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Roene Givrah

Alex (Roene) vs. Charles (Kol) - Naboo [JUDGE: TBD]

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The sky was lit with brilliant hues of cerulean. Leaves from the trees of Naboo’s verdant forests, flew, littering the heavens with sheaves of organic flotsam. The morning dew rested on the grass beneath his poised silence, and with a deep exhale, Roene’s thoughts cleared. The luminescent aurora of force energy, shining through the natural wonders that surrounded him, pulled him into a peaceful meditation. The flow of the planet around him carried him on its journey through time, guiding him with every path that the force might eventually take; its inevitabilities; its eventualities; its possibilities.

 

But, something stirred in the spartan clarity of the Cerean’s vision. Trouble was brewing. And although it was not in his nature to act without cause, something about this feeling begged him to act. The force was calling him forward, pulling his hand.

 

Roene’s brow furrowed. Concentration muddled his mind. And he sat, bending his coned head slightly, trying to pinpoint the general direction of the trouble. It didn’t take long. The air licked the hairs that marked the edge of his coned head and he swallowed hard. Roene disliked contention. But, sometimes, the conflict was necessary regardless of moral or ethical implications. Maybe a diplomatic solution could be made. But Roene wouldn’t know that until he met the problem head on.

 

“Well… Best get going.” Roene said to himself.

 

Like an accordion moving in reverse, his legs propelled him from a cross-legged seated position into a standing position. His features hardened and his muscles flexed. The aurora of energy that he embraced amid his deep meditation, ran up the tendons and muscle fibers in his legs. It lit up the core of his calves, his ankles, and his quads. It padded his kneecaps and imparted adrenaline-esque energy levels to his body. Then, with a final nod of his head, Roene took off like a bullet through the expanse of forest that neighbored the capital city of Naboo; Theed.

 

The disturbance came from the city limits on the opposite edge of the city from the palace. It was growing as he neared, but Roene’s thoughts were mercurial as he shot through the wood. He focused more on the transitory elements of the world around him and less on the trouble. It was only when he cleared the forest that he took another look at the quarry he was careening towards.

 

When he felt he was nearing the disturbance, Roene slowly dropped his speed, allowing the excess force energy to feed back into the soil and plants around him. He recycled the energy and let it continue without him. He may need it again, or he may not.

 

The force had a mysterious way with fate.

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((1))

 

Kol was busy cleansing Theed by blowing up civilians in his T-16 skyhopper when he noticed a lone figure outside the city on one of his passes. Feeling that this was someone of some importance, he flew closer and ejected overhead, doing several flips and spins before landing deftly in front of them. They were impure, he could tell right away, and they needed to die.

 

Kol summoned his caelestum to his hand, a burning bright yellow shining sword erupting in his right palm as he focused his empath skills, giving his foe a mild headache that could likely be fixed with two acetaminophen and waiting thirty minutes, not to be taken on an empty stomach, however. In his left hand, a vile cloud formed as the gift of Nurgle made itself manifest, the raw essence of putrefaction and vile decomposition ready to be unleashed in an unholy yet wholly vague manner. With his thighs, he brought his sonic blaster to bear, charging a shot and crotch thrusting for full effect. High in the clouds, his T-16, piloted by his artificial intelligence CC-8 began to angle downwards, warming up all its weapons as it was about to rain a completely unfair hell onto Roene's position for seemingly no reason at all except it looked hella cool and was nearly impossible to dodge or block without suffering a severe, severe fatality.

 

And then, Kol jumped up his own ***hole, taking his ship with him in the resulting nullspace POP as his overpoweredness collapsed in on itself, clearly too meta to function properly. His last words were a prayer to his patron saint, Slicer, to help him, but the prayer went unanswered.

 

For a moment, there was silence. Then, a slight waft of flatulence on the breeze. It was over.

 

((I forefeit. This was a joke. YOU STILL GET THE PRIZE!* *See store for details.))

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