Private The Mando and the Master | A Tale of Iron and Flame

[Adelle Bastiel]

Nessantico, Tol Forod | Everholt Keep, Arena of Blades
Tags: Ala Quin

Of course.

Of kriffing course.

Adelle stared at the dueling lists with no small amount of frustration and nerves. The Mand'alor, Aether Verd had just finished his spar with a Republic Jedi Knight, both shirtless to the crowd's delight--she was sure there'd be recordings and holovids of the match on the holonet within minutes. Warpriest Prime was also on the lists, which was no surprise. The female being embraced sparring and combat like it was a lover returned from the dead.

No, what was surprising and the source of her consternation was Adelle's own opponent. Her vod had only said she was matched with a Jedi. But the lists painted a clearer picture.

Adelle Bastiel, Clan Skirata v. Ala Quin, Jedi Grandmaster.

The Republic Jedi Grandmaster.

She knew very little about the High Republic, much less about the Jedi Order that operated under its government. Her own, former Order had been small but Grandmasters were generally elected by consensus of the Council, usually based on the merits of their wisdom and ability. The last Grandmaster in her order had been a formidable Battlemaster, and constantly trained with his lightsabers at a level that few others could match.

The chances were good that Adelle was going to get her ass kicked. In public. Twice.

Cheers from the crowd echoed faintly in the armory, the stonework barely keeping out the chill outside. Adelle clicked her tongue then moved to an empty rack and started to doff her armor, setting it reverently on the rack. Ordinarily, she'd keep her armor on--training with it constantly had helped her adjust to its weight. But ordinarily she wasn't sparring against a grandmaster. And the crowd would want something entertaining, especially after the Mand'alor himself.

Adelle could feel the quartermaster's eyes on her as she stripped down to trousers and tank top, the cold air sending goose bumps crawling on her skin. They could keep staring for all she cared. She needed the mobility and while she'd gotten better with her beskar'gam, it wasn't near the level she knew she could reach unarmored.

The announcer outside started hyping up the next match. Her match. Adelle rolled her neck and shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that had been building ever since she found out who, exactly, she was sparring. The medics had taken the time to follow-up on her head injury--even as they were attending to the young noble brother of Queen Sibylla Abrantes --and cleared her. No concussions, no lasting damage. Adelle had discreetly offered her services as a Healer if the boy's injuries were severe but the medics had assured her he'd gotten incredibly lucky, suffering minimal damage.

Lucky son of a chakaar.

Adelle walked out into the arena as the announcer called her name, picking up a training saber from the weapon racks. Breathe in. She kept her breathing slow and steady, falling into the same rhythm she used when running.

The announcer called forth the Jedi Grandmaster, Ala Quin.

Adelle turned to face her opponent and blinked. The woman was a lot shorter than she expected. Well, at least she wouldn't have to crane her neck to look the Jedi in the eye. She stepped into the ring, training saber hilt in hand but unignited. Yet.

"Su cuy'gar," Adelle said. "They said I'd be fighting a Jedi. I'm honored to be sparring with the Grandmaster."

 

[Ala Quin]

People fussed over her. Ala swatted hands away whilst her nose scrunched more than it ought to. "I...am...fine...I do not need nor want armour...goodness me you are all a bunch of worry warts," she said while squirming away from the purveyors of protective attire.

"I cannot fight in that stuff...it will restrict me, and its heavy...and I pretty sure that is a man's codpiece that you are using as a pauldron," she said, finger pointing with judgment before unease set in, "and that fact that it fits my shoulder...gives rise to questions that I shall not ask!"

They insisted. Ala swatted again, and bundled out of the tent. She lifted her finger and offered a quick hiss off protest from her teeth. And then she felt it.

Oh. The sun. The warmth. The joy of being away from handsy armourers!

She spun about on her heels and marched towards her duel. She was almost late as it was. Perhaps if she had not been so distracted by examining her hair in the reflection of the aforementioned 'pauldron', she might not have needed to speed along as quickly.

She wondered how Lorn Reingard was getting on with his big deal. He probably won. He always won. Her mind drifted. And then snapped back to reality, life and not Lorn for half a second.

She was trying to be serious about this duel, but she was so nervous that her normal skittishness had flowered into complete squirrel energy. Being the Grandmaster was an unexpected amount of pressure. People looked at her differently. They didn't know it, but there was more judgment, more expectation that she should be someone she wasn't.

There was an expectation that the Grandmaster should be this epic, badass warrior. Not a slightly-hair brained, overly affectionate, easily-distracted bundle of brown curls. It left Ala feeling...inadequate. She had the position, but did not yet understand why she should have it.

Grandmaster of any order had been very low on her list of things to accomplish. But now it felt very high on the list of things she could ruin.

The voice of her opponent snapped Ala back into the moment, pulling her abruptly out of her spiral of angst. How very un-Grandmaster-ly of her.

"Greetings Mandalorian. Adelle? Is it not?" Ala said, tone official and foreignly so to her ears, "I am happy to put aside my lightsabers to avoid any potential for real harm. The choice is yours." She indicated towards a selection of stun weapons that Ala could wield in place of her lightsabers. She was not really interested in risking decapitation today.

| Tag: Adelle Bastiel |​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Nessantico, Tol Forod | Everholt Keep, Arena of Blades
Tags: Ala Quin

Oh gods.

She sounded more uncomfortable than Adelle. If the emotions that had been simmering around her earlier hadn't been a clue, the utter stiffness in her voice was absolutely a clue.

Adelle had to smile at the absurdity of it all.

"I'm sure I'm in good hands," she said. "But if you'd prefer to err on the side of caution, I do believe training sabers have been offered."

She held up the hilt in her right hand by way of example. Phantom, it seemed, had decided to post up next to the racks of offered sparring weapons, the orange of the spukami's vest seemed blinding in contrast to her surroundings. The weapons themselves took on various shapes--Mandalorian besk'kads, vibroswords, vibroaxes, spears, lightsabers--all of them blunted blades, all lightsabers training sabers. None of it meant to cause lasting harm.

Adelle rolled out her shoulders and settled into an interesting stance as she waited for the Grandmaster to decide. She ignited and held the saber in a neutral guard with the blade pointing up, like she'd trained with the Mandalorian bes'kad or Form I's opening stance. Her feet however were out of position for either Mandalorian bladework or Form I: shoulder-width apart, balanced, but with her dominant foot forward and left foot behind in a line.

It was a risk, combining Mandalorian bladework with the lightsaber form Makashi. But footwork with a bes'kad was different than footwork for a lightsaber. It had to account for the weight of the bes'kad, to allow for leverage and to control its momentum. A plasma blade weapon had all its weight in the hilt.

The rhythm of her breathing eased things into a familiar calm. Emotion yet peace. Mandalorian yet Jedi.

"When you're ready, Ma--" Adelle recalled the earlier stiffness. Was Ala Quin like one of her old Order's masters and hated formality? "When you're ready, Quin."