SO Tournament Round One: Sintel Kay Vs. Eshtaol

[Darth Ferus]

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Kashyyk​

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The Shadowlands. A place where no light could reach, leaving it in perpetual night. There was no better place for two Sith to fight than in a land of darkness. [member="Sintel Kay"] and [member="Eshtaol"] would find themselves dropped off in the dark area, and should they be able to sense one another they would find themselves not very far apart.

And, they would find themselves not alone. A darker presence seeped through the area, suggesting that while the two would be fighting one another, they were being hunted. A large one armed tarentatek used this part of the woods as its feeding ground, and the two would eventually run into it if they weren't careful.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

If there was one thing Sintel hated about false arms, it was how numb they felt. The currents of the neuroelectric circuitry may give small glimmers of sensation, but that sensation was all too little - before, he had explored the worlds hands first, and felt things through sensation. Now... he had to make due.

Though apparently, not with sight, as he watched the shuttle that had borne him to the location of his duel quickly disappear into the inky darkness. He reached out with his perceptions, willing the Force to yield up to him the location of his enemy, to reveal it so that he could take matters into his own hands - his vibrosword, a memento of his early life as a serial killer, plucked from where it had been buried after his humiliation on Takodana ready to thrum to life at any moment.

No use. Danger was omnipresent, in varying magnitudes and directions, such that all he could hope for was a vague, stomach-curdling sense of unease. Well, it's not like I became Sith in hopes that things would be easy - the opposite, in fact.

Sintel stepped forwards, his form mostly indistinguishable in the darkness, matte black on black-brown bark, black sky, or black-green moss. The shadow was his friend, it always had been - and the thrill of the hunt had always been a favorite hobby of his. It wouldn't do to have his steps sloshing in the water, so he stuck to the trees, creeping with a steady pace along the branches, using his sword to get a steady grip where none existed.

If there was one thing he could appreciate about these robotic butcheries, it was that he could at the very least stop worrying about being able to do a pull-up. Silently, Sintel Kay stalked his prey.

--

[member="Krest"]
[member="Eshtaol"]

 

[Eshtaol]

Eshtaol had always been fond of the dark.

Well, put like that, it sounded rather ominous. It wasn't, to her mind; a lack of light merely suited her well. That was all, really. Especially when it came to a confrontation, wherein just about her only strength was her ability to avoid being caught, darkness was her friend. It would help if it didn't infringe on her own ability to see her surroundings as well as her opponent's, but Eshtaol could take the good with the bad.

The moment she was dropped off, Eshtaol had taken a minute of doing nothing at all. Unlike the Acolytes of the Sith's cautionary tales, the ones who wanted only to kill and destroy and as such were killed and destroyed before they could be allowed to gain any worth, Eshtaol favoured reserve. Patience was one of the only traits the girl currently possessed that might in any way indicate that she could be Sith in the future, and she made a point of exploiting it. So before she even started trying to pinpoint her opponent's location, Eshtaol simply focused on her emotion. She relied on hatred typically, not that she honestly had a great deal of it towards any one person; beyond quietly disliking just about everyone she came into contact with, she had to work a little to amplify her contempt into a source of power. Thus, she took a minute to do that, and when she was finished her focus went to tracking her foe.

It wasn't difficult. The ability to sense, luckily, was one that needed hardly any work to be used properly, and a few more moments and she was off, pacing quietly through the trees, looking at her feet with every step she took. She was fully certain she herself was being traced, but if she could gain even the barest element of surprise, she could consider herself at an advantage.

The moment she sensed a presence nearing, she called her saber to her hand - it was just about the only move she had perfected. Instinct would be another friend today.

She saw the man's outline from a few feet off - quickly, she realised he was just as aware of her presence. In that case, they might as well get straight to it. Her blade came to life, but she didn't advance. She wanted to see, instead, what move he'd pull first, deduce from his every step what sort of fighter he was. Eshtaol knew very little of fighting with blades - but she understood the advantage of getting inside his head first. That was the only chance she stood of victory.

[member="Krest"] | [member="Sintel Kay"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

An ozone hiss pierced the silence, and crimson light bloomed out into the darkness, casting [member="Eshtaol"] and her foe in an eerie light. One - the woman, tousle-haired, feminine humanoid - Sintel could feel her watching him before he saw her face. On his, a ragged, dark-colored mask in the shape of a skull reflected her light, visibility doing little to show much about him. His arms were wrapped tightly in dark, gauzy fabric, and his outfit seemed to be a mishmash of bar dancer and swoop gang member, with only a small, pewter Sith icon betraying his true nature.

It was somewhat sweaty, somewhat stiff, but it did its job in hiding his distinct, Zeltronian scent - something that was no longer necessary. As Eshtaol waited for him to make his move, Sintel loosened the zipper of his outfit, a heady, flowery odor leaking out. He inhaled, and shivered with a rush of euphoria. Grinning beneath his mask, his next move was a button on the side of it, running through a playlist of some nice, bouncy tunes he had downloaded from the HoloNet for just this sort of occasion. Focus wasn't meditating on some rocky outcropping. For Sintel, focus was getting lost in the thrum of the beat.

Hate. Hate makes a Sith powerful, but Sintel was more inclined to love. It wasn't contempt that made him powerful - it was the sheer, ecstatic joy in combat, in death, in pain and pleasure. Every sensation discovered and inclination indulged fed his hunger for more, his power to take more, it gave him more, more more. He loved these tense, pre-battle rituals, he loved the encircling, posturing, pondering that came before the storm. He reveled in it. He reveled in breaking it.

And, speaking of breaking it, it was long overdue that he broke it. If she waited this long, pulling that silent, stoic act - man he hated these stiff types, but man he loved throwing them off balance - then she wasn't likely to do it for him. Weighing his vibrosword, a serrated, nasty-looking, and somewhat impractical weapon, in his right "hand", he lifted the left, focusing his mind on moving his environment.

The natural moisture and damp, the water pooled around them was an asset he'd come to appreciate in his time, starving, choked by thirst, in a forest not too unlike this. If you bend the Force to pull it upwards, like some reaching tentacle, if you pour as much of it as you can on to your enemy's blade, what might happen? Would she stop it - would her blade short out? Would he get some steam to cover his next move? Would the superheated steam scald the poor apprentice as it burst into being so, so close to her?

If. If, if, if. Uncertainty. How fun.

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[member="Krest"]