The Bast is in the Past

[Azrael]

~Bast Castle~

"Vjun? Isn't that just a big dead rock?"

"Okay it's a big, dead, important rock."

-Kyle Katarn


What was it about planets and acid rain? Perhaps it was the atmosphere of foreboding that called to the salvager -- that inhospitable wasteland of decay and death that reminded him of what Ord Mantell had very nearly been. The last time he had been instructed in anything outside the realm of Mandalorian tutelage had been on a similar rock, in similar weather. The heavy tinge of yellow clouds hung in the vast expanse of a rather desolate location mired with large crater like holes to pepper the surface. This certainly was not on any Star Tour excursion, and remained just as infinitely forgotten as all those other misfit systems out there in the Galaxy. Except for a singular location, one precise pinpoint of activity that had been a stomping ground for one of the most ruthless lords of darkness ever to trek across the Galaxy.

Bast Castle stood like a monument of terror and dread, weathered by centuries of the harsh climate, but still rather intact because of the heavy fortifications that had went into it's construction and defenses. Sections of the tower like edifice had seen better days, as chunks of durasteel had been melted away by the continual deluge of acidic water that pelted the exterior consistently. The robust design of the interior though would take far longer for much of that decay to set it and sweep through the fortress. In it's prime, the remnants of Imperial forces were strong in this location, detailing guards of only the most elite caliber, including walkers being deployed to man the perimeter. The term stronghold could have very well been named after such a castle. It's use still remained much of a mystery, as only speculation could uncover what Vader's purposes were when retiring to this dark abode. Azrael had however come here for entirely different reasons.

As a warrior there was never a time when you stopped learning - stopped honing your body and your mind into a killing machine. New tactics, new strategies of combat combined with a physical regime to improve and overcome limits. For the Mandalorians life was no different, and was often geared towards the violent sports that they cheered on and relished in. Shockboxing had been the last new arena that he had entered into, and he had taken the punishment to prove it. What had been carved from that was now a rather powerful set of tools in the Mand'alor's quiver. However he knew he was not done, and the reminder of that had been sitting like a trophy on a shelf. The double bladed lightsaber had been taken as a prize during the invasion of Empress Teta, and as of yet, he'd never put it to any substantial use. The jetii'kad as the Mandalorians called it was not a weapon many used, mainly because it was the staple of the various Force laden factions of which they often fought against. There was however some tradition among the Mando'ade of learning to defend against weapons by understanding their use in a very hands on and practical way.

There were a few people he personally knew that could handle a lightsaber, but unfortunately none of them had the expertise required to actually train a non-force user like himself in the art. He could swing a beskad with the best of them, but plasma blades and graviton fluctuations were a whole other set of rules. Rules that while he could understand, he had no experience with - and that meant he'd likely lose something very important to him if he tried to go it alone. Thankfully he did have a source in the Jedi Order, and his companion, though only a padawan herself, had recommended a teacher that might just be interested enough to warrant a few lessons for the Mand'alor. A message had been sent before his arrival at Bast Castle, a few days ago to the offices of the Jedi requesting such a favor from one of the three Raaf sisters - specifically the eldest. Azrael had arrived about an hour before he had requested the rendezvous and currently stood in close inspection of the ruins within the main chamber overlooking the sea of acidic rain that curved around the small inlet cape it sat on.

[member="Taeli Raaf"]

​

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

Vjun, it still looked just as bad as it had when she had last been here before going off to join the Jedi. Last time had been . . . well, not the most pleasant experience for Taeli as she had lost a friend to complete darkness and corruption. Acid rain was falling thick and fast as she angled her ship towards the old castle, a relic of a bygone age and a symbol of power. Even after all this time, it still stood, even if crumbled a bit.

She had been moderately surprised when the message had reached her that the Mand'alor himself wanted to meet with her here. Not exactly the best place for a meeting, and the message had been surprising that he wanted to learn something most people had difficulty learning. Still, the idea intrigued her and she had sent a reply that she would meet him. After all, as her mother had taught her, one always heeded the call of the Mand'alor. Landing her ship outside, she threw the hood of her robe over her head and picked up her lightsaber from the satchel she carried her equipment in.

Lowering the ramp of her ship, she scowled a little at the rain falling before moving off towards the old castle. A faint hissing could be heard as the rain splashed, so it was certainly the world's infamous acid rain falling. Just lovely really. Entering the old keep, she headed down semi-familiar halls to the central chamber, the one where she had fought her old apprentice.

"Su cuy'gar Mand'alor," she greeted the armored man as she entered the room and saw him observing the outside scenery.

 

[Azrael]

Historically the relationship between the Mandalorians and the Jedi were not looked on with fond remembrance, as they had more than once partnered with the Sith to wipe them out. Hunting force users had become a thing of sport in the minds of these armored warriors, and yet with the sands of time running through a cosmic time piece, attitudes had shifted, alliances had formed, and minds had changed. For Azrael, force users in and of themselves were not a bane to him, as the practice and art of the Force usage was just looked upon like another tool, another specialty he personally had no business in studying. While not ignorant of the fact that it was useful, without a connection attempting to understand it was moot at best. As it happened, it was the Dar'jetti at this point that were on the Mandalorians short list of enemies. The cultural was rather neutral in stance, known to go after just about any prize if the price was right, or sufficient motivation presented itself. They would fight for glory and kill for credits. There was still however a rugged sense of honor that beat at the very core of their collective hearts, which some found respectable, even if their methods were questioned.

Formality was not Azrael's strongest suit, having grown up in a very informal and ruthless lifestyle, the adage of kill or be killed was not only apt, but practiced. Well into adulthood, all the salvager had ever known was to fend for yourself, and keep up your guard. It was the Mandalorians that had taken such a rough-cut from the scrap yards of Ord Mantell and shaped him into the warrior and leader he was today. The talks of alliance with the Republic were hard to come by, and rarely amounted to anything of note. The Mandalorians could be an impatient lot, and the Republic's senate loved to debate, deliberate and cake everything in a kilometer of red-tape. There was a lot of dissension on the point of trying to form an iron clad agreement with that group. For now they were amicable, silently agreeing to share resources from time to time, and keep the borders clear of a firefight. They shared a common enemy, and with that in mind, it was a stance that the half-blood felt compelled to continue on with until they found cause for that reasoning to change.

Needle like rain swept across the inlet, sliding across the transparisteel window measuring just over a half meter thick to keep from being dissolved by the constant barrage of such corrosive liquid. The honeycomb structure of the large bay window highly reminiscent of old Imperial design. The tone of the main hall was also echoing with the entire dismal and uniform motif that had been hailed as progress in countless systems. Historians would often point out that before the Empire became an Iron Fist, it had been praised as a beacon of change that would ratify stale debate and endless bickering into something that would be a force for change. They had no idea at the time how gravely correct that notion was, in the worst possible way. Despite however the Empire's historical record, many Mandalorians had been bounty hunters in service of them - mainly because their pocket book was unparalleled, and they could afford the best hunters in the business. Grey eyes had watched the shuttle land, and the visitor descend into the Castle before coming up the stairs towards his six o'clock.

"Oloram Master Jetii." Azrael answered as he turned from the window, his face presented free from the helmet that sat upon a table to his immediate left. His bionic arm shifting in the movement catching rays of light that spilled between the heavy clouds of the planet and in through the window. Covering the rest of his form, the beskar'gam that was both identifiable as Mandalorian and for the vode, a symbolic reference to his title that they all knew on sight. "Thank you for arriving, schedules are not the easiest to negotiate when at war, so I appreciate the consent." Neither himself or her (he wagered) had much time to spare for things that didn't directly pertain to their respective factions. There was always work to be done, always something to be seen to when you ranked in the higher echelons of responsibility. As before Azrael preferred to meet off of Mand'yaim for things of this nature, preferring an environment that would lend itself free of distractions. "During our campaign against the Dar'jetii on Empress Teta, I picked up a prize from someone careless enough to engage me. He no longer had a use for it." The half-blood explained as he slid the metallic object from the gun-belt that cris-crossed his abdomen.

"My sources indicated that you have had training in variant lightsabers, and could offer some instruction in the use of this." His right hand, gloved held the weapon's mid section, turning it over and laying it on his outstretched palm. The double bladed weapon inert for now, had been activated only once after he relieved it from it's previous owner, and had only been used as a crude cutting tool. Azrael however wanted far more from this trophy than a simple plasma torch - and for that he'd need someone of her caliber; a Master practitioner.

[member="Taeli Raaf"]

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

"Of course, Mand'alor, my mother always told me that when you called someone that is considered even part Mandalorian should heed the call," she answered, smiling a little at the stoic warrior. Looking at the war trophy he hoped to learn, she could appreciate the need to learn it. If the Mandalor knew how to wield a lightsaber, let alone a double-bladed lightsaber, competently, he would understand his enemies just that much more. He would understand the physics of wielding the exotic weapon, what capabilities the weapon had first hand, and the best ways to fight against it.

"You could say that I'm of the mind that a normal lightsaber is a bit too . . . boring," Taeli nodded, unclipping the hilt of her lightsaber and holding it in her right hand. It looks currently like a rapier than a normal lightsaber hilt, but there was so much more to it than normal blades. "So yes, I have training in more unorthodox lightsabers, but also in standard blades as well. Quite the expert in the Makashi style when dueling with one blade."

Turning the blade to be horizontal in her hand, she ignited both blades of her lightsaber, the purple blades shining in the room.

"But as you can see, I preferred a lightsaber design that allows me to use both styles comfortably," she continued, deactivating the blades. "Where and how would you like to start?"

 

[Azrael]

That particular title had taken on a life and legacy of it's own. From the first Taung who rose to power, claiming that title in the infancy of the Mando'ade thousands of years ago - it had only grown in strength and legend with every successor that had taken the reigns. Passed down or wrestled from - however the mantle had fallen to the successor of the last, the name was synonymous with power, respect, and obligation of the highest caliber. Even before Azrael fully understood the meaning behind it, the word had been whispered among the local tavern talk when he was but a child. With every new A'lor standing on the Galaxies stage, the stories grew and flourished. The idea that any one man could live up to such a legacy was ridiculous when you thought about it, but rare few actually questioned those that held that title. Azrael didn't believe he'd ever get used to the title, but that was a personal demon he'd contend with while he bore the burden and mantle of the Mandalorian people. And he'd bare that in stoic silence like those that had come before him.

"It's a good thing when the old values continue to remain true." The salvager replied with a wry smirk, dropping his arm, and cradling the metallic tube in the crook of bent digits. "Titles aside, please call me Azrael. I've never been one to enjoy standing on ceremony for too long." He could play the part when needed, but he never really felt as genuine or forthright in dulling out platitudes or acting in an official capacity. At the end of the day, when you got to who he was as a person, the half-blood was still just a salvager from Ord Mantell who'd been given a completely new life thanks to the Manda and her children. "My Buir was....is a polearm specialist and I've taken up his knack for that kind of weaponry. This version of the jetii'kad seemed right, but that's only by impression alone." He explained glancing down at the weapon rolling back and forth within the crevice of his fingers, gripping the hilt once more and looking over the structure. His grey eyes flicked back up towards the brunette before him. "I don't have a connection to the Force, and I understand that there will be a limit to how far I can go with this - but many A'lor have wielded sabers in the past and I don't intend to be an exception to the rule."

Pausing for the moment in speech, and turning towards the table where his helmet rested - he took a few steps forward in preparation. The saber hilt was placed with a quiet 'clink' upon the durasteel furniture while he unloaded a light arsenal that was part of his everyday carry while in his beskar'gam. The ripper was unholstered and checked for safety, laying it to the side. From his back a folded version of his E'tad Kal was laid alongside the slug-thrower. That weapon was his mainstay, especially against users of the Force, but he wasn't going to need it for this training exercise. A few detonation sticks were placed in a row, and finally removing the clasp for his shoulder cape, to lay in a rolled up form on the table itself. While he'd have these on his person in the future, he wanted nothing that could be damaged by the saber blade, or interfere with introductory lessons with it. Taeli's question caused a crease of concern on his brow however, wondering if he would even have a worthwhile proposal on the task of beginning. Once again reclaiming the weapon into his gloved digit, and turning to face her.

"I'm not entirely sure how many students you've educated without the Force, but there are a few notable differences with me." His left arm gestured outwards, giving her a rather full view of the bionic appendage. Thicker than his normal arm, the metallic surface of it carved up and down into various intricate grooves with custom servos spinning with every slight movement. "I had it alchemized a while back, to deal with the Force lightning I've encountered among the Dar'jetti. I retain full mobility, but it still isn't as dexterous as one of flesh." In point of fact the arm held a feint but still distinct aura of the dark side - even without his connection to the Force. A disadvantage of the process of change, but one he could certainly live with. "I've also never studied any of the forms of the Jetii - so my only bladed experience comes from Verz Horak - and while he studied under Master Watts, I've only been using a Mandalorian version of bladed combat." Azrael explained, stepping forward again, drawing his thumb back over the activation switch, but not drawing the blade to life just yet.

"Suffice to say, I don't have enough experience in this realm to offer a starting point, though hopefully that's enough to go on for you to suss out a training regiment." He baited her a bit in his speech, attempting to draw out the instructor in her, and generate a lesson plan in her own mind. As much as they were Mand'alor and a Master of the Force, the ground they shared put them in a very different status. She was the teacher, and he was her student.


[member="Taeli Raaf"]

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

"I see," she said quietly, nodding to herself in thought as she pondered how to go about this particular lesson. The fact he didn't have any experience in any of the actual lightsaber forms might actually be a blessing in disguise, he could create his own style that none of his enemies would recognize. The alchemized arm had that faint dark side aura, and as he said, wouldn't be as useful for quick maneuvers or overly complicate movements with the saberstaff.

A lack of connection to the Force meant his movements would need to be more calculated as he wouldn't be able to rely upon the Force to augment his reflexes or speed. That was fine too, in fact, it gave her a more general idea on how to go about this.

"So, just in case you aren't aware of the theory behind a saberstaff, the point is to unleash a lot of savage strikes in a quick barrage while conserving on movements," she said. "There is also a more acrobatic version, but that can be taxing in a drawn out fight. The saberstaff is also excellent defensively as you have more surface area to defend against an enemy, however, there are some limitations. An opponent with sufficient training will always know where the second blade is and take that into account. You also have to worry about getting the hilt bisected, but that can be countered by having two separate matrices within the blade."

Taking a breath, she continued, "Taking all of this into account, including your experience and partial limitations, we're going to focus on the more grounded version of the double-bladed lightsaber. Maximum slaughter per swing with little movement, and we will combine that with a Mandalorian mindset on combat."

Igniting both blades of her lightsaber, she dialed down the power on them to sting, but they would do nothing permanent beyond some painful tingling.

"I suggest dialing the power on the blades to training settings as I doubt we want to remove any limbs," she said, her smile slowly turning to a harder version of it. She was in full on instructor mode now, an instructor that had had an adopted Mandalorian mother. There would be no free passes or holding back.

 

[Azrael]

By recollection, the first time Azrael remembered holding a blade of any kind for combat purposes had been a few years ago, in a glade outside the Keldabe mess hall. The besked had felt heavy in his hands. The matte black finish coupled with the razor sharp edge offered a sharp contrast against the gleaming rays of sunlight. Several thin scratches weathered the blade itself, indicating where other cuts and jabs had been countered with the distinctive ring of metal upon metal. His opponent at the time was one of the most trusted and feared Mandalorians at the time. Verz Horak had given Azrael personal instruction in sword combat, as well as some other melee experience. Trained by Mand'alor the Liberator, educated by the Grand Master of the Jedi order - Verz instilled in the young half-blood the meaning of combat, and the art of the blade. These were lessons only compounded over the years, and yet the memory of that first day was as fresh and new as was the last breath he took.

Now, here Azrael stood, having claimed the title of Mand'alor - and was further increasing his skill in combat with another Master of the Jedi order. The hilt itself was far less weighty than the besked that he brandished, and even less than the E'tad Kal he'd fashioned to be his signature weapon. With the given explanation of how the saber would alter the combat flow, and the preference in usage, it only affirmed the belief that it was a thing meant to be. A tool to be used in order to attain even greater understanding of this form of combat. The Sith were an enemy, one long standing and ever increasing in fervor and size. For now there was a buffer, a medium between themselves and the One Sith nation. The Republic wasn't faring well as that zone, and he could see the writing on the wall becoming ever more clearer as time passed. More and more star systems falling prey to their insufferable legions by the Galactic months. Even the chaos of the Netherworld hadn't seem to slow down their engine of destruction. Soon they would come, and for that day, he wanted - no, he needed to be ready. Fear did not rule him, but preparation for war was always a constant matter.

"A strong and steady attack can go a long way. Footing is everything, as I've heard it said. Pressing the attack, presses the advantage. I can work with that." Azrael responded in strong confident tones. He knew how to back his opponents into literal or metaphorical corners. Leaving no room for breath, and only for panic and retreat was a preferred method when attempting to capitalize. The dark and seemingly scorched metallic lance in his hand was turned and the blades ignited with a swipe across the activators, taking her advice and heed to dial back the power usage, until the blade flickered into a setting meant for a spar. While his beskar'gam could weather blows from the blade, he had no reason to test the resolve when it wasn't necessary. Likewise his buy'ce was removed, and his head exposed - something he'd prefer to keep. In the slow and gradual motion, the half-blood pivoted the blade into a firm grip of his right hand, angling the two glowing plasma beams into a horizontal plane before him. Each one humming with a constant thrumming of power and energy.

Digits of his bionic hand pressed their grip around the other end, drawing out the grip in reverse of his right. There were notions already in the salvager's head of the fulcrum and lever system. The physical manifestation of a staff, and yet only a small section that was mostly inert. Still, his notions weren't enough to engage in practice without the experience and wisdom of someone who was so used to these weapons that they were merely an extension of themselves. For a moment's pause, Azrael gazed at the crimson beams emanating from each side, only turning his head to the side for a moment.

:: Record :: An instant later a small red light shown on the buy'ce which then changed to blue, and the holographic capture of this training session was set to record every detail.

[member="Taeli Raaf"]

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

"And we begin," she said, moving forward to start the spar. They would be taking it slower than a normal lightsaber fight, both to compensate for the Mand'alor learning the weapon and the fact the man didn't have the Force to augment his speed. She noted that he was recording the training, which was fine by her. Looking at the video feed and studying it for mistakes and areas to improve was just as useful in learning a weapon as actually wielding it.

"Keeping the momentum of the blades going is essential," she explained, spinning her own saberstaff in an intricate pattern around herself. "If you lose momentum with them, it can be leave you open to attacks."

With a final spin over her head head, she brought the right blade down at the Mand'alor's shoulder before flicking the hilt up so the left blade would strike at his hip after that attack. It was all done slowly, for now, so he would have ample time to block the attacks, but she continued to spin the blades as she launched the same sequence in reverse and on his opposite side.

 

[Azrael]

Guided only by instinct and the Jedi Master's instruction, the twin crimson blades of his trophy saber came into action. Slow methodical movements drew themselves to mirror Taeli's own sweeping arcs. Polearms were a specialty of the Skirata clan, specifically from the instruction of Gilamar, and his own practice with such weapons. The E'tad Kal that rested dormant on the conference table of this abandoned castle was his current signature in melee combat. The lightsaber was however far more unwieldy for such a beginner in the art. He knew what the blade could do, he'd seen it first hand - and he had fought against it as well. One slip from the plasma could slice through just about anything in the Galaxy - and while these were dialed down to a training stream of power, he treated them as if they were actually live and lethal. There was no room for complacency in the use of these blades, and vigilance was a constant thought. The movements however would not occupy the entirety of the time between them - at least he wouldn't let the time slip from his grasp without further advantage.

"The Republic is weak." Azrael said, not in a tone of threat or in insult, but just a matter of statement. He hadn't called out her own faction for that trait though, but simply the faction itself. "Comparatively. They are unfocused, and of too many minds." Another cascading clash of saber against saber, as gray eyes tracked the progress of Taeli's blade, catching it in simple parry's at shoulder and hip. "The Dar'Jetti took Coruscanta, and now they intend to take every world the Republic holds dear until it's broken. They align themselves to a single thought, a single rule." The Mand'alor advised in contrast to the myriad of thoughts running rampant through the Republic. His hands switched, rolling the hilt against the back of his right and into the palm of his left for a cross brace to take the second wave, sliding the plasma beam against it's counterpart and pushing it back with a jab of force. "The Senate cannot deliberate themselves out of this fight - and the Jedi do not rally like the Mando'ade." He cautioned her, turning his stance to shift his other foot into the lead. The weightless feel of the hilt was the most troubling - knowing he could easily let it go too far with a single swipe. Deliberate movements though came to somewhat pass a mirrored image of her own strikes to imitate her movements.

"They've always been a people of ego. Somehow they have put aside that conquest for power. Something has united them, and I have faced that demagolka on Teta. If the Dar'Jetti are to be broken, they have to realize their subservience as weakness." Azrael had seen the flaw in what the Sith were about, but this unholy union was spreading too far. They were using the overtaken center of the Republic to branch out and conquer the Galaxy. A right by which he felt strongly should be the Mandalorians. However the Mandalorians were not as concerned with conquering planets and staking rule. They simply enjoyed the challenge and struggle of combat. Drawing hand over hand, the same four strikes repeated were put before a single side swipe with the aforementioned idea of attempting to bisect the Master's weapon. Despite the training setting, it was the aim and intent to see how it might be defended against.

[member="Taeli Raaf"]

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

Taeli thought the Mand'alor was doing quite well for learning this, but then he was an experienced warrior. As he spoke while they practiced the basics, she would wait to respond with her own thoughts when he finished, as that was the polite thing to do. When the attack came that would normally bisect the saberstaff, Taeli demonstrated that a quick shifting of the blade would catch his on the energy near the blade emitter. To avoid losing the weapon, it was imperative to keep in mind where the hilt was and keep the positioning controlled so you could keep up the flurry and catch the blade.

"I agree actually," she said, going for own attempt at bisecting so he could practice blocking it. It wasn't a perfect defense because the nature of the longer handled hilt, but that was why she had gone with her smaller hilt so she could also wield hers one handed. "The Republic is weakened and has far too many conflicting interests to get things efficiently done. The Jedi are the ones fragmented this time, instead of the Sith, unable to put the differences between the Orders below the greater good and cause. That is something I find as strange and weird."

Switching it up a little, she would start to slowly increase the speed of her flurry of attacks.

"I was once on the other side of the conflict, I was a Sith Lady once upon a time before joining the light side, so I understand exactly what you are saying," she continued. "I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable, knowing I'm a former Sith Lady, but it was an . . . unpleasant time in hindsight. The Sith recruited me when I was just coming into my powers, offering me control of the darkness and they blinded me to what they truly were. Needless to say, I saw the error of my ways when I saw just how egotistical and power-hungry they could be when they callously turned on others."

She understood that revealing this might not be the best thing, but a teacher must be honest with the person they are training.

"The One Sith must have internal strife for the Republic to have a chance as we currently stand. I respect my adopted mother's culture, and yours, in that regard that when the Mando'ade go to war, it is a unified effort. If ever I can, I'd be willing to support your and I suppose my people's efforts against the enemies at the door."

 

[Azrael]

Since the One Sith rose up and began to spread their web of destruction and domination in the face of the Galactic Republic, there had been several conferences, derogatory meetings, peace summits, and attempts at alliance and unification between the factions. Not only with the Mandalorians, but with other like minded factions who also had a grudge against the Sith and their dark history. It was only natural to rally allies in a time of need and crisis - however as of yet, nothing had come to fruition. Mostly - the cause for this stemmed from the Republic as a whole not being on the same page - and failing to take action when it was necessary. The Jedi had fought back, tried to slow the advance of the increasing machine of war on their borders. Azrael knew why they had lost, and why they would continue to lose - as he had seen the same force on Teta, when his own Ori'vod had lead that horde into battle against his own brothers and sisters. This Dark Lord of theirs - he was their enigmatic linchpin, and without a true form to vanquish - attempting to cut the head off of the snake was a fool's errand.

The slight adjustment to her shorter hilt, allowed the blades to collide again, sparking with their comparative energy. Already, the salvager understood that the movement of hers would be far easier than attempting to completely guard against a longer expanse of the exterior housing. This was a weakness he could exploit on those that preferred this type of weapon, and something he'd keep in mind later on. Drawing the hilt higher into his grip, the crackling beam slid against the outer covering of his gauntlet, leaving a darkened stripe against the armor. Besk'ar would stand up against punishing blows, even from a fully powered saber, but that didn't mean the paint job would hold. Flicking his wrist and turning the blade over on itself, - his motion attempting to pivot her blade down allowing for a tap of the left end towards her chest. Again, all of this was done slowly and deliberate.

"Everyone walks a path of their own, Master Jedi. Many of my vode have come and gone from various influences." The half-blood explained, while he pivoted on one heel and turned his profile towards the woman. The staff was taken against in both hands while he moved into the furry of her strikes at the faster pace. Keeping his eyes trained on each specific attack, and detailing them for what they were. Each and every time the blades truck, he could feel the weight of them, the weight that was no longer there when the weapon was not locked in combat. The addition and relief of pressure was of a particular note, one that he'd study in depth once he had a chance to watch the recording later. There were several Mandalorians that had left the honor code they had once bled for, walking the way of the Dar'manda - a point which was grievous to the heart of the Mand'alor. Still he couldn't fault them, or hold them that close - each had their reasons, and as of yet, none had come back to fight against him. He was hoping that day would never come.

"Holo-records indicate that the Sith have always been of a religious mindset, but that it was wholly personal. Now they are expendable vessels, each one protecting their dark Master - is only a vessel for a part of it's being. They have been replaced before and they will be again. The Sith no longer value their personal desires to overthrow each other and claim power. They have been turned into servants for a higher calling." Azrael surmised as he locked blades against the Jedi, letting the energy crackle again. "And there is no greater threat than those who are of true and unshakable faith. Believing that their purpose supersedes their own personal agenda." Even the Mandalorians knew that well, their faith in the Manda, and the culture were something they would gladly die for, to be honored in such a way was of the highest calling. Still, they didn't look to die, but they did not fear it.

[member="Taeli Raaf"]

 

[Taeli Raaf]

[member="Azrael"]

"I would say the personal ambitions are still there," she said, breaking the blade lock for a moment to take a few steps back. "The Sith will always be Sith and always have some scheme to increase their own power, but the Dark Lord has positioned them into whatever their goals are to align with his empire. Although . . . not many of the Sith now even know about the Dark Lord, he only speaks to his Voices, the Hands, the Eye, and his Wrath. They claim to carry out his will . . . but he has not been seen since he was attacked at a gathering of the Lords by his apprentice. Some who were there whisper that he was killed and the current Sith leaders are merely perpetuating a lie."

She moved into a new attack format, quick flicks of her blade to either side at a rapid pace as she accompanied that with constant pivots of her feet and body.

"Regardless, it is almost impossible to kill the One Sith the normal way of taking out their leadership," she continued, continuing the rapid strikes as she counted silently in her head. "To truly defeat them, the foundations of their empire need to crumble. Attacks on their infrastructure, their communications, naval yards, everything they need to keep their war machine going. They have been weakened by Titan Industries leaving, so they are relying heavily on buying from the Techno Union and possibly the shipyards owned by Koros Spaceworks."

Suddenly, she deignited one blade to launch a quick flurry of power attacks, but was more interesting about it was she kept alternating which blade was active. It was something she wanted to show that having two blades and alternating them on and off could be a tactic in battle against an enemy to get them off balance.