Proof of Their Fall

[Alkor Centaris]

He twisted with the blow, and as the near weightless impact came, Alkor was behind his own saber. His right hand shot up to the back end of the lightsaber, putting it into a two handed grip with his arms crossed in front of him, their weapons crossed, his own blade an off-kilter horizontal to Hevn's upright position.

Both blades whined in protest, but Alkor's movement had served an alternate purpose. It was clear Hevn would abuse his privilege as the being of superior size and strength wherever possible. It was right to do so. Fairness was superfluous to combat.

They had learned that long ago.

So too was speed a virtue. Where Hevn commanded power over others, Alkor robbed men of their advantages with his own. The smaller man stepped- left behind right- and spun out to his right. Several things happened:

Hevn's blade would retain the resistance of Alkor's saber for only a moment, but ample time for them to disengage safely.

The saber did a precise spin, utilizing the momentum and position of Alkor's movement to strike toward Hevn's left side. The other man was poised to intercept easily, certainly.

But poison kills slowly.

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

As his punch finishes without satisfaction again, Hevn’s frustration increases. The more Alkor did the dance of the fly, the more he wanted to swat him like one. His opponent spun in a near perfect display of footwork on the shifty sand. He had to reign in his concentration.

It was doubtful that continuing this course would be effective any longer. Since connecting with his uppercut, Alkor has maintained a perfect distance away from his maximum reach. If he kept charging like a rancor toward Alkor’s probing strikes, he could eventually find a way to connect. It was time to reset whatever data Alkor had collected thus far and escalate this to the next level.

Hevn’s right hand darts to his second saber on his left hip, igniting it and swinging for the heavens toward Alkor’s red blade. He aims to bash Alkor’s blade with such force that he could encourage some hopeful combative gains. The first was protecting himself from the incoming swing by smashing it away from himself, the second was promoting Alkor to continue his spinning momentum beyond his intended stopping point to make his flank vulnerable to the lightsaber in his left hand. He tilts the saber in his left hand up as his right arm crosses his body underneath it, then brings it down on Alkor’s right side in a screaming flash of blue light.

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alwine Daye]

[member="Djonas Vile"]​

Alwine gave a little grump as Mr. Vile explained that the place had a history. She did not see much value in the history of a place where blood was shred needlessly. She loathed the executed the Confederacy insisted on performing, and while she was not opposed to the death sentence in general, she did not see a reason to make a show out of it.

But he could not convince her that they were not there for entertainment. The audience, the cheering, the food – it was all constructed to be entertaining, even if additional layers to the thing existed. If there was any special strength in the one that was currently battling the Knight Commander, the youngest Lechner sibling did not see it. That was not to say that he was bad in any way, no, far from it; but there was nothing special that she could glean that would warrant… This. Had she been the one to make the choice, she would have shown it during training. Not a one on one; but something that included a group of Knights Obsidian, something that would showcase why the man was good to have with them and not just good to look at.

Yet she held her tongue. Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps it was the fact that she was not entertained, but she knew that certain things were better left unsaid, especially when there were ears all around them. Lupine ears were better than human, but she could not account for what the hundreds of different species around them were and which of them had hearing that was on par, or perhaps even better, than hers. Caution – that was always the name of the game.

And while they sat there, made to watch the fight with intent as the situation demanded, Alwine's eyes narrowed. She carefully studied both opponents, knowing that speed would be essential in taking either of them down. Dragging it out… That was part of the game, the show. Neither of them would die that day. But if an enemy made the attempt? That enemy would be demolished.

Djonas was looking at her. Alwine, unsure of what to do, pretended to not notice, her eyes so focused on the fighters in the ring that she might as well have burned a hole right through them. It was not until the last sentences that he uttered that she ripped her sight away from them, looking at the man with jer jaw ever so slightly left ajar.

"Of course I am more than my title," she answered plainly, "and I do not understand."

On Stewjon, things would have been different. To begin with, neither of them would have been given a choice. Their parents – or just her mother, in her case, since her father only existed to serve and further her goals – would have spoken with each other, decided on their own weather or not it would happen. Then the two would have been placed under the same roof, under supervision, to make sure there were no issues that would keep the possibility from becoming reality. And then…

"Are you attempting to court me?" Alwine asked, her brown eyes now laser-focused on him.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

"There is none that matter out here, not anymore, Vytal," Pomsty stated quite melancholy. How can she tell her sister that their goddess is no goddess when she if off-world? She knows Vytal shall at some point call upon Abeloth, and nothing will happen at all, her plea shall fall on daft ears. Its the most saddest thing a Nightsister can ever experience. Pom knows now why her kind seldom leave Dathomir. Maybe the elders know this fact and this is their reason why they discourage venturing into the galaxy at large. They know how terribly disappointing it is to be stricken of everything. Of course, like them, Pomsty can't tell anyone, just as she was never told. It would be a secret she kept till death, from everyone else of Dathomir.

"If you happen to have a Nightbrother locked up inside your ship right now, I would make your Potions for the next year, if I could borrow him for a little while!" This would also assure Vytal would not try to brew her own Potions. She won't need to try to channel their goddess then. Pom would do anything to stay the breaking of her sister's heart!

Anything to change the subject away from Dathomir! Vytal asked about the Light of the Force. Pomsty has had conversations with the Sith and Jedi on the different sides of the Force. "I was on a planet that belonged to the Jedi and I had to wait days till I could leave again. I had to drink a Potion of Istime Inyan, (Sleeping Rock), and turn myself into a statue to survive the length of time I was stranded there!" She met a wonderful man, the first real Jedi she ever met. He has since died in battle a hero, saving people of the CIS. Pomsty couldn't talk about him ever really, he was her first actual friend.

She understood how one Art can be all one requires to study diligently. She spoke with Darth Metus on numerous times about beliefs and dogma. No matter how hard he tried to sway her thinking, she could not meet him halfway on most of his points. At times, he almost convinced her about his Force, how it doesn't need a goddess; but she only started to think of it mostly on her own terms, based on what she knew about her own Art. Maybe his Force, and her need to channel a goddess, can be the same idea afterall. So far, neither of them has budged in their beliefs.

Turning back to the fighting, mesmerized by the whole ordeal, Alkor, and the mention of the armaments, she shook her head negative. "I have never held anything other than my wand, relics, amulets, and potions vials!" She wondered if [member="Vytal Noctura"] had though! Although by her tone, she figured that she not. "You?"

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal regarded Pomsty in silence at her morose observation. There were none worthy among the many stars? This did not shock the Nightsister so much as it disappointed. Naturally the women of Dathomir were superior, but much like the Sith coming to them surely there were creatures a Nightsister could learn from. If there was not, then securing their technology would do. Instruments to ensure the survival of the clans. Perhaps even allow them to take command of the skies and dictate when and if offworlders set foot on Dathomir. That would be a blessed day.

She laughed as others cheered for the spectacle before the crowd. "I did not bring any Nightbrothers with us," Vytal admitted. "We had to avoid being noticed even by our Sisters when we secured our way above." Trying to take one of the boys with them would have increased the chance of being discovered. Not that Vytal wouldn't mind one of them these days. Her Sisters explored the alien lifeforms, but Vytal did not feel a particular attraction to the offworlders. They were exotic, yes, but plain or even grotesque. With a soft hum, Vytal smiled over at Pomsty. "What would you need a Nightbrother for?"

The brief retelling of Pomsty's encounter with the Light interested and surprised Vytal. Istime Inyan? How long had she been lost on this world? "And this Light, you found it while you were a statue?" The mind and spirit might be open to experiencing things that would otherwise go unseen. The circumstances of Pomsty's encounter interested her fellow Sister.

One of the combatants ignited a second saber whose glow drew Vytal's eye momentarily. Two weightless blades against another. Advantageous for those that were not distracted by a second, and could make use of it rather than flailing wildly at an opponent.

Pomsty soon replied regarding armaments, however, and Vytal's attention returned to the long lost Sister. Truly, Pomsty had only used the weapons of home in all her travels? "Blasters. Early in our journey were conserved our ichor and learned how to use the many weapons of the offworlders. Our spears and blades would not serve well in long-range combat." Sadly so much of offworlder fighting was done at a distance. Unlike the men in the arena at that moment. Vytal preferred personal combat; though even Nightsisters had bows. "I prefer using gloves with retractable claws. It was pleasing to find not all offworlders relied on blasters, or had forgotten how to forge proper weapons."

A moment passed before Vytal leaned over the table the droid had extended between the women. As quietly as she could given the environment ruckus, Vytal added, "Fortunately, we discovered ways to extract more ichor since departing home. We still carry blasters for defense, but we do not need to rely completely on them."

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom's eyes remained glued to Alkor as [member="Vytal Noctura"] spoke about not having a Nightbrother along to escort her on her journey. She could not peel her eyes away. Men themselves are as much an art, as the ways they master their fight. When her old friend jested about her reason for asking, Pomsty blushed deeply. She sighed. "They are easier than commitment." The only one asking for commitment was her husband from her past life, Shaidin. A Nightbrother didn't ask for anything more than to be able to follow her around, and take notes on her magick skills. The Dathomiri men were the best she ever knew. Shaidin wanted everything she had. He had her past, and he wanted every current and future breath assigned to her being. It was an awful lot to ask of someone who doesn't yet remember much about him! Memories are few and far between. Getting away from him, they died down alot. She felt like she she might again be herself, not some insane replica of the woman of his dreams.

Vytal used blasters? They might gain quicker results than hide...incantation....aim...toss potion...duck. Pomsty nodded at the idea behind their need; it is logical. But still, she had never touched one herself. Darth Metus warned her against the dangers of such intrinsicities.

What Vytal mentioned next caused Pom to turn and stare at Vytal, mouth agape. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Does Vytal know that Abeloth is bound to Dathomir? "Not here," she said and she rose, urging Vytal to follow, where they could speak about their ways in private.

 

[Djonas Vile]

A sly grin graced Djonas face as she asked him her question. He didn't think he was being that obvious, but would not deny the opportunity he was given at this time. "No, Executor. Unless it's working." Djonas said, following it up with a chuckle. "I enjoy our little moments together. It's not very often I get to be in the company of someone as enchanting as yourself." Djoans added.

Djonas' eyes caught a vendor patrolling the stands, offering food to the crowds spectating the fight. "Hey, my man. You got Frag chips?" Djonas called out. The Rodian looked up at the thyrsian and nodded. "I'll take two!." he added. "You ever have Frag? They're pretty fire." he suggested to her. Two bags of chips came flying through the air after the Rodian tossed them Djonas' way. Djonas easily caught them int he air with the Force and brought them down to him before handing a bag to her. "Try 'em and tell me what you think." he said as he ripped open his bag.

[member="Alwine Lechner"]​

 

[Alkor Centaris]

It seemed Hevn had caught on to the opening gambit. Take the big hit, learn the effective distance, control the pace. With opponents at a mismatch in terms of physical ability, it was important to understand and to teach yourself how to respond. Otherwise, you learned the hard way.

And while pain was fuel for power, simply losing only yielded fruitless suffering. A Jen'jidai had no use for untrimmed fat. Alkor finished his spin a step and a half away from Hevn at what he considered a safe distance to disengage. He had also factored the follow through on the part of his opponent.

All of it, save for one detail.

They had the same thing in mind. What a treat for the onlookers. Jar'kai on the level of not one, but two Dark Jedi Masters, trained by C'thulu Plaga and William Reign? Compiled with the extreme heat that had already drawn sweat and grime across Alkor's entire body, the anticipation only seemed to make his whole body burn hotter.

The second saber erupted in a reverse grip at approximately the same time as Hevn bashed his blade harmlessly away. It was with a quick spin that he reined the weapon in, back under his control, but it was the crimson blade in his right hand that obstructed the blow intended for Alkor's previously open flank. Seamless transitions from both combatants.

Instead of backing out this time, Alkor stepped to his left- square, once more, and with their whining blades uttering shrill cries on sand ridden winds.

He spat another gobbet of blood, this one rife with sand.

The reality was, both men were fighting off the heat. Their bodies were wearing down, neither man was giving a quarter, and neither man intended to complain- not about pain, not about the weather, and not about difficulty. Discipline was everything on the battlefield.

"You haven't lost your touch," Alkor praised carefully. "I'm glad."

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

The radiant sun was inspiring the sensation of sweat. Because his majorly modified body could not do so, the synthetic flesh and metal combined their best efforts to cause an uncomfortable itch to develop over the entirety of his body. His flesh seared under the hot sky. His cold soul and heart rejecting the shine and warmth of the light. Sand had now effectively gnawed its way into every crevice vulnerable to the spiraling winds on his body. It continued to eat and dig into him, ravenous and unrelenting in the quest to irk him.

Alkor’s praise was a welcome thing. It was truly he, if anyone, who could judge such a thing. It was only to him which Hevn would answer to such a measurement of strength. He had learned much about their separation already. Alkor’s careful mind map demonstrated a huge leap in combat sense and strategy. His feet and hands were nimble as they clashed sabers. One thing was still missing though. Something Hevn’s skills could not even rip from the chest of Alkor Centaris.

The darkness. Hevn was usually a calm and composed fighter. Alkor was a wolf in a flock of sheep. He couldn’t find the fire. The intensity that made his eyes black and hair whip on a windless day. Hevn was aware that a duel of simply lightsabers was to his disadvantage. Without the power of the force, and his substantial number of gadgets, blasters, slugs, bombs, and poison....he was probably reduced to twenty percent of his potential power. Though Hevn’s wide variety of skills included being savvy with a lightsaber, he imagines the sweat is undoubtably from the heat and not his efforts to pummel the man. As effortless and cool as Alkor appeared, and despite the realm of swordplay being in his corner, it didn’t even look like he was trying yet.

Hevn cannot suppress his heavy breathing as they come to a halt, sabers clinched, eyes locked. A disgusting noise erupts from Hevn’s throat as he sucks down a thick wad of blood and mucus, ejecting in from the corner of his mouth onto the sand. “You’ve gotten better,” he growls down to Alkor. “Loser....” Hevn began applying his weight savagely to both sabers. “Buys....” He keeps his eyes peeled and torso ready. “Drinks!” Hevn stays poised to react. If Alkor did nothing he would be subject to Hevn’s knee buckling physical force, and testing his stamina against that of a man half machine. Though it did not look like much from the outside, it was an attack designed to force an action from Alkor he could capitalize upon. He waits like a predator in the ocean, waiting for the slightest ripple to ignite him so he can pounce and devour the prey.



[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alwine Daye]

[member="Djonas Vile"]​

Oh, she caught that sly grin of his. With ease. The fury raged beneath her skin, his attempt at deescalating the moment by making a joke flying right over the Stewjoni's head. Frowning, she simply stared at him, forcefully keeping her abilities at check so that she would not burn a hole into the depths of his forehead.

Control. It was always about control with Alwine. Her mother had taken nearly every shred of it that she'd had over her own life, and in turn she had grown up needing to control as much of her surroundings as she could. Being in control meant being safe, on the most basic of instincts. And this… This she did not know how to control. She had seen it happen, often enough. Not around her, but around those she had at one point thought to be friends. It had always ended either in marriage, or badly. Middle ground was not a term known to those who grew up on Stewjon.

Alwine swallowed as she felt her throat running dry, and returned her focus to the fight in the arena. Later, she would be able to tell that there had been some sort of a fight, but the entire choreography was lost upon her, and she no longer followed who launched at who, when and how, or anything, save for the silent words she uttered on the inside, praying that she was not blushing. That, she would not be able to live down.

It was an eternity later that suddenly Mr. Vile offered her… Food? Alwine blinked, unsure of how many moments exactly had passed, but she shook her head, never even having heard of these Frag Chips.

Delicately, Alwine took one of the bags and opened it, peering at the flat discs of something that looked like this or other root vegetable inside. The smell was pungent. She hesitated, looking up at Djonas, and then around them, realizing quite a few people were enjoying the threat.

Fine, she supposed, that it would not hurt.

Taking a single chip between her tiny fingers, Alwine gave the very tip of it a small bite, frowning as the some of the remains crumbled onto her shirt. Messy food. The taste was overpowering – whoever had designed the flavor clearly did not know the meaning of the word subtle.

And yet…

A smile appeared on her lips as she put another chip in her mouth, the entire one this time, and chewed. "Whoever made this lacked for taste buds and does not understand how to properly balance salt and sugar, and I cannot distinguish which spice was used to create that tickle in the back of my throat," she said with an excited nod, "but it is delicious. The levels of salt and fat are perfectly balanced to make me wish for more." Looking down, the blonde realized that she had emptied the bad quite quickly.

And so, she looked up at Djonas again and asked, "More, please."

 

[Madalena Antares]

Try as she might, Madalena could not entirely focus on the match. While the first minutes had gone on undisturbed, it seemed that after that, she was needed every few seconds. Information began to stream in, and she was finding it harder and harder to juggle between decision making, which ranged from the menial to the more attention-demanding, to eating, to trying to watch the fight, to keeping an eye on all her Knights.

It was a lost fight for her. She wasn't able to do it all at once. Every time she did catch a few seconds though, she kept being impressed by both [member="Alkor Centaris"] and [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]. Later, she would remember that moment, and understand why Knight Commander Centaris had been chosen to train and teach the Knights, and she would remember Mandragora Hevn's prowess on the field as well, when some time from now they would embark on joined missions.

For now though, she had to leave, and take some of the Knights with her. Seeing as attending had not been mandatory and the majority of Knights that had gathered had done so on their own free time, there was no need to yell overall orders out. The ones that were there and she pinged knew that there'd been a chance this would happen.

Sighing, Madalena took a quick bite from the hotdog she'd purchased minutes earlier, and swallowed it almostw hole. It was time to go back to the office.

She did though, pause by one of the Knights, and asked them to fill her in later on who had won.

Spoiler

This was a summary post for the thread. Any of those wishing to continue to RP their personal stories in it are more than welcome to do so! ♥

 

[Alkor Centaris]

His lips curled into a wry grin as the iconic, favored pastime of the Jen'jidai became the focus of their bout. It was a fine form of reprieve, if only fleeting, to laugh about one or the other of them paying for booze. It quickly withered away under the harsh heat of the Geonosian sun.

Hevn was a creature of brutality. Massive, powerful, imposing. For someone like Alkor, this position was the absolute worst possible outcome of all their culminated movements. Yet, he had allowed it to reach that point. He had stepped in every way that yielded that outcome, and he knew the other man would utilize his advantage the moment he realized he had it.

And so, thus.

The jowls of death were poised to clamp around him. Hevn had weapons at two opposing angles, opposed only by Alkor's own lightsabers. The smaller man could feel the mass bearing downward, inward, crushing. Killing instinct.

Home.

The weight against the saber in his right hand shifted as Alkor took a long stride out to his right, and he punched his arm in an exaggerated movement across his torso. With the reverse grip on his saber, the topside would hopefully keep pressure against Hevn's own saber, as he attempted to shuck the man past utilizing the Ensolican's weight- ideally- to create forward momentum and send him barreling by-

And, possibly, overtop of their second sabers.

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

As the smile crept across Alkor’s lips he knew it was only partially at the jest. You see a way out, I know you do. Where is it? As Alkor’s foot slides out, Hevn can only maintain pressure and contact for another moment before he realizes he’s tipping, being led into the momentum of his own pressing motion. It was unexpected, but he is not unprepared.

His cybernetic limbs were free of fatigue in their own right but it was their dependability that really shines. He would happily trade sustainable strength, endurance, and balance over muscle mass. Hevn’s center of gravity compacts itself as he hunches just a little, planting all his weight on his left foot. Alkor was not encouraging any movement, only letting nature take its course. Arresting his momentum, he twists his body to the right. His right leg picks up, and with the snap of his knee drives around in a circle, pulling Hevn’s body clockwise in a piston like heel kick aimed for Alkor’s rib cage. Hevn keeps his right saber close to his body to guard while keeping the other steady against a stray free shot from his opponent.

[member="Alkor Centaris"]