Duel For Her Hand

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

BobertEZ Vaul'Kadrathasa

Iridonia

On a rocky plateau in the Iridonian desert.​

Where better to fight for her hand than the planet from which she had come? Vaul'Kadrathasa was as fair as she was vicious.

Powerful - Beautiful - Complicated​

She had caught Joycelyn's eye after Kadra had met with the Sith Emperor on Bastion. Was it love? No, nothing so quaint. Joyce had seen her, felt her in the Force, and she had not left Joycelyn's mind since. But the Princess of Dromund Kaas was not the only one who had eyes for the Harbinger. Another Lord of the Sith had proposed first, and so the matter had become all the more complex. Her suitor issued the challenge after Joycelyn declared her interest.

Vaul'Kadrathasa did not care for titles, only results, only strength.

So strength would decide who was fittest.

Which took them to Iridonia, on a rocky plateau. The wind hummed against the sand, carrying grains with it in a rough caress that pattered against armour. A ring had been set up, fine seats were made ready for Kadra, for the two combatants, and all spectators, seconds and retainers that may have been brought. Joycelyn sat with Zaudraka in her hands, the curved sithsword humming back to her in a tune similar to the hum of the sand. In front, a handmaiden anointed her head with sacred oils and spoke a stream of prayers to Vahl. The red-robed priestess finished by cutting her finger on a ceremonial ring and marking the Princess with the blood. Joycelyn spoke the final prayer:

"Mother Vahl, bless this sacrifice."

She rose to her feet and slipped the sithsword into its sheath at her hip, then grabbed her silver shafted polearm from its stand next to her chair. With a twist of her hand, she turned it through the air and let it come to rest under her armpit, against her black cuirass.

"I will give you one last chance to step aside, Lord Farmar!"

She stared at her opponent, then let her eyes glide to Vaul'Kadrathasa. A smile spread over Joycelyn's lips before she focused again on her opponent.

 

[BobertEZ]

Iridonia.

It was a planet perfect for a man such as he, for a warrior designed and bred for little more than the shedding of crimson, the domination of life, and the conquering of stars. It was rough, coarse, dangerous and promised carnage. Carnage and glory. The desert landscape spanned miles upon miles into the distance, ending not in an edge of the horizon, but the haze of heat and the bending of air. Somewhere far in this land, beyond such hazes and bendings, rested cities, or rather the ruins of cities, as well as nomadic tribes of Iridonians wandering the hellish sands. Perhaps they would come upon this ring constructed for a fight.

Iridonia. A mysterious planet. A powerful planet. To say that the woman chosen to be fought over this day matched the land from which she called home was an understatement. She too was mysterious and powerful with an aura of dominance shrouding over her like a cloak made of the finest and lightest silks an aristocrat could purchase. The Phoenix had seen this shroud in action, in the domination of lives, nameless though they may have been. It was this action, this usage of the aura that drew the Koignalteth Hybrid to the Harbinger of Death.

"The title is well deserved," he had told her upon the battle's end. "See that the edge it brings does not dull."

In the truest sense of the word, the Harpy was intoxicating to the somewhat brutish and single-minded man. But Lorale, ever the conservative being, would not allow such emotions and opinions break through his veil and thus the purpose of this day. While he was to win her hand, and nothing more, he was facing quite the venerable opponent. A Child of the Emperor. Joycelyn Zambrano.

He had no doubts over his power, a power he had honed over six centuries in constant combat with Galactic and ethereal forces. For most opponents, he could find victory in as little as three seconds and at most one minute. But this was a Zambrano. Highly skilled, highly dangerous, more than capable. And while this was not a fight to the death, at least to his knowledge, she would fight and press him hard to his limits. Even if it was the opposite, even if this was a fight to the death, something he had very little doubts over, he would still hold back, at least in his opinion, or at least until such time required him to break the limitations. He could not afford to kill a favored child of the Emperor on purpose or on accident. Such a thing would rend all of his accomplishments asunder and ruin his plans.

Thus, on this day, he had chosen to fight with his once favored sword of Stormlight. The blade, while powerful in its own right, was much easier to control than the Wolfblade, a monstrous two-handed weapon more akin to a slab of metal than a proper sword. He had also chosen to wear simple armored maroon robes rather than his full suit of armor, which, combined with the lighter blade, would allow him to fight quickly.

And so he approached the woman who demanded that he step aside, one last time. The titan of a man, standing at his full frame of eight-foot-nine, merely scoffed and adopted a pre-fight defensive stance, bending his knees slightly and holding the blade with both hands just above his head.

His eyes, momentarily, gazed over to the woman of his affections, but he did not let a smile break his stoicism. Instead, he looked back to his opponent and nodded in respect, "So we shall see who deserves the light from a bringer of darkness."

Joycelyn Zambrano Vaul'Kadrathasa

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

"Shame, really"

Joycelyn twirled the spear one more time while taking a second look at her opponent's choice of weapon.

"So, swords then."

The silver shaft sang a constant tune as it travelled through the air, but rather than bring it with her, Joycelyn handed the silver spear to her handmaiden. The red-robed priestess accepted the polearm and stepped back, while Joycelyn drew Zaudraka from its sheath. The slightly curved longsword smouldered, casting a faint red glow from its dark blade. Zaudraka shuddered in her hand as it's power climbed up through Joycelyn's blood. Yeees

There was a cockyness on her face as she stepped into the ring properly, rolling her shoulders to alleviate any residual tension. She put both hands on the grip of Zaudraka and held it low. She kept the point of her blade pointing down at the ground, edge down. She appeared positively harmless in every way as she stopped just short of Lorale's range.

"It's not often I get to fight someone my own size, let alone taller."

Her stance was relaxed, but not without its strength. While the way she held her blade covered her lower body expertly, it left her head and upper torso seemingly exposed against any attack from above. It was, by first glance, a fool's guard.

Was she truly underestimating him? Or was she simply trying to lure him into a mistake? With the cocky look on her face it was hard to determine. The Princess of Dromund Kaas had a reputation of being a skilled fighter. Then again, there were many who would take any opportunity to cajole with the Zambranos. So which was it? Truth or lie?

Vaul'Kadrathasa BobertEZ

 

[BobertEZ]

A bait. That's what that is. It's bait. That stance is not one you take in a fight. Hold back.

What if it's real? She is a Zambrano. They are masters of deception and fighting. But...she is overconfident. That much you can sense, right? Overconfidence. Strike!

Lorale struggled to get the voices of conflict out his head, and even more so to ignore the thirsting growl of Stormlight, a sword he had to constantly feed with the blood of foes to fight lest it fight against him. This was not to be a duel to death for Lorale, and Stormlight was the only blade he had that could avoid such an ending. Lorale thought on this against the blasting voices and growls, lightly shifting his weight and sliding his feet further apart, adopting a change in stance that signified a possibility of leaping forward, the blade still held above his head with the tip pointed at the heart of his foe.

The air in the desert was dense with grains of loose sand and old history to be erased by new history forged this day. Lord and Lord, fighting in the desolate lands of a planet forlorn. It weighed heavily on the massive shoulders of the Phoenix who stared into the eyes of the Sword of Vahl. Such requirements to be fulfilled. The humoring of a Sith Lord, the avoidance of her and his own death, and the claiming of another's hand in love. Once more, his eyes gazed over to the woman he sought to swoon and win the affections of. She was utterly ravishing, powerful, commanding. Such time had passed since his vision had been blessed so. It brought a warmth he thought he would never feel again. He would have to strike first. He needed to strike first and hope it was the only strike needed to win the hand of this creature. He knew in his heart that it would not be the only strike needed, but he had to hope, something he had not done for a very long time.

"Know this, Princess of Dromund Kaas," he uttered with a dead calmness as his eyes, which had begun to shift from blue to green, slid back to his foe. "I do not wish harm upon you, nor do I fear it upon myself. Fight with honor, Lady Zambrano."

The time it took for Lorale to leap forward with his opening attack was such that only a fellow Sith could perceive it, the air splitting in twain as he brought the sword in a diagonal motion aimed for her unprotected neck, prepared to stop his swing just short of her flesh and to use his momentum to flip over in the event she managed to swing upwards for his unprotected stomach.

Joycelyn Zambrano Vaul'Kadrathasa

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

BobertEZ Vaul'Kadrathasa

Was she that overconfident? Or was she simply mocking him? Her mind was oddly hard to read, even for a fellow lord of the Sith. Usually, impulses would roll off a person like faint mists, but her epicanthix lineage made her mind into a fortress. Yet, all signs pointed to her overconfidence. She wore it on her face, carried it in her shoulders and hips.

"With honour then, Lord Farmar."

She looked as though, in her overconfidence, she would let herself be cut down.

Then, speed matched speed and her movements came in tandem with his. She did not attack his legs, but took a step to the side and wound her blade up and to the side. Her sword intersected the path of his strike, setting the strong of her blade against the weak of his and keeping it from crossing over. The motion of her blade also made the tip move from it's low position to suddenly being in her face height, now standing like the horn of an ox. As soon as the blades clashed, she thrust it forward with a turn of her hips and a slip of her foot.

Her form in swordsmanship was sharp, measured and practised to the point where the blade seemed as much a part of her as her own hands and feet, bonded to her, adapted to her in ways she had never thought a weapon could. With it in hand, she controlled her space perfectly. Her stance was strong, but relaxed; her grip was solid, but soft, not rigid. And even in the tension of the moment, she appeared relaxed. Her face still held a playful expression.

Following the thrust, the blade snapped back into guard, keeping the point at him to ward off any sudden advance without first dealing with the threat of steel. The ox guard gave her many ways to attack, if she so desired, but with her sword seemingly dedicated to one side, she had again provided him with openings.

"I thought you would be faster."

Her tone, she wanted him to react. This cocky little girl dared challenge him? Or perhaps she was baiting him into a mistake, into an overreaction. Perhaps she was proving some point about her fencing ability, to show off in front of the woman they both desired.