3rd post
THE WESTERN PIER-FRONT, CORAL COAST,
CINNAGAR, EMPRESS TETA (SUMMER OF 877 ABY)
'You want my name?'
Disdainfully, the very visage, the very aura that surrounded the Jedi as her true, previously internalised intentions were put forth was nothing short of wrathful; and the Bloodhound could see it, feeling it as if a pulsating orb was throwing fragmentations at his resolute form, and all while the sands were still dancing with the raw power of this energy of which Barran could see at their feet at the time. Dancing all around them in a strange illumination of the rainy, windswept arena, an arena that had been chosen by the one-eyed Woad with his powerful foe in mind, the benefit of being far from any Duracrete or metallic surface would soon prove the sort of punishment he was expecting to endure, expecting the pain to be great enough without added factors presenting risks to his life-expectancy.
For enemies of great wit would always make use of their surroundings, this had been proven against him already, by his golden-eyed Sith-Pureblood adversary in their last two fights, learning this harsh lesson both on Tython and Mustafar alike. Suffering fractures, muscle-tears, cuts and grazes in abundance for the hubris of his fighting propensities; and for one in particular, receiving pains aplenty for the purest gluttony as punishment in an ironic twist - one such that drove his obsession to strengthen his baseline power beyond it's natural limits.
But even then, the one-eyed Woad knew he would need to fight smarter this time, knowing his freakish strength wouldn't be enough to survive the Atrisian's attacks for long.
'In exchange for your titles?'
The Omen of Durace, the Bloodhound, this entity would never have known how to comprehend such a response, let alone formulate one of his own; but of the one who remembered who he was, Thomas Barran, the deceased successor to his father's ancestral domains, this entity would. The who's and what's that defined both the Woad and the Atrisian alike seemed outlandish, almost indefinable, though all sense of self still burned brighter than the nearest star, resonating from within their souls as their grasps on reality kept them grounded enough in their singular, separate needs to find out once and for all. Of all the weird and wicked circumstances such individuals could have in common, in any war of their likes, neither extremes of dark and light would ever want it to be that, but fate, or the second like of the other, always had the worst of tricks to play on their champions.
Eternity's sleight of hand, in plain view for both to see like mirror-images staring back at each other. And they hated it, both opposites of the same inquisitive coin with equalling, rivalling measure.
'That doesn't seem fair.'
With just enough time to glare with infuriation and bellow
,'FAIR?!?!', with a disdain of his own before Ishida leaped forth with her first attack, Thomas would be left with no choice but to switch to dagger-grip form, tilt the blade upwards and hope for the best as he tried to backpedal at the right moment. But the push backward was late from the front foot's first step, and though the stomp for the Woad's throat had glanced off the Durasteel cuirass beneath, it was too high and too heavily-delivered to make proper recovery-tumble, such that the Woad learned from fighting the Sith-Pureblood before.
Ashina's downward kicking-trajectory landed well despite her opponent's quick thinking, bouncing against thick, metal plating with a loud thud, and Barran had only acted quickly enough to keep the toe-end of her boots away from his trachea, though the Jedi had hit high enough (and with enough forceful impact) that it sent the Bloodhound tumbling across the ground in several thudding collisions. Losing his shin-guards, his Brodie-Helm and scabbard to the sands until he eventually stopped several feet away, though still being coherent enough to keep a firm grip of the Romphaia throughout, the dancing, windswept sands would tell quite a revealing tale of the difficulties Thomas would be facing for the duration of the fight itself.
Without even considering how close he had come to dying by the Lightsabre-Katana, even though it had come within inches of the Bloodhound's temple at the point of impact, though his lack of a right eye was another factor in how he couldn't perceive the deathly precipice his life had neared so closely.
'Oh.... So you want my real name, is that it?! The name I was given by the same man who SENT ME TO MY DEATH?!?!?!'
Using the sword's size and weight to hold his own as he pulled himself up to his feet, pulling his mask off in complete dispensation with his own secrecy, the Bloodhound then found his footing again, setting southpaw stance before switching his Romphaia to a traditional left-handed grasp. It wouldn't have taken the Jedi very long to learn of the Warlord's impairment, so the mask mattered little anyway, especially not if his limited spacial awareness was needed at it's fullest capacity. However, after the stance, grip and visual center of perception were established, the one-eyed Woad completed form by resting the sword on his left shoulder, lazily poising for the next attack as he concluded
,'Fine, if that is what you wish; my name - is Thomas Barran! Or rather, it was in my first life.... So I ask once more - WHO HONOURS MY BLADE, ON THIS NIGHT OF NIGHTS?!?!?!', letting the Jedi dictate the pacing of the fight before he fully committed to drawn out struggles of any sort.
Ishani Dinn
