Duel Anzat vs. Thyrsian, Episode I: Enter the Snot-Vampire

[Calix of Thyrsus]

CHURCH OF THE FORCE
YUMFLA, SUSEVFI | OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

[ post theme ]​

It was too peaceful.

Much like the Great Jedi Temple of Coruscant. A lot of meditation. Reflection. Introspection. Lectures on philosophy -- or philanthropy -- each tolling for the betterment of the galaxy through the embrace of non-violence. The eschewing of combat.

A strange place to come seeking a master of a martial discipline. But, then, the Jedi were equally confusing. From one side of their mouth, they espoused the sanctity of all life. Then, from the other, they encouraged the development of lightsaber combat techniques designed to take life, under the auspice of protecting it.

The Echani were much more straightforward.

To the Thyrsian, the body was a weapon -- pure and simple. What mattered was what one did with that weapon. How well it was honed. How strong its will or discipline. The Echani did not care for words, as others did. Instead, they preferred to let their actions speak for them.

And there was no greater test of one's intentions than combat. To fight someone was to judge their character. It was the only way to truly know a person, including oneself.

But therein lay another contradiction. As a Force Sensitive, Calix was capable of feats beyond those of a normal Echani. Faster. Stronger. His ability to predict an opponent's move aided by a preternatural ability to see things before they happened -- a signature Jedi trait. One that the Jedi actively cultivated and encouraged in their padawans.

But, by long tradition, Echani martial arts eschewed all but one's own mortal body. A Thyrsian might don armor while an Echani fought bare-chested, but their diametrically opposed views arrived at the same ultimate conclusion: To master the ways of the Echani, one had to reject the Force.

How, then, could he be both Echani and Jedi?

It was a question that even Julius Sedaire could not help the boy with. A lesson he would have to learn for himself.

But not alone. No Echani, no Jedi ever walked the path alone.

So he had arrived here. This courtyard. This world. Seeking an old master of a discipline that seemed so familiar to his Echani sensibilities, and yet so alike the Jedi's embrace of the Force. The Way of the Light Hand.

Perhaps it was folly. Perhaps a waste of time. He had traveled all the way to Susefvi to seek out a geriatric tea hermit.

Only time, and their fists, would determine the right of it.

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Calix of Thyrsus

Meditation Garden

He had a visitor. Not one that he had seen in the Force, but one he had heard was looking from him. Julius' new padawan, Tiland believed, was intriguing. He had never expected the Corellian to take a new student, but it would be good for the Corellian.

Padawans taught their masters as much as they learned, perhaps even more. He stood and moved to the edge of the garden, leaning over the side where he could make the small form of a newcomer.

"Hello there!" Tiland called with a wave. "I believe you are looking for me, yes? Head on up through the foyer and there's a staircase along the interior of the building."

This figure looked very small and very young. But then, he was human of some sort. They were very small and young looking for the vast majority of their lives. Perhaps he was in his twenties, maybe? Or even thirties?

The nature of his visitor's search was still a mystery to him, but in time, the Force would reveal it. It had been a long time he had met with anyone from the Six Sisters, and so was unsure how the culture had adapted or changed.

Still, to be safe, he had prepared a large circle off to one side, raked in the sand to mark the boundaries. Echani spoke through combat and while it had been a long time since he studied there, he thought he could still remember most of what he learned.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

"Hello there!"

The voice that greeted him heralded precisely what the youth had been led to believe that he would find. An old man. A flowing beard. Yet, as the Echani's pale eyes sized the man up as an opponent, there was a certain air of...

...danger...

...that seemed to linger about the old master. Something Calix couldn't quite put his finger on.

For his age, this old master seemed a formidable opponent. This was good.

"Head on up through the foyer and there's a staircase along the interior of the building."

Wordlessly, the boy's blue eyes followed where the old man had indicated. Then, turning back toward the old master, gave a slight bow of his head to indicate his respect and understanding.

Traveling up the stars, he found a meditative garden. A common fixture of these temples. Yet, to his surprise, it seemed a traditional Echani dueling circle had been marked out in one corner.

This was good. It meant that there would be no more need for words. They could allow their bodies to speak for them.

Taking the appropriate spot in the circle for the junior combatant, the Thyrsian youth turned to face the old master. Hands together, the boy gave a bow at the waist, straightening back up as he moved his hands apart in a typical Echani greeting. These did not include words. They did not need to. It was protocol. A facet of their culture both Echani and Thyrsians shared.

Plus, it had the benefit of opening the body stance, allowing the afro-headed warrior to easily transition out of the bow into the basic opening stance of the Echani martial art. Dropping his center of gravity, the Thyrsian's legs spread into a t-stance as he rotated his torso slightly. One arm was extended toward the wisened elder, with a knife-hand pointed at him.

By long tradition, it was the elder who would strike first.

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Calix of Thyrsus

For a Thyrsian, the boy was quite polite, but he allowed himself a hint of a smile as he pictured the youth as a mini-Julius. Yes, he could see how they had managed to connect well enough to be a padawan and instructor. Tiland bowed as the youth took his traditional place in the circle before moving to his spot.

Low center of gravity was good, as was the traditional form. It was starting to come back to him now. Tiland shrugged out of the external robes and folded them beside the circle before taking his stance.

Initially, he mirrored the position. Tradition would dictate he held the first move, which was unfortunate. He never did like making the first strike. It created too many vulnerabilities and immediately escalated the situation.

But this was a conversation, not a fight. He kept himself perfectly still, however, as he considered. No muscle twitches or shifts in his weight. Balance and stability.

There was a certainty that it conveyed, as well as confidence. The physical equivalent of silence. Waiting and patience. He let his mind clear and focused on the environment around him. Sound, smell, movement.

A leaf fluttered past on the wind, and he gave it a moment's attention with a shift in the direction of his eyes before returning them to the circle. He slid one foot forward, followed by the other, shifting towards the circle's center, before feigning an open palm strike with his left and then changing stance again as he pulled back.

His feet shifted to face forward in front of him, both hands at shoulder level, and his knees bent, facing directly towards Calix. An invitation, to speak first and establish the tone of the conversation.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

As the old man stepped into the circle, the boy flexed his knees to drop down just slightly.

Now the game was afoot.

The boy's blue eyes tried to read the man's body language. But, it was like a blank slate. He could discern no intention. The boy's brow furrowed, as it seemed that the elder had deemed to wait to make the opening strike. Rotating the outstretched hand at the wrist, the afro-headed youth turned the knife hand into more of a mantis claw as he adopted a more defensive stance.

He felt a breeze, then the old man's eyes moved.

But... were not focused on his opponent. A feint? Deception perhaps?

Then his feet moved.

No indication. No muscle twitch or shift in weight that might have telegraphed the move. And Calix had not had any subconscious forewarning, as with precognition. As such, the boy's shoulders tensed as he found himself on guard as the old man moved. First one step, then another. In both cases, the movement was fluid. Flawless. No more muscle movement than was necessary to convey the motion.

If body movement was communication, then this old man was loud as a whisper.

A palm-heel strike came forward, Calix caught it a moment too late -- at the extension of the arm, rather than the preparation to move -- rotating his elbow as he brought his arm up to block with his forearm.

It was considered clumsy. A block, not a counterattack. Echani sought to turn each movement into another attack. Counter, not block. Blending with the energy of the attack, not trying to resist or disrupt the opponent's momentum.

But the strike had been a feint.

The old man withdrew, his step back an invitation for Calix to make the first overture of their conversation.

The hair stood up on the back of the boy's neck. He had never fought someone who moved in this way -- who spoke in such subtle a language as this. It was as thrilling as it was intimidating.

Truly, the honor was his that this old master deemed him a worthy enough opponent to offer his time in this way. With the first step, Calix knew he was outmatched.

Shifting his weight to his back foot, the youth seemed to start to edge right, before skirting forward and kicking out with roundhouse right. Assuming the old man didn't interject then, then the motion would blend into whirlwind kick, out of which a straight-armed jab with the right arm would follow out of the second kick.

Of course, that put all his weight on his left leg.

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

The block for the feint had arrived, but it was behind, catching the youth off guard. That created an idea in his mind as he waited for the youth to begin the conversation.

If the youth couldn't sense his movements and he kept his body still, then it would be like trying to speak in silence. It was challenging. He wasn't entirely sure what the youth was hoping for.

His eyes flickered at a shift of movement, slightly back but not back enough to commit to the movement.

Tiland held himself still, every muscle tensed. A roundhouse kick. He leaned backward from the knees, allowing the kick to cut through the air ahead. At the second kick, he twisted one heel to pivot outward in a half circle.

His eyes caught the weight on the one leg as the arm came out in a jab. Tiland let himself sink to the ground beneath the jab and continued his circular movement to send a hooked foot behind the youth's knees. Not enough for injury, but to give a little nudge.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

The boy came out of the whirlwind kick, his fist snapping forward in a straight-arm punch...

...that struck at the air.

Blinking, the youth's blue eyes were confused at where the old man had gone.

Then a leg tapped him on the back of the knee. Giving a yelp, realizing a moment too late that the master had slipped behind him, the Thyrsian hopped and wobbled on one foot as he tried to maintain his balance.

Finally catching himself, the boy turned and gave a formal bow toward the old master. He yielded this round.

Walking back to the starting position, the boy dropped back into the starting position again.

"Master, do you use the Force?" the afro-headed youth inquired. "Or is your body that well trained?"

On reflection, those questions seem to imply a certain arrogance on his part.

"Or am I that inexperienced?" the boy clarified, his head bobbing from side to side before a bubbly laugh slipped out.

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Calix of Thyrsus

Tiland stood aside as the youth lost his balance and eventually returned to his position. His questions brought a gentle smile as he returned to his position at the edge of the circle.

"Well, if it helps, I am over 1200 years old. That is quite a bit of practice that you've not had the chance for." He paused to roll his shoulders.

"And is there a difference between using the Force and having a well-trained body? Are the body, mind, and spirit so separate from each other?"

He tilted his head as he asked the question, moving slowly back into the circle's center after a bow, sliding one foot ahead of the other before stopping to wait.

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

"Well, if it helps, I am over 1200 years old."

The boy's brow furrowed. Did he just say..? Blinking, the boy's eyes grew wide as he tried to process that notion.

While he was grappling with that realization, the old master discerned the question that lay behind the questions the boy had asked. "And is there a difference between using the Force and having a well-trained body? Are the body, mind, and spirit so separate from each other?"

Calix opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider his words. Looking down at the ground for a moment, the boy seemed to mull the question over in his mind several times, before he finally looked up and said, "The Echani... they say that we should hone our bodies as weapon. That we shouldn't use the Force, but... but I don't know how to not use the Force!"

It was part of him.

Heck, if he understood it, the Force was part of everything. It wasn't like he tried to use it. He just... did. He'd see something before it happened. Or he'd sense something that wasn't intuition. But it was like trying not to hear or trying not to see or trying not to breathe.

"Is it possible to be both an Echani and a Jedi?"

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Calix of Thyrsus

"Ahh," Tiland responded slowly in understanding. "The Echani, yes." He ran a hand through his beard in thought while the other curled behind his back.

That was more complicated then. Thyrsians. Echani. Cousin cultures opposed to each other in all practical ways.

"Possible, yes, but what that looks like is up to you. No one else is capable of making that decision for you."

That would not be particularly helpful, he knew, especially for one so young. They had a great deal of self-exploration to complete before they would have the confidence and self-awareness to define their own identity at that age.

"I, and much of the Jedi, do not see the distinction between mind, body, and spirit that the Echani do, any more than we distinguish between the body and hearing, or the body sight. What you decide..." He could only shrug slowly before giving a gentle smile. "Nor can anyone predict what the rest of the Echani might think."

 

[Calix of Thyrsus]

"Possible, yes, but what that looks like is up to you. No one else is capable of making that decision for you."

That... didn't tell him anything.

Confused, the boy held out his arms as he asked, "Then... how is it possible?"

The old master's words about the connectedness through which the Jedi saw the world echoed the boy's same thoughts. "Can the body and the Force ever be one?" the boy asked, thinking aloud as he looked over at the old man.

Then what he'd asked made him reconsider.

"Wait, are they ever not one?"

Tiland Kortun​

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Calix of Thyrsus

Tiland's smile broadened as he watched the realization spread across his young opponent's face. "That is the crux of the question, is it not?" He paced back and forth for several moments, considering. "For us, the Force is as much a part of us as is our sight, or our hearing. There is very little distinction, eventually."

He paused and spun on his heel to face Calix. "Granted, it does not always come right away. Nor is it always natural to develop such an affinity with the Force that we can no longer consciously separate ourselves from it. Is that necessarily any different than learning how to read an opponent's body language though?"

Perhaps it was, perhaps it was not. He was not one to rely on cut-and-dry distinctions. Not at his age anymore.