Swordbreaker

[Ashin Varanin]

Rave Merrill had shown her an alchemical swordbreaker once, a jagged thing like a fish-trap, a curio. Swordbreakers were fragile, only situationally useful; she didn't know whether Rave had ever used the thing in combat. It spoke to its designer's desire to gain and keep the upper hand, to be more than normal, to find a 'yes, but...' over the best. These were sentiments Grand Admiral Ashin Varanin could appreciate, but it came down to methodology. How far could specialization be pushed before a tactic or fleet or item or person became ludicrously incapable of handling deviations from the norm? Before one lost sight of the basics, the roots?

Tangentially, this had to do with why she kept coming back to Endor, to the site of Vader's pyre. The place still thrummed with the Force, ambiguously, more shaded by memory than by some clear orientation. Trees didn't grow here; the grass was thin but brighter than elsewhere. She stood here with her hands behind her back, muscles warm from Faalo's final cadence, and let a mild rain plaster her hair to her skull. As places of training went, this was one of the simplest and most effective, and she'd worn something along the same lines: slack canvas pants, and a breast band under a sleeveless shirt. Her lightsabre hung warm against her hip. She looked to the rain for clarity.

This particular Grand Admiral's security detail knew when to keep a distance; they were off in the trees, maintaining a wide perimeter. Endor had been Fringe for years, but the locals could get fractious, and that was the sort of thing they kept an eye out for. Not a quiet-stepping woman who'd arrived by StealthX.

"Welcome to Fringe territory," said Ashin without turning around. Her hand tightened on her wrist. The sense of her visitor was familiar in the vaguest sense; they'd fought on the same side once, against the Charon and the Cult of Shadow. That was civilizations ago. "I trust you're here so I can answer for my sins."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Writer]

She knew she'd be sensed - regardless of the stealth approach.

The vaunted Sword of the Jedi made her appearance and no less than a few meters behind the form of [member="Ashin Varanin"]. It was a woman she once knew, a woman she fought beside against a darkness that was unfathomable. A valiant crusade that was and days long since gone those were - now they were on bitter ends of the war. Friends no more, nothing more than vague apparitions of their former beings. The black sleeveless vest repelled what rain pelted her, while the moisture wicking fabric of the white long-sleeve shirt ensured she stayed dry and at a comfortable temperature. The same ole comfort, fitted black cargo pants and good, reliable combat boots to go along side em - something to ensure she kept traction on unfamiliar ground. Her black gloved hands manipulated soaked strands of chestnut hair, ensuring the ponytail was secured and her face was free from loose strands - she knew what was coming.

Any idiot could sense it.

Violet eyes would blink slowly as she looked down, hands dropping to gently graze the sabers at the rear portions of her waist, dangling comfortable in their rested positions. "Unfortunately, I wish that wasn't the case - You were given a second chance Ashin and you not only blew it but you spit back in the face of those who vouched for you." She sighed heavily and looked up at the woman who was infront of her, hands would come up to rest on her hips - keeping close to the hilt of her sabers. "I know you won't come unless your subdued and even then - Your contingent of troops will bog me down - so I'm left with minimal options." She produced a small satchel and threw it between herself and Ashin - within were the images of the missing Jedi from Manaan - and a pair of stun cuffs. "We have alot of options here..."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

The bag slapped on the wet ground, an ambiguous sound; she turned and squatted next to it, fishing through its contents. Holos of people she didn't recognize, apart from Kiskla Grayson; a blonde girl, a Besalisk, others. Stuncuffs. She let the bag drop and stood, wiping her hands on her thighs.

"Yes, I failed -- but I tried, I sacrificed for my chance, and I dare you to say the same for anyone on your side of the fence, no matter how pure they claim to be." Her hand closed; within the fallen bag, the stuncuffs sparked and died. "Why the pictures, Rekali? I remember the people I've killed, and they're not among them. As if I'd kill Grayson -- the only Jedi who ever respected what we've been trying to achieve in the Unknown Regions. The only one who ever thanked us for keeping a dozen threats out of Republic space."

Her eyes, Bando Gora blue from the Dark Side corruption that added years to her face, narrowed fractionally. "We don't have her, if that's what you're after; and if these others were taken, we don't have them either. The Fringe has no interest in keeping Kiskla Grayson locked up, and so far as I know we don't have a single Jedi prisoner. At the moment. So for old time's sake, here's your chance: take your crusade and get the feth out of our territory."

 

[Writer]

Aaralyn shook her head and adjusted her gloves once more. "You're lying to me - you know exactly who has them." She shifted her gaze from side to side, then down to the ground with a smirk and a light snort. "Kaine Zambrano - and you can't tell me you haven't been known to associate yourself with the One Sith." Her eyes would shift to a darker shade of violet, given that she was half Vahla - it was only natural what would come shortly after she was starting to get tempered. Aggression attempting to get the best of her - anger naturally boiling up in her mind and sending surges of adrenaline through her. She would take a deep breath and look to [member="Ashin Varanin"], eyes narrowing. "Last chance...for old times sake Ashin, tell me what I want to know - where are they and how can I get to them?"

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"My country, right or wrong -- wasn't that your side's mantra at First Manaan, Metalorn, and O'reen?" Her sabre was in her hand now; when had it gotten there? "Well, it's my mantra too. This is my home. I've spent decades protecting its stability. What makes you think I would make accusations like that against the leader of one of the most powerful autonomous units within Fringe space? What makes you think I'd dance to the Jedi tune, risk destabilizing the Confederation, commit treason, overstep my authority as an Arbiter? What makes you think you get to offer me last chances -- here, not two minutes after I offered you the same? No, Rekali, I wasn't lying."

Snap-hiss.

"You just weren't listening."

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

 

[Writer]

Aaralyn lifted one saber from her waist and ignited the violet-white blade with a snap-hiss in it's own right, pointing it directly towards [member="Ashin Varanin"] "Because you used to be a woman with honor and now you're no better than the very darkness we fought together - Sivter had more honor than you." And so it would be, a sealed fate of two former friends - no longer. True enemies torn by views of opposite ends, not about good or evil - perhaps it was about what was right and wrong.

"I was listening, but all I heard was the venomous lies of a deceitful, old, decrepit witch...who now occupies the shell of my former friend." She gestured. "And mentor." She would twirl the lightsaber in her right hand, arm coming back behind her and a bit above her head. The blade would point directly towards Ashin, slightly angled downwards as she assumed a classic Soresu stance - her left arm would come out parallel to her body. Her right foot would slide back, against the water and muck on the ground - sloshing around the sacred ground of Vader's Pyre. Her left would position forward, ready to assume the role of movement and control as needed. She had dueled Ashin a long time ago - but that was eight lifetimes ago - and much had changed...

Now, things were different.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

[member="Aaralyn Rekali"]

"Spoken like a true servant of serenity."

The sabre in her hands burned a virulent orange-gold, the color of polished copper in the sun. She kept her stance loose, noncommittal, left foot forward. The outer edges of her bare feet bit into the soft earth a little, her one concession to stability. Not too far, though, or a bullrush would roll her rear ankle.

She moved in and to the left without a salute; her move was a quick step in with the right, then out with the left, a quick doublestep that didn't reverse her stance or make her head bob. Her toes brushed the bag; she'd have to remember that. It wound up near her rear foot, in front of her toes.

All motion began with the ground. She transferred the momentum of her quickstep into a hard two-handed cut at Aaralyn's belly -- too high to jump, too low to duck, and exactly the right height to force any one-handed block attempt to take on a very awkward angle. Dual-wielding slowed reaction time fractionally, and weakened possible blocks significantly; with any luck, she could start the war of attrition by inflicting a strained wrist.