Test your might... and maybe learn something

[Corey's OOC]

Marek had a good number of contacts for a variety of reasons in the galaxy. Did he want a night out with a wingman and to steal the galaxy blind on a business scale? He called Irani. Did he need droids and his lawn taken care of in the same go? Ardik. Did he want to drool over a hot piece of ass? Santhe. Did he need the best in cutting edge technology? Ventus. Did he want to stare at a Trade Queen who could probably buy him? Arceneau.

The one thing he hadn’t really done was work on himself. On his physical prowess. He had weapons training, blasters, pistols, rifles, that was from his father. Same with flying ships. And telekinetics and some Force training from Master Verd. But saber combat? He never really approached that.

But when it came to saber combat, one name stuck out. [member="Jacen Cavill"]. Marek had spent some time considering getting his ass handed to him, but in the end, did send the Sith a message over SpyNet channels. A simple ‘looking to train. Meet me at the Obsidian Citadel on Roon.’ Because, well, they had the practice rooms, and the outside dueling area.

He’d need that if he was going to do anything here. Alter weather was the power he stuck to when he wasn’t throwing discblades like a Zeison Sha. Still, after sending the message, he made it to the training room, in appropriate Star Wars MMA practice style clothing, orange lightsaber on his hip, and his gunbelt, with his Kala revolver and discblade off to the side. Probably wouldn’t need it, but never come unprepared. Stretched and ready to go, his body was ready.

Mostly.

 

[Darron Wraith]

Roon​

Obsidian Citadel ​

It's steps were measured and clipped, economy of motion present in everything it did. Not a soul would look the man in the eye as he entered, a mask and goggles over his face. Shoulder length hair, black as soot flowed in his wake as he went immediately to the turbolift. Servos in his powerful right arm were the only sound as everyone in attendance stared at him. A few looked as if they were going to say something, but an aura of unease fell over as it's power rolled over them in waves. Simple black pants, and an armored vest clearly indicated he was a fighter. Various Blas-Tech weapons holstered on his belt and his back only furthered that bit. His silver arm drew a few glances, it's cortosis weave construction a marvel of the latest engineering. What most felt drawn to, were the cylinders bouncing off his powerful thighs as he pressed the floor number where he was to be.

Two lightsabers, both with electrum plating were there. Only Jedi Master's could build something like that.

DING!

Swiftly walking out, the near two meter tall man entered and stared at [member="Marek Starchaser"]. Words were not spoken, it simply walked to the center of the room and placed a small disk on the ground. A few blinking lights came to life as the assassin walked over to the side. Various metallic and plastic objects were relieved, and thousands of credits of weaponry were laid on the bench to the side. Goggles were laid down, but the cover for the man's face stayed. A hologram sprung to life, and a familiar over muscled Sith Lord sprung to life. A simple suit replaced his normal attire, and his corrupted eyes were instead a piercing blue. "I'm sorry Marek, I can't accept your invitation. I have finally been put in a place to take on something I've wanted to handle for years." The feed distorted, and the image blurred for but a moment. Reception from Bal'demnic wasn't always reliable with all the Cortosis.

"This is my personal assassin, I call him Death's Hand. He's a former Jedi blade master I broke and bent to my will. Simply tell him what you wish to learn, and he will listen. Just take care to try and kill him, I only beat him because I got lucky. Had fate favored me differently that day, he'd still be saving the galaxy." The feed cut out, and the assassin simply stood there with a black and gold lightsaber hilt in it's hand. His gloved thumb went over the activation plate, and the amethyst blade sprung to life with that defining sound.

Snap-Hiss!

 

[Corey's OOC]

Marek turned as the door opened and quirked an eyebrow at the… thing that entered. The Foreman of the Techno Union, and Prodigy-Master of Net Zillo in the Obsidian Order had a writer who enjoyed listing titles, but it didn’t change the fact that the Starchaser in the training room was put off by the appearance of the cyborg that entered. Marek himself had a cybernetic arm, but there was something more about this being that walked in. No words were spoken, there didn’t seemed to be expression in the face and Marek was convinced if he tried to read this being in the Force, it wouldn’t go well.

Without a word, the being placed the disc on the floor and the hologram of one of Tion’s Finest showed up. Personal assassin? That was… interesting. The concept of anyone giving Cavill trouble on the field of battle didn’t agree with the concept Marek had in his head of the True and Eternal Leader of BlasTech. That was why he sent word after all, to learn the lightsaber from superman Cavill. The concept that Cavill sent an assassin to see Marek didn’t even seem to phase the Techno Union chief.

He was on Roon, after all, and Cavill was an ally.

Eyeing Death’s Hand, Marek nodded. The obsidian colored steel blade, with the mother-of-pearl (from Corellia) grips found its way to the Zeison Sha’s hand as he activated the orange blade. Alright then. “So, your knowledge of the forms. Is Ataru one?” That one would work very well with the Obsidian Armor Marek had currently under construction.

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[Darron Wraith]

[member="Marek Starchaser"]

It's feet spread shoulder width apart, toes pointing towards his opponent. Metallic hand met the one of flesh as it took a two-handed grip on the saber, the tip of the blade pointed down at the ground as it bent it's left knee slightly. Servos fired up as he pulled his shoulders back, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Only his breathing could be heard under the mask that covered his face from the nose on down. The neat pile on the bench to the side a testament to all the gear the walking weapon carried with it, and yet it made sense the being only needed it's lightsaber for the task at hand. Concentration lined it's azure eyes, and it's sphere of responsibility shrank to the room it was currently in. His power in the force began to manifest as an aura of power began to emanate from it. Marek would feel it's power, and it would disturb him. Normal Jedi felt like a peaceful meadow, or a beautiful day. Sith simply felt like the night and the shadows, trying to steal the light from everyting.

Death's Hand was the eye of the storm, and it was only growing in intensity.

Not a word was spoken, it instead waited for Marek to make it's first move.

 

[Corey's OOC]

Marek stood, watching the assassin for a moment. He had his lightsaber in hand, his flesh right hand and the ignited blade pointing away from him, out to the right. Not pacing, but calling the Force to himself, he was moving his danger sense down to the room, nothing else in this building would matter. The blade had the orange light of a sunrise on the Golden Beaches of Corellia, the world lost to the Force terrorist Akala. She was almost as bad as the Rebel Alliance. With his sphere focusing on the room, he was able to feel Death’s Hand in the Force, and it was… eerie.

Yet somehow familiar. Not that he was an expert on Jedi, but Marek had met a good number of people, and seen them through the Force. This was… different. It… he couldn’t place it. Taking a breath in and out, he continued to focus on the opponent. If it was a storm he was, then Marek would give him a storm.

If they got outside. Adjusting his grip on the hilt, he lifted the blade up to his side, and grabbed it with both hands, the standard Ataru opening stance. Marek had seen the holovids during his trips around the galaxy, but putting them into practice? He typically paid people to fight those battles. Stepping quickly, he came at Death’s Hand, a quick mid-chest height swing that was aimed for his opponent’s left was the opening strike coming from the less-than-useful Force Master.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

Amethyst blade was pointed at the ground, over his right side. Both hands gripped the hilt slightly, his arm of flesh across his waist. Ozone fumes made their way through the mask that covered his face, and they only strengthened upon the ignition of a second blade. A blade the color of Tattoine’s desert ignited, and calculating eyes watched intently as the person it was to instructed started to cross the distance. His weight began to shift, and it released it’s consciousness to the Force. His eyes became a mere vessel for the Force to peer through, and his body a mere extension.

Starchaser’s blade swung, and the Force fought back.

In a blur, blades met as he rolled both his wrists up, thus bringing the blade up and away from his body to meet the attack. Decades of training simply allowed the body to act as an extension of everything, there was no second thought. Sparks flew as purple met orange, and Death’s knees bent and then launched up up and over his opponent. Force enhanced leap and years of training allowed what happened next to look effortless. Instead of tucking his knees to flip, he kept his body straight, and for a moment he got parallel with Marek.

Cavill’s weapon kept the blade in close before releasing it to only his right hand, and let gravity bring him down as he made a quick slash at his opponent from left to right before landing two feet away from his target. In a flourish that only Ataru brought, he spunt the blade in his right hand before stepping forward with his left to close the distance. Another wrist twirl turned into a high arcing, circular strike as the blade went over Starchaser’s head and looped back from his left elbow, with the intention of slicing through his right elbow if not deflected.

[member="Marek Starchaser"]

 

[Corey's OOC]

That was not something Marek had felt in the Force before. Starchasers were typically ones who could read the ebbs and flows in the Force, the same way their ancestors read the ebbs and flows of the tides and currents on Corellia. It wasn’t anything meta, it was just that they could understand where the Force was going, how it was being used, and sometimes, most times, it was barely any step ahead of what the other user was doing. It helped in learning new skills, something that came hard for the Starchasers, but it didn’t help their reflex.

Aside from sometimes with Marek. He prided himself on his danger sense.

The first thing that Marek was noticing is that Death’s Hand is a hell of a lot faster than Marek could hope to be. Should have brought his armor. That would at least have given him a leg up, but Marek wasn’t feeling that he should learn the basics in such a contraption. He knew he could fly with the Razorhawk, and hold his saber, make a few cuts, but this? Something else. Death’s Hand was just doing, no thought, no process, none that Marek could gleam, and that was making the Foreman of the Techno Union feel really off of his game.

Adjusting his footing to compensate for the assassin’s movement, Marek moved his blade to intercept the initial slash. The next flourish was throwing Marek and he moved to stop the circular swing as it came down to his right, knowing the strength from the opponent would knock him off balance, but better off balance than losing his flesh arm.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

The advantage was his, and Shatterpoint allowed him to see all the possible options. His perception of the Force allowed the world to slow to a crawl and crystalize. Fault lines appeared between the two men, and their auras illuminated every path for Death to see. Various path’s illuminated for the cyborg construct in that moment, and he contemplated his options. Each possible attack led to another possible counter from his opponent, and he could see how each was flawed. One fault shined above the rest, and his senses followed it to it’s outcome. While not the most preferable option, it was the one that let him take victory the quickest.

This may have been training to Marek, this was battle to Death.

His last blow had hit the fellow dark sider while his back was to the assassin, and the awkward location had been brutal to Marek’s footwork. Still following through with the blow, he released his two-handed grip and followed the slash through with just his right, mechanical arm. Servos flared to life, and the strength in the arm nearly quadrupled, in an attempt to sweep him further off balance. It wasn’t a perfect strategy, and in the back of the man’s mind, quite dishonorable. Those days were long past, and programming and brain-washing took over for what happened next.

Stepping back, leaving his left leg forward, he raised his left hand of flash. Senses and perception combined with annoyance at his target, and that fueled the small spark of anger needed. Tendrils of dark power and sense reached out, and the Master’s aim was true. Electric tendrils of dark energy erupted from his fingers, and with each second the blast only grew wider and stronger as he poured more of himself into the attack. They all had one common target, not central mass on the opponent.

No, they went straight for his head.

[member="Marek Starchaser"]

 

[Corey's OOC]

Marek knew he wasn’t a fighter. He was the owner of a casino, and as stated in nearly half of his posts, he’d just pay people, like Death’s Hand to do the fighting for him. He was support. Not a bard of space, and not quite a cleric. A druid? Someone to mezz the others, change the stage and make it work for the favor of the Techno Union’s Obsidians and droids. Working to spin himself around as he stumbled off balance, he wasn’t realizing how helpful his stumble was.

The stab from the saber coming at him was dodged by nothing more than luck. And Marek not being drunk enough to understand how his stumbling was going to move. When he was drinking? Yeah, he could perfectly time it to fall into the cute girl in the cocktail dress, but here? In this place? He was off. When was the last time he used the Force in a situation like this? Hardly never, he wasn’t used to being this close. A discblade and his BlasTech rifle, plus two sidearms kept most people at bay. That was how he preferred to do things.

And before he could grab his footing, everything went from electric blue to dark.

[member="Death's Hand"]