Private Measured and Weighed

[Ghruna]

Naamino Zuukamano

The sparring hall was always busy. Along one wall was a rank of training sabers, designed to sting rather than cut. Along the other was the waiting area. Any acolyte watching could be drawn into the arena. Only full Knights could walk through the crowds in the robes and observe uninterrupted.

There were several rings, but they were simple circles on the shallow sand. Fights could turn nasty, blood could be spilled. Some of the sand was already dark.

Ghruna knew she was supposed to be learning technique. She had been told it more than once.

The air smelled of sweat and ozone, the residue of earlier sessions still clinging to the space. The sparring sabers rarely burned clean.

She walked away from her last fight, kicking the sand in anger. Losing the last sparring match, she had turned it into a grapple. Rolling in the sand, others had intervened and dragged them apart. She had - in no uncertain terms - been declared the loser.

She rolled her shoulders once, loosening muscle, and waited.

"Cool off and you can go again," someone told her.

She barred her teeth and stalked away. Embarassment that she wouldn't admit had turned to a flash of hot rage. Anger needed to be controlled. She had been told that enough times too.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Naami had decided to stay a while on Desevro. Not long of course, but enough to really get the lay of the land and have something substantial to report back to his Master in the Order. It didn’t hurt that he’d missed his fellow Badawans Lys and Varin badly. So of course he sought out ways to stay busy, and training never ended when one was a Sith Apprentice. Not until he’d mastered every form demanded of him and unlocked his every Force ability would he be satisfied.

Icy blue eyes observed the sparring hall, cold observation and haughty judgement forthcoming for most of what he saw. Naamino could rarely find his equal amongst students anymore.

Ghruna’s match that devolved into wrestling caught his attention. Like a patient Tuk’ata stalking prey he witnessed the intervention and the way the big horned woman stalked away. There was someone that might test his skills, might benefit from his time as a teacher’s assistant too. It didn’t hurt his opinion of her that she had horns. Not as noble as a zabrak, surely, but there was some small kinship to be found in all horned folk.

Pushing off the wall, he strode parallel to her for a bit until an opening in the hallway meant that he could approach her for a spar without disrupting others.

”Oi!” Naami called in a deep, barking voice.

”You don’t look like you want a break. Have a go at me? I can handle it.”

 

[Ghruna]

Ghruna took a moment to react. She hadn't gone far. Far enough to kick some sand in anger again.

Ghruna was still working breath back into her chest. She stopped mid-stride and looked back at Naamino Zuukamano

There was a flash of annoyance at first.

You can handle it can you?

Then she remembered his hunting prowess. He had seemed assured of himself then as he did now. Even if he was small and had tiny, pointless horns.

"I don't," she said plainly to his first remark.

Her gaze flicked to the sparring circles for a moment finding a free space, then returned to him.

She stepped closer and looked down at him. He was actually quite broad, muscular across the arms. Her tail swayed once before she stilled it again.

"I do not pull blows," she warned. He had seen her fight and lose, but she couldn't help the bravado.

She straightened and squared her shoulders. He looked more balanced that her. Maldrani kept growing until they were in their middle years, even females. She looked gangly at her height at eighteen.

She turned and headed for a free circle.

Oi… draun, na oi khraun she muttered on her way.

She stood at the coarse stone line rising from the sand and drew the training lightsaber. She thumbed it on. Like her own, it was a long blade with a half and a half sized grip.

She held it in a mid guard, but had adapted to point the tip of the blade a little lower.

"Ready?"

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

The zabrak merely followed in silence, unhurried and unbothered by her apparent gruff temperament. As they faced each other she could almost certainly see two saber hilts clipped to his belt, but the man reached instead for the weapon sheathed on his back: a zhaboka.

As he drew it, the blades extended and snapped into their full length. It would likely make up for their size difference since it gave him reach, and it was an exotic weapon that would likely require heightened expertise to wield. Naamino squared his stance with hers, leaving roughly two long strides between them. His stance was open, the foremost blade angled up, and his form at ease. Naami’s horned head nodded an affirmative to her question and he awaited her first move.

 

[Ghruna]

Ghruna’s eyes dropped briefly to the weapon as Naamino Zuukamano drew it.

The zhaboka snapped open with a hiss, blades extending into a shape she had only seen at a distance before. Her attention sharpened immediately.

Ghruna rolled her neck once, loosening muscle, and widened her stance. Her boots grounded against the floor, weight settling low and forward the way she had been taught as a child.

She was not a patient creature. She didn't take the time to think about the strengths and weaknesses of a double-bladed sword.

Her hands flexed once, fingers curling and uncurling as she measured distance. The instinct to charge tugged at her.

Her tail have a flick.

Ghruna stepped in hard, her blade flicking up and then coming aback down. There wasn't much style, but plenty of strength behind that opening strike.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Mouth set in a neutral line, Naami’s eyes narrowed as she moved. His response was in lockstep, sharp tip of his weapon darted down and guided her strike to the side in an attempt to open her flank.

The zabrak whirled, fast for a man of his size, and went for a stab at her ribs. His guard remained up as he tested the waters, not yet slipping into continuous maneuvering.

 

[Ghruna]

Naamino Zuukamano

The pressure came sharp and fast, his strike clean, pushing her swing aside with more precision than she expected.

Then the follow-up came in. He looked athletic, but he was quick too. He stabbed in toward her ribs like he already knew the opening would be there.

Ghruna turned with the blow, not back but in, stepping inside the angle to catch the haft of the zhaboka with her forearm. It burned across her bracer but didn’t break through.

A half-second adjustment. A sharp grunt of breath. And frustration.

The double edged sword would come around with danger from the other side to that which he used to block.

Her jaw tightened.

She gave him less to measure her by.

Her next strike came low and hopefully unexpected; a boot aimed at his forward leg. Not a kick to hurt him, but to disrupt his balance.

Ghruna followed through with her body behind it, not a flurry, not elegant, just force applied with focus. She tried to go between the dangerous blades and put her should and weight to the middle of his staff - or his face.