ToTG:Ekul Selah VS Ahani Najwa

[Soliath Devin Talith]

The Semi-Finals. The round before the last of the tournament. It was here that the final four warriors that had survived fight after fight would face off against one another, it was here within the changing lands of Morje that the last of the contestants of the Tournament of the Gods would face one another.​

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On the terrestrial beaches of Morje, the white sands and the massive dunes. There, there was the place that the combatants would find themselves. A curiously devoid beach filled with nothing and no one, calm ocean air, pure white sand, and seemingly endless expansive dunes beyond them. The combatants would land here, thrown onto the sands without a care, tossed out into the field of white next to an ocean of pure blue.​

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The Semi-finals began here, in the calmest of places.​

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[member="The Dark Man"] VS [member="Ahani Najwa"]​

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

An inhale.

An exhale.

Life started with breath. The mother in Ahani was as aware of the holiness of the simple breath as she was aware of the sands under her foot and the blissful surge and swell of the ocean's waves. The Echani let her silver hair cascade around her shoulders and sighed into the crisp, salted air. "An ocean. Hah. Curious choices, oh Gods of Moross. You must truly be omniscient." Ahani had started off the tournament as caustic and lethally unstable as the roiling tectonics of Demonsgate. She'd continued in a netherspace of marshmallows and old whispered companionships while meteors fell to the ground, pelted into them like the two refugees from Druckenwell remembered with shudders and the cries of snuffed lives in the Force. Now Morje opened her bastion of serenity to the woman whose stricken mind had been wrapped in the gossamer of forgiveness and the sleek attachment of a drifting cognizance of bliss.

The ocean breathed its waves on the shore and Ahani brought Anandi out of its' sheath. "This one's for you, my son." Ahani pushed aside the ghosts nestled in her subconscious. There was one and only one presence the mind-fractured woman cared to cling to, hold fast and nurture. Her only living child: [member="Manu Xextos"].

The spirits and ephemera of twice dead husbands, fallen deceased daughters and a long dead infant son tried to cling to the twisting belts of sand on Morje's beach as pain slicks to a healing scar, but in the calm Ahani would have none of it. Coming to First Position, Ahani began to swing herself and her sword through elegant and pristinely practiced weapon forms. Had she returned via the marring of time to a childhood awakening on Byss, to training rooms bathed in the crimson of her father and his brothers for the joy of the crowd or the intimidation of this [member="The Dark Man"] her next opponent?

Had Ahani done anything to return back in reverse steps, as her feet arced one behind the other, sword slicing the air in coiling exes from shoulder to hip, shoulder to hip, curling around her wrist, around her back and down as a talisman against the return of the present state of distress? She would twist and bend The Dark Man, she would lay him flat and she would do so to discover the future which the Gods of Moross must have foreseen. . . That was the rub, that glorious victory was it not?

Ahani Najwa was in a war for her future self, a battle in which The Dark Man was the belligerent keeper of the key to her next journey in this twisted life. Thus was the motivation, thus was the prize. Oh the ship and the money and the safe haven in Moross space were worthy of all galactic motivations, but the sheer and paramount road of discovery tempered the Echani Matron.

This was it. One more. The Final.

The Final Battle of the Tournament of the Gods would tell Ahani exactly who and what she was. . .

But first Ahani breathed and flowed through her sword forms on the ocean beach, awaiting her Semi-Final competitor.

 

[The Dark Man]

The Dark Man
________________________

The swamp was eerily quiet. The slight dawn breeze stirred the tall oaks and cut the day’s heat, while rustling the leaves only slightly. Birds who would raise a raucous chorus at sunrise and sundown were mostly quiet at this time of morning. The faint tang of acidic toxins from the swamp mixed with the sour smell of mushrooms and pungency of decaying leaves. Overhead, large white clouds drifted. Twinkling twilight crept through the mist, tantalising the eyes with a spectacular view as a kaleidoscope of colours were sprayed across the sky with the rising of the sun. The Dark Man took a moment of rest, and though he could not perceive the smeared rainbow from horizon to horizon, the beauty of the planet nonetheless left him breathless. Pain still lingered, long after the fierce fighting with Alva had resolved in his favour, and now he wandered aimlessly. He assumed it was only a matter of time before someone found him, drugged him and woke him up for the next duel. Not this time, this time he had a plan. He was exuberant, in spite of having spent the night tossing and then skiping breakfast. He had taken shelter in the cottage, laying on the stiff wooden frame that served as a bed, and when he first woke, there was no food to be found. So he had moved on, curious why he was not taken in his sleep. He noted the missing camera drones, they had vanished shortly after the fighting had finished. Ekul Selah reached a stream and found a comfortable spot to sit. He considered the situation and found himself curious albeit perplexed. He wore tight fitting robes that were as black as night, his cloak that draped from his shoulders were as equally dark, and showed weathering from battle. Burnt scorches and torn fabric dotted the woollen cloak, and the hem cut off around his knees to prevent him from tripping over in the event he was forced to fight with it on. Which clearly was often. A neatly trimmed goatee adorned his face, showing flecks of white in the ageing grey hair. Where there had once been large black spectacles, there was not. His eye sockets were sewn shut from instant cauterisation as a result of the superheated, seething energy of a Crinan blade. The bridge of his nose dividing his eyes were cut clean, the blade having cleaved the bone structure of the nose into two. A small dip was now acting as a ravine between nose and forehead, where bone should be, and non-cooked skin. It was a sickly scar, though not permanent thanks to modern science, the Dark Man considered keeping it this way. If the Force needed him to have more, it would find a way.

He had been walking for three days, the last two through dense swamplands. He foraged where he could, and drank what water was suitable. He had turned east in the morning when he spotted a distant glimmer in the sky. He crossed the southern branch of the thickest rivers that came out from the swamps. The crunching of dried leaves underneath could be heard in the still arid air. In the afternoon, Selah observed a flight of birds circling in the distance, barely visible through the trees. The colourful avians, red, gold, green and blue in color, raced over the treetops and dipped out of sight, then reappeared as they spiralled upward, with cries and small chirps. “A mating flight,” Selah amused aloud to himself. His company had grown lonely, it was only yesterday when he had resorted to talking to himself. He was frustrated but knew better than to let those feelings fester. He couldn’t understand why those who had kidnapped him had not come for him yet, why he had not been drugged and just wake up on another planet. He followed the birds with his eyes as he walked through a clearing and soon lost sight of the flock. He continued to move east by south, as quickly as the terrain would permit. He continued his trek, his force sight searching the swamp for signs of trouble. The clearing was of considerable size, with several tree stumps grown over with ground cover that peeked through the moss, showing that the trees had been harvested long ago. The day began to vanish as quickly as it had come, and he passed deeper into the swamps, through glades so thick that even his keen sight in the Force was having trouble orientating him. Much of the swamp was dark and twisted, with choking underbrush that impeded travel. There was a tension that slowly began to build within the swamps. The silence felt deafening. His heartbeat had become a rhythmic drum, pounding to the sound of his march. It was as if all the animals, reptiles and birds had vanished. He walked for another two hours, then stopped to rest his legs and eat what berries he had collected. It was only when he had stopped shuffling his feet under his bottom that he heard it; the distinct thrum of an ion drive. The Dark Man craned his neck, with his hand to his mouth, and his teeth squeezing down on the succulent fruit. He knew he didn’t need to turn his neck to see it, but it had not been long since he lost his eyes, a mere handful of days. At sixty-seven, he guessed, old habits die hard. The ion drive grew louder and louder, causing a sharp stab of pain to his ears that had grown sensitive to the silence. His eardrums tingled momentarily and readjusted to the noise. There was more noise than for there to be just one vessel, and whoever they were, they were closing in fast. Bladerunner-class speeder bikes suddenly broke through the heavy underbrush with the expertise of a veteran swoopster, they were heavily armed and armoured, and looked to mean business. Crusader-class starfighters raced overhead, lead by a Cyhraeth-class light freighter, all howling after a single Templar-class light freighter. They now converged on the Dark Man.

Selah had his hands raised to the sky, palms open and flat. Purple juice ran from his lips and dripped from his chin. Those on the swoops dismounted and raised a series of blasters at him, targeting his centre mass. Selah had placed his lightsaber deep into the folds of his robes, in any event that he may need it, all the while showing them that it appeared he didn’t have it on him. The Templer-class light freighter swept in low, its rear access ramp lowering. A dark hooded figure stood on the ramp, offering a hand, though the distance between them was considerable. Perhaps ten meters. The Moross Crusade starfighters opened fire, launching condensed energy against the shielding of the Templar, it flared and fluctuated with the incoming fire. The Dark Man took a cautious glance to the Crusaders, and then up to the figure, and a sense of safety in that person took a hold of him. He took his chances, his feet swelled with energy as he pictured his legs as if they were springs, he pulled himself low and leapt high. He sprung, and with the aided Force of this mysterious being, he was pulled ever more higher until he scraped the edges of the ramp, their hands clasping one another’s wrist. “Hrph!” the Dark Man grunted, pulling himself up, and scrambling along the ramp and up into the ship quickly, it closed behind him. The being lowered his hood and revealed himself to be a sentient insectoid. He was a thin bipedal, standing almost at six foot five, towering over Selah. Unlike many insectoids, this female only had only four limbs, two arms and two legs, and a pair of vestigial wings. Her head was dominated by large compound eyes and two antennae, one located behind each eye. Their hardened carapace, composed of a green chitinous substance called carahide, was as flexible as the skin of the Dark Mans, yet tough enough to deflect a blade or even absorb a glancing blaster bolt. Through Force Sight, he could perceive the creature before him on an unprecedented level, seeing through her carahide to reveal she didn’t have a heart, or any organ he could identify as a heart. The Verpine made a series of clicks with its small toothless mouth located under its snout. The Dark Man frowned for a moment, not quite comprehending what she was trying to tell him, when a small rodent pushed past her. He stood two inches away from being three foot tall. The Tintinna was covered in patchy greying fur, revealing the pink skin underneath. His ears were small and round, and held two small black eyes. A four digit clawed hand reached out to shake Selah’s, to which the Jedi bowed and took the Tintinna’s hand graciously. Large buck-like teeth chattered as he spoke, “What she try tell you, you in trouble.”

A pilot sat in the cockpit, with a crest of horns that sat sharply atop his head. He was only a foot taller than the Tintanna, but he appeared much more fearsome than the Catherine’s engineer. He had abnormally long arms in comparison to his short legs which ended in hook-like claws. He was covered in reddish-brown scales, and his eyes rarely blinked from sheer concentration on the task at hand. “Why am I in trouble, I didn’t ask to be thrown into these fights,” Selah said. The Tintinna and engineer known as Tarh spoke on behalf of the Verpine Knight Obsidian, “It don’t matter. You in now, and we come get you out. We be watching you, fight good, yes? We know you not join willing. You big crowd now, at first no one care who you, but you do good.”
“So why get me out?”
“You fight good, for us. We alway look talent. Vjgio say you join Knight Obsidian, if we help.”
“You’ve only rescued me so that I can fight for you instead? Either way—I’m fighting for someone, but I was investigating this tournament. I would appreciate it if you turn me back.”
“No back now, they shooting us.”
“Than at least explain to me why they didn’t drug me like before. I was wondering around for days before everyone suddenly found me.”
“Oh, we kill people that try drug you, before they get to you.” An alarm blared, warning that the shields were depleting and fast. “No talk, action now.” The Tintinna dove for the co-pilot seat, and the mysterious Verpine, Vjgio, moved to take the gunners seat. A single red bogey dot appeared on top of the tactical display. The red dot vanished as quickly as it had appeared, then reappeared, weaving its way down the display at breakneck speed towards them. “They’re going to kill themselves,” Selah said, keeping his attention on the sensor display. The bogey dot vanished again, and for a moment he thought it may have crashed into an asteroid, then six more dots flared to life. All six craft began to catch up with the Catherine. One pair swinging around to cut off the freighters retreat, and the remaining four bogeys positioning themselves for a crossfire attack from opposite flanks. The pilot, Doet, dove the yoke and the freighter spiralled towards an asteroid belt. The white glow of an impact detonation lit the miasma beyond the Catherine canopy, and the sensor display filled with static. Doet slammed the throttles the rest of the way forward and the Dark Man felt the ship buckle as the extra fuel collected in the still-cool ignition chamber. Doet pulled the throttles back, giving the igniters a chance to clear. By then the miasma outside was fading to a blue, and Selah could hear asteroid gravel pinging off the hull. He hated flying, and for an ungodly reason, there was a small hint that he just wished he had been drugged. He would rather die investigating this tournament, and not in a shoddy attempt by a inconspicuous group to ferry him from those starfighters through an asteroid belt.

Doet tried to ease the throttle forward, but nothing happened. “Uh-oh,” escaped his lips, and the Dark Man’s stomach sunk even deeper than before. A loud clang reverberated through the hull, and a damage alarm began to chime. Doet ignored it and tried to pump the throttles again, then pushed them to their overload stops. This time the Catherine shot forward like a missile. The pinging of the asteroid gravel grew less frequent, but streamers of white heat began to streak past the canopy as rubble continued to overtake them. Another loud clang reverberated from the stern of the ship. Doet forced the throttles past their overload stops, clear to the end of the lever channel, then sank back into his chair. The nacelle temperatures climbed into the danger zone, and the Verpine chittered wildly. The bogey starfighters were still closing in, but they had lost the enemy freighter. “Fine, shoot them — but I think we can still outrace them,” Doet exclaimed, “Take the starboard bogeys with missiles, then hit the tail-chewers with our lasers.” An alarm blared on the screen, warning them a vector plate was melting off. He backed off the throttles to let their control surfaces cool before initiating combat. Selah looked to the Verpine, who's odd arrangement of fingers tapped away at the screen before her, arming their small compliment of missiles and the pair of laser cannons. A flurry of bolts erupted ahead and came streaming back towards the Catherine. Doet was quick to yank the yoke, throwing them into an evasive roll, but the Moross fighters were good and their hits blossomed against the forward shields. There was a bump that shock the cockpit, the ejection of a missile from a launch tube. An instant later, its engine ignited, and the missile became a disk of white-hot exhaust. He quickly lost sight of the missile among the typhoon of energy bolts coming their way. A starfighter tried to peel away from the missile. A blinding white flash appeared ahead as the missile had reached its target and detonated, wiping out the two pilots. An eye blink later, and the half-crumpled vessel of their starfighter’s emerged from the other side of the explosion. Another missile later, and a starfighter tried to turn tail and run, the missile churned its way through the starfighter’s engine. The blast tore through the exhaust nozzles into the engine nacelle, and the star fighter’s entire stern vanished in a ball of flame and flotsam. More were coming, and Doet had enough. He made it to the safe side of the belt, and threw down the hyperdrive lever. Space and time warped as distant twinkling stars became arcs of white energy across the void. The Catherine vanished.

When they emerged on the other side, they had not expected to be where they were. That was evident enough in the Tintinna’s voice, “Where we?”
“Damnit!” Doet roared, throwing a clenched fist into his control panel, “One of their slicers got into our nodes. They swapped out our hyperdrive coordinates.” The ship was quickly descending into the atmosphere of Morje. A coven of starfighters emerged from the clouds, an ambush. The Dark Man dove into the corridor of the freighter and hit the deck as the shields were annihilated by sheer concentrated fire, and the cockpit erupted into a molten slag. He felt the hot stab of pain ripple through the Force, telling him that all three of his newly-met companions had been vaporised instantaneously. The ship now barrelled out of control towards the surface of the planet. The freighter was rocked by turbulence. Emergency lights flooded the corridors in a devilish red as alarms blared loudly, warning the only survivor that a series of systems were down, some damaged in the blast, some were outright obliterated. The vessel trembled and buckled, the engines cut. The ship was now gliding. Selah leapt onto his feet frantically, moving towards an access panel and digging his fingers between the metal. He tore it away. He leaned over the dashboard to check the systems, the power converter was out, cooling unit was fried and the engines were locked. He tried to thumb the ignition over and over, but it was useless. The ship was going to start for no one. He drew himself away as far as he could from the cockpit, centring himself in what he believed to be the middle of the freighter, and took a seat. Each seat in a vessel came with a harness in event of emergency landings, or the crashing-kind. He buckled himself in, drawing the harness over his chest. The light freighter was losing altitude fast. He knew the worst case scenario was that the freighter nose-dived, and with the weight of the ship and the rapid decrease of speed, that 'worst case scenario' was slowly becoming a sure thing. The front of the ship began to angle downwards, the Jedi would have closed his eyes if he could. All he could do was shut off his senses to the Force and wince in anticipation as the tingling sense of danger ran down his spine. Manipulating the energy of the force around the front, attempting to pull it up but it was too heavy for him. Before he knew it, the ship was skipping across sand dunes. Selah was thrown as far forward as his harness allowed him. The freighter slammed into a final sand dune, throwing a tidal wave of it into the air. The shattered viewport allowed a wave of sand to fall in, and it crept down the hall. He felt sudden anxiety and dread, but also adrenaline and excitement.

He began to unbuckle himself. A series of clips proceeded by the slap of the harness slipping back into its slot. The Jedi Knight stood, shrugging his dark cloak from his shoulders. He knew the moment he opened the hatch, he would be hit with some serious heat. Desert planets were no vacation, and they weren't fun either. Horribly humid and exhausting. Selah moved down the corridor and towards the rear ramp, stepping to the left. The ramp wouldn't budge without power to the ship, but the hatch would. He reached down and curled his hands around the access lever, twisting and pulling. The hatch opened upwards, and he was right. A face-full of sudden heat forced his head back, making him nauseous. The Jedi stood over the open hatch and dropped down below. His boots sunk deep into the sand, already he found himself in discomfort. The Dark Man much preferred Nar Shaddaa over deserts, oh how he hated deserts. He raised his hands, blocking out the sun and shading his eyes. Selah began to trudge through the sand, wisps of wind blowing the grains into his face. He halted, clutching the hilt of his lightsaber and activating the golden blade with a snap-hiss. He swung at his own tabard, slicing off a large chunk of the wool. He deactivated his blade and used the torn fabric to wrap it around his head, protecting his face from the sun, and his mouth from the sand. The wind didn't seem to lessen, pounding against him with blunt force. The speed of the wind was enough to force him a step back every now and again, just to maintain his balance. It was like trying to fight a losing battle. As the saying goes, one step forward, two steps back. At least in this situation he was getting gradually closer to the beach he had spied before the ambush, if not by much. He kept his hands out before him, preventing sand from splashing into his eyes while he watched where he ran. The buzz of a repulslorlift told him a camera drone was back, accompanied by twelve more of his friends, all feeding the holonet with various angles. “Bugger off,” Selah grumbled, waving his hand in protest at the drone that dared to near closest to him. He heard the crashing of waves on the beach, and the sea salt was welcome to his senses, and then he felt something else. His opponent. What cruel person or God that had orchestrated these events to place him here was either genius, or for a moment, they had legitimately almost had one of their slave-gladiators stolen by a upstart Knight Obsidian and her crew. He smirked at the thought, but steeled himself for the fight ahead. He climbed the steep dune before him, using both hands and feet to pull himself up as sand caved and crashed down back at him. He finally stood atop it, looking down upon Ahani Najwa. The sun simmered behind him, encapsulating him in a golden light that bathed the world, and from her viewpoint, he would appear nothing more than a dark form before the glory of that star.

{ [member="Ahani Najwa"] }

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

"Hark, I sense a disturbance in the Force. Does someone need a hug?"

While [member="The Dark Man"] veered through a life-crushing series of hyperspace jumps and arid tortures, Ahani had been steeped in a blissful and healing day at the beach. The Force presented itself like her son's beloved ocean, lapping up with the spread of salt water on sand. The new native of the desert planet Sabarene let her boots drift in the sand as she centred herself and played.

Over the pleasant line of a sand dune, an opponent appeared. An opponent whose inner verbosity was more damaging to the flow of combat than the addition of a nightmare-ridden toddler seeking comfort and safe haven in their parent's bed. Nothing more than a black dot in the distance, Ahani felt his coming before the black dot smudged the skyline. It would take an emotional dullard to miss the fatigue-laden despondency in the wretch. Skipping off the beach, Ahani held the blade of her sword up and launched into the air in a mighty jump, which in its instigation caused a gentle puff of sand to launch with her and fall happily back down to the Morje ground.

She landed and sent a force push toward the dishevelled elderly chap who looked as if he'd missed the tapioca pudding in yesterday's dessert bar. The push would, given its success, send him careening down the dune toward the ocean beach. "I've been waiting for you! Our Semi-Final Match! Isn't it exciti-- are you. . . are you lost little man? Smile! It's a glorious day!"

 

[The Dark Man]

The Dark Man
________________________


The Dark Man stood from his watch, peering down onto the bleached-white sand below. The waves licked at the shore, lapping, they ebbed and flow, much like the Force. The water itself was as clear as crystal, and were he not so far away, he may have seen a school of fish, or the lone one that dare wander close. Ahani Narjwa stood out against the perfection of this place. A malicious aura. A cancer upon this galaxy. He knew not her name, nor had he ever heard of her. Yet he did not underestimate her. This galaxy was incomprehensibly large, and the predators as countless as the stars. She was tall and lithe, and her movement mirrored those of past competitors. Eager for a fight. Thirsting for it. Her eyes matched her hair, silver, and was complimented by her white skin. His weathered hands remained free, flexing his fingers every so often as he watched her move. Each of her movements sent a ripple through the Force, and their isolation only aided him in discerning even the most nanoscopic of motions. Before he had lost his eyesight, he naturally relied on his eyes, but now blinded, he was fully immersed in the Force. This profound sight allowed him to study and analyse events in ways he had never dreamed. As she bounded for him, leaping high with her blade held, he could feel the tickling energy permeate through him, warning him. The Dark Man could feel her power as he strummed his fingers through energy lattices of the Force, he knew that while he could not best her power-to-power, his danger sense held him in high esteem. His innate precognition had served him well before, and already he knew she was going to blast him with a torrent of energy before she even acted on it.

As she flung herself towards him, still in the air, he subtly motioned his hand. His lightsaber hilt, submerged in the dark folds of his robes, shot out, deactivated. It hurled towards her, and then beyond, missing her by several meters. He imagined what he desired in his mind, as if the lightsaber were attached to a string he held in his clenched fist. Beads and cords of energy curled themselves around him and his blade, forming a connection through the Force. As she neared her landing, he pictured himself yanking that cord, hard. Muscles flexed and rippled across his body, teeth grit. The hilt reversed, this time, targeting Ahani from behind, and at the last possible moment it would activate, a thin and short golden blade, attempting to penetrate through her left shoulder. It was known among many as Saber Throw, a telekinetic technique. It would swiftly return to his hand, Ahani merely being an obstacle in its way. When she landed, she sent out that burst of energy, but she had miscalculated. He had been focused no his attack, and while the thudding of his landing on the sand would be briefly irritable, it would not be painful. He took the blast, and rather than careening towards the beach in the exact opposite direction of the force push, he tumbled down the far side of the dune, away from the beach. He rolled, kicking his feet and throwing both head and hands down to stop himself, anchoring his weight into the sand that came cascading down like the waves of the beach. When he came to his halt, his hand briefly ran through the sand. He hoped this fight did not tarnish his love of such places as these. He came onto his feet, standing erect and unyielding.

“I must admit, I am disappointed. Your lines of engagement were poorly placed. When you should have pulled me towards the beach, and towards you, you instead throw me away.” He raised a finger to his temple, “Though my eyes have failed me, the Force does not. I saw what you intended, and yet someone as powerful as you had miscalculated.” He conserved his natural energy, deciding to turn his back to her and walk down the remainder of the dune. To stay and fight from his position would allow her the high ground, he knew better than that. To climb up to her would have him tire quicker, a route he would prefer to avoid. It was clear she had been relaxing while he had been battling for his life in Round Three, and while he had attained much sleep in his walks, it wouldn’t hurt if he kept his fatigue at an minimum. The wind whistled, and birds circled overhead. He felt invigorated by the Force, but so would she. He knew his plan, devised in his mind. He knew there were many in this galaxy far more powerful than he, but he knew better than to think that that meant they were unable to be defeated. He would utilise patience to win. As they say, slow and steady wins the race. When his feet brushed against the edge of the dunes, where it met the plains, he noticed his footsteps were now gone from his hike. The winds had brushed them away, painting a new landscape with every passing minute. He turned towards her again, taking a seat in the sand, legs folded under his bottom. He relaxed, waiting for her next strike. His mind opened to the infinite possibilities and the unending cosmic energies.
{ [member="Ahani Najwa"] }

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

The Dark Man's lightsaber throw slid inches from Ahani's left shoulder. It had taken a delicate twitch of her muscles to defeat the easily sensed attack. Selah was not the only one present with the powers of Premonition, nor the only one with ears. A lightsaber humming and whistling through the air was enough of a tell for a combat-specified duelist. The battle-hardened Echani had read more opponents on the field of combat than The Dark Man had years, through centuries she had plied her trades and over the course of those centuries wisdom personified an enduring and vicious hope for the survival of herself and her kin.

Mastery was more than a title or flimsy project of might. Mastery was a lifestyle of the gifted, a bristling connection to the Force which opened the senses and intuitions of the righteous and horrific alike. It was a constant journey, a learning curve and to the Master's path Ahani Najwa had plied herself for some time. The woman breathed and ached in the Force, her aura within it (visible to one with Force Sight), was that of a breeze-quaked nebula of brilliant and noble colours swathed through with the black jerking spines of one who had been engulfed in the Dark. Ahani was not some mere pretender to the Title of Master, nor the Title of Vision. However much patience [member="The Dark Man"] kept coiled in his sightless mind, Ahani would systematically take him apart.

"You don't get to make character judgements. Take your superiority complex and stuff it, you Force using hack. I'm not some Padawan learning Shii Cho. You're not a glorified Master sitting sagely on a council of old. This is what you are." Ahani began bending the lines of the Force's vision, swelling it away and around her in such a way as to diminish and disappear from within it. The Inquisitorial Master had cloaked her presence & sight in the Force before, a valuable and hard-earned skill for one who spent her waking hours as the nightmare in the backs of her Empress's enemies' minds. Leaping aside to hide her footfalls in the sand, Ahani's voice came into his mind and hit not the breeze nor did it disturb the rushing waves of the ocean. 'Blind and lost.'

Hidden from his view, she stayed to his shoulder eleven metres away from his proximity. Cold and vicious fingers twisted through the Force and cinched around his neck in a seething and crushing Force Choke.

 

[The Dark Man]

The Dark Man
________________________


“Your finesse surpasses mine, that I can acknowledge, but for all your talents, it is wasted on a mind of an infant. That you feel the desire to defend yourself with words by insulting me shows the depths of your immaturity and childishness. There is as much wisdom in your words as there are wisdom in the words of a child bullying a younger boy. Bloat and dilate your self-worth, but it means nothing. Every enemy is an algorithm. Simplify it. Solve it. Set it in its place. You are an army, an armada, a force unto itself. Other ages had the phalanx, the carrier, the KKV. Now you are the defining weapon systems of our time, but you’re not without fault. For all your strengths, nothing is without weakness. One should never underestimate the potential for human stupidity when power is at stake.” The Dark Man remained sitting, drawing in on himself. The cosmic energies were infinite, and while she seemingly meant to inflate her worth through the Force as that of a nebulae of power, he saw for what she was. Even the mightiest in all of galactic history had not been so strong, and even they had their faults. Perhaps an emotion, one that sparked rage and mental-blindness as with the way of Darth Vader. The very mention of his true name, a simple coo of Anakin Skywalker was enough to send him furious, but his anger would lead to mistakes, mistakes to capitalise on. The unexpected tree that falls to crush the seemingly indomitable An’ya Kuro. The unforeseen stun of a blunt hilt to the face that resulted in the slaying of Qui-Gon Jinn. A surprise and turn of events that confused Odann Urr long enough to be cut down. Suns were entitled to eclipse, and Ahani Najwa was no different.

Already he could see that she was substantially self-confident, bursting with a cockiness that brought a retched taste to his tongue, and a sickening miasma in the air. Yet for all her power, her aura that dominated the landscape, she was able to vanish with the click of her metaphorical fingers, as it could be said. The Dark Man was taken aback. Surprised, even. Already he was anticipating something, calculating a movement, sounds. Though her footsteps were light-footed, minimising sound, a leap away stirred the grains, a tremble in the Force that rippled and told him where she was, though her presence was all but naught to his Force Sight. He held no fear, fully emerged in the Force. He stored his fear away, locking it with uncertainty in a place that could not creep upon him and cause him to falter. The words whispered on the wind, and fey music greeted his ears, a distant sound now, weaker than before. “Persevere,” it spoke softly. He reached out for that connection, for his mentor, Ir’cara’suhl, hoping perhaps that he may have an answer or clue, but he found nothing. He was well and truly gone. Ahani’s words came next, and the Dark Man muttered quietly, “I am surprised by your ignorance, for your power is mighty, but your knowledge is weak. You have already failed to surprise me. To use the Force will unravel your stealth and cause it to fail, for you’re sending a trickle of energy through the Force, and for every action, there is a source.” He saw the origin of the words she had oozed into his mind. A breathtaking array of threads and cords that worked as an energy lattice. Then she pinched.

He saw her attempt to coil the Force around his throat, but he reacted just as quickly as the shiver that shook his back, warning him. While his sense of danger was superb and beyond that of many, it was delayed by her cloaking. It was only able to warn him when she had indadvertedly revealed herself to him. He pictured himself in his minds eye, stretching out an arm to catch a snake by its throat, the very snake that dare constrict him. He remained sitting, focusing on the snake, holding it back. His metaphorical hand was accompanied by his other, and then more unseen hands . The Force was a symphony that needed direction, and through this, The Dark Man utilised his imagination as its maestro. He did not mean to overpower her, nor did he mean to redirect her attack or even counter-attack, he simply repelled the assault and sat there, delving into the infinite energies of the Force, relying on his acute training and experience. His breathing remained steady and firm, in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. A cycle that repeated endlessly. His chest rose and lowered. He was the eye of the storm. The centre of the typhoon that would soon rage around him. He focused on these thoughts, and furthermore on peace, love and his spirituality. It was one thing to understand the Force, you could medicate your whole life and still understand the Force, but it was another to be truly and deeply spiritually connected. To be one with its power. To be an agent of it. The very reason he had surrendered his name. To show that no Jedi should have possessions, not even an identity, and to that extent, he would be an agent of the Force. The physical embodiment.


{ [member="Ahani Najwa"] }
{ OOC: It is Christmas Eve here, so I would like to wish you a very happy Christmas Eve, and an even more spectacular Christmas. }

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

Ahani shook her head. She wouldn't play into his mental banter anymore than she already had. The man wasn't worth the expelled oxygen and carbon dioxide. Those very same gasses which were currently being choked out of the man's lungs. He seemingly was capable of combating the distressing levels of power flowing toward him, but he was also outplayed.

Two could play the Precognition card and to Ahani's mind a flicker of the push to come had the woman disregarding her Force Cloak to bear over and around [member="The Dark Man"] 's telekinetic repel at her choke for a second, more deadly attack. The Master had spent far longer than The Dark Man had years meditating on the Force. Should he wish to contest her abilities in the art of attunement, he could glance to the eight centuries the woman spent doing nothing more nor less. Locked in crystal of her own choosing, Ahani had worked and plied herself to the Force's beck and call. Yet, all who meditated on stillness were deceived. Stillness was the death of particles and peoples alike. The eye of the storm was a dead zone of mistaken comforts.

The universe was not still, nor was the lack of motion an indication of the supreme power the man in his folly thought he had. The universe was a collective of motion. From the subatomic particles which formed protons and neutrons to the stringing combinations of vibrating electrons, this universe was a collection of motion and noise. Within that motion, Ahani was. She resided and rested within it, charged in and by it and with that motion the Echani warrior kept on her feet. Applying the choke with the equal to his paltry skill, Ahani lashed forth and raked his body from rib to rib with gouging wounds in the Force. Delving deep, Ahani's pressure was such that without resistance she would crush his liver and lungs to a sticky, gooey powder.

The Dark Man had a choice. Was he going to resist the Choke of a Master, which would render him unconscious with enough lack of breath, or would he allow his ribcage to compress and his lungs and liver to be forfeit. Did the man want to lose, or did he want to die?

 

[The Dark Man]

Nar Shaddaa

Deep within the bowels of Nar Shaddaa was a lonesome nightclub. The VonSchlitchen sat on the line of poverty and wealth. In some ways, it separated them and in others it brought them together. Rich and poor congregated in the club, but the building itself was the last line of neon lights to be seen before the ocean of slums that clung to the outer rim of the sprawling city. It was here that a bounty hunter resided, though few knew of this. The music was loud and deafening at all hours of the day, and night. Purple and blue lights flared the room whilst female dancers swung their hips and swayed their bodies to the beat of the rhythm. Drunkards slumped over tables and slouched in chairs. Shady dealings were taken in the darkened corners whilst a host of sociable party-goers crowded around the bar. A staircase led up onto a walkway above the room and further into a set of apartments that was regulated by the owner of the nightclub. A bouncer stood by the stairs, ensuring no one without permission entered such an area. One of the three rooms was occupied by Lily Rose. Single room with a view out onto the city. It wasn't clean, but not dirty either. The moment one entered the room they would be confronted by a white sheeted double bed. A plethora of posters decorated the wall. To the left was a large monitor with a direct connection to the holonet. The right held a thick titanium locker. Inside was her arsenal. The ASL-XI, AMR-1 Anti-Material Rifle, MP-77 and countless ammunition. A protuberance of blue light extended into a keyboard as Lily Rose scrolled through the Holonet, briefly coming to a live broadcast of the tournament. She watched the fight of Tsavong momentarily with indifference before eying the other half, raising her brows at the sight of Ahani. Impressive, she thought, and flicked the channel.

Kesh

Kesh was the type of place you went to when you were trying to hide from the authorities. Four decades ago, Lysle Rigger’s parents had come to Kesh seeking refuge from a handful of bounty hunters looking to take a hit. Ultimately they were found, but long enough that Lysle could fend for himself. So here he found his temporary home, back on the homestead in the farthest place from civilisation on the planet. Hundreds of kilometres, as far as the eye can see, of rolling hills and snake-like rivers that slithered their way across the landscape. While Lysle, better known as Lysle of the Hydian Way for his mischievous acts along that hyper-route, found the tantalising neon lights of Antecedent to be his place of solitude and home, the gullies and mountains of Kesh, the wildlife that still roamed a planet largely unaffected by modern technology, was breathtaking to him nonetheless. It was only on an odd day that a caravan was hauling down the road. A few guardsmen, on the back of beasts of burden, gave him brief glances. Their skin as purple as the fruits from which they ate, and their eyes as black as the seeds. Lysle held his arm along the smooth woodwork of his homesteads doorframe. Grey eyes piercing out against the veil of the morning sun. The workers tended to the fields, and he could hear someone milking a few choice animals in the barn. The caravan took a stop outside his house, and already he could feel them watching like a hawk. Wondering if he would buy anything, but all he was interested in was the datapad in the merchants hands. “Hey, what’re you watching there, mate?” Lysle asked, more curious about contacting the Red Ravens over the CrpyNet than he was about whatever holoshow this man was watching. Either way, seeing a datapad this far out into the countryside was a rare sight. “Tournament of tha’ Gods, Sem-eh finals, good stuff,” his gruff tone cut like a sharp knife in the air. The merchant motioned to the stone steps, “We’ll be ‘aving our break ‘bout now, if yah’ wanna’ watch.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll give it a look,” Lysle answered, taking a seat and the merchant beside him now, and soon the guardsmen were crowding around, all of them watching the live broadcast.

Coruscant

This should be interesting, he mused to himself with a smirk that broke across his thin crimson lips. "Your courage is commendable, but it merely masks your incomprehension and naivety. Your pretentious facade will not falter my resolve.” Darth Vidar took a lumbering step forward. He breathed in deep, and exhaled. He repeated this process, and with every intake of oxygen he took, his lungs swelled all the more. His expertise in Force Bellow was only outmatched by the Orca, known as Hion the Herglic. Darth Vidar's chest rose, mouth agape. The intense vacuum of air in the chamber was deafening, then all turned to silence. A tremendous burst of kinetic energy bellowed forth from Darth Vidar. The ground beneath his feet buckled under its sheer pressure. The stone cracked, and Darth Vidar was forced to take a step back at his own power. The bellow subsided, dust swirled around the room. Crimson hands curled around a baton fifty centimeters in length. It was activated only by Vidar grabbing each half of the baton, twisting, then pulling them apart. A ten centimeter long stun prod then sprang from each end of the staff, and two high-voltage power couplings would crackle to life in between the three pieces. Activated, the San-Ni tripled in length to one-hundred-and-fifty centimeters. The electrical discharge was powerful enough to shear off limbs, cook flesh, and even a near miss would give severe burns to an enemy, the wielder however seemed to be shielded from this, through the use of miniature heat sinks. It was one of the most tedious weapons to study and utilise, but it was highly effectively. For its rarity was immense, and such rarity and unique design resulted in only a meagre few combatants in the galaxy knowing how to defend themselves against it. He stood towering over a now-crippled Myneyrshi Jedi Knight. The room was devastated, and the sharp sting of a being becoming one with the Force filled Darth Vidar. He craned his neck when the uproar of a crowd caught his ears, and they perked in response. He frowned, brows furrowed when he saw the sight of a damaged datapad. It was cracked, but he could make out faint images of various forms fighting one another. He was hunting Jedi in the Coruscant Underworld. There were countless numbers of them down in the darkest depths, those who had not escaped the planet when the Temple fell. Darth Vidar placed his foot down on the datapad and applied pressure. Shattering the screen.


Antecedent

“Oh. My. Goodness!” Choden Yonten shrieked as he entered the V.I.P lounge in the Dragon Palace Casino. “Happy Life Day everyone!” he joyously announced, with his hands full of mojitos, and a waiter walking fast behind him with a tray of them. When Choden called a party, the term party was an understatement. It was a festival of extravagance unlike few had ever seen, and with such charisma that was hard to find even in the Holoshows that plagued the private lounges. All the shakers and movers in the Red Ravens would be here, and hoped a few familiar faces would show themselves. Though he had a feeling Jen would be kicked out by security for ‘being too young’ again for what seemed to be a ridiculous count. He chuckled to himself in delight at the memory of Lok trying to kick him out of the V.I.P lounge while the Raven was there, telling the kid she was too young. “Bossman took care of that real quick,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head with a smirk. “Alright, alright, alright, now are we here for a show? Or are we here for a show!” Choden shouted, gathering the focus of the crowd present. Unlike most nights, no music was playing. All eyes were focused on the holoprojector that covered an entire wall, and the choice alcoholic beverages of Choden Yonten’s design. He flopped down into a chair, reared a mojito up to his lips and downed the cup with an efficiency that could make even a hardy drunk feel sick. “Play, quickly, before it is over,” he said, slapping one of the hired thugs who held a remote. Three-dimensional images of pure light burst to life before them, displaying both semi-final fights. The Red Ravens were notorious for being underdogs in the galactic scene, after all, they were contesting with the Black Suns. The crowd roared in cheer for Malik Rodarch and The Dark Man. The two underdogs of this round.


Ession

“Aye, Mendoza, over ‘ere!” his commanding officer said, more order than a suggestion. They were cramped inside the barracks in preparation for deployment. A few of them were making the final adjustments to their gear, strapping combat vibroblades to their boots or shoving a helmet onto their head to keep them in one piece on the ground. The Dreadguard were the elite of the elite when it came to military units, and Mendoza was one of the newest recruits. As green as grass. Flickering floodlights filled the matte-grey room, each wall made of titanium with durasteel bulkheads. He kept his head low as he moved, for when you lived on a giant-metal-boat in space while trying to converse, ironically, space, you shared the ceiling above your head with an assortment of coolant pipes, ventilation shafts and the sewer system. Lopez and Zheng sat on a locker bench, legs spread as wide as humanly possible. “Close your bloody legs will you two, that’s way more breathing room than they need,” Toby said, ambling on over. “What’re you two watching?”
“The games on.”
“What game?”
“Tournament of the Gods, Semi-Finals, everyone from here to Wild Space is watching it. What rock have you been lying under?” Lopez said, turning to give him an dubious stare. His helmet was tucked under his right arm with his left holding the datapad out as far as possible so that the others in the barracks could watch. “I reckon Ahani’s gonna get into the finals and knock Tsavong out of tha’ ring,” Zheng commented, only to receive a whack to the back of his head by another grunt. “You’re forgetting Tsavong is Yuuzhan Vong - I think. I don’t know much about him, but from what I heard he is, and ain’t those blokes force dead or something?” The woman waved her open palm in indication to Ahani, “Look at her, she’s all Force. She ain’t got nothing on Tsavong.”
“What-ever. She still has one of those plasma sword-things.”
“Lightsaber, you mean.”
“Yeah, one of those, she’ll slice and dice him.”
Lopez hushed them quickly, “Nah, Malik has got it in the bag.”



The Dark Man
________________________


As chaos reigned in, The Dark Man had become the centre of calm and peace. He focused on the positive emotions and energies, fuelling himself with the infinite powers of the Force, but his own mind could only handle so much. She was trying to chip away at him, and he knew that well. He was thinking, strategising. He could see through the hedges of her garden, and thought herself so supreme. So better than others. He sensed that it was intoxicating for her, but the Dark Man only felt it as a virulent energy that shimmered in the Force. She was trying to force his hand, but truly, he was the puppeteer of his fate. Positive energy erupted through the Force, and it was not of this planet. It blossomed and bloomed from the farthest reaches, and beyond. Much like most any Force Sensitive being could feel the life of someone nearby die, or that when a planet is culled, that energy would ripple throughout the galaxy, felt by all. Though this emotion was not so cruel, it brought mirth to him. An overwhelming sense of courage, humble pride and happiness. A smirk cracked across his lips, curling their corners. He was holding the snake by its neck, but he could feel another moving in for a delicious bite. He trained his mind, for he did not need worry about his physical self, he could focus his all into his defence. He delved into this cosmic energy, and he realised with surprise the source of the joy that exploded outwards through the galaxy. It was Life Day. Originally celebrated on Kashyyyk, it had largely grown in popularity. Though his circumstances were not desirable, he relished in the flow of emotions, and knowing too that Ahani would likely feel the raw energy seeping all around them.

He brought himself to the raging energies that were spiralling out of control. The hold on his throat was tightening, and soon the noose would hang him. Persevere. The very words he was living by right now. He had faced trial after trial. He had lost fingers and his eyes. He paid bitterly to be where he was. He was not without his sacrifice. His investigation into this tournament was paramount for him. A personal pursuit. She than hammered down, with such pressure as he had been expecting. He could feel her energy, as boundless as the oceans, but so was he. The Force was infinite, and fuelled by imagination, creativity, spirituality, determination and practice. No one person could ‘hold’ a certain amount of power, nor was ones power limitless. The limitations were purely on the mind, and furthermore, the conscious. The exploration of inner space, his own consciousness, is ultimately connected to the discovery of outer space. Just as the world becomes a smaller place with increase in communication and transport technology, so the universe becomes a smaller place with the increase in meditation. He knew, more opinion than fact from his assumptions, as simple as the flick of a switch, on and off, or the clashing tides of Light and Dark, that Ahani Najwa and Ekul Selahwere innately polar opposites. She; a believer of power, might and strength. Her way was the law, the testimony to her unprecedented power. He; a believer in arts of the mind, heart and energy. His way was that of the inner space, his consciousness was boundless, vast and complex. He saw the universe for what it was, drawing himself to calm. Were he to place this planet in comparison to the size of their universe, it would be the billionth the size of a pin head, and for the Dark Man, everything became clear, relaxed and the obstacles ahead appearing more manageable. Ahani was no more greater than a grain of sand, just as he were, in the grand scheme of life, death and the universe.

He gnawed on this perspective for sustenance when she began to attempt to tear through his liver and lungs. Focusing on just how interminably small they were. His consciousness fabricated her attack into something that was tangible in his mind, where he could touch and feel. She was trying to kill him, once more assuming puppet master over him. The Dark Man saw it as a two-headed snake, one biting for his throat, and the other his internal organs. Both hands already clutched the snake drawing for his throat, and with reluctance, he forced a hand free to grip the other head. Energy lattices wove in response. The Dark Man swam in this ocean of energy, watching the cosmic energy form faster than an organic eye could perceive. Only through the Force could he note such deft. The energies swarmed against one another, repelling her hold. His physical body flexed, arms and joints stiff in protest. She was stronger than him. He was utilising all the willpower he could muster to keep himself steady. He moved from point to point along the latticework, gently strumming his fingers against her energy to judge her endurance and ability to contribute. As he tore himself free, flexing his mind to the physical realm. He saw her as a darkly figure on a cloud of grey. When he had lost his eyes, he too had lost the ability to perceive colour. Though initially it filled him with sorrow, that had come to past in the days he spent walking and thinking. He felt the two heads coming closer to their targets, and he gave a push. Both mentally and physically he resisted the attack, imaging a great weight resting on the palms of his up-stretched hands. He thrust his legs straight, arching his back straight and pushed against the weight bearing down on him. He physically stood in defiance. “You’re not much of a crowd pleaser,” he sneered through gritted white teeth. His conscious darted to the camera drones that broadcasted their feed, then back to his task at hand.

{ [member="Ahani Najwa"] }
{ Christmas (Life Day) has now passed for me, it being 11:28pm. Though Christmas is coming to an end for me, I know most RP'ers on site aren't ahead of time like the fellow Aussies, Kiwis and so forth. So I would like to wish you a very merry Christmas for your day to come! I hope you enjoy your 'life day' }

 

[Ahani Najwa-Zambrano]

The Force was indeed infinite. An expansive haven of the willful and contrite it would appear as if the entirety of the expanse was open to [member="The Dark Man"]'s will. Yet Ahani knew better the intricacies of the Force's ways. Sentient beings were but conduits of the Force's eternal flow, as a crystal was the lightsaber's conduit from handle to beam, the supplicant of the Force had to be as clear as the crystal they chose. Ekul Selah was indeed becoming crystal clear, but the crystalline matrix was wrong. His talents were but glossed and shadowy vespers compared to what they would be in a larger expanse of time. Humility was empty when committed to for less than piety's sake, as a vessel which tipped its waters out to the ground in hopes a tree would grow. The Force chose those in its flow for their distinctions and personae, their personal talents and gifts. Where Selah's gifts were concerned the Echani saw the dross of time's penalty. One could get too focused on inner sight. She herself was a weapon of the Force's dominion and sake. She carried none of the healing powers of her son, nor the constructive purpose of her companion Isley Verd or his sister Ginnie Ordo.

The Force might be infinite, but one's connection to it was not. The path of Apprentice to Knight, Knight to Master was as much a path of opening connections and pathways to the infinite than it was an increase in power. The former Lady of the Sith knew well her talents in the Force were vestments of an often unholy work within it, trusting it, being usurped by it. Ahani was no more or less than the Qixoni Crystal inside her son's lightsaber. Yes, the woman was mighty, yes as her will clamped around [member="The Dark Man"]'s neck she forced the heart of collapsing stars down the Light Sider Knight's throat. The pathways of her distinct connection with the Force were unsullied and clear in their crimson ichor. Ahani would continue to bear down, her teeth grit she growled into the actions and pushed through his defences to cease the intake and exhale of breath to his already pressured lungs.

From her perspective Selah was sitting on the beach weathering her decidedly powerful storms, she continued in her application of pressures on his growing, gaping wounds. He would suffocate, or he would suffer organ failure should her barrage continue and as he seemingly disregarded the nature of her potent attacks and wounds, Ahani kept the pressure decidedly on. Far be it for her to deny the victory she desired on account of one man's silence.

Yet Selah was deceived in his tactic. A single grain of sand seen from a close enough perspective was a planetary body in a microcosmic perspective. Sand was but a granule in concerns to the macrocosmic structures of planets and stars, yet each grain was as important to the cosmos as the nebulous clouds which surrounded her crystalline meditation for centuries. Water-bathed and kinetically massaged by their fellow microscopic stones, each grain was a masterpiece more beautiful than a sea of stars. There were swirling rocks of translucent blue, mottled dots of yellows and golden hues, microscopic stones with adamantine beauty splayed across the desert's dunes and into the murky waters of the tidal keep. None of the grains despaired over being finite, nor did they belay their dignity. Anyone who had spent time on Sabarene or Tatooine knew the desert's cover could mar machinery and halt the inner workings of the larger scale. Without respect for the infinitesimal one could have no respect for the grandiose. If Selah continued to view his bodily organs as grains of sand, should they not also fail?

It was in this capacity the attacks on Selah's liver, lungs and throat continued. A grain of sand thrown in the wrong place could be the instigation of an avalanche. The crushing potency of Ahani's telekinetic pressure on Selah's organs increased, her boots planted firmly in the loam, hands outstretched the Master would have her victory.