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If You are Strong, You Live. If You are Weak...

V I C E L O R D
Writer
In the middle of the Desert, Tatooine
Blistering was the only word adequate enough to describe the environment that the Mandalorian now found himself within. Above, twin suns glared down upon him; mercilessly assaulting his armored form with hundreds of degrees worth of heat. What's more, the ocean of sand upon which he tread was of the brightest hue imaginable and reflected the same heat; as if to spite his body intentionally. There was no wind, for that would be a concession of mercy...and the desert was ignorant to the meaning of the word. Some would wonder, "Why would any man willingly leap into the jaws of hell?" For those weak, or sane, the answer would be obvious: "There is no reason, under the Sun, why any man would subject themselves to this Torment."

However, Isley Verd prided himself on being strong; and these days the state of his sanity was...questionable. Perhaps it was the fact that, with each and every day, the Mandalorian delved deeper into the Dark Side of the Force...and that resulted in a phenomenal sum of confidence. Not to be confused with overconfidence, of course; but this was the sort of sureness in one's ability that made them easily recognize the weakness or potential in others. It was this state of mind that inspired the Mandalorian to hold himself back in combat ventures these days. When facing off against an enemy, one on one, Isley found himself pulling punches in order to allow the battles to rage longer. Whether it was against a holdout member of the defunct Sith Empire, or ruffians encountered during side jobs, Isley could not bring himself to go all out at present.

As the fight would end too quickly.

Thus, the Mandalorian sought out a challenge, for it was absolutely unbearable to go on living this way! He searched high and low, and finally discovered one whose might was comprable to his own: a relatively new addition to the Grand Council known as Ket Van Derveld. Isley knew next to nothing about this man, save for the fact that his power was immense...and that was knowledge enough to challenge the man to a battle. Of course, the location would have to be such that collatoral damage would be meaningless, which ruled out a traditional bout within any of the Templar Sanctums. Due to this fact, Isley set his sights upon the most desolate world that came immediately to mind: Tatooine, and designated it to be the site of their clash.

And so, the Mandalorian was the first to arrive at the designated point, which was the ruins of a city wrought from stone and clay. It had long-since been abandoned for eons; last inhabited when the world was a utopia of water and vegetation. Here, the two Masters of the Templar Order could finally let loose and fight to the very apex of their abilities. Here, Isley could finally live out the creed which had slowly, but surely, formed within the rear of his mind in order to validate his very existence. "If one is Strong, he lives. If one is Weak, he dies. The Weak only exist as sustainence for the Strong."

@[member="Ket Van Derveld"].
 

Limelight

Junior Member
Writer
The Twin Suns of the most famous planet in the Galaxy; Tatooine. As much of a backwater world as it was, it was known by anyone with a connection the Force, and most without. High sand dunes the streched on for miles, water coming from moisture farms, and any single thing your greedy little minds could want, you can find. It was once called a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and even now, centuries later, that still held true. This was the epicenter of the galaxy to most minds, even if it lay within the Outter Rim. A world where only the strong could survive, and the weak were nothing more than pack mules whose existence meant little to nothing at all save the labor they provided. Such was a world where the Darkside was strong, where it fed and grew fatter by the hour on the hoplessness of the lost, innocent souls whom found themselves staring into it's abyssal maw. A world that would just as soon as eat you alive and spit you out as bones with nary a thought.

This was where Ket Van Derveld had learned all life's lessons. The Hard Way.

He could feel the Force call to him. A challenge that crossed across the stars themselves, seeking him out like a wildfire that burned brightly within the counduits of the Force. Such was a thing that would make lesser men slink away into the realm of darkness, hiding from the immense beauty that such a thing held. Men like Ket did not shy away from such things. No, they embraced them with open arms, ran into them willingly like the caress of a lover whom no other could hope to equal. This was the world of the fighters, the World Warriors. Those who sought out challenges not for personal glory, or for galactic accolades, but sought to challenge themselves. To see if they were ready for the next step, to see if they were worthy.

It was here, upon the dunes of Tatooine, that Ket walked with sigular purpose. Isley Verd, second to the Archon of the Confederacy, sought such a challenge. He sought to prove himself, to unleash himself upon another being with no restraint. He looked for a release, and Ket would answer the call. A release he wanted? Then a release he would have. The midnight black cloak Ket wore these recent nights was unclasped with a quick motion, falling to the sands below his feet. Armor was shed, a piece at a time until all that was left was a pair of black leather boots, and form fitting leathers that had been worn down over the years. His upper was bare, the countless tattoos, brands, and scars there for all to see, like a tapestry of his life to be read by those who knew just what they were. Sapphire eyes looked to Isley, as lime green blades ignited from saberhilts that slid down into Ket's hands from the forearm holsters they normally resided in. To Isley, he uttered but a few words...


"Are you good enough to fight with me?"
 
V I C E L O R D
Writer
Patience was heralded to be a virtue: something that all men should possess, nurture, and cherish. However, this was not the case for the Mandalorian, for he was the definition of the opposite. Patience was something that eluded him immensely...but fortune smiled upon him this day, and the answer to his challenge arrived only a few moments after Isley's boots came to a halt. He had stopped within the ruins of old and relished the momentary reprieve from the wrath of the dual suns. Silence ruled the entirety of the city, save for the rattling of a snake's tail every so often. Soon, this quiet was shattered by the footsteps of another being whose presence in the Force was as large as a mountain. The beginnings of a smile curved into existence from behind the Mandalorian's beskar helmet and he turned to face the one who had arrived.

Isley made his silent assessment as his eyes scanned his opponent up and down. The first thing that stood out was a vast sum of similarity, for Ket and Isley were alike in a single regard: their confidence. Hell, if not for the fact that it damn near went against everything that the warrior knew as a Mandalorian, he'd have stripped down to his trousers as well, just to "call" Ket's display. However, the sum of the disrobing that Isley partook in consisted of the lowering of his hood and the unclasping of his cloak entirely. He freed it from his shoulders, allowing it to slump to the sands below; kicking up a small cloud of dust. The Mandalorian then shrugged off the jetpack that was concealed underneath his cloak, allowing it to slump to a halt next to it; followed by his grenades and other "nick-knacks".

The final removal consisted of Isley reaching up and sliding his helmet off of his head, to which he knelt and neatly placed it upon the ground. All in all, the only things that the Mandalorian kept on his person were his now-empty utility belt and the trio of lightsabers which hung from it. At the behest of the Force, he telekinetically summoned his favored of the three to his right hand: Tal'galar, his saberstaff, and ran his finger over the first ignition. Snap. Hiss. A blood crimson blade of pure plasma erupted forth from the hilt and was held at the ready by the Mandalorian. Then, with Darkness-stained eyes glaring into those of his opponent, Isley answered the inquiry of his opponent. The response was not that of his mouth forming words into Galactic Basic and uttering them as a pride-filled retort.

No, this answer was born entirely of the Force.

The Mandalorian first took a swan-dive deep into himself and sank into that deep, dark corner of his mind where all that was sordid resided. He then liberated the sea of negativity from its captivity at the rear of his psyche, allowing the black to spread forth like a raging toxin that soon saturated every fiber of his being and mind. Isley then opened himself, fully, to the flow of the Force. With "arms" wide open, he received the full might of its presence, allowing it to surge forth from beyond the reach of insensitive men in order to fill him to the brim with its power. Like a tsunami breaking against an unsuspecting shore, the Dark Side of the Force fell upon the Mandalorian and this manifested in the answer to Ket's inquiry. Isley leaned back his head, spaced his legs apart, and opened his mouth.

There was a sound of thunder.

A chaotic din of Dark-born fury erupted from his lips: a terrible Bellow born of the Force whose might was such that the very foundations of the buildings shuddered. A symphony of cracking stone filled the air alongside his roar, as the sheer might of it caused the sand about him to flatten; as if compacted by something with a mighty mass. Then, almost as swiftly as it had begun, the Bellow ceased and the Mandalorian righted himself, sliding his feet into the entrance stance of the lightsaber form known as Juyo.

"Come."

@[member="Ket Van Derveld"].
 

Limelight

Junior Member
Writer
The thunder of the Darkside echoed across the dunes, slamming into buildings and structures scattered across this dusty town like a tidal wave. Yet, there Ket stood, the force of the scream rippling his skin, yet, he did not move. He moved for no man, not even one as powerful as his opponent. His sabers cracked and sparked, a rare sight in a single blade, let alone two. Isley had removed his helmet, but Ket thought it almost an insult that the rest of his armor had not followed suit. A sign of disrespect to one as seasoned as he... a sign of weakness. It spoke to Ket, it told him that whilst the man that faced him respected his power, he feared him. Ket sought no fear this day, he sought a challenge. A proper challenge did not involve the Besker armor of a Mandolorian. Perhaps he would simply relieve Isley of his armor himself.

Ket began to focus on the Force, letting the Dark Conduits he knew so well guide him. Within the Force, Ket reached out, sensing all that was around him, focusing himself at Isley. Ket looked upon the armor, sensing it's structure, seeing through that how it was made. He could see the repairs Isley had made over time, the weak points, it's strength's. Like fault lines in the tectonic plates of a planet's continents, Ket could see Isley's Beskar'gam for what is was; something made by man's hand, and like man, all the inherent flaws it contained. Reaching out, he poured the Force into those weak points, concentrating until nothing but the armor and it's wearer were the only things apparent to him. Suddenly, and without warning, that armor began to crack and separate, it's Shatterpoint now completely and utterly exposed to him.
 
V I C E L O R D
Writer
The Mandalorian could feel the ebb and flow of the Force brimming forth from his opponent. He recognized its touch washing over his armor like waves, but the result was of the likes he had never seen. Isley had placed immense value in his armor. It distinguished who he was; it was his identity within his people, it was...an extension of who he was. Then, in the blink of an eye, the nearly indestructible beskar began to crack under the Shatterpoint launched by his opponent. In but the span of seconds, fissures erupted about the plates of beskar, spurning the Mandalorian to respond quickly as to save whatever portion of his armor that he could. With both hands thrust forward, he called upon the full might of the Force and let loose a wall of telekinetic might.

It surged forth and crossed the distance between Masters and was poised to impact his opponent with bone-shattering force. Isley hoped that this tactic was enough to liberate some portion of armor from its doom, for the entirety of his torso and thigh plates had crumbled away. Significant cracks had formed upon the remainder of the plates of beskar, but they had yet to utterly crumble to pieces like the main portions of his armor. The fact was...Isley saw this as an act of war, to say the very least. Any individual with a brain between their ears knew of the value the sons and daughters of Mandalore placed upon their armor; and as such Isley took this as a personal slap in the face. His anger was much akin to a raging inferno, ignited by pouring fuel upon embers.

Frustration. Hatred. Every negative thought clouded the Mandalorian's aura as he pumped the Force through his extremeties, relying upon the enigmatic entity to empower his limbs in order to produce swiftness and strength. With this might in hand, he charged forward; kicking up a cloud of dirt in his wake. His forceborn footsteps thumped quickly upon the sand and Isley concluded his charge with a leap, intentionally moving past the Master with his saber in a guarded position. Coming to a swift halt two paces behind the man, Isley began his assault; aiming a swift blow with his saber at the man's flank. Ket had managed to achieve something that very few within the Galaxy could dream of doing...

He had pissed Isley Verd the Kark off.

@[member="Ket Van Derveld"].
 

Limelight

Junior Member
Writer
Ket could feel the anger falling off Isley, like the waves of a giant tsunami, it hit like a tidal wave. He had struck a chord, and he could tell this was not a chord many could hope to pluck. Within moments, the Dread Lord came barreling toward him like a stampeding rancor, and twice as angry. But as Ket was well versed in the ways of the Mando'a, he expected a response much like the one he'd received. Deftly, Ket raised his left arm up,m arching it behind his head, barely parrying the blow to his flank in time. Turning his head, he showed no emotion whatsoever as he spoke to Isley.

"It seems you now have the proper motivation, Lord Verd. Now we shall see what you are truly capable of. Shall we begin?"

As saber blades crackled in chaotic harmony with one another, Ket called upon the Dark Conduits of the Force, feeding off the anger of his opponent like a 7 course meal fit for a king. Using it to enhance the natural ability that resided within him, he pushed up with his right foot, flipping himself heel over head, his left boot heel aiming at the Mando'a's forehead. Whilst doing so, his own saber began to shove Isely's saber blade to his right side, where his other saber would be waiting.

@[member="Darth Metus"]
 
V I C E L O R D
Writer
Proper motivation?!

The Sith knew exactly what to say and how to say it to pour gasoline on the burning inferno that was the Mandalorian's fury. In but an instant, the Lord Inquisitor deflected his initial strike with his blade, then bounded head over heel. Isley barely had enough time to raise his offhand in opposition to the boot that came crashing down. Causing him to stumble back ever so slightly. In the meantime, Ket's second blade came roaring forth, whilst his first moved Isley's to the right. It was only by the grace of the Force that the weapon was a saberstaff, for sliding his finger over the second ignition parried the blow in the nick of time. However, space was something that the Mandalorian needed, and as such he utilized telekinesis and the environment to his advantage.

With a grunt of exersion, the Mandalorian projected a wall of telekinetic force point-blank. It was enough to, easily, send an adult man skidding back several feet with sand as the terrain...in addition to doing the same for it's caster. Isley's form slid back, as desired, kicking up a small cloud of dirt as he moved away from his opponent. Thinking quickly, he then moved his ofhand in the incantationatory manner instructed by Adas himself and then thrust it forward, roaring the incantation. The fury burning within him was more than enough to fuel the spell, and from the depths of the sand burst forth tendrils born of pure dark side energy. Three in number, they lashed out in attempts to lacerate and reduce the Sith Master to nothing more than a memory.

@[member="Ket Van Derveld"].
 
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