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  1. The monster had been injured but not destroyed, but as with all great works, nothing was instant. A great work of symphony could take any minutes, hours even, to get to the crescendo. And the Force moved heavily as Sandy and the pitiable monster began their last chords. A clash of bright light and utter darkness. Threads of Redemption against bitter anger and brutalism. A planet and people long scarred by an oppression that had stolen everything from them. Trodai in his blind passion had destroyed the identity of an entire species, kidnapped their youth, and had led them to a slaughter. And for what? A crown that had already slipped from his brow? He was no Dark Lord. Others had seized that title and had dispensed of their entire galactic might leaving Trodai without the power he had sought so hard to find. Even in revenge there would be no relief. There was no final satisfaction in such an act, for a life consumed with rage and passion could never be truly fulfilled. There must always be an objective, a center of the rage, or passion or lust. For if there was none of those it would turn upon itself. It was a pitiable lifestyle. A snake eating the world until it had eaten all but itself. Turning to eat its own tail. A story, a song, as old as humanity itself. And somewhere beneath the song and the movement of the force Sandy felt her heart weep for Trodai. Even as he bounded towards her, his lightsaber reaching for her soul. For though there was a righteousness in the defeat of such an evil, he had still been at one point a man. Before bitterness and rage had filled every ounce of him and burned him beyond recognition. He had gotten close, and the song filled her ears as she began to move in concert with the Sith Lord. She could not defeat him blade to blade, that was not her battle. So the Jedi Master began to move as the song directed her. A thousand opportunities and a thousand more possible directions, most ending in almost instantaneous death. All required a sacrifice of pain. She took another steadying breath and let the force guide her, there was little time and the song was coming to its crescendo. She took a step back and pushed off with her right leg, letting the force flow through her to amplify her push away. The Sith would not find the easy delight of her death. The first and second blows found purchase, cutting through the light cloth and scoring a wicked burn across her midriff. The flesh burned painfully and the second blow caught her outstretched left arm as she pushed away. Burned to the very bone, a sudden stiffness catching at her tendons. Another wound that would take a very long time to heal. Just like the world that she was trying to save. Distance was what she needed and the threads of the force now lay arced to where she once had been. Where the Sith Lord glowered in malice. A malice that had led him into a deathly trap. The force moved heavily in anticipation. And the Jedi master let it guide her. Sandy flexed her uninjured hand, gathering the threads that the force had connected to her, and with a pull the song did the rest. The names were too numerous now, thousands and thousands. Those countless sons and daughters of Falleen that had been led to their doom above Nar Shaddaa. Whose bones would never settle in the earth of their home world. An unnumbered loss, which the planet cried out for justice. Tens of thousands of memories, of childhoods, of lives lost for useless wrath and useless rage. Justice the song sang in ten thousand voices. And the buildings all around where she had been echoed the song. How many joyful days the great stone buildings had seen. When avenues were full of smiles and laughter. Now long gone and the streets full of rot. Full of the one who had brought damnation to the world and its peaceful inhabitants. The buildings themselves fractured, their edifices already torn and their foundations shattered. The tall buildings came down as fast as the force could pull them onto the pitiable Trodai. The planets song reaching to smite him for his evil with every brick and stone. With effort Sandy lifted her injured arm and let the force flow through it. Letting it form a bubble of protection that expanded out before and above her. A shield of the bright white light of Justice. The Fanged God would be defeated even if it’s twisted minion threw himself upon her shield. For Justice had called his name and Falleen would be redeemed. ((3)) ((Great Duel my friend))
    1 point
  2. Everything was fuzzy. That was the first sensation Aidan felt as he woke from the abyss of nothingness. There was no cloning cylinder, he was laid out in a medical bed with a droid looking over him. The doctor came in and started talking, but it all blurred together. Something about...his telomeres? A cloning sickness or something. He tried to sit up but a sharp pain in his side paralyzed him back to the table. The droid administered some drugs, and he drifted back to sleep. It would be hours before he woke again. This time, a Jedi healer was by his side. He was lucky, she said, that the cancer hadn't spread before she had a chance to excise it. Cancer. Cancer. Several more hours later, when he got his strength up, he dressed in the robes provided by the Jedi, collected his belongings that had been collected from the battlefield, and set out to find Anne and Pandora.
    1 point
  3. The few steps that the Sith had taken backwards from his attack was enough. The lack of power driven into the attack was also sufficient enough to maintain his own energy. The Sith carried with him a great sense of pride and position. His tactics like one who had waged war many times, his presence assured of knowing he carried the momentum for the battle. The slow security he needed the Sith to have, as he knew for a fact that he never once faced the form of Wru’torr. But how could he? None of his apprentices ever mastered the form, save one. Dahar. And Dahar’s death was a premature one. So long as the Sith kept charging with blind focus and creating pain, he was playing into the form’s hands. The next flurry began quickly, with a wild swing of one of the swords towards his shins. A sweeping blade that carried with it some momentum. Being such a large creature that he was, a simple step backwards avoided the blow altogether without having to involve his lightsaber. The fast spin from the Sith warrior off his momentum also brought with it a side swing again, a threat of catching him midsection. A step backwards would end up resulting in himself losing the ground he needed to disarm the Sith. So he took a half step in towards the Sith again, dropping himself on the lower side to catch the blade. A bit of precognition kicking in. The precognition from the Jedi Master proved to be spot on, as the follow up swing by the Sith was an overhead one from his other blade. Catching the first swing on the lightsaber, Kirlocca ended up placing both paws upon the hilt, and swung it upwards to defend against the downward strike as a fast follow up. The defense shot pain through his left elbow of the strike against it, along with pain that shot across his shoulder blades from one of the first strikes of the Sith to even land. The pain felt like stretching a muscle that just wasn’t ready to be pulled as fast as it was. It gave the immediate reaction of longing for withdrawal. Kirlocca surrendered to the withdrawal feeling, taking a step backwards as he stood up to bend over slightly to provide relief for his shoulders. His slight withdrawal proved to be a small saving grace from the wild swing at his midsection again, this time catching some of his flesh in a steady cut from one rib to the other. The cut went without any defense as his lightsaber remained a bit to the side from his own withdrawal away from the Sith. The pain felt like fire across his midsection, with fast stinging from his own blood and sweat that almost immediately entered the cut. It forced him to take another step backwards. The step backwards was met by a wild swing from one of the swords that went nowhere. Clearly the Sith had expected for the Wookiee to step up and use his lightsaber, but the cut forced a different option. It was then that he saw it, a driving downward blow. Instincts told him to step backwards, but the Force whispered for him to step into it. It was what Wru’torr was built around. Using the momentum and energy of the opponent against them, whilst saving your own only for when it was needed. nNd he could feel it, the moment he had to end this conflict. Placing both paws upon the hilt, he stepped into the driving downwards blow, catching it head on. But upon meeting the blades, Kirlocca released his hilt and spun towards, not alongside the Sith. The false catch he hoped would carry the Sith’s own momentum downward, leaving him exposed to what was coming next from the Jedi Master. As his body came around, that’s when he unleashed it. His right paw went downwards towards the Sith’s neck, with every bit of energy and Force strength he could muster, as he used very little of it thus far. The strike upon any normal person would have separated their head from their neck, even with armor covering it. He knew the Sith would be able to prepare for it somewhat, so the blow would not be lethal. It would however still have very devastating consequences. ((3)) (Fun duel! Loved writing this story with you. Thanks Mav!)
    1 point
  4. The Wookie's mistake had been hard earned- In an attempt to halt Darth Mavanger's flurry of blows, he had stepped into the Sith Master's guard, trying to emulate his own earlier attack with his knee. But without the momentum, the power, the fire of rage and anguish to drive it, it wouldn't prove nearly as crippling. His ribs ached where the knee met he'd taken the previous blow, pushing him back the precious few steps he needed to strike once more at the Wookie as his lightsaber carved through the Warmaster's shoulder. It had found a chink in his armor, a necessary point to allow for his movement, and in doing so, seared both his body and the fabric holding his should plate attached as it his the ground with a heavy clang of metal against pavement. The Wookie had made a critical mistake- He had underestimated Darth Mavanger. It was clear in his bladework and his intentions. Simple cuts and spacing blows, an attempt to tire the Sith and to keep him at an arm's distance. He hadn't considered that the Warmaster had earned his title through bloody battle and conquest, that he had anything behind his movements beyond a tantrum thrown by an apprentice who didn't yet know how to harness their rage and pain into something dangerous. If he had dueled Mordecai Valar, the young, ambitious Sith apprentice, over Borleais, he would have found the same success that Ismael had. The scarred tissue that coated a large swathe of his face was a grim reminder of that lesson, though. He'd learned many of those. In the years since, he had transcended blind, pointless attacks. Every cut fed into the next, every strike fueled by his malice. Every assault designed in the moment to kill his opponent. He remembered what he had learned, each fight bringing with it their own cavalcade of emotions and sorrow. On Kuat, he had learned never to underestimate his opponent. Doing so had nearly cost him and Xahl their lives. On Corellia, he had learned the follies of the Jedis' defensive fighting when the young padawan was defeated. On Kuat again, he had been taught the error of blindly following where his opponents led him. That had cost Xahl, his best friend, his life, and had nearly crushed Mordecai with a slagged turret. Trulalis had taught him the dangers of overextending when the Rebels counter attacked Mon Cal, and took everything from him. And so many more. Every foe, felled by his blade. The number of people that had survived him were countable on one hand, both friend and foe. This was his path. A firestorm of hatred, of rage, of vengeance and anguish, that left nothing but charred remains in its wake. All of this loss, this sorrow, spit upon by the great Jedi hypocrisy. The preaching of empathy, without the ability to empathize. The belief that the Dark could never defeat the Light, regardless of the number of times the Jedi had nearly been made extinct by the Sith. The Wookie, as powerful as he was, only had one weightless blade and an injured arm. Darth Mavanger would shatter his defense in one final flurry of blows. A sweeping attack low, an outlet for his wrath, towards the shins from Imeall Sceimhle. His momentum carried his spin into an anguish-filled blow from Imeall Dólás as he rose merely a fraction of a second later, another cut towards the Jedi's midsection in a second bisection attempt. A third strike, an overhead swing from Imeall Sceimhle in an effort to split the Jedi's skull in his fury. Another swing brought forth his grief, a cut towards the Wookie's ribs from Imeall Dólás that would tear the Jedi's heart asunder as the Rebels had done unto the Warmaster. Every attack, meant to overwhelm. Yet another blow flashed towards the Jedi Master, carving a path through the Force as Imeall Sceimhle moved to intercept his Lightsaber, in an attempt to make the Jedi as defenseless as one frozen by terror would be. And then, the final blow. Into it he poured everything. All of his pain, all of his loss, his rage. But more than that strike his very will to live, his resolute promise that he would avenge Jarvus through blood. Imeall Dólás drove down unto the Jedi everything that Darth Mavanger could muster. He would make him understand his pain, one way or another. ((3. Excellent duel! Can't wait for the outcome.))
    1 point
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