The Parliament
Armed with: De Lifte Crystal (Straight Blade)
Wearing: Training Robes.
Laertia was up early that morning in the Silver Rest. Two weeks. The most time she had spent among mostly mainstream Jedi.
The scarred woman was in a simple gray training tunic, her lightsaber, a glossy, obsidian black hilt containing a crystal powerful enough to mostly suppress her migraines, make them tolerable, powering its blade's properties. A bauble of sorcery by Jedi more learned than her in such things.
Still...it had its uses. Infinitely less of a hassle to use to suppress the terrible pain that hit her at random than the cumbersome power armors she relied on.
She passed by few on her way to the sparring chamber. She intended to get a little excercise in before starting the day.
The chamber was empty, but a number of lightsaber training droids were available, with a flick of her hand, her use of the Force instantly programmed them for master level fighting, and to randomize their attacks.
They activated, white blades hissing out to meet the tombstone-skinned Jedi Knight, their light showing the scars on an otherwise beautiful face and head hidden by a mop of black hair.
Gray eyes, one cybernetic saw one sprint for her with a clear intention to use Ataru, trying to attack her at the max speed its servos allowed at all angles.
Laertia waited until the last moment before her blade, its core black and aura green, shot out of her hilt just as the first of the attacks reached her.
Four blocks, three parries, a quick shift forward and her blade then dipped low but sliced upward in a one handed manner as she passed by it.
The droid fell, bisected.
The others, 007 in all, sprang forward, alternating between styles with each attack.
Laertia saw it as a point of pride that she mainly used Shii-Cho against enemies. She had dueled and slain many over the years. Enough to be familiar with and master many of the styles. But Form One was her go to. It was an ancient, honorable form of combat that was truly devastating, but only if one threw their heart and soul into it as Laertia had. However, she could alternate as randomly as the droids could and decided to make a game of it.
As random as their attacks were, so were hers. She defended randomly in whatever style would be the most useful to defend with at the moment, confounding the droids, manuvering around and through them, tricking one into accidentally cutting another in half. Her droids were set to lethal. Always. It was the only way to maintain her lethal edge.
Her parries redirected blades into each other, ripping through the legs of one, disarming and beheading another after it attempted a Falling Avalanche assault in Djem So, her crisp, precise footwork allowing her to evade the attacks at two seperate angles, light swishes of the blade warding her attackers away, until they re-engaged, attacking in either Djem So or Juyo Sequences.
Laertia stood in place, switching back to Form One, her one handed blocks and parries defying all their attack protocols, until, with a series of ghostly quick parries, she beheaded them all.
Laertia shut off her blade, sitting at a bench as one of her migraines came...
She stared at the blade. Once again, the disquiet at how fighting was her true calling and nature steadily taunting her. She had killed thousands, level grinding like crazy to get where she was in terms of skill.
But so much of being a full on Jedi required 'not' fighting.
Was there truly a niche for someone like her? Or was she forever an outsider?
Laertia had no answers.
All she knew was she really wanted to give being a true Jedi a chance...
Amz
Wearing: Training Robes.
Laertia was up early that morning in the Silver Rest. Two weeks. The most time she had spent among mostly mainstream Jedi.
The scarred woman was in a simple gray training tunic, her lightsaber, a glossy, obsidian black hilt containing a crystal powerful enough to mostly suppress her migraines, make them tolerable, powering its blade's properties. A bauble of sorcery by Jedi more learned than her in such things.
Still...it had its uses. Infinitely less of a hassle to use to suppress the terrible pain that hit her at random than the cumbersome power armors she relied on.
She passed by few on her way to the sparring chamber. She intended to get a little excercise in before starting the day.
The chamber was empty, but a number of lightsaber training droids were available, with a flick of her hand, her use of the Force instantly programmed them for master level fighting, and to randomize their attacks.
They activated, white blades hissing out to meet the tombstone-skinned Jedi Knight, their light showing the scars on an otherwise beautiful face and head hidden by a mop of black hair.
Gray eyes, one cybernetic saw one sprint for her with a clear intention to use Ataru, trying to attack her at the max speed its servos allowed at all angles.
Laertia waited until the last moment before her blade, its core black and aura green, shot out of her hilt just as the first of the attacks reached her.
Four blocks, three parries, a quick shift forward and her blade then dipped low but sliced upward in a one handed manner as she passed by it.
The droid fell, bisected.
The others, 007 in all, sprang forward, alternating between styles with each attack.
Laertia saw it as a point of pride that she mainly used Shii-Cho against enemies. She had dueled and slain many over the years. Enough to be familiar with and master many of the styles. But Form One was her go to. It was an ancient, honorable form of combat that was truly devastating, but only if one threw their heart and soul into it as Laertia had. However, she could alternate as randomly as the droids could and decided to make a game of it.
As random as their attacks were, so were hers. She defended randomly in whatever style would be the most useful to defend with at the moment, confounding the droids, manuvering around and through them, tricking one into accidentally cutting another in half. Her droids were set to lethal. Always. It was the only way to maintain her lethal edge.
Her parries redirected blades into each other, ripping through the legs of one, disarming and beheading another after it attempted a Falling Avalanche assault in Djem So, her crisp, precise footwork allowing her to evade the attacks at two seperate angles, light swishes of the blade warding her attackers away, until they re-engaged, attacking in either Djem So or Juyo Sequences.
Laertia stood in place, switching back to Form One, her one handed blocks and parries defying all their attack protocols, until, with a series of ghostly quick parries, she beheaded them all.
Laertia shut off her blade, sitting at a bench as one of her migraines came...
She stared at the blade. Once again, the disquiet at how fighting was her true calling and nature steadily taunting her. She had killed thousands, level grinding like crazy to get where she was in terms of skill.
But so much of being a full on Jedi required 'not' fighting.
Was there truly a niche for someone like her? Or was she forever an outsider?
Laertia had no answers.
All she knew was she really wanted to give being a true Jedi a chance...
Amz
