faster . . . There is no time to protect his legs, so his anger pushes them away. Higher, higher . . .

And as the fist of the other man hits him, his red blade is there. Allowing the pain, punching it. Anger.


Whatever it was that made us clash,
whatever it was that I have missed
you don´t bring to such a duel a fist
and you will pay for such twist
with you very own flesh

It all happens at the same time. And he realizes what he is doing only as it has happened already. Anger has taken over. It inspires him.

He elevates his body into the air. Like a shock-wave whirling up sand. Waiting until the very last micro-second before the enemies blade meets his leg. Until he can feel the heat of the other mans lightsaber near him. And his short blade jumps into his hand that has moved towards the enemies arm. Taking the punch wherever it lands as his body moves up and the blade in his left hand rushes to meet the enemies strike. A lightsaber parrying a mans arm.

His anger hasn´t given him a slight leap to accomplish his dodge. It is an dangerous powerful, yet intoxicating outburst . . . dragging him into the air without control. If nothing stops his flight he will jump high and wide to hopefully land on the nearby wall of the graveyard that was once Fort Tusken.

Tag: Trimaj

---

[u][b]Power used: [/b][/u]

Speed 1
Telekinesis 1 (on my own lightsaber into my hand)
Jump 1


[u][b]Used before:[/b][/u]

Jump 1

 

IC: Olan Hurdren/ Desert/ Tatooine

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, i

 

Ding ding ding ding ding

Approximately 24 hrs left for this match.

-I_H

 

out-of-duel

Please - everybody - read my comment in the EUC Discussion thread before reacting.

---

[color=crimson][b]Lorn[/b]
[i]Tatooine, Fort Tusken[/i][/color]

Breathing heavy after his jump he watched the Jedi a grin crawling into his face. Yes, pain. He felt pain. The Jedi´s pain. In the presence of the enemy. And the healing touch of the force. Jedi. So predicatable. his second blade circled his hand as if celebrating it´s success. [i]Instead of using the pain, for his own gain. Offering an embrace, instead of this most avoidable . . . disgrace. [/i]

Then he slowly raised on the wall. Adjusting his body to the second blade he turned his lightsabers away from his body. Jar´Kai was much more demanding. It also felt more natural to him. More adaptable to his rage.

[i]
Come, come I rise from beneath
What are you still waiting for
neither you have to fear me nor
the so accepted death
Let us kill instead of waste breath.
[/i]

He giggled a bit as he felt another wave of force rushing into the man. His own anger had been dimished for a moment, but when he felt the outburst of the Jedi and saw him rising into the air . . . it all came back. [i]Faster, Faster, Stronger, Stronger . . . [/i]

Could this Jedi be his saviour from the boredom of invincibility? Or would he fall like so many others had? Channeling his fear and furious anticipation Lorn grinned as the man landed up there. The force was almost burning around the Jedi. Such power, such a waste.

[i]You don´t know the trick?
Can´t understand a murder´s logic?
Why Jedi are you so strong, when you waste your life,
by waiting too long?[/i]

Yes, such a waste, waste, waste . . .

The Jedi, now up there on the wall, changed his stance. [b]Lorn[/b] reacted by deactivating his lightsabers, his poisonous yellow eyes snapping open.

It was about to happen. And the moment the Jedi made his first step . . . such perfection . . . such anticipation of victory . . . such power surging through this man . . . Lorn found something inside of him he had almost forgotten . . .

His wish to be alive.

The second of the calm Jedi´s steps would no happen without him fighting it.

The fear to die reacted instead of him. Before him. Stronger than him. And outburst. Into the force. To all sides. Directed against the walls, the Jedi, the air, the planet, yes even the force itself . . . but especially against the Jedi . . .

It was an crippling power, draining more of him than it offered in the end.

It was another kind of death.

But it seemed . . . right.

[i]Yes, wrong and right, right, right,
you were good, your technique was sound
but in the end, we have both found
out you´re not a Jedi Knight.
And I am not the one you fight . . . [/i]

Pushing himself Lorn unloading all his power into the world . . .

A roar.

Incarnation of his will.

Live and let die.

Everything.

[i][b]Now! [/b][/i]

[b]Tag: Trim (or Judges?)[/b]


[b]Powers used:[/b]
(under the assumption that concentrated use seems to be possible)

Wave 2 (all in)
Push 6 (all in)
Jump 1

[b]Powers used before:[/b]

Jump 2
Telekinesis 1
Speed 1

 

OOC: just like to say, nicely played fins.

IC: Olan Hurdren/ Desert/ Tatooine

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

 

And with that wonderful conclusion, the match is over.

I'm going to sleep on who is the top contestant for this match, and should have my ruling up tomorrow.

-I_H

 

Uuuuughhhhhhh...

Ok

So

Lets do this then.

I'm going to go with Trimaj

But this was a bugger and a half to judge.

And like all good duels, its decided on something exceedingly minute.

And this is that Trimaj gave me a more detailed backstory and environment.

Even though, I really prefer Fins' character over Trimaj.

Trimaj gave me, in my opinion, the same old fair. Intelligent Jedi outcast with a ton of skeletons living in his closet and a memory of someone who won't let a traumatic past event go. Its a good theme, but we've seen it so many times. I might argue that it is the archetype for the PT Anakin Skywalker. He has a problem with the Jedi rulings on love and doesn't want to let go of the death of his mother.

Etc, etc, etc... its been done.

Then I have Fins, who gives me something newer. A nihilistic (is that what you were going for, b/c thats what I pulled out of it) Sith who says little, who is basic and yet profound. He's a character who is so engulfed in the philosophy of nothingness that he almost transcends himself. Plenty of insight, yet paralyzed as well. His failure to speak was something I've never really seen done around here, and it really reached out to me. This is a character I would love to get to know more.

It was Trimaj who said that the character was even lower than a Sith, a beast so to say. I think this is a great characterization of Lorn, and what draws me to him as a duelist.

But with that statement also lies the problem.

Its Trimaj that's saying it. Its Trimaj that is really working to set the tone of this duel. To pull the epicness out of it. Fins does some of this, but in my humble opinion, Trimaj does this better. Fins writing is primarily in Lorn's head, which is great for the character, but shouldn't be mutually exclusive to the overtones of the duel at large.

Heaven knows Trimaj proves this, spending a ton of time in both his character's head, the duel at large, and the history of the match. This shows in the length of his posts.

Now, I am aware that an argument could be made that this is not in Lorn's style. After all, what would a nihilist be doing reflecting on his past? Who cares right?

But this is where 3rd person comes in. If it was in 1st, like Trimaj's post, I would think all that reflection would hurt you. But the RPF is done on 3rd for a reason, so that an impartial narrator can pour on all the details.

I know everything and his aunt's middle name about Trimaj's character. Too much if you ask me. But I don't get nearly the same sort of narrative from Fins. A bit, in the front. Enough to tantalize me. Something about a betrayed master, but I want more! I want to know about this mysterious, broken man. How did he wind up this way? Nihilists, in my opinion, are not born, but created! I also would love to know how this change at the end of the duel happens. What clicks in his head? Is it a purely carnal whim to survive? Fins has a detailed enough palate to work with. I would have loved to see it explored deeper.

The duel aspect washes out. As discussed in the RPR thread, I do feel Fins' maneuvers to do actions after Trimaj has posted that said actions were completed is a questionable dueling practice. However, equally as questionable is Trimaj's doing multiple actions in a post. I buy the argument that they cancel out, and there is really nothing for me to look at after that. Both contestants write clearly. Both contestants use the force well. Fins' "Force Bomb" is just as creative as Trimaj's "Charge of Death".

In the end, its more about whats not in the duel than what is. Trimaj does more with the opportunities given to him than Fins does, almost to a fault. And while this is a purely stylistic judgment, if I have to consider what message I send to new users, present and future, that might be reading this duel, through this judgment, its that I would rather have more detailed, longer posts than less detailed ones.

If Fins would have matched Trimaj on detail, I would have happily given the duel to Fins on the grounds o

 

Agh. Can't we just break the rules and advance them both to the next round, so we can watch them both duel again?


As Imp said, this is an incredibly difficult duel to judge. So let's break it down...

I. Tactics
Tactically speaking, both are exceptional. I particularly liked Trimaj's speed x8 and Fin's Force Bomb - creative and innovative moves both, and in Trimaj's case, required planning for all the way back at character creation. Action-chaining was done by both, so I feel it cancels out. I think Fins has the slight edge here - I enjoyed the little references to lightsaber forms, both with and without the mentions of the forms themselves, and I didn't see that as much with Olan's moves although he had more analysis of his opponent's actions. But this isn't strong enough to be the dealbreaker.

II. Roleplaying Detail
Trimaj sets the scene far more, that's for sure. Olan is deeply into the sand and his lost apprentice (perhaps a little excessively so, in my opinion), whereas I almost feel like Fins could have been duelling absolutely anywhere for all he talked about the setting. There were mentions yes, and perhaps it was a facet of Lorn's character that he didn't care where he was fighting so long as he was fighting, but I still would have liked to see more.

III. Style
I wasn't going to put this section in but I think it deserves a mention - Trimaj's use of first person is a success, as is Fin's use of verse, and it was fascinating to watch two RPers with greatly different writing styles playing off each other. Kudos to both of you here.

IV. Characterisation
Olan is obsessed with his departure from the Order and his apprentice's death - he blames himself, he lives in the past, he's in exile, and so on. Nothing that hasn't been done before, but it's beautifully done because it is him - he is defined by it. And the sheer depth of detail and thought is really something, as is the way it was integrated into the duel - we know everything about Olan without it being an info-dump, because it's very well tied in with what happens. And I really loved the ending of his last post.

Lorn, on the other hand, lives completely in the present - there are hints at a dark past, but of the detail centred upon what he's currently feeling and doing. He's so consumed by his rage and madness that he's basically nothing - the sort of character that could be a terrible flop if done badly, but is instead a masterwork.


So ... two magnificent combatants, two magnificent players. In the end I think it comes down to this: while I greatly enjoyed reading all the posts in this duel, I was drawn to the character of Lorn in a way I was not with Olan. Lorn both appalled and fascinated me; I wanted to know more about the character, and I disliked not knowing more about his past (although paradoxically, knowing more would have made him less interesting). He is so incredibly broken that he fights to die, and yet at the end - as Sinre noted - he discovers he wants to live. Magnificent. I would love to read more.

Thus my judgement goes to Lorn. DarkLordOfTheFins advances to the next round.

A round of applause to both contestants!


[edited for clarity]

 

Raven Lightstar
Theed enroute to Theed Reactor

Deep in the Mid Rim, in the heart of the Naboo system of the Chommel sector. This is where the journey begins, where a path unfolds and so many questions left unanswered.

The sound of beeps and tweets could be heard from a a black and green R9 astromech droid calling out to it?s master. The high pitch intervals kept sounding off like a broken record, but the five? ten female with long brown hair, deep blue eyes and green tattoos on her face that revealed she was of the Vez clan of Kiffu decent, showed no sign that she heard. Her thoughts were elsewhere as usual these days. So much was on her mind.

?Oh I am sorry Gambit, I didn?t hear you. So were closing in on Naboo great, let?s take her down. ? Her voice sounded less than enthusiastic.

Taking the controls of the medium sized shuttle affectionately called Raven?s Eclipse, the ship entered the atmosphere of the planet Naboo. Taking a deep breath then exhaling, her eyes glanced over toward the holo-frame that kept rotating in motion. The image of a dark haired man playing joyfully with two small boys and a small girl, while a brown haired woman with green tattoos laughed in the background.

It was a moment that Raven Lightstar could not get out of her head. The once happy family that is pictured in the frame is now a thing of the past. Atleast in the eyes of the Jedi that is what she is suppose to believe. In her heart of hearts, that image is her future.

As a Jedi, they were allowed to have attachments, but must be wary of the consequences. She knew she failed in this, but what can be received as a failure, can be made a strength. For her husband Janus Karn, a Jedi Master in his own right, had left the order to pursue other interests. His constant agitation on the direction of the Jedi led him to leave.

Darkness crept in slowly, but surely and before she knew it the darkness overwhelmed him. Raven was left alone with her three children, though they are too young to understand about their father?s downfall, she knew that there was still hope. She learned that he joined the Sith and later was renamed Darth Verrick. Raven never gave up on him. The man who built and named her ship after her. The man she knew still had love inside of him.

There was a rumor that he had been on Naboo. She doubts that he is still there, still it was a rumor she had to check out. The Jedi would never understand her actions for going alone to find him. What they didn?t understand was that if she couldn?t save her husband, no one could. It was her decision alone and her burden to bare.

Flying down toward Theed, the capital of Naboo was just astonishing. The rolling hills with the waterfalls, The architectural style of each of the buildings, especially Theed Palace gives off an artistic and peaceful setting to an other wise sophisticated culture.

She just couldn?t imagine how such a beautiful place could spawn such a being like Palpatine. It was all in the Jedi archives. The rich history of the planet as well as famous conflicts like the Trade Federation blockade, were one of the most fascinating articles that she has read. This is also where the former senator, Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic and notorious dictator and Sith Lord named Darth Sidious came from. Atleast that was what the archives said. Nothing much of his early life could be found, so it could have been all made up for all she knew.

The Raven?s Eclipse with it?s purple and black colored hull flew in to the hangar bay. Gambit, the R9 astromech droid wheeled over toward her after they landed.

?Beep?.beep booo oop.? came the sound of the droid.

?Yeah I know Gambit, it?s weird. We weren?t greeted with any authorization for landing. Something is definitely not right here. ?

She walked down the landing pad, her purple robes flowing behind her, while Gambit was following her at heels.

?You better stay here and take care of th

 

IC: Black
Naboo - Air Traffic Control Dome - Theed Hangar


Unlike Coruscant, the city of Theed on Naboo was soft in appearance, with few towering, imposing skyscrapers of hard metal and shining transparisteel. The buildings here were of stone and many other materials, with rounded rooflines and delicate colours. Vines of all sorts were everywhere, crawling up the sides of the buildings, adding vibrancy and scents. Adding comfort.

The figure in his scarlet-covered robe with intricate embroidered black-runic lines intertwining, giving himself a tatoo-like appearance as he silently observed the shuttle entering the hangar as it receded to land within the desolate hangar. He turned around from the console as he moved to the spiral-stairwell leading down back to the main flight deck where the shuttle landed.

Black is considered the "traditional" colour because it was used by the Sith of old. But, solid black "stands out" at night among the true shadows cast by moon and artificial light.

Red had the advantage of being black at night, with no sunlight to reflect the crimson colour; a fact known only to those who studied light and shadow as a science. When it came into the light, however, the color returned. And psychologically intimidated the enemy through the association of red with the fear of blood.

The tall man was admiring the history that this place held, a deep history connected to the Sith. This is where the Sith marked their return to the unsuspecting galaxy. Running his hands onto the cracks of the stone wall as he made his way to the huge hangar doors to the flight deck. The control panel for the closing and opening of the doors beside him as he took a moment to feel the lingering scars of battle of long past.

The residue in the Force still resided in this place, light and shadow, the lights flickered for a moment, Black for single flash, had seen a figure standing where his gaze was locked upon, clad in black from head to toe.

It became a blur of shadow as it fizzled out from his sight, like a wisp of smoke, as he was reminded of distant images in the dark. But he didn't allow the fragmented images to distract him as he activated the doors to the hangar as he advanced through the activating doors as he allowed himself to followed the electromag rails that ran down the center of the flight deck to generate gravity fields.

His gaze latched onto the shadow that was reflected off the floor in the short distance as he paused in his advance. His long flowing silvery threads about his shoulders as his eyes slowly adjusted to the figure that began moving to his left towards the reactor entrance. And the light emanating from the open doors as he silently observed the Jedi in her flowing violet robes giving her an almost ethereal elegance.

In his experiences it states that the eye sees movement first, silhouette second, and colour third. Dark adaptation means allowing the eyes to become accustomed to low levels of light. If the source of light is larger than a point, the shadow varies in intensity, creating the umbra and penumbra. The former is that portion from which all rays of light are obscured, while the penumbra is the lighter part, not entirely hidden from the observer.

Spotlights, hand torches, and so on, are points of light. The latter of the two shadows is the more frequently encountered. Thus, in Sith lore, strived to remain in the deepest shadow, the umbra, as this offers the best concealment. Which the Sith of the past had masterfully have perfected over the ages.

In Darth Sidious's war it gave new ways of crushing ones enemy. The direct tactic of war is necessary only on the battlefield, but only the indirect tactic can lead to a real and lasting victory. And the infamous Clone Wars was Sidious's indirect tactic against both the Old Republic and the Jedi Order.

He could see some sort of illuminated adornment on female Jedi's face, it appeared to be some sort of marking. Curious the Sithlord queried, some remo