Private Stellar Exchanges

[Astra Sadow]

"Doesn't matter." Astra had followed him into the cargo bay. She'd listened to everything he'd said even though she already knew much of it. Sometimes it wasn't what the person said so much as what they chose to say that could hold a woman's attention. "The important thing is that you made it your own. Don't over think what characteristics you used; just know they are unique choices to you. It is your blade. That's why it's humorous to hear people constantly digging into tombs on Korriban in search of this Lord's saber or that Lord's armor. What does it matter? They might as well purchase a well-crafted blade or suit of armor from a vendor. Carries the same connection. The same meaning." None. A tool used by tools to appear important because they felt insecure they mattered in the grand scheme of things.

Lysander was gracious enough to offer that very blade for Astra to take, which caused her to lift a hand after she'd set aside the cup. "That is your sword, Lysander. A fine weapon, but it would give me no benefit over another. Though, if you wish me to feel its balance and the exceptional craft of its maker, I will not refuse the offer a second time." If Lysander really wanted her to wield it, she would. Perhaps he wanted to test himself against it. Perhaps he simply wanted someone to appreciate it that wouldn't die seconds later. Whatever the case, she wouldn't insult him by refusing a second time -- if he offered a second time.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

"Doesn't matter, huh?" Lysander let out a breathy laugh at that, index digit tapping against the crossguard before surrendering it entirely. "Never really thought about it that way."

Holocrons held a certain appeal, repositories of knowledge were hard to dismiss, but weapons? Never did that particular hunt make much sense on a personal level. Surely Astra must have already connected those dots, tracing it back to the choice he made regarding her relics on Lyrandar.

"Choosing that sword wasn't about creating the strongest thing in the room. Honestly, a lot of other options might have been more practical. More powerful, even. But that one.. well, that one felt right. In the end, everything just kind of clicked." There was a lower note behind his lips as he sorted through another idea. "I had a few real ones that believed in me at the time, too. And the Covenant gave all of that a direction. A purpose. A lot of people died for that purpose to even exist, you know?"

Lysander waved one hand dismissively. "Truly, I don't mind. It's no big deal for me at all." Offering Nightstar did not come from some grand reason. In the moment, the gesture simply felt like the correct thing to do. There was nothing wrong with sharing something he valued.

"You don't have to refuse on my account, you know." To up the challenge, his hand was already closing around one of the training swords on the lower rack. He tilted his head with a smile. "You sure you're not hungry, Astra?"

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra stepped forward and reach out to accept the Nightstar at his insistence. Her golden eyes met his as they stood within arm's reach of one another. "I told you, Lysander: I'm always hungry." There was no sating the desire within. All life in the galaxy could be distilled down to a single moment, a single glorious indulgence, and the next moment she'd still want more. It was a curse replete with bounties, but it was a curse. Not that Astra ever considered it a burden. Some people wanted to kill for sport. She wanted to drain people of life to survive... and sometimes for sport.

If he relinquished the blade, she'd give it a swing off to the side and then hold it out at arm's length to get a feel for it. The length was brought up to eye-level for her gaze to travel down its length and scrutinize the edges of the blade. Trust played no part in putting your life in the hands of someone else's weapon. If you picked up a scatter gun you treated it with respect. The same was true of a blade. Poorly maintained, neglected, or made of poor materials it could snap halfway through a fight.

The cotorsis was a concern, but it seemed some effort had been made to provide structure around the more fragile component of its construction.

Her words had been chosen with care, and Astra had refrained from getting too close the thought of sampling Lysander's blood would be overwhelming, but in testing his blade perhaps she'd let on more than she had consciously intended. It was a two-handed blade, for instance. So why was a humble Corpo inspecting it held in a single hand? Habit. She was stronger than she looked, after all.

"Power. Practicality. Aesthetics." She laid the flat of the blade atop a gloved finger to discern its center of balance. "They have their place, but ultimately a sword is but an extension of the one that wields it. No better, no worse than that." Astra was something of a sword-fighting aficionado, which was why her own, personal weapon of choice was a broadsaber. No, not perhaps the most practical in the 'modern' era, but it was hers. And a formidable weapon it was in her hands too.

"You've selected your weapon?"

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Meeting those golden eyes as Astra stepped forward required no flinching. Fingers of one hand remained curled around the worn grip of the training sword while the other extended Nightstar hilt-first. "Staying hungry keeps you honest, doesn't it, Astra" murmured softly. "The moment you're satisfied, I imagine you'll stop hunting. And I'd hate to think you're finished with me already."

Attention narrowed to the way she tested the sword. Watching the motion brought no offense. If anything, more unexpected curiosity. For the first time the sword existed somewhere other than in an own grip, and the sight felt strange in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Observing such a light, one-handed wield invited surprise. Not disbelief. Knights on Ukatis still favored a free hand for a shield, and naturally a hand-and-a-half weapon could be managed with one. Less rotational torque would follow, less efficient transfer from hip to blade, slower recovery after a cut.. but still functional.

But excitement hummed louder than form of analysis. The desire to measure ability over trying to prove anything. "I have," came the simple answer.

Movement followed words, boots carrying Lysander past the woman's shoulder, down the ramp and onto Had Abaddon proper. A fresh breeze brushed against the face, warm sunlight spilling open across exposed skin. Thirty meters or so passed beneath steady strides, enough distance to leave the freighter behind. Streams cut lines through greenery, natural beauty in every direction. Turning at last to face back toward Astra, Lysander rolled his shoulders, flexed wrists, sank into a series of stretches. Hamstrings, back, forearms.. just another ritual before a spar.

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra just smiled in return. She'd never stop being hungry, but for him? Well, she hadn't run out of interest in Lysander either.

Soon enough, Lysander led the way out of the chamber and down the ramp. His opponent made certain to deposit her ruby glareshades on a shelf on her way out. Even putting them in a pocket wouldn't be sufficient if Lysander managed a strike on her person. They were far from indestructible.

The sun had risen well above the horizon by this point as Had Abbadon continued to turn. Time marched ever onward, as they'd spoken of earlier. What it revealed was a rather colorful field of a relatively unspoiled world. Pretty in its fashion. Astra would, however, continue to favor a moon-lit landscape to that of a blinding star. All a Sangnir could say for a sun was that it kept a planet at a reasonable temperature, globally speaking; otherwise they'd be quite content without them. Very well, temperature regulation (useful for their food) and a center of gravity for the entire solar system -- though an appropriately sized singularity could suffice as well (for a time).

As Lysander stretched, Astra set her feet and held the sword with its tip pointing toward the ground. "First contact or first blood?"

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Opposite Astra, his stare was pitiless, shoulders moving in slow articulation. Fingers tightened around the hilt, testing balance with a few experimental turns of the wrist. Lighter than Nightstar by a clear margin, the blade nevertheless answered familiarly enough, not entirely foreign in how the weight settled against the palm. A diagonal slash cut through the air, followed by a horizontal cut that snapped at full extension. Feet pivoting to keep alignment true. Another sequence followed; a rising cut, a quick parry, a controlled thrust. Each movement primed the muscles rather than any display of force. His breath was timed to each exertion.

Several strides closed the distance between them, boots pressing into the unspoiled ground, chin inclining until his gaze ascended to capture Astra's. Lips parted around the words. "First blood."

Raising the stakes seemed an unwarranted gamble; for one could never be entirely certain with the Sith, whose mercies were as fickle as their furies were absolute. Still, traveling all this distance and exchanging semi-meaningful conversations along the way hardly seemed like a prelude to an execution.

Weight shifted once more, feet finding their place shoulder-width apart, leading foot angled forward while the blade was brought up before the body like a prayer offered to steel. Knees softened as posture aligned into a formal stance. The sword lifted in salute, tip dipping forward.

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra's right foot slid forward as Lysander took his stance. She brought the Nightstar's guard down closer to her waist with both hands on its grip. Tip in the air, she allowed it a dip in response to her opponent's salute. Would Lysander appreciate the left-handed orientation for her starting position? She wouldn't expect it to befuddle him, but a little difference at the start might be stimulating.

Conscious effort would be taken not to throw her all into the fight. Wouldn't do either of them any good if she got too excited in the moment. First blood was fine with her, but Astra didn't want it to be a pool of blood. It would be such a waste; in more ways than one.

The first move was Lysander's if he chose to take it. It never hurt to take a moment to simply study your opponent and wait until the stars aligned just right.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Astra Sadow​

Deciphering Astra's stance required no conscious effort, executed opening and without pretense of subtlety. There was plenty to glean before a weapon ever moved; how tightly someone held their guard, whether the waist-high position left the shoulder open or protected it. Breathing found a steady rhythm, inhaling slowly through the nostrils, bled out through the mouth with indifference.

Choosing a sparring partner required consideration. Someone leagues below offered no edge, only the illusion of skill. Someone levels ahead might gain nothing from the exchange, and whether generosity colored their movements, the benefit could easily be muted. But speculation only went so far; the truth of the match would reveal soon.

Guard was taken, blade held true and point threatening the center line. A respectful pause was allowed to hang in the air between them. Then a shortened step carried the body forward, followed by a crisp knock against Nightstar, meant to test the firmness of Astra's hold, to feel whether the grip tightened or yielded under pressure. Disengaging smoothly, the blade redirected in the same breath, and line changed toward her left shoulder.