Private Bard Outta Hell

[Jerec Asyr]

FIELD OF BLADES
JUST INSIDE THE CORELLIA RIFT


The spectre appeared to be a warrior of the Old Sith Empire, half a dozen metres tall and carrying a chipped sword. His presence oppressed. It all but flattened Jerec to the hardpacked earth.

Jerec, and the other teller of stories and singer of songs, some Mando who'd apparently tackled an emperor into Chaos.

The spectre in question — unrelated to the emperor — looked back and forth between Jerec and Obran .

THIS IS A PLACE OF PURE CONFLICT, the spectre said. He gestured at the rift. THIS CURSE I SEAL ON YOU, BARDS, FOR ALL THE SONGS YOU SANG. EACH OF YOU SHALL ONLY LEAVE THIS PLACE BY DEFEATING THE OTHER—

Another passing spectre slashed him in half and moved on. Jerec took a tentative step toward the rift and found it no closer.

"Weeeeeell shavvit."

 

[Obran]

The bone and gleaming void-stone armored Bard of Mando'ade took his helmet off as the Spectre faded and passed, sliced by another. He had maintained his spear and other weapons, though he had long since run out of ammunition for any projectils weapons. The shield and spear had become even more a part of him, as much as breathing came the ease of block, stab, reset, parry, slash and the dance of combat. As most Mandalorians would, he relished in the challenge, until meeting Jerec Asyr . There had been some confusion at first, and while the two were far from fast friends, he had a certain respect for the Ithorian.

Seeing the rift grow no closer her flung his helmet into the face of a passing warrior in some ancient army's fatigues and lanced his spear through him with a rage-filled cry.

"THIS IS WORSE THAN TRYING TO HARMONIZE WITH THE ITHORIAN! LET ME OUT!"

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Oh shush, Obran , you're just jealous you can't harmonize with yourself."

Jerec sang a warm-up in four-part harmony (Ithorians. Four throats. Quite powerful.) and brained a passing Dark Jedi soul with his old keytar. He knew not a ton about the Force, but he did know how to wrap it around everything from walking sticks to boxing mitts, and the keytar remained intact. The ancient shade moaned away its millennia and dissipated into the Cosmic Force.

"Look," he said to Obran, "if this curse is real, and we both want out, what are the odds you'd settle this with a round or two of Anything You Can Do?"

 

[Obran]

Spinning the spear, the Force Hunter, wrapped as he was in void-steel, grinned and pulled his spear from the rock as he clipped a bat-like beast, taking Jerec's comment with a flippant wrist-flick as he dispatched the bat and spun, humming a ditty about Corellian whiskey and Corellian women both tasting as sweet as the other.

"If you want to lose that easily, I could be your match, sure..."

Jerec Asyr

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Truth be told, Jerec found himself at a loss. He also felt bad. Obran had been stuck here for a while.

On the flip side, that voidsteel armor seemed to make the Field of Blades more livable than it would be for Jerec. Heck, Jerec had his doubts this curse thing would stop Obran leaving in the same way it was stopping Jerec.

Ugh. All of that was craven competitive crap. The problem was it might get him back to the real world and its many comforts. He cursed grumpily and took a swipe at another ghost.

He engaged in harmonious balladry as he fought. Nothing spectacular, not yet. He'd feel bad busting out the big guns.

 

[Obran]

Matching tempo and time, Obran began to incorporate movements into the piece he wove to compete and beat Jerec. With that, he would lash out every upbeat, and retreat with every downbeat of the simple song he hummed, taking the little bit the Ithorian started and then going even further. It wasn't much, a di to a da, as the saying went... But it was enough to see how much effort he'd have to expend to match and beat the other bard and either beat the curse or just beat his rival.

Either way at this point, a potential win.

 

[Jerec Asyr]

With a bit of breathing room, Jerec paused and let Obran do his thing. He chewed on the possibilities.

"Let me try something: I concede, you've won. You are the better man and the victor of our contest."

He gestured at the rift.

"Go on, try to step through. But if it works, I need a turn beating you. Assuming that doesn't cancel your victory of course."

 

[Obran]

Eyeing the Ithorian oddly through his T-Visor, Obran shrugged and stepped towards the rift, and through, then back, looking both stunned and frustrated in body language.

"Ok.. Now explain this then friend. How is me out-dancing an Ithorian a win?"

Jerec Asyr

 

[Jerec Asyr]

"Simple enough, Obran ." Jerec ticked things off on his long fingers. "First, might not be the most honorable victory, but I knew a Sith would never require an honorable victory. Second, the curse was aimed at us in the context of bardicness, so I figured there's a chance we could satisfy its conditions through a duel of performance, yes? And dance is performance as surely as balladry. Fourth — am I on fourth? — I am utterly devastated by my conclusive defeat at your hands. I have never been much of a dancer; it's a weak point for me; I am crushingly outmatched. See previous points about bardic skill and honorable victory, and in fact, said crushing defeat probably makes this play more likely, not less, to satisfy the Sith's curse. The only open question at that point was whether a dance-off needed to kill me to ensure your victory, and by experimentation you've just demonstrated the answer is no.

"And since I've just conclusively prevailed at an impromptu contest of wits, also part of the traditional part of the bardic competitive skillset, let's see..."

He stepped through the rift and back again.

"Fuck yes."