Space

[Svata Dragoste]

Humming a marching song as he worked, Svata carved and assembled from the pile of tech and oddities on the table. Slowly, over hours, his creation began to take shape.

 

The center of the construction was the bone hilt, hollowed out for the power cell, crystal chambers, and the various other bits that made the ancient weapon work. He set down the vibro-etcher and took a long look at the decorative carving running along the length of the soon-to-be lightsaber.

 

Constellations adorned the whole of the hilt, a starfield as detailed as the night sky. A simple, small outline of a sarlaac weaved between one cluster of stars on one side of the bone shaft, and a tiny ship moved through the stars on the others.

 

My teacher and my family.

 

Svata smiled as he stared at the empty spaces between the stars along the rest of the hilt.

 

Looks like I've got a lot of space to fill.

 

Svata began the work of placing the crystals into their respective chambers. He sunk into the Force as he'd been taught, for only through his connection to the mystical, uniting power could he complete his work. A bitter but pleasant ache unfolded in his chest as he worked, a memory coming to mind...

 

Parami laughed, clapping her hands in time with Svata's silly marching song. Behind the exaggerated goosestepping of her shameless husband, their first son marched in time, breaking pace every few steps to run and catch up to his father's longer stride. A durasteel strut lay propped against the 4-year old boys shoulder, his "weapon" that he used to hunt the ship's loth cat.

 

Unfortunately for Svata, the universe seemed to have granted the young the equivalent energy of a collapsing star, and the proud ryn had to admit defeat and end the game. He pulled his son aside and held the boy's "weapon".

 

"Now, why do we use weapons?" he asked.

 

The little boy opened his mouth, but then stopped, cocking his head in a comical fashion as he thought. He'd recently figured out that stopping and thinking got him the right answer more often than just blurting out whatever came into his head. Unfortunately, he was also four, and Svata could tell after a few moments that his son had gotten distracted and was off on some internal tangent.

 

Parami, no doubt guessing Svata's intention, walked over.

 

"What does Aunt Kila use her weapons for?" she asked.

 

This answer knew, and he shouted, "To protect the clan!"

 

Svata smiled. "That's right. That's what weapons are for. To protect the people and things you care about."

 

"I don't think Aunt Kila likes me."

 

Svata couldn't help but smile a little. The abrasive Kila had problems with children, and their son's recent obsession with weapons had earned her an endless stream of questions on a few occasions. Her respect for Svata's position had kept her from snapping at the little boy, but children were more perceptive than people thought.

 

"I bet you're wrong. You're a Dragoste. Kila's a Dragoste."

 

This seemed to appease the boy. "What should I fight for?"

 

Svata considered, but it was Parami who answered. "Son, you should fight for whatever you believe in and whoever you want to protect."

 

"I'll be a great protector like Aunt Kila!"

 

Parami smiled and looked at Svata. "I know you will."

 

Click

 

The last piece of the the emitter array snapped into place on the hilt. The weapon was done.

 

Svata wiped his eyes.

 

"Alright. You just need a name.

 

...Protector." He chuckled. "Simple, but I think that fits us, don't you think?"

 

He pressed the activation switch, and the twin golden blades hummed to life.

 

"Protector..." he muttered, still grinning.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________

 

Svata stepped onto the bridge.

 

On 7/24/2020 at 9:50 PM, The Sarlacc said:

Turning to Svata, The Sarlacc placed a reassuring hand on the elder’s shoulder. “Are you prepared to board the vessels of oppression and take from them to save lives? We kill only when we must. Let us hope that our show of force will be enough for the downtrodden trudging under the yoke of the Sith. We will offer them freedom. Perhaps that will be enough.”

 

He grinned as he wrapped his new lightsaber hilt in cloth to hide it from casual sight.

 

"Defender Sarlaac, if you're going to teach me the mysteries of the Force, the honor of the Jensaarai, and my place in the universe, I think it's only right I teach you something." He stepped up to the viewscreen. "How to enjoy your work. And there's nothing more heartwarming than seeing a bully get what's coming to them. So yeah...I'm ready."

 

 

 

 

[Svata Dragoste]

On 7/24/2020 at 9:50 PM, The Sarlacc said:

Turning to Svata, The Sarlacc placed a reassuring hand on the elder’s shoulder. “Are you prepared to board the vessels of oppression and take from them to save lives? We kill only when we must. Let us hope that our show of force will be enough for the downtrodden trudging under the yoke of the Sith. We will offer them freedom. Perhaps that will be enough.”

 

Svata gave Sarlaac a lopsided grin, his whiskers bristling. In one hand he cradled his iron staff, hidden blades sheathed. In the other loosely dangled his heavy blaster pistol. The old ryn looked every bit the part of a rogue.

 

"It'll all depend on who's onboard and what they're transporting, but if this shipment is worth taking...well, it's probably worth protecting. We can hope, but I'd be ready for droids or troopers. We probably won't need to worry too much about reinforcements, but with the rebels stepping up their attacks I wouldn't put it past the Sith to start instigating piracy policies. Ships patrolling just off the hyperlanes, that sort of thing. Sith can get pretty ruthless when they get pushed. I heard a story about a freighter transporting explosives, only for them to go off once they were boarded by pirates. Turned out they'd been shipping those bombs back and forth for weeks waiting for a pirate to take the bait."

 

Svata shrugged.

 

"In the end we can't control what they'll do,  just do our best to do the right thing. At least, that's what's always helped me sleep at night."

 

He turned back, and a serious expression tightened his face. Old pain danced across his eyes for a moment, then it was gone.

 

"Just gotta do what we can."

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata and the three crewmen volunteers got to their feet in the darkened hold of the ship.

Jara, the human engineer, immediately walked to the wall and hooked up her datapad into the wall-jack. Kon and Veremo, the two fresh Pau'an apprentices and brothers, drew their gleaming blaster pistols and moved to cover Jara, somehow making crouching behind boxes look elegant and refined like every waking moment of a Pau'an's life.

Svata, for his part, drew his blocky heavy blaster pistol and made a slow circuit of the room.

 

"Do you think this will be worth taking?" Kon asked, never taking his eyes or blaster barrel off the cargo hold's single entrance.

 

"Not about profit, it's about the message. And don't talk unless you have to."

 

"I'm in," Jara called. Svata rolled his eyes and walked back to the grubby, scruffy middle-aged woman.

 

"What are we looking at for personnel?"

 

"Ship's records only call out two crewmen, the pilot and the engineer."

 

"Droid guards then."

 

"That'd be my guess. Can't access them through this connection. Maybe from the cockpit?"

 

"Don't bother. On a ship like this, the droids will be under independent orders and closed off from transmissions. Standard wartime security."

 

"So then we..."

 

Svata's lopsided grin gleamed inside his bulky helmet.

 

"We convince them to give us what we want the normal way."

 

Kon and Veremo shared a look out of the corner of Svata's eye, unreadable.

 

"Come on. Let's get to-"

 

The door whooshed open, and a fusillade of blaster fire cut through the air. There was a moment of silence, then a clank as the unfortunate droid who'd opened it fell to the floor, it's club tumbling from its hand.

 

Jara peeked out from behind one of the crates. Svata hadn't even seen her move.

 

"Is...is that a police droid?"

 

"Repurposed GU-model looks like. Betting there's tons of these things lying in the rubble of Coruscant. If this is all they got, we're in good hands. But keep on guard. They might have KXs or worse on here."

 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The creeping pace the quartet made through the hallways was only occasionally broken by blaster fire as another droid met its expiration date. So far they'd come across two more GUs, and gotten surprised by an OOM-model that had somehow managed to cram itself into a ventilation shaft before jumping out them with a pair of knives. The brothers had shown their training by elegantly dispatching it before it hit the ground.

 

Jara frowned as she opened another locked door.

 

"Kind of scrappy for a Sith security force, isn't it?"

 

Svata shrugged. "Cheap. Not much else to say. Doesn't matter what galaxy you come from, the government always has cutbacks."

 

Jara didn't look convinced, but pointed to the next door at the end of the hall. "There's the cockpit. We take that, we have control over this ship. We jettison the cargo to the interdictor's tractor beams, then bug out."

 

Svata nodded, and turned to the brothers. Even as serious as Pau'ans usually looked, their faces were grim and stony. They likely thought what Svata did. If you were going to defend one room on this ship, it would be this one.

 

The trio of Jensaarai apprentices approached the door, blasters ready, as Jara hooked her datapad up again and got to work.

 

"Remember boys. We leave the crew alive."

 

Two perfectly mirrored nods were his only acknowledgement.

 

The door slid open, Jara fell back against the wall and as much behind cover as she could, the three apprentices dove into the room, coming up blasters ready.

 

Cowering in front of them were two Bothans, one male adult and one younger girl with a belt of tools around her waist. Neither was armed, and both were terrified.

 

Svata lowered his weapon, though the brothers looked less sure.

 

"Put those down boys. These are independent contractors, not leatherjacks."

 

Hesitantly, the two Pau'ans let their grips slacken, though they didn't holster their weapons.

 

Svata turned back to the pair of Bothans, to find that the male pilot (a brother perhaps?) had moved to shield the younger engineer with his body.

 

"Knock it off with the drama boy, we're not going to hurt you. We're just going to relieve you of your cargo and be on our way." Svata motioned for Jara to come in. She entered but kept her eyes on the Bothan duo as he hooked herself into the ship's console.

 

"We..." the male started hesitantly, but his tone growing stronger with each word, "we need that cargo. If we don't deliver..."

 

"Whatever chubby clerk you're signing off with will realize you didn't rob the glorious Sith when he sees the damage on your ship.

 

Oh...sorry about that.

 

I understand this is going to be a loss for you, but I'm guessing you don't even own this ship. Am I right?"

 

The expression of a slashrat caught in a spotlight seemed stuck to the male's face, and in a confused tone he answered, "Right...right we run it for one of the imperial contractors."

 

"There you see? Your contractor will cover the loss, not you. Call them up before you get anywhere and mention that you'll tell the Sith about the security they gave you for the ship. I'm guessing they don't want their dark lords to know their contractor was using recycled droids to guard their precious cargo. They'll eat the cost to keep you quiet, and you'll be on your way.

 

Jara, you got it yet?"

 

"Just...got it. Cargo is away."

 

Svata turned back and gave a bow with a flourish of his tail.

 

"Pleasure meeting you both. Have a safe trip." He activated his comm-link as the group walked away from the confused but relieved Bothans. "Hey, open a door for us, we're coming back. It looks like we got lucky on this ship. Hopefully Sarlaac didn't get the worse pick."

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata strolled in, and stopped as he saw his teacher's armor less than pristine. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he fought to keep from smiling.

 

"So...guess you don't mind fighting dirty."

Svata laughed, then awkwardly his voice petered out.

 

"Yeah...that one was pretty bad. Anyway, no casualties on ours. Independent contractors and some old droids." Svata didn't ask if Sarlaac had had any casualties. He knew how professional and dedicated the duros could be, and no one on his team would have gotten overzealous.

He frowned. "This isn't going to be easy. We hit a major hyperspace lane. We hit it a few more times and the Sith are going to respond how they usually respond to threats."

 

He sat down and leaned his head against the wall, his age suddenly draped over him like a shroud.

 

"Overwhelmingly."

 

His eyes closed, and he took one...two...three deep breaths. Then his eyes opened, alight with the fire and vigor that the Jensaarai had given back to the old man.

 

"So...where next?"

[Svata Dragoste]

The washer zipped past Svata's head, but the old ryn's sight wasn't focused on the physical. Eyes half-lidded, he sunk into the Force, humming a tuneless melody. He called up memories of Uncle Meska, the hunched codger drilling the clan's history into a surly teenager. The man's voice, rough and clear, echoed in his mind, and Svata felt the legacy of the Dragoste's stretching out into time, as he had back then. Like standing on a mountain, he embraced the feeling, and embraced the Force. All things were connected. All things were everlasting, because all things existed within the Force.

 

"I am an echo in the Force," Svata said, voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. "I am a ripple, an offspring...I am a shadow." He stretched out his hand and felt the depth of the Force. It had no bottom. It was eternity. In the face of that, Svata had no power. How could he even think to control something like that. But he would not control it. He would do as he had done as the Keeper of the Dragoste's. He would channel that eternity.

In the bowl, a bolt shivered. Then, slowly, it turned, clinking as the hexagonal head rolled along the ceramic. Svata's humming sped up, the jumble of notes taking on a new cadence. The bolt, quivering violently and painfully sluggish, rose out of the bowl. Seconds passed, before Svata's song stopped, and the bolt dropped back into the bowl. Sweat beaded on his brow, but the fierce smile on his face was defiant.

 

"Got it."

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata listened, and as he did he remained one with the Force. Sarlaac's words, Svata's memories, the melody, it all blended together into something primal, indescribable, and beautiful.

 

In the bowl, the bolt moved, slowly and hesitantly at first, then quicker and with more precision. Soon, it elevated out into the air, and turned slow somersaults around Svata's head.

 

As the bolt spun, Svata grew more and more accustomed to the Force. He could almost see the purpose of it all, a maddening order just beyond his comprehension. Was this what all Force-users felt?

 

No, not Dark Siders. No one could feel this and act as they did. They sought to control the Force. They were delusional, like a man who believed that because he shielded the sky with his hand he had put out the stars.

 

Svata sunk deeper into the Force, and he glimpsed more with every layer. Finally, he saw the connection between himself and Sarlaac. It was a tiny thing, fragile and ephemeral, but it shone like silver in the darkness. The bolt orbited faster as Svata leaned down, eyes rolled back in his head but his sight never clearer. The thread was a thing of purity, light from nothing yet as tangible as durasteel. Where it joined with Svata's spirit, it frayed in a dozen directions, hopelessly tangled but slowly weaving itself back together. Where it joined with Sarlaac it was strong...but dim. Like a shadow was passing over it.

 

Coming out of the trance as if coming up for air, the bolt dropped to the floor, and Svata's eyes focused on the duros.

 

"Something..." He shook his head. "Is something wrong, Defender Sarlacc?"

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata frowned, bowing his head as the weight of what his teacher spoke of hit him.

"Destroy them...kill them all..." A sigh escaped him, and with it seemed to go a great deal of his strength. "That's...I'm not going to lie, that's more than I was expecting. War makes people hard and sharp, but for the Jedi to order the deaths of others..." Svata shook his head. "It goes against everything I know of their order."

Svata rested his head in his hand. The light that had held the galaxy together for 10,000 years was commanding people to submit? The keepers of peace preached violence? The Sith had brought darkness to the galaxy, but was this fire what was needed to push them back? A fire that burned anyone unlucky enough to be caught in its path?

"..............heh. Heheh. Hahahaha!" Svata's chuckle turned into a full-blown laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know that's inappropriate. It's just...something popped into my head and..." Svata's hand clamped over his mouth as he struggled to hold back his snickering.

 

"Heh..Sarlacc...heheh...Let me tell you a story, and you tell me what you think after. I'll respect your decision, whatever it is." Svata sat down on the floor, and for a moment he was back with his family. Looking up at the wise duros only made his smile warmer.

 

I guess I am back.

 

Svata cleared his throat, and his fingers brushed against his nose as he began to speak, his words in line with the low, quiet strains of a slow, old song. He talked as he played, and as Uncle Meska had taught him, the words and the music flowed together. The tempo swung up, almost feverishly fast and high.

"Svata was a screw up. He was a disgrace. He put his family in danger and brought them nothing but dishonor and pain. His anger at the world, at the harshness it gave him for nothing he'd ever done, justified his actions to him. If the universe would do nothing but take from him, then how could he live but to take back from it?"

 

The song changed, dropping to a lower, mournful minor key, slower and quieter until it was almost inaudible.

 

"But in his selfishness, anger, and fear, he did not see the harm he caused. He thought his family fools, or even cowards who clung to their name like a scared child hides under the covers. But it was him who was hiding."

The tune shifted again, this time slowly rising and intensifying into a major key, hope and rising goodness evident in every note.

"He was made to see though. They made him open his eyes. With hard grips and loving hearts, his family showed him what was in their name. They showed him his legacy...and what he was doing to it. The regret he felt then was overwhelming, and it choked his anger and hate from his soul. He turned around. He changed, and he brought honor and peace to his family. To his..." Svata stopped mid-note. After a few deep breaths, he quietly said, "...his legacy."

Svata chuckled again, and raised his head to match Sarlacc's gaze. "That's the abridged version, but the point is that the Jedi are in a bad place. You see that, I see that, and I believe it's our duty to make the Saarai-Kaar see that. But...but I have so many stories up here," he said, leaning forward excitedly and tapping his temple. "So many stories of the Jedi, Ten millennia of peace and hope brought by these heroes, by these selfless men and women who gave their entire lives to protect a galaxy they would never truly live in. And that is a legacy that doesn't go away, no matter how much the Sith try to suppress it or the current batch lose sight of it. Maybe the Jedi are lost, but I...I have hope. I believe the Jedi will come back, bright as ever before. Maybe the Jensaarai will need to show them, or maybe there's dozens of Jedi right now making their voices heard." Svata shrugged. "Or maybe I'm a sentimental coot who doesn't know what he's talking about." A grin split his face.

 

"Anyway, that's my take on this Defender. I agree that we should tell the Saarai-Kaar, but I also don't think we should give up on the Jedi yet.

 

But...what do you think?"

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata watched, dumbfounded, at the display his teacher put on. The whirling violet blades always seemed a hair's breadth from slicing the duros in half, but they never touched him.

The old ryn looked down at his own lightsaber. He breathed in, and out. He activated the dual blades.

Golden-yellow light glinted off of Svata's bits of jewelry. The two beams of light hummed and blurred as Svata slowly turned them. He grasped the handle first as he would a staff, and immediately saw the problem. The hilt was too short, and if he treated it like a staff he'd slice his own legs off. The weight, as Sarlacc has said, was off too. Every bit of muscle memory and experience Svata had conflicted with the weapon his eyes were seeing.

Very, very slowly, he brought it around in a careful twirl. He cried out then growled as he singed his hip in the process. His footwork was wrong, he needed to find the right stance if he was going to swing this around. He closed his eyes and called to mind the lessons the Jensaarai had taught him on lightsaber forms.

The best form for a dual bladed lightsaber...

His eyes opened and he smiled, letting his feet move his body into a relaxed position.

 

Form VI. He grinned. A relaxed form that combines bits from the previous forms to create a single, balanced style. Balance from the experience of masters past. He shook his head, chuckling. Perfect for me.

 

He swung forward again, more confident, and struck Sarlacc's lightsaber. The blow was clumsy and the blade slipped and sparked along his master's steady blade. Svata dropped back and tried again. And again. And again.

 

Hours passed. Svata went through the basic stances and attack routines of Form VI, repeating them over and over again. He found his tail lashing out to give him balance as he overstepped time and again. He learned to keep his eagerness in check. Form VI was a style that emphasized opportunities, not aggression. As Svata relaxed more, he found his bladework flowed in an easy rhythm. Time and again he saw chances for improvised attacks, tricks, and Force manipulation. His double-bladed lightsaber was ideal for the balanced style, the constant spinning and easy momentum of the form making Svata's attacks seem as much a performance as combat.

 

Yet Sarlacc easily deflected every blow Svata sent at him. The Defender's speed was unmatched compared to Svata's rhythmic attacks. Eventually, Svata tired. Breathing hard, he grinned at his master.

 

"How was that?"

[Svata Dragoste]

On 10/2/2020 at 10:09 AM, Sreth Bones said:

“So we are breaking some droids, right? Awesome, I can’t wait for a fight, and clankers should be fun to break apart.”

Svata laughed. He liked this one. With spacers like him, you always got one of three types. The naive starters who looked at the galaxy like a planet hoppin game, ready to catapult themselves by speeder bike into a gundark nest for credits and glory. The tough-as-boots veterans who'd seen some kriffing nonsense and wore it like a crusty beggar wearing an old coat. And then you had the salty star-runners who'd crossed from one end of the galaxy to the other and seen so much craziness that they looped right back around to laughing at the universe.

Svata liked the second kind least.

"Not so sure about breaking them. And if it comes to that, you better hope its not by hand."

His grin widened.

"But if it's a fight you're looking for, I'd be happy to kill some time."

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata grimaced, taking deep breaths to calm his rising irritation.

 

"Blur the lines that separate me, huh? Open up my mind and body to it." Svata's tail twitched. "I gotta mix. Like crowd walking. I gotta smell the room and wear it. So come on you old pudding brain, what's the first step of mixing anywhere?

 

You gotta wait. You gotta listen. You gotta watch. You gotta be...intensely."

 

Svata inhaled, struggling to both focus and let go. He needed to relax, let it come in its own time. He started by counting the smells. Oil...some sort of sweet sauce...meat...maybe someone's lunch...old, dirty leather...disinfectant...

 

His breathing came slow and even, dropping to almost imperceptibility. His mind stopped sorting stimuli. It flowed. He felt the warmth on his bare arms, then the weight of his scarf, then he heard the low hum of a crewmember. He simply flowed.

 

He couldn't say when he'd tapped into the Force. It was like...playing a part. Sinking into a role.

 

Eyes lidded, Svata stood. He saw, but he didn't. If he truly saw, wouldn't that mean he could be seen? If he thought, would they hear?

Svata walked in a daze through the bridge. No one glanced his way. A crewman walked right at him, then absentmindedly stepped aside. Svata thought, for just a second, there was a flicker of something in the man's' eyes. But then it was gone.

 

Svata inserted his datadrive, and waited. No, waiting was something, an action, a distinction. Svata wasn't anything like that. Svata simply was.

 

When Svata emerged from the bridge, data drive in hand, he took a deep breath, a real breath. Everything snapped for a split second, and Svata was back.

 

"Well...that was...wow."

[Svata Dragoste]

As the Jensaarai ship flew through hyperspace, Svata stared out the viewport. The blue light played across his weathered features, making him seem washed out. Faded.

 

Svata turned away, and his eyes met his teacher's.

 

"Sarlaac...I had forgotten. I had forgotten what people were capable of." He shook his head. "Fear, pride, it all ends the same. We seek truth but...what are we supposed to do with it? Teach? They won't listen. Protect? The fight never ends." Leaning against the wall, he took out his saber and looked at the carvings on it.

 

He remembered the rancor on Dathomir.

 

"There's so much potential out there. And it keeps gettin wasted by folks who can't see past the shadows under their beds. What are we supposed to do?" He slumped, tired. "What are we even doing?"

[Svata Dragoste]

On 1/21/2021 at 9:16 PM, The Sarlacc said:

The Sarlacc’s fingers sailed over the console with precision expertise, diverting their course mid-jump. Turning around, he regarded Svata. “Perhaps some lightsaber training to help recenter your mind?”

 

Even though his head felt like someone had filled it with wet sand, Svata looked up. With two blank, red orbs for eyes, most people would have seen a duros like Sarlacc as eerie and emotionless. Eyes were the windows to the soul after all, wasn't that what people said? So what did it way when someone painted over it with a fresh coat of scarlet?

 

But...Svata saw the kindness there. In the crinkling at the edges of eyes, the smile lines on the face, the relaxed posture...

 

Sarlaac was a good man.

 

Maybe I'm asking too much to expect one big plan to fix the universe.

 

Maybe the universe just needs a few more good men.

 

Svata stood up, and a warmth spread through him as he smiled.

 

"Alright, that sounds good." He cocked an eyebrow, and his grin turned cheeky. "Don't go losing now. Hate to have to explain that to the boys and girls back home."

 

Heh...me winning.

 

He drew his lightsaber hilt, leaving it off for the moment.

 

Yeah right.

[Svata Dragoste]

Svata frowned. As his teacher spoke, his voice the pleasant drone of an caring instructor, something felt...off. Svata felt exposed, in a sensation that was oddly familiar.

 

The rancor.

 

Yes, back on Dathomir, when Svata had exposed his mind and soul to the rancor, it had felt like this, though more intense. This was...furtive. Quiet.

 

Poking at my head? Fortunately you taught me how to deal with this kind of thing, teacher. Can you read what's not there?

 

Svata began to let himself become part of the moment, using the Secret of Evaporation to conceal himself from his master...when his master threw something at him.

 

Is that...

 

A lightsaber hilt.

 

Kriff!

 

Svata had no time for an artful dodge. He leapt straight back, his body dropping to the floor while moving backwards from the oncoming bit of metal. The hiss of the lightsaber activating followed a split second before Svata hit the metal floor. Svata's eyes opened, ignoring the pain in his back that was no doubt going to be far worse in a few hours.

 

Well, not dead or burning...so good sign there.

 

Svata gritted his teeth as he used the martial arts training the Jensaarai had drilled into him to roll to his feet, displaying a spryness that belied his age. His back protested the move, muscles already stiffening from the sudden fall.

 

It's not about if you fall...it's about how fast you get up!

 

A grin stole over his face at the thought of his uncle's decades old advice.

 

Always wanted to try this...

 

Svata spun his dual-bladed lightsaber in one hand and activated it, creating a bright, spinning yellow marvel.

 

A lovely distraction.

 

His other hand casually flipped his blaster out of its holster and fired two stun blasts from the hip towards his master.

 

((1))

 

(Dropped to the floor to dodge the thrown lightsaber, taking a bad fall to do it, got back up and used the activating of his lightsaber as a distraction while drawing his blaster and making two hip shot stun blasts.)

[Svata Dragoste]

On 1/29/2021 at 12:47 PM, The Sarlacc said:

Swinging his cortosis-alloy half-extended aros about in a wide arc, The Sarlacc sought to crash the weapon into the spinning maelstrom of Svata’s blades. His grip on the weapon loosening so that the weapon

might be torn from his hands in the momentum of his foe and cast like a mislaid hydrospanner in a podracer engine - a tumult of chaos so as to damage whatever or wherever it was careened by the power of the propeller. 

 

In that same moment, The Sarlacc loosed his mental grasp upon his saber hilt, one that had endured despite the agony that now tore at his stomach from his strained leg. The weapon tumbled harmless to the ground, a spinning top somewhere beyond him and behind his apprentice. In that moment, it did not matter though; for as much as this combatted contest was one between brothers, it was still that, a contest of combat from which one would emerge a victor and one defeated, both bearing the knowledge of lessons learned.

 

Releasing his grips on his weapons, saber and aros, The Sarlacc reached with a glance as his hands pushed down on the floor, his eyes focusing on the heavy blaster in Svata’s hand. With a force-imbued heave fueled by his own pain, The Sarlacc sought to telekinetically wrench the weapon awry, slamming it upwards in an attempt to deliver a cranially corrective blow to his apprentice’s face.

 

And as he attacked, The Sarlacc swung his legs around readying himself to move once again, his strained muscle protesting in silent shooting pains that the Defender used to focus his own attentions on the task at hand. 

 

Svata hissed through his teeth as his teacher slid towards him, as fast as he remembered. The spinning arc of Svata's blade caught the arcing staff just as Svata ended the fanciful twirl, re-established a firm grip on the weapon, and pushed one-handed as hard as he could against the incoming staff. The Sarlacc's cortosis weapon, already loose in his fingers, tore free and flew into the metal wall where it raised a ringing hum before bouncing down to the floor in a clangor. Svata, having overcorrected for what he thought would be a parry, left himself open as he was forced to widen his step to keep from tumbling sideways under the momentum of his own overzealous block. Even if by some miracle he'd been holding onto a thread of his attempt at the Secret of Evaporation before, it was gone now.

 

Fighting with a lightsaber was complicated enough, but a true Jensaarai like the Sarlacc understood the trick of mixing solid weapons and their momentum into a fight. Only now...he was unarmed.

 

But a man who walks with the Force is never unarmed.

 

Caught off guard, Svata's blaster arched up on unseen directive towards Svata's face, and only a quick head turn saw the blunt metal scrape a layer of skin off his cheekbone, saving him from an addled moment that would have spelled his end.

 

With the flip of a man practiced at sleight of hand, the blaster dropped from his fingers to be caught by his tail by the barrel before it could clatter to the floor. His master still had his armor and the Force. Svata had to end this quickly or he'd lose what little ground he'd gained with the stun blasts.

 

Dropping any pretense of clever tricks, Svata fell into the classic Form VI stance and took his dual-bladed lightsaber into both hands, jabbing out like a spear towards Sarlaac's right leg.

 

If his left leg had been grazed by the stun blasts, then forcing him to lean on it might...might...keep him off balance long enough for Svata to figure out how he was going to beat a trained Jensaarai Defender.

 

((2))

 

(Was thrown off balance by Sarlaac's trick of deliberately keeping a loose grip on the staff, but managed to avoid being addled by the blaster being Force pushed towards his face.

 

Svata dropped the blaster to be held by his tail, and jabbed out with his lightsaber towards Sarlaac's right foot, hoping to force him to put weight on his left.)

[Svata Dragoste]

Triumph rose in Svata like the sunrise as he saw his master take the fall and slide back. He'd half expected to lose his hand in that maneuver, even considering the ridiculousness of the fear given that his master was unarmed.

 

He strode forward. He would point the tip of the blade at Sarlacc's throat and call an end. He couldn't believe it. Against all odds, against all sense, he had actually-

 

Sarlacc held up his hands. For the tiniest fraction of a second, Svata thought his master might be calling an end to the duel.

 

Then his mind caught up, and his fear followed.

 

Dropping low, hoping to dodge whatever missile his master intended to send at him, Svata made the crucial mistake of loosening his grip on his saber. He didn't even notice the tug until the tip was searing his side. He screamed, and reflexes trumped precision as he jerked away from the blade and dropped it, the blades deactivating though the damage was done. Searing pain lanced through his side, and though Svata tried to master it, the only thing that ran through his mind was an acute awareness of the agony mixing with the acrid stench of cooking flesh. He gritted his teeth, eyes watering, only catching a glimpse of his master's saber returning. 

 

No time then. Svata could barely stand, much less swing a saber. Attack now, or lose for sure.

 

Svata's tail whipped up, and his blaster settled back into his hand. No careful aiming this time. Svata pumped the blaster again and again, sending stun blast after stun blast winging at his master in wild shots.

 

 

((3))

 

((Nearly incapacitated and in agony from the blade cutting his side thanks to Sarlacc's ballistakinesis, Svata drew his blaster and fired wildly at Sarlacc, hoping to catch him while prone and recovering his lightsaber))