Duel No Honor on Veridia

[Braze]

TAGS: Drystan Creed

​

Veridia was a lush, verdant world, a place where life thrived and color spilled from every corner of the landscape. Braze had come here with Okuma Milogen to search for something long lost. But now, unshackled from the man's constant shadow, he had wandered off to walk alone.

He had taken a weather-worn fisherman's ladder down the side of a chalk-white cliff, descending to the sun-warmed sands below. The shore stretched out in long winding curves, with pale soft sand linning the shoreline.

The ocean waves crashed rythmically against the shore spraying foam and fresh salt wair with ever passing wave. Above, the breeze carried a medly of floral scents melding with the fresh sea breeze as blossoms rained from overhead. The wind swayed through the canopie of pink and violet trees that clung to the edges of the cliffs shedding a cascade of petals. They drifted down in languid sheafs painting the shoreline in delicate, scattered hues.

Braze stooped now and then to pick up shells gathering the pretty bespeckled and striped items. The act was oddly calming giving his hands something to do, and kept his thoughts from straying too far inward.

Ahead, nestled against the curve of the bay, a village came into view with a scattering of wooden docks and curved-roof cottages that clung to the coastline. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint calls of fishermen echoed over the water.

 

[Drystan Creed]

VERIDIA

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

The voice drifted in on the wind—soft, almost wistful—carried alongside a stream of drifting pink petals that curled through the air like falling memories.

"From full bloom to bare branches in a week," it continued, smooth and deliberate. "Some say they represent the fragility of life. The inevitability of death. The ephemeral nature of this galaxy."

A figure appeared behind Braze, a fair distance between them.

There stood a man draped in black. At his hip, a wickedly curved katana—its make both modern and disturbingly archaic, as though forged in an age long forgotten but sharpened by the hands of the present. His coat billowed gently in the breeze, worn over sleek, jet-black armor. His helmet resembled more a visor than a mask, leaving the mouth and crown exposed, revealing just enough to feel human—yet still unnervingly alien.

Hands buried in his pockets, the figure exuded an effortless calm. But it was a calm that sat atop something volatile. Lurking. Coiled like a blade mid-draw. His aura was unmistakable—an ambient menace, barely restrained... if restrained at all.

"Others see it differently," he mused. "As the herald of new beginnings. Renewal. A more fitting interpretation, perhaps—for someone like me."

A beat of silence.

Then the visor shifted just slightly toward Braze.

"And you?" A faint tilt of the head.

"What do you see?"

Braze

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Drystan Creed

Braze recognized that voice... He didn't answer right away. So this was it? They sent another Shadow after him? Whatever reasons he had, they wouldn't change what was coming. Battle worn and weather weary, he stood streaked with soot, and caked dirt, exhaustion etched into the lines beneath his eyes. The saltwind blew by carrying the scent sweet cherry blossoms, drifting like faint memories toward the distant sea.
​

He looked off toward the falling flowers as they were swept out to sea. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he turned, settling that soft, somber jade-green gaze on Drystan. In contrast, the Force aura surrounding Braze was meek and turned inward.

He gave Drystan a slow, steady once-over, drawing a heavy breath as his eyes settled on the unfamiliar blade. Another petal spiraled past, brushing the edge of his cloak as the wind swept by them.

"You're right... they are beautiful," he murmured softly. Braze shifted, slowly sliding a boot back in the soft sand preparing for what he thought was to come. Regardless of their past, Braze would not be easy prey.

"I see... The futility of life."

​

 

[Drystan Creed]

VERIDIA

"Futility."

Drystan echoed the word as he stepped closer to the shore, maintaining a respectful distance but now standing alongside Braze. The tide rolled in and out, frothy water lapping gently at his boots.

"Isn't that what makes life meaningful?"

He smiled—but there was an edge to it. A fine, sharpened line buried in the softness of his voice. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the horizon—distant, thoughtful, unreadable.

"To know it's fleeting. Finite. That's what makes each moment matter. What gives it weight."

A beat of silence followed. Only the waves answered.

"And there goes another one."

He glanced skyward, then lowered his gaze.

"Gone. Lost to time."

Finally, he turned to look Braze over—head to toe. The younger knight's state was far from impressive.

"You look like chit," Drystan said bluntly, eyes narrowing. "Where are your sabers? Your gear? Do you even have a ship?"

He gestured to his own sleek attire—midnight black, immaculate—and the sword at his hip, sheathed in a scabbard humming faintly with advanced tech.

Braze

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Drystan Creed

Braze was still as he watched Drystan come closer.

"Yeah, well… you try crashing through two levels of Coruscant with half a plan and no backup, in a warzone where both sides want you dead. See how your coat looks afterward," he murmured in reply, drawing up one hand and letting the shells fall to the sand.

"What makes life meaningful is the fleeting happy moments with loved ones… sharing dreams and hopes for the future…"

Braze stated as the sea breeze swept by, catching his cloak and sending it billowing behind him. A touch of melancholy laced his words.

"I... I've lost everything a man's supposed to cling to. My friends. My family. My honor… and my self-respect. And yet… here I am. With nothing left to lose…"

He trailed off, drawing in a slow, heavy breath before sighing softly. His gaze drifted across the ocean before he slowly returned it to Drystan. After a moment, he tilted his head, lifting one wrist, then the other, twisting them gently until a soft popping click passed from each.

"What does that make me, Drystan? Desperate… or dangerous?"
A faint pause. "I may be unarmed… but that does not make me harmless."

​

 

[Drystan Creed]

VERIDIA

"That's a question only you can answer. I don't have any advice for you—except to keep going. If you've lost everything, then you've got nothing left to lose," Drystan said as he tossed a black cylindrical device at Braze's feet. A lightsaber. A challenge.

Despite the gravity of what he was offering, Drystan wore a calm smile, clearly aware of the weight behind his gesture.

"Though I'm hoping for the latter right now," he added. "Let's get that head of yours nice and clear. And I've been meaning to stretch my legs—it's been a while since I've had a proper fight."

He didn't draw his sword, but his body relaxed, readying itself to move—to strike or respond in kind.

Should Braze pick up the saber, he'd find it was one of two in Drystan's possession—hefty, finely crafted, and heavily augmented to suit the former Shadow's exacting standards. If ignited, a steady stream of red would pour from its emitter, accompanied by a deep, violent hum.

Braze

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Drystan Creed

Braze's jade-green gaze settled on the dark hilt half-buried in the sand. One brow arched, and he gave a low, appreciative whistle.

"A saber and no advice? You're spoiling me, truly."

He considered Drystan's words for only a breath before raising a hand. The saber leapt from the ground, summoned into his palm with a crisp clap of metal meeting flesh. He twirled it once across his fingers in a palm spin, then gave it a light toss to test the balance, catching it again with smooth dexterity.

With a flick of his wrist, the weapon came to life as a crimson blade flared out as he spun it downward in a sharp, elegant flourish. Braze let his presence in the Force wrap around the crystal housed within, brushing against it with practiced awareness.

…Ah. Not a true kyber. A synthetic one.

Slowly, his green gaze returned to Drystan. With a smooth motion, his right hand rose to his collar and unlatched the clasp of his cloak. The fabric caught the breeze and whipped away, flung out toward the waves like a challenge answered.

"Very well," he said softly, voice cutting through the wind. "Then by all means, show me what passes for a duel these days. Let's see if you're as sharp as your reputation, Drystan."

 

[Drystan Creed]

VERIDIA

"Don't get ahead of yourself now. Let's warm up a bit—no sense in going all out right off the bat." His hand moved to the hilt of his blade, drawing it as crimson glinted in the daylight.

A wicked thing—the amalgamation of ancient artifice and modern technology. The past and present combined to carve into the future. A blade stained crimson, crackling with red lightning. He held it in front of him in a casual combat stance, the tip lowered.

He took tentative steps forward, closing the distance slowly before stepping in for a strike—his final step landing with precision, placing Braze exactly at the edge of his reach, not an inch further.

It was a probing strike, a quick diagonal slash upward meant to provoke rather than wound—designed to stir a reaction, something he fully anticipated.

Braze

 

[Braze]

TAGS: Drystan Creed

The Red saber rose with grace deflecting the incoming strike with a sharp twist of his wrist. He stepped slightly off the center line, in a fluid motion stepping closer to Drystan. The crimson saber arching in a blur as the blade flourished into a swift counter with the riposte in an upward feint toward the shoulder that turned into a low horizontal slash, testing balance and footwork.

It was cold and efficient maneuvering of a master duelist in play.

"Your reach is good. " Braze praised. before adding, "But your intent is showing."