Poetics of the Forge (Rave Merrill) COMPLETED

[Velok the Younger]

Rave nodded. "I begin to understand,
And now another contest I propose,
A testing of these blades, for if you meant
To teach me, you should recognize
What all my other teachers offered me:
The principle that one can only know
An enemy or friend in the true way
Through honorable combat." Rave picked up
Her sword that shone like blood, and sighted down
The runnelled blade, then met the master's stare.
"To test the swords we make, to test ourselves,
To know each other, and for you to share
The principles that you feel you must teach-
You have a courtyard there. Oblige me, sir."

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

Masamune bowed deep
To the woman in answer.
He rose to his feet
And picked up the katana.

He lead the way to the yard
And, upon reaching the center,
Drew the blade, the hard
Light glinting from the sword.

He bowed once again
To the woman and took
Up a stance, only then
Was he ready to duel.

 

[Velok the Younger]

His stance stood firm and true. A samurai:
Unflinching and relaxed, a willow tree
That bends against the wind, yet reaches high.
She took Ataru's entry stance, her sword
Ascending straight before her chest. She'd try
To find a way to save her face before
A swordmaster, and sabre arts apply.

She perched her weight upon her toes,
A mobile, even flighty, stance, and from
That posture she moved forth with grace,
Her blade's first strike in its long future life.

She swung for his knee, moving in and right,
A feint to guard the way toward his neck.
She trusted him to block with speed and might,
For she did not intend to slay this man.

 

[Arrbi Betna]

Delete

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

He felt the ebb and flow
Of the Force in his heart
And mind, a skill on he could know.
The low strike, a feint,
Was plainly seen.
The katana shifted slightly
From where it had been
And the clash of steel on steel
Was clearly sounded.
Masamune did not move
But stood, firmly grounded,
His stance unmoving as of yet.

 

[Velok the Younger]

He had, on her, advantages of reach
And weight, and muscle memory. But Rave,
From vile possession by an Elder Witch,
Had memory of other kinds, suborned
To suit her needs. She knew that he would stand
Immovable as stalwart cliffs o'er sea,
And she would move around him, seek good ground
From which to launch incisive counterpoint.

Atrisian defenses drew upon
Traditions just as old as Ataru.
As every martial artist wise would groan:
There is no supreme art, only the soul.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

"A Bushi must stand
Immovable as a mountain
Even when the hand
Of heaven grasps in protest."

Tametomo stood fast, his
Blade at the ready.
Ataru was the basis
This was true,
But when the Bushi's
Soul and sword became one,
Ataru did not truly
Do the name justice.

Masamune simply stood
Still as a stone and
Waited as silent as could
Mountains in the face of eons.

 

[Velok the Younger]

"Your style was made by men, for men," she said
Without rancor. "A woman of my size
Can break herself against the mountainside
Or move around it, probing for the path.
So I was taught, and so I do affirm,
Unless you show me how it could be done
By one who has my stature, though I yearn
To be disproved," she said. "But show me how."

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

"Find your core and breathe deep.
Find the coals you felt in your
Soul when hammering the steel and keep
Them alight within yourself.

Let their warmth and heat
Flow throughout your body
And, extend from your feet
And legs the weight of the
Heavens into the dirt below.
Let the Force enter your spirit
And freely allow it to flow
Throughout your entirety.

When done, you will feel peace
And stability throughout.
With this, the mightiest blows cease
To matter and shall flow around you."

 

[Velok the Younger]

"In combination with a cunning shield,
Like those your odachi was meant to smash,
The power you would bestow is very rare,
Foundation of Varanin's art. I'm rash,
But I'm not rash enough to try and match
Grand Admiral Varanin." Slitting eyes,
She shrugged, and tension drained from shoulders tense.
"I know my limits, Masamune, but I
Will trust the bushi know of what they speak."
She drew upon the Force in stronger ways
Than normally she ever would have tried.
"I'll try the secret game Varanin plays."

The power of the universe drew down
Her presence, bound her to the world's core
She tried to make of her lean frame a stone
A lighthouse standing firm along the shore.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

Masamune watched her stand
And focus down towards the dirt
He casually reached out a hand
And shoved mightily with the Force.

When she did not move from
Her place he nodded once
And to the woman, the one
Who learned so quickly.

"You learn quickly, little
Sister and have shown
Quite ably your hold, never brittle,
Is stronger then before."

 

[Velok the Younger]

@[member="Masamune Tametomo"]

"I never stood against a push before,
I normally evade or take the blow.
Against a Jedi Knight or some Dark Lord,
I'd probably still fly, but now I think
I might half stand a chance." She raised her sword
And set her stance, Ataru, unlike his.

A touch of centeredness -- she'd manage that
While holding focus to the present scene,
Releasing fear of impact, knowing what
Had held her back from standing strong, alone.
"Test me again, Tametomo," she said.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

He nodded on and placed
His hands together before him.
He focused the Force and let it race
Down his arms and outwards.

The push was firm and strong,
The Force unrelenting,
But Masamune was rarely wrong
And knew she would stand the test.

 

[Velok the Younger]

A simple Force-blast, more than grand technique,
Expressed the power of the will, instead
Of rank or title or the supreme pride
Of training won or midi-chlorian count.

At Masamune's push, her skidding feet
Pushed up the fallen leaves, and her eyes shut.
Her back stood firm, her feet froze on the ground,
Arresting her momentum, and she stopped.

The sword had never faltered, nor her arms,
Against the flow of air and Bushi will.
She altered her stance now, just so, and struck,
As opening to his reply of steel.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

He felt the strike more
Than he could see it.
His blade rose to the fore
And yet again the clash of
Steel was heard as his
Blade met hers.
He pushed her blade, this
To clear an opening.
Once done, he lightly rapped
His blade upon her wrist
Then lowed the blade, capped
Leather warm in his hands.

 

[Velok the Younger]

In her mind's eye unfolded ancient scenes
From her clone-mother, trained on Dathomir
An incident like this, but with a scar
Attached in memory, with ling'ring fear.

But long-dead Sira Ves, the Nightsister,
Had overcome that fear and learned the sword,
Discovered stalwart guards, and nothing like
The mobile Ataru that young Rave adored.

She moved again, her timing sharp and quick
As metaphor too obvious to use
And launched a more precise and clever strike
Bestowing tight-leashed fury in the move.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

This, Masamune could not feel,
But the blow was visible in motion
Where bunching muscles could be seen
And momentum could be sensed.

The katana rose to stop
The blow launched for his body.
Steel ringing, he let the sword drop
And let it rise sharply,
The flat of the blade reaching
Up towards her side.
The point here was teaching
That even a mountain could move.

 

[Velok the Younger]

Combatant she was not, in this contest,
Ataru though she knew. Her expertise
Belonged in other fields, and at her best
She could make monsters, make them weep, and forge
Sith Amulets, like no-one had in long,
Long cold millennia. In combat arts
She was no master, and the skirling song
Of all her glory dealt with cleverness,
But not with power or craft to overwhelm.

Apparently, with effort, that could change,
If under the right teacher she could train,
Their talents recompense in fair exchange,
Their blades clashed, beating out a sharp refrain.

 

[Masamune Tametomo]

The swordsman withdrew the blade from
The ringing metal it had touched
And held it to the fore, once done
He took a middle stance.

"The Mountain does not move
But attacks only sparingly
The Willow, though, whose
Spry limbs reach and tangle
Shall be your weapon along
With blade and soul.
Loosen limbs and heart, belong
To the blade, and you shall
Find the attack and style
To move and flow
Within the flashing blades while
Your steps become fluid and quick."

Matching his words to stance
He shifted his feet slightly
To where, at a chance
Alone they would allow him to strike.

 

[Velok the Younger]

A willow tree -- its branches whipping loose,
Or fluid with a lassitude that gave
Her momentary doubt as to the use
To which the girl could put the metaphor.

With ponderings in great preponderance,
She grasped the lesson to a good degree,
And stepped in to attempt a worthy dance,
Moving, and unmoved, like the tree.

Her feet took root, her balance flowed, a willow
In the wind and water tossed about,
But never too disturbed, or brought low,
By any tempest in the world around.