No Light

[Darth Pyrrhus]

It would appear the Hand was as business-oriented as he was. "Certainly" - after the exchange of a few chosen words, the two were off. Vrag moved forwards to close the gap, her blade igniting. Darth Pyrrhus immediately reached for the hilt of his own blade. It found the firm grip of his left hand, and hissed to life in return. Crimson on crimson. The all-consuming darkness of both pitted against the other.

She had the advantage of knowing the terrain. Though he was familiar with swamps and the like, he did not know this one, nor had he cared to take much note of the specifics. His mind had been far too focused on the fight to come. Perhaps it was a touch of arrogance, Pyrrhus relying too much on his racial benefits. He was used to always having an image of his surroundings. However, as it hadn't been a priority of focus, subtle details were lost on him. The existence of one puddle of hungry mud behind him was one such detail.

Though the Firrerreo was more experienced, that did not simply mean he'd immediately submit to that notion and allow her to dictate the pace of the fight. Perhaps a slight edge could be gained by him attempting to challenge her expectations, breaking the norm of expected response. If not edge, perhaps salvation. When she made the faux lunge against him, he mimicked the act, and did the same. Of course, he had expected it to be a genuine attack and not a mere feint. While her intention might have been to guide him towards a certain movement pattern, he instead stepped towards her with a very real counter. Though her intent had never truly been to have their blades connect at this juncture, surely now, both stepping towards one another, they would.

There was no complex combination or sinister agenda behind Pyrrhus' first strike. It was a simple sweep, aimed to knock her lightsaber to her right. In a perfect world, this would leave her core open while having his blade on the inner side of hers, closer to her body. He hadn't stopped moving, but followed up with an additional step in towards her. The plan was to intimidate her with a sudden invasion of her personal space, urging her to withdraw, simultaneously as his blade would bounce back from hers, coming back towards her right side in a quick swing. It was an aggressive move. Time would show if it was also a short-sighted one.

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

No dice. Move on.

Vrag took note of the left hand on the saber, and though the course had been taken, the race had just begun. She would adjust her stance to address that particular advantage of Pyrrhus' in a few seconds; first, the puddle.

Some called it dance, she called it mating. Echani had the right idea about combat, that was for sure. Nothing quite showed the character of a man, or a woman, or whatever the kark you wanted to call yourself like a good bout did. It helped when it was in good fun, or at least in good injury — as opposed to people murdering each other on a battlefield — because the latter option dissuaded a duelist from friendly analysis and turned it into a race against time. The sharper mind would be the first one to find flesh with their sharp blade; or a lightsaber, as the case might be.

Her feigned lunge was analysis. What followed was nothing more than a product of the fact that, yes, Tanek had been faster than she in his counter-analysis. Another note, and then he was there, batting the red beam of plasma to the side in an effort to make a slash at her exposed sword arm.

Instead, he succeeded only at lending momentum to her backward arc as she rolled her wrist to bring her lightsaber back into the seventh guard even as her feet moved her forward across the uneven ground. Hips and shoulder and a bit of elbow too, as she snapped her open palm in a flash of motion towards his plate-covered abdomen.

Rule one of fistfighting: don't strike a hard surface with your fist. If you want to keep the fist, that is. Vrag was a cheat like that, resorting to punches and kicks in themiddle of a sword fight, but there was no judge to disqualify her for stooping lower than some arbitrary rules of honor. Nobody held tally after the war was done.

Did they fight fairly? Yes, and now they are dead.

The Hand of the Dark Lord made it a habit of not dying.


[member="Darth Pyrrhus"]

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

The blade hit its mark, and managed to deflect hers. However, the slap only served to give her momentum to get her guard back up in place with an elegant twirl of the wrist. Despite it being a basic move, it was elegant. The Firrerreo reacted instinctively, offering further proof of her expertise. It was like breathing to her.

[member="Vrag"] kept him on his toes, and would continue to do so as well. He had no doubts about that. It was a refreshing break from cutting down the weak and unworthy masses who opposed the Sith in their conquest and from the training and sparring with acolytes. Sure, it required skill and effort to execute to its maximum potential, yet there lay no challenge in it, neither for the mind nor the body. This, however, was something else. This was a proper test indeed, and he could already tell that he would grow as a result from it. The excitement of battle flowed through him, and it was hard to restrain a grin and a laugh. They had just gotten started, but the tension foreshadowing the intensity to come was to him undeniable.

Then she stepped in with her counter. He wouldn't judge her for including punches and the like into her routine. In fact, he had considered something similar prior to his attack. In the end, he had decided against it, instead taking a more relaxed and analytic approach to it all. He had seen her fight in the past, sure, but usually he had been busy trying to bring down his own opponent. Now he was fighting against her, and that was a first. He wanted to estimate her style, see if he could recognize any patterns, and try to determine her thought pattern. He'd use it more as interesting information, rather than rely on it. It wasn't unlikely that she'd attempt to trick him by deliberately create a pattern, only to break it later.

As her left came for his abdomen, his right moved to protect it. Both used the same form, both had one hand on their blade, and the other free. He was wearing armour, yet at the same time, this was as much a training exercise as a spar. Teaching ones mind to ignore direct attacks such as this was a habit both unhealthy and dangerous. In place of her strike, he placed his arm, to absorb the brunt of the force behind her attack.

After he took the hit, he would- what the feth! His arm pressed against his torso, and pushed his body to the side, forcing him to sidestep. Though she would not see it, his eyes widened, and his mouth dropped into a voiceless gasp. The force she put behind that slap... It was immense! Even armoured as he was, despite the block, he could feel it vibrate through him. In his mind, he heard a disheartening crunching sound, though he couldn't tell if it was real or just a figment of his own imagination. From his arm, his brain had received an intense jolt of pain. Now, there was nothing. The arm was still held in a guard, but it angled into a slightly awkward position, like someone completely new to martial arts trying to put up a guard for the first time. He seemed to have mobility, though it lagged behind, as if it had been granted a forceful muscle cramp. Hopefully that was all it was.

Fortunately for the Togruta, the helmet denied his opponent the pleasure of seeing his face cringe. Pyrrhus maintained his composure, though he took a step back. As he stepped backwards, out of the immediate range of her sword, he attempted to strafe at her arm, which now likely would be on the retreat. The move was more like a quick and uninspired attempt to score a hit. It was not a thing he committed fully to, and he'd be quick to move the blade back into a ready guard as he stepped towards his right in expectation of a counter-rush towards him. Now it was Vrag's turn, and it was up to her to determine how to approach this.

 

[Vrag]

[member="Darth Pyrrhus"] might have been surprised by the force of the blow, but Vrag certainly wasn't; in fact, the woman had been counting on it. He was wearing Vonduun, and as such the punch would not tear through the soft flesh of the abdomen as it would with an unarmored opponent, but it would be enough to disturb his sense of balance, unprepared as he was. It was this window that the woman would exploit to its fullest, following his urgent sidestep with her own footwork.

As he moved to his right, so the woman would try and out-pace him in an attempt to step out of his line of attack and to the outside of the blade in his left hand, effectively bringing her nigh-parallel to his straightened back. Her blade, too, would sweep down into an arc meant to sear the back of his exposed right knee.

The chosen venue of attack, as it turned out, proved to be doubly wise as the togruta attempted a half-hearted riposte at her free left hand, his blade hissing against the reeling plates of Ygdris as its scorching heat battled against the energies of the power gland.

It ended as quickly as it had began as the Sith pulled her arm back against her body in a loose guard even as her slash and sideways movement reached their completion, her sharp teeth gnashing as she did her best to resist the rage of her Vonduun from usurping the ice that ruled always in her mind when she fought.

A passionate duelist was a defeated duelist, and Vrag strove for nothing but victory in all aspects of life. She would not suffer defeat.

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

In the moments after her blow to his right arm, he still felt the pain. However his mind was soon able to confirm that nothing was broken. His armour had kept him safe, though he felt sure that had he stood against her without it in that moment, bones would shatter. Luckily for him, it was a numbing pain that he would soon recover from.

Pyrrhus' lightsaber scraped against her armour. It was but a gentle touch, and he knew that even without the vonduun crabs her skin would barely have been touched. Her counter threatened to become far more devastating. He could attempt to twirl his blade in time to deflect, but he was hardly in a position of power. If she put any force into her blow she could likely push through whatever slapdash defence he set up. It would hardly improve his situation by much.

Instead he decided to take a leap backwards, above and away from the strike coming in at knee-height. Though he attempted to jump over the blade, it was not by much. There would be no extravagant backflips, no great feats of leaping power displayed. It was not his style. He was far more practical, and sought to stay as close to ground as he could. It was a habit he had worked up after countless of Force Pushes sent at overly acrobatic enemies. The Togruta found in this moment some measure of comfort in his own vonduun armour that hopefully kept him safe from such antics.

Opting for evasion rather than deflection, he brought his lightsaber back up into a steady guard. Still he maintained the Makashi pose and a firm grip on the hilt in his left hand. The move put him in no position to step back in with a counter, but he hoped his stance and guard would keep him prepared in case she should decide to follow in with a charge. With all the time that had passed, it felt appropriate with a minor reset.

[member="Vrag"]