Duel Honing Instincts to a Razor's Edge

[Vael Saren]

Secondary Tag: First Reply (Looking for a One-on-One, training-style scrap)

The wind whispered around the man in silver armor as he hovered wordlessly at the center of the training arena. The fabric of his cloak and kama gently floated with him. Using the Force, he silently rebuilt his lightsaber - a typical Jedi meditation practice. Underneath his beskar helm, unseen by the world, his face was serene. He had no thoughts on his mind, save what was shortly to come.

His message had been clear. Test your mettle against a Mandalorian trained in the Jedi Arts - First Come, First Served. Full Contact. He needed to keep his skills and wits sharp. Training droids were one thing, but he needed the challenge of another sentient being. If he was going to stay at his best, he could settle for nothing less. His back was to the entryway, but the area was not soundproofed. He would hear anyone approaching if they did not announce themselves first, looking for the element of surprise.

The final pieces of his saber snapped into place. Now complete, the blade of his weapon ignited, filling the room with its ethereal green glow. At the same time, he heard someone approaching. Would they announce themselves? Or would they go for the sneak attack? He quietly prepared himself for either possibility as he strapped the lightsaber back onto his belt and checked his other weapons.

Shield? Check.

Vambrace vibroblade? Check.

Boot vibrodagger? Check.

Blaster? Check.

Fibercord whip launcher, flamethrower? Check and check.

He was ready.

 

[Braze]

"You sure you wanna do this?" came a squeaky voice with a slightly boyish edge to it.

"Full contact can be kinda rough," he added softly. The figure was diminutive in stature, dressed in simple clothes with no real form of armor. They were slender and almost delicate-looking, but the few scars on their face spoke of a more seasoned past.

Vael Saren

 

[Vael Saren]

The voice sounded younger than he was expecting, but the words that voice used were of someone with experience. He reserved his judgement - combat would tell Vael everything he needed to know about his newfound sparring partner.

"Full contact is the only way to get the real measure of a person," he retorted, "Besides, this way, I'll know my opponent will fight like they mean it. Which is exactly what I want." He turned to face his would-be foe, taking a measure of him from behind his helmet.

He was only barely a full-grown adult, by Vael's reckoning, about half a head shorter than the Mandalorian with a slender build that belied the power he could feel within. The Force was indeed strong in this young man. And despite his apparent youth, he had the scars of a warrior. He nodded, content with the outcome of his challenge. This challenger would do well, he thought.

"In any event, perhaps introductions are in order before we get started. I am Vael Saren, son of Mandalore and former Padawan at a lost Jedi Enclave." He bowed to his opponent, trying to show respect. "I seek now an opponent who will test my abilities and keep my fighting capabilities honed to a fine edge. I hope, if you should be my opponent, that I do the same for you. Come... let us be the grindstones upon which we sharpen each others edges."

 

[Braze]

Tags: Vael Saren ​

“You know, it’s funny how many people say and believe that,” Braze chirped in reply, tilting his head before falling quiet to listen.

Combat could be a decisively cruel mistress. Victory did not always belong to the better fighter. Other elements pressed their weight against the scale: speed, power, flexibility; timing and technique; stamina that outlasted the burn in one’s lungs; pain endured without complaint; wit sharpened by wisdom, and wisdom earned the hard way.

He lifted a closed fist to his open palm and bowed in turn, “You may call me Braze,” he offered simply.

One foot slid back across the ground, almost idle in its grace. He raised a hand, palm upward in invitation, while his right tucked behind the small of his back, adopting an odd martial stance that appeared entirely at ease. Shoulders loose… chin angled just so… breath steady.

“As you wish. I will assist you in refining your art,” Braze called. “Though it would help if you told me what kind of opponent you wish to practice against.”

There was nothing careless in him despite the relaxed posture. He was quick of limb and in thought, flexible as a willow reed; he favored precision over brute force, angles over impact, adaptation over pride. He preferred to slip where others struck, to redirect rather than contest.

And yet he did not so much as blink at the suggestion of facing a fully armored Mandalorian while wearing no protection himself.

 

[Vael Saren]

"I didn't specify who should come," he replied, "because I wanted it to be a surprise. I need to be able to think on the fly - deal with whatever sort of opponent might come my way. Any Mandalorian worth his armor should be capable of handling the unknown, and I always aim to be worthy of this." He tapped his chestplate. In the same motion, he reached up and unclasped his cloak, letting it fall to the ground. "You look ready. Good. You're welcome to come at me with whatever you wish: fists, weapons, powers. Just know that I will respond in kind. Neither of us should be seeking to seriously hurt the other, but I do not use practice weapons. When I strike, it is real. Be ready."

Vael dropped into a more traditional martial stance, curled fists and raised guard, one foot slightly behind and turned outward. Where Braze's stance appeared to flow like water, Vael's was solid like stone. He approached slowly, deliberately, watching for any sort of movement from the other man. He threw out a jab, testing the waters. There was no reason to take this too quickly. Now was the time for testing. Soon, the real fight would begin.

Braze

 

[Braze]

Tags: Vael Saren ​

Braze watched him approach with steady focus, measuring distance, studying the line of his shoulders and hips, noting the precise alignment of his center. To an Echani, the body spoke first; every tightening muscle, every subtle shift of weight, whispered intent before action ever arrived.

He raised his hand in a smooth, redirecting block, guiding the jab just off its intended path rather than meeting it head on. In the same breath he dropped, pivoting sharply into a spinning sweep, with terrifying speed snapping through the motion as his leg cut low across the space where the Mandalorian's balance rested, aiming to take his feet from beneath him.

 

[Vael Saren]

Vael felt Braze's leg make contact with his, and then his weight shifted out from under him. He leaned back into the fall, rolling out and onto his feet in a low crouch. With the same sort of speed the younger man had just boasted, he launched himself forward shoulder-first. His aim was to plant his weight into Braze's midsection and drive the breath out of him.

The boy had skill, that much he could tell. Many foes would have tried to block that first punch, rather than redirect it. Even with the restraint he used in throwing the jab, catching a gauntlet of pure beskar was foolish, and the average fighter would have paid for it. Not this one, though. Whoever the young man had trained under had taught him well.

 

[Braze]

Tags: Vael Saren ​

Watching his opponent lean into the fall and recover with a smooth back roll told him enough. There was training there, some discipline beneath the armor, and that pleased him to see.

The forward charge, though… that drew the faintest smile across the half-Echani's face.

Braze shifted onto the balls of his feet, and at the last possible breath he slipped aside, a crescent step carving him off the line of attack as the Mandalorian rushed past. Air stirred where he had stood a heartbeat before.

Mandalorians were formidable opponents, armed with an arsenal of all manners of entertaining tools. Disarming such accoutrements was fundamentally a sound tactic if it could be managed. Removing it was often wiser than trading blows, as mobility often decided battles. In those precious seconds as they passed one another, Braze cast a quick glance along his opponent's back, searching for a jetpack housing, latches, vents, or magnetic seals.

His opponent was wearing a kama, and kamas often shielded the legs from the jetpack's heat; he had half expected to see a jet pack there.

If there was a pack he would need to recognize the model, or at least how it was secured, before he could devise an effective means of disabling it. Ideally it sat high on his list of priorities. Mobility in three dimensions granted freedom of angle and retreat. Remove that and the field of battle narrowed considerably and became more manageable.

He however did not attack again right away, at least not physically, "Tell me… do they train you to think, or to just charge in and hope for the best? " Braze's blade was not the only thing that knew how to find an opening, his tongue fenced just as deftly.

 

[Vael Saren]

"Cheeky..." he grunted, rising back to full height, "A charge may be a simple maneuver, but one must never dismiss a strategy just because it's basic." He brought his guard back up, slowly circling around Braze.

The young man would see nothing on Vael's back but the backstrap of his bandolier. The fluctuations in the air would have clued him in, though. The Mandalorian had used a similar application of Force Power to launch himself that Braze had to give his leg sweep that added speed. His talk of Jedi training had not just been hot air.

"If you're beyond the basics, let's see you handle this!" He rushed forward again, looking like he was going for the same type of shoulder charge. Only, at the last moment, he jumped over the younger fighter. As he did so, he reached out with the Force once more, releasing a burst of energy, small but powerful, in another attempt to unbalance his foe.

 

[Braze]

Tags: Vael Saren ​

As the Mandalorian vaulted upward, prismatic light rippled into existence, his Forceful blast colliding against a bubble of hardened will already coiled in waiting. The barrier's curved surface caught the surge, shunting it aside rather than absorbing it. The sheer Force of that violent intention being inverted back into empty air as it's energy flared and scattered, denying him purchase.

Braze was already in motion beneath the arc of Vael's ascent as he slipped along the projected landing line as though it had been drawn for him in advance, closing distance before gravity could finish its work. Should the Mandalorian commit to descent, he would find no comfortable ground waiting for him , only close proximity. Should he attempt to correct himself midair, he would be forced to burn more of the momentum he had just paid to create.

The snowy-haired youth never truly slowed from that initial burst of terrifying speed. The acceleration did not spike and fade; it held. A sustained current thrummed through muscle and bone alike, driving him at a tempo that refused to settle back into the stillness that had preceded the first exchange.

It should have been exhausting.

The body was not meant to remain in such a state; with nerves alight, circulation forced to keep pace with demand, heat gathering beneath skin and cloth.

 

[Vael Saren]

Vael smirked a bit beneath the helmet. Any halfway competent Force wielder would have seen that burst coming a mile away. That was exactly why he had done it. He needed his prey on the move again in order to perform his next attack.

As he fell toward the ground, he launched the fibercord whip from his vambrace, using the Force to keep track of his slippery foe. With any luck, he would catch Braze around the waist and tighten the rope. His main goal was to lock the younger Jedi down and force the engagement back onto his terms. If he was moving fast enough, the whip might even stop him with force enough to drive the wind out of him. All the better, in that case.

In any event, the Mandalorian dropped onto his feet and readied himself for another close quarters brawl, whether the whip caught Braze or not.

 

[Braze]

Vael Saren

Braze's body wasn't the only thing functioning at hyper speed. His typically tireless thoughts and tangents, the very the same ones that often overwhelmed him and spilled into awkward, impassioned omissions in social settings... were very often less than ideal. Here they were instead sharpened in the flow state of combat and moving meditation. What scattered his mind elsewhere aligned here; what made him ramble in conversation made him decisive in combat.

He saw the launch of the tether before Vael's boots finished claiming the floor.

The fibercord shot outward even as the Mandalorian's weight was still settling for purchase. Balance and targeting forced to share the same breath. That division was enough to tell Braze he had to have been focusing in two places at once.

Rather than shy away or try to dodge or deflect the attack, Braze embraced it. A saberbreaker gauntlet rose deliberately into the cord's path, allowing the line to kiss metal as it coiled, tension beginning to gather sharply around the appendage.

The barest bracing came from the small waif as he leaned into its pull.

The tightening pull became a pivot point rather than a leash for the smaller, one that he exploited without hesitation or remorse. Braze stepped forward into the draw, collapsing the distance Vael had intended to control. The larger man might win a contest of strength, of that much the youth was sure, so Braze refused to give him one.

Momentum shortened the space between them in a blink of sn eye, as the second saberbreaker gauntlet came up in the same fluid motion, elbow driving forward in a compact arc, aimed sharply for the Mandalorian's helm with as much force as the tethered pull would grant his small frame. He added the briefest of a leap forwards to supply the upward arc, using the line's tension to amplify the strike.

If Vael wished to anchor him, he would have to weather what arrived at the end of that line. The elbow was never meant as a finish but as distraction; as Braze moved through the strike, he guided the tether higher, dragging it from armored chest toward the narrow seam beneath the helm. His weight dropped behind Vael's shoulder in the same motion, attempting to seat the cord across the throat line and turn tension into constriction . This was not meant as a contest of strength, but an effort to cinch leverage where plating gave way and force the larger man to contend with breath and balance at once.

 

[Vael Saren]

Braze was undoubtedly faster. Unarmored and likely half Vael's natural weight besides, it was clear that the Jedi had the speed advantage locked down. Saren was unable to respond until Braze had nearly fully tightened the noose around his neck. Unfortunately for Braze, he had brought himself back into the Mandalorian's melee range and comfort zone. Catching the fibercord with both hands, he used the connection Braze had made by catching the whip and quickly wrenched his body backward. If Braze wanted to ride on Vael's back, he could ride it all the way to the ground. He pulled the whip taut, removing the white-haired boy's slack and attempting to keep him firmly rooted. At the same time, he angled himself in such a way that, if Braze was indeed still connected when they made touchdown, his beskar helm would plant itself firmly somewhere between the Jedi's lungs and colon. Someone had to make the first real hit in the melee, and by the Manda, Saren was determined that it would be him.

 

[Braze]

Vael Saren

Braze felt the wrench of the cord an instant before the full intent of it became clear. The Mandalorian had succeeded in stopping Braze from choking him with his own cord. Braze felt the shift as slack was given right back. He had not landed facing his opponent's back, but rather facing away.

So… that was the answer.

Vael wanted weight, impact, and the comfort of forcing the exchange into a crash. He wanted the ground involved. He wanted momentum to become a weapon. It was a very Mandalorian answer, direct and brutal in its aggressive honesty.

The thought crossed his mind, wondering why the Mandalorian chose to keep the fight tied to the line rather than surrender it. Perhaps this particular armor set did not have a detachable line, or perhaps he lacked wrist blades to cut himself free of his own cord.

The half-Echani did not resist with stubborn strength; that would have been foolish. No, the name of this game had always been leverage. Braze had wanted him to topple backward and fall with him. Balance… that was what Braze had hoped for, what he had been waiting for.

Instead of remaining where he had landed, the smaller fighter moved the moment he interpreted the shift traveling through the cord, stepping to the side.

As Vael hauled backward, Braze stepped aside before it could become a trap of his own making. One hand kept contact on the fibercord while the other flattened briefly against the larger man's lower back plate. His body folded and turned with fluid speed, almost liquid in its precision, continuing his line of motion in an Ataru-like maneuver. He ducked beneath the man's arm and slipped back toward Vael's front, guiding the line further as it wrapped around and secured the Mandalorian's own hands where they were wedged beneath the cord against his chest, attempting to pin them in place rather than be crushed beneath the falling motion.

If the Mandalorian sought to throw himself down hard, he would find Braze trying to spoil the angle—slipping off-center, denying the clean alignment of helm and torso, forcing the collision into an awkward tangle instead of the clean, punishing drop Vael clearly wanted.

His feet barely skimmed the floor before one leg lashed low behind Vael's knee, seeking to hook and buckle at the same moment his hand on the cord gave a sharp guiding pull across the Mandalorian's upper line. No strength against strength… only careful leverage, timing, and too many problems arriving at once.

He would gladly use the slack given to him, snapping the cord outward in a spiraling motion in an attempt to hook one of the man's legs along his foot, on the way down, further entangling him in his own line.

Braze had no intention of dealing deadly force in this sparring match. He was tempering his responses deliberately, shaping the exchange into something challenging rather than destructive, offering an opportunity for the Mandalorian to learn what might work, and what might fail, against a fast, flexible opponent like Braze… one who thought far quicker than most.

Frustrating his opponents was definitely part of this jedis playbook as well. Turning a mandolorian's gear against him served as a fine exercise in mental chess for the half Echani.