First Reply Fundamentals on Zardossa Stix

[Lysander von Ascania]

The Tapani Sector was quickly adjusting to the grip of the Covenant, in the way worlds were transformed upon claim. Time on Zardossa Stix had been brief. Just a few days, enough for the first impressions to take root. As he understood it, the planet offered only a single city, and he’d already walked its marketplace.

Heat pressed over the training ground; a suffocating veil. It was just outside the city's edge, where buildings fell away and most of the ground turned into nothing more than sand. However, there was one space flattened in something usable. Others had been there recently.

The wind moved through it all, dry and ever persistent. Behind Lysander, the Pyramid rose. This place recalled Korriban in passing, harsh.. but nowhere near as merciless.

A few more steps drew him into the space before he stopped. Stance came first, boots planted firmly, the foundation carved from years of practice and discipline. The sun was already beating down upon him, rays tracing over the scarred line of his cheekbone. Sweat began to gather along the brow without exertion.

After a brief, almost ritual like warm up, he moved into position. Nightstar shifted in his grip with a flick of the wrist. A small motion, one practiced enough, and from there, the Shii-Cho sequence unfolded. The first cut was smooth, carried by the turn of hips, rather than solely with his arms. The blade traced a line through the air before returning to guard position. Elbows were loose, shoulders unraised. Then he stepped through the follow up with precise footwork, letting a second arc carve a different line. The same beginning.. every time, until memory and all other noise fell away.

OOC: Open to any faction. Jedi, Sith, NFU, whoever.

 

[Sars Sarad]

Time was irrelevant, like the force it was fluid. We are all stones cast into a river, the force flows around us and interconnects us. The River is vast, stretching across the entire galaxy.

The Tapani Sector wasn't unknown to Sars Sarad.

Dueling was common amongst the Tapani, especially the nobility. In fact the Tapani had created a precursor to the lightsaber, or was it a modification of the Jedi weapon (?), regardless the lightfoil was as much a part of the culture as anything else. It was an elegant if not archaic weapon.

Zardossa Stix, a Moon of middling importance and little interest awaited.

The Marketplace held no value for Sarad.

When he appeared it was on the outskirts, the buildings thinning behind him as he moved towards the training grounds.

He'd arrived only to see a man, Lysander von Ascania completing a practiced sequence of maneuvers. They were fluid, doubtless something that he'd practiced a hundred times before. Sarad could appreciate that. He noted too that the man carried a sword, heavy if appearances were to be believed and likely infused with sith alchemy or other magicks as the layman would have called them.

To see Sarad was to see a man of rugged features, neither incredibly large nor small but of obviously strong physique. He wore a duster that hung from his shoulders to just above the ankles; a shirt of no significance, trousers and boots. Underneath that there was more.

As he came to within a pace of the space that Lysander used for himself, sand shifting beneath his feet he'd have halt...

"My name is Sars Sarad."

...old habits, he always introduced himself and said his name. A Name that resounded with some elements, especially those with ties to the underworld and the Black Sun Syndicate.

Using his right hand he'd open his duster, tucking it back behind his hip and revealing a lightsaber that was clipped over his hip waiting to be drawn.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sars Sarad​

Nightstar continued to travel in broad lines. Nothing clever; every angle was honest in intention. The rhythm found him rather than the other way around, settling him into a flow state. Awareness never left him. Movement at the edge of the ground began to register. At first, it was distant enough to ignore. From experience, training grounds had a way of drawing others.. practitioners, spectators, or both.

His introduction was.. unexpected. Not wrong per se, just oddly informal.. almost outdated. Granted, Lysander had grown more accustomed to the cutthroat cadence of Desevro, to words shared among marauders who took what they wanted, when they wanted.
The sequence ended after a final swing, mindful of his surroundings. He exhaled a gentle breath, then another.. chest rising and falling. Beads of sweat trickled down the teen's temple.

A pivot on the heel allowed him to face the other man with a calm demeanor.

“Lysander von Ascania.”

Fabric parted and a saber caught the light. Clear enough.. someone not pretending to be unarmed certainly narrowed things.

On Korriban, he learned that anyone stepping onto the training grounds was capable of violence.

“You honor me, Sars Sarad.” The words were courteous; his fingertip never left the pommel.

A wry smile touched his scar.

“Tapani culture favors directness, or so I’ve been told. But I have no pressing obligations today, so I’m inclined to hear what else you may have to say.”

Though, if a contest was sought, that could be arranged too.

 

[Sars Sarad]

A moment of recognition crossed his features upon hearing the name.

Von Ascania; he'd heard of a Corazona von Ascania who was aligned with the High Republic. He wondered if this man, Lysander von Ascania was a relation of hers. Having never met the woman before he had no idea if there was a close or distant familial connection or nothing at all but that was no matter.

Sarad rarely heard that he honored anyone. Those who knew of him understood that he often traveled from one place to another, led by invisible tethers and trails of the force.

When Sarad arrived it was often to test himself not to make conversation.

Tapping the hilt of his lightsaber he stepped onto the training circle, crossing the threshold as it were before making a slow circle around Lysander.

Observing the other mans movement but also his weapon Sarad eventually remarked...

"Your sword is large, unwieldly for most men unless they can maneuver it into a rhythm that favors the long and continuous momentum it would benefit from."

...he sensed that there was more to it than that as well, Sith Alchemy left a mark on its creation which meant it would be tainted by the darkside.

As Sarad moved, carefully continuing his circle which was meant to take him to the right of Lysander as he attempted to slowly round the man his duster would have shifted revealing a pair of vibroblades. The Long Knives were set into his belt on his left hip, opposite the lightsaber; revealed before disappearing again when the duster shifted back into place.

There was something else too. Something about the sword. Sarad narrowed his eyes.

Jaw setting he eventually asked...

"What is it about your sword?"

...he seemed to be in thought, speaking aloud in inquiry even though he was already attempting to decipher it himself...

"What did you forge it out of?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sars Sarad​

A shallow dip of the chin followed as the man crossed into the circle. Such was a courtesy Lysander rarely extended.. even among his own kind, the Sith. That wasn’t to say he yet placed the man’s allegiance. But the gesture came anyway.

“It took a long time to learn where that rhythm lives,” the sentence followed naturally. And honest too.

“The sword is an interesting relationship, you could say. I favor it because it doesn’t let me negotiate with my own mistakes.. it’s unforgiving. When I’m tired, it’s the first thing to remind me. It doesn’t like being lied to.”

Emerald orbs of focus tracked his passage, pupils adjusting for distance.

Opposite from the saber were vibroblades. Perhaps, a rare breed amid those who hoped so blindly for victory, for there were many, from the Core to the Outer Rim.

Furthermore, those blades were even a welcome sight; Nightstar was a cruel answer to lightsabers.

A Jedi killer.

Hips stayed neutral; only the gaze moved, rising slowly to meet Sarad’s once more.

There was no reason to lie; for all his Dark traits, he was quite terrible when it came to manipulation. “Her heart is made of songsteel. Encased in phrik.” A slow breath released from his nose. “Cortosis.. and alchemy.”

One corner of his mouth tilted upward. “Before all this, another lifetime ago, it was fencing. If you’d care to honor the old ways, it would begin with a salute.”

The man was older, experience etched into him.. but Lysander was no novice. Youngest competitor in the Galactic Kaggath, apprentice to its champion, multiple wars fought beneath Sith banners, and somehow.. still standing.

“If you’re looking for a test, you’ll find I’m worth your time.”

 

[Sars Sarad]

Footsteps ceased.

A Brow raised after Lysander explained the forging and composition of his weapon.

A Shake of the head accompanied a brief chuckle, Sarad wasn't known for showing levity and it was disappointment not mirth that wreathed the sound before he replied...

"An impressive blade, all those metals mixed together and encased in alchemy. Doubtless you might scratch beskar with it."

...he'd continue the slow circling steps that he'd ceased only moments ago wanting to carry himself back around to the fore so that he was standing ahead of Lysander von Ascania again, squaring with the man...

"It is disappointing to hear that you have a fondness for cortosis though. Are you so uncertain about your level of skill that you would take victory through trickery and an opportune deactivation of your opponents weapon?"

A Hand, his right curled around the cylinder at his hip before removing it.

The Lightsaber ignited in a blaze of phosphorescent light that blazed, radiating with unnatural heatwaves distorting the air between them.

He'd flourish the weapon, taking it into an agile display similar to a figure-eight pattern that ended with it at shoulder height stretching across from one shoulder to the next in a horizontal arc before the blade angled towards Lysander.

Sarad's left foot slid backwards slightly bringing his right side into lead, the foot rotating outwards...

"Who is your Master?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sars Sarad​

The corner of his mouth would ease back into something more quiet. More calm. But the scar on his face pulled as another thought passed. Emerald followed movement, his patience was of something accustomed to tracking trajectories.

Scratch was a curious choice of word. Of course, an accusation followed after. Nevertheless, Lysander was willing to truly consider the question. How many times had heard that Sith favored shortcuts? That preparation was cowardice? Yet, the Sith were in a Golden Age, for Ashla's ever faithful were dropping like nerf flies in every sector these days.

Now, most had been pressed into the Republic, where the great harvest would one day be reaped.

“I’ve stood beside Jedi who spoke of compassion, only to step away when it became inconvenient.. just as I’ve bled next to Sith who decided to stay even when the odds were far from survivable.”

When the man came back around to square with him, Lysander adjusted unconsciously. Chin lifted a fraction. An old habit, born from fencing salles.. later refined in harsher places.

“Perhaps, there was a time when I was foolish enough to believe combat was some kind of test.. one of purity, if you will. Now I just see it as what survives.”

Beyond Light and Dark, it was family that came first. The entire galaxy was burning, and somehow, he found himself with something else to live for.

"I fight to make sure I’m still standing at the end of the day.”

Steaks of light followed, and there was a challenge in the angle of that blade.. an invitation. An outstretched finger curled around the handle of Nightstar, before bringing it before his body.

Another question was waiting.

" Mercy ."

He let that one rest, only long enough.

Straightening, an open hand rose, to rest over his heart. Or.. what remained of it. The salute he had spoken of only moments earlier. Before blades would begin to dance.

"I'm curious, Sars. Everyone carries a reason. What is it you fight for?"

 

[Sars Sarad]

A Nod, acknowledgement. He'd heard of Mercy though he'd never met her. Perhaps one day if the force deigned to lead him to her like it had lead him to Lysander.

As for the rest he was neither Jedi nor Sith. He carried neither admiration nor contempt for either philosophy. None of that mattered to him.

Focusing on Lysander von Ascania beyond the hum of his lightsaber and the heatwaves distorting the immediate picture stretching beyond he'd have replied...

"I fight because I can."

...not the entire truth and not a lie. His philosophy was one that was difficult to understand once someone had aligned themselves with another doctrine. To Sarad self knowledge was paramount and knowing one self was most keenly enabled in combat. It had been this way stretching all the way back to the Brotherhood of the Maw when he'd first begun.

The Lightsaber snapped, its tip aimed towards Lysander's collarbone as it ran parallel to the tightly packed sand of the training ground.

Footsteps, forwards momentum began Sarad's advance crossing the distance between them as he lead with his right side on an angle and his left foot trailed in the rear.

His left hand lingered near his hip.

Energy crackled, the blade of the lightsaber blazed with the phosphorescent glow as it aimed towards its target.

Outstretched it would eventually make contact with Lysander unless he moved or parried...

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sars Sarad​

The moment for talk passed.

His gaze bypassed the weapon at first, and would settle on the man’s shoulders. Like the first links in a chain, sometimes they whispered warnings of intent before plasma could speak any truth.

Lysander’s heels rooted into the ground, knees softening, lowering his center of gravity just enough that his sword would find its true purpose. The adjustments were small. His spine straightened, and arms fell loose at his sides for only a breath, before Nightstar pressed higher.

He began to rotate the blade by degrees, the flat of it shifting just enough to receive the line and carry it aside. So, it met the plasma from an angle, mainly to deny its center, and guiding the strike away from his collarbone. From there, his lead foot slipped a step offline, hips following. The teen’s arms were supple, elbows close. It was more of a correction than a block.. an elegant maneuver, one of the few movements from that form that could be adapted to his unconventional weapon.

His sword lifted just enough to suggest a line, a feint carried by the wrists. At the same time, he pivoted on his lead foot, hips rotating to draw him while the blade rolled. Then his weight settled onto his rear foot, a place he felt comfortable, inviting Sars to step in once more.

The feeling out phase was not finished.

 

[Sars Sarad]

Crackling energy was the telltale sign when a lightsaber met anything it couldn't chew through completely.

Sparks erupted as plasma blade and sword made contact however it was brief.

One move inevitably lead to the next.

As Lysander von Ascania went to guide Sarad's strike away from his collarbone the lightsaber was already disengaging. Whipping away, back and around on an angle that let Sarad wind it behind himself until it came back around over his left shoulder. Rolling his wrist inwards his right elbow would cock upwards over his shoulder and the lightsaber would flick downwards to pass over Lysander's right shoulder in an angled blow meant to catch him across the back of the shoulder-blade while he reset.

The plasma blade had all the signs of something that was unstable after the brief contact yet it hadn't fizzled out.

And the rest?

Sarad hadn't broken from his right sided lead, his left foot remained at the rear and turned outwards.

His left hand still hovered near the outside of his hip.

He'd inched closer, as one might expect without breaking his momentum only lessening it.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sars Sarad
​

Instincts snapped to attention, acutely aware that he was facing a weapon with speed that eclipsed his own. Given the nature of the Covenant, that familiar hiss nearby, was routine these days. Almost like some grim melody he'd learned to anticipate..

The right shoulder shifted forward, ribs tightening in response, while his spine stretched upright. Lysander's weight shifted back onto his heels as he stepped back several paces.

Though parts of the training ground were unfamiliar to him, he would just have to trust it would not betray him. Peripheral focus registered the hand edging closer to the man's left side. Lysander doubted that was by accident.

He’d seen the change in the plasma blade, the instability; it would have been possible to press it, to force a parry and perhaps shorten it for good, but he hadn’t.

The backward motion eased until it came to halt. The sword remained low, untouched by any strike; his arm snapped out instead, the blade’s tip rushing forward. This was no full lunge, which would’ve been evident in the lack of commitment from his torso as well.

The motion was meant to maintain distance and little else.. a modest probe to potentially lure him in still; Lysander was in no rush.

​

 

[Sars Sarad]

He didn't press the attack after his opponent moved to create distance.

Anticipating that Lysander might attempt to lure him in Sarad shifted his weight back onto his left foot so that as the probing thrust delivered by the other man came he could pivot.

Using his left foot as the pivot point his right side, which had lead would sweep backwards to further open distance between the two of them leaving the sword to stab at air.

Avoidance rather than direct engagement could be a tool in this specific instance.

As he settled into a left side lead Sarad would note that it afforded his lightsaber time to stabilize whereas to press the attack without a clear opening to exploit may have risked contact and the shorting of his primary weapon.

Sarad measured the durability of his lightsaber against the cortosis imbued in Lysander von Ascania 's blade theorizing that it could withstand a single heavy, prolonged contact and potential two briefer ones before shorting out.

After he'd created distance Sarad did not advance again. Instead he maintained his lead with his left side, hand still hovering near his hip while his lightsaber positioned itself at an angle across his midsection, parallel with the ground but aimed towards Lysander. Gazing across at his opponent it was clear he was examining him closely...

"Not bad."

...he'd admit...

"At least a score of opponents have fallen to that very move."

...not mere troopers either but experienced duelists.

Side stepping he began a slow outside circle to the left of Lysander to take him off the line with the man.