Psycho Beach Party

[DreadPirateMike]

"Ah, my swords for a rum on the rocks and a beach umbrella."

Part of him felt a brief pang of guilt for the levity, knowing as he did that his comrades in the Navy were presently in more dire straits, but Jaidan supposed that WAS the Jedi way. Find your tranquility when, where and how you could. Besides, he wasn't here on vacation. It was a hell of a view he had up here though, gazing through his loaned interceptor's transparisteel cockpit window as the craft zoomed over the blue waters and vibrant archipelagoes of Tibrin. It was not difficult to see why its people took such pains to keep this splendor and natural wealth unspoiled, a quality which actually reminded him of his own homeworld. Not that Eshan looked like this, of course, but all the same, he saw a world and a people living in balance with civilization and all its trappings, not hiding from technology and all it meant, but determined that they, and not the technology itself, should determine the place it had in their lives.

And with luck, that harmony would not be disturbed any further today. Certainly, things had already been just a tad more exciting than the Ishi Tib were likely to appreciate. Up until very recently, a Republic spy drone had been operating in the vicinity, amassing what they all hoped were valuable insights into the Sith Empire's resources and military deployment in this sector. They all hoped this at least in part because the device had not quite managed the other quality implied by the use of the word 'spy'. It had been discovered and shot down, apparently suffering damage to its long range transceiver in the process that prevented it from simply uploading its findings to a waiting SIS computer.

After that, however, their fortunes improved at the cost of the Ishi Tib being dragged in. The drone was programmed to attempt evasive maneuvers, and had managed a crash landing here. Meanwhile, the Navy had still been able to track the drone once its emergency transpondercame online, and managed to scramble a few units here to intercept before the Sith simply finished the job from orbit. The resulting skirmish was currently playing out, according to his readouts, the better part of 2 AU from here, and much as he may wish it otherwise, he could only wish his friends well. They'd done their jobs in drawing the Sith off, and now he would do his: get down there, quickly and quietly deal with any forces the Sith had been able to sneak down to the surface, and retrieve the drone's data core. And in any case, he'd apparently have his own chance to risk his life; it would seem he'd gotten here just in time, sensors registering two enemy signatures up ahead, on course to begin an attack run. Strike bombers, of course; the data core was well protected by design, as it had to be to survive re-entry and planet fall, but that payload he was reading would be more than enough if they got eyes on target.

Well, couldn't have that. Giving the accelerator some encouragement, Jaidan deepened the angle of his descent, and began an attack run of his own. He'd plainly been spotted, as the enemy pilots attempted to evade, but between the natural speed of a Pegasus and his superior elevation, the first target had an unenviable task. Jaidan had to work for a weapons lock, the Sith pilot doing a creditable job of staying out of his crosshairs, but a good hit from all three laser cannons left his opponent missing a wing and struggling to gain control of his downward spiral. He'd wish them luck as far as survival; certainly, he'd do nothing more to prevent it, if only because they were out of the fight, and he second fighter- bomber had managed to come about, trying to tag him with their nose cannon. That obstacle proved harder to overcome, no amount of training he'd yet managed sufficing to make him a true ace pilot, bit he still had the superior maneuvering and a Jedi's reflexes on his side. After a few minutes, a lucky hit detonated some part of the bomber's payload, and with a brief but intense fireball signaling the end of the threat, he resumed his course for the crash site.

He found it a moment later, and despite its recent difficulty, he certainly had to admit a healthy respect for the drone's design. He'd seen a display of the descent; it had retained just enough thrust capacity to manage a long and shallow angle in over the water and bounced four times, like one of the stones he'd skipped back during his abbreviated childhood. Well, he couldn't recall how often he'd actually managed four skips without the Force aiding him, but the idea was the same. The drone had shed some bits of chassis in the process, but more momentum. It still carved a twenty foot trench in the beach before its smoking ruin finally came to a stop, though.

Ah, well that would have ruined his tropical holiday anyway. Bringing his interceptor to a rest next to the crash site and climbing atop to survey the task, he realized there was good news, at least if he was properly comparing the wreck to its original blueprints. The access hatch he needed had wound up facing skyward. No excavation required! It was qualified good news, of course. The hatch also proved hopelessly warped past the point of opening it by hand.

"Fortunately, I brought my tool set." he muttered as he withdrew and ignited his main hand lightfoil.

[Rugs]

Nieraan had a policy of trying not to leave work he could handle himself in the hands of others.

Of course, there were times when the proper delegation of duty made far more sense than trying to go from task to task like a crazed one-man army, especially with his newfound position as a Sith Lord. Yet, as he’d been forged in the crucible of Metellos’ underbelly, he’d seen too many plans, carefully laid out by gang bosses — both his own and their rivals — brought to ruins by idiots’ carelessness.

Sometimes they were well-meaning idiots, but good intentions hardly balanced out incompetency.

So it was today, for so many parties.

As he watched a bomber burst into flame and fall from the sky, leaving a thin, inky trail in the clear blue sky, he shook his head. It was like watching old war footage from his vantage through the cockpit in his quiet little shuttle.

The bomber should’ve had an escort with it. One bomber would’ve been more than enough, with the payload they carried, but no. Had to send two.

And there went the second, detonating in a brilliant rose of flame and smoke and broken bits of metal. Nieraan counted a full second before the distant thoomp from the explosion reached him. And now we have no bombers, he thought, sighing an annoyed sort of sigh as he nudged the ship gently forward.

Nieraan muttered under his breath as his ship zoomed over the four shallow craters the recon drone left behind in the sand beneath the shallow waters before coming to rest on an small, sandy island with some spare bits of vegetation. The Republic fighter went to land, and the pilot emerged. This might not be happening, he conjectured for what had to be eighth time during this excursion, if the Republic had used an actual spy or recon agent to do its snooping about in this sector

But no. It had to be the droid, and he had to use time he could be using to do something else to come deal with the Republic’s screw up.

At least there was someone to toy with before he took care of it. A Jedi, he realized, as gently sniffed at the presence from afar, his ship setting down in the shallows. Even better.

He landed with the back of the ship facing the drone, and the landing lowered to reveal him, twin lightsabers connected together to make his staff. The third still hung at his waist as he stepped onto the ramp, radiating bad intentions.

There wasn’t any need to hide them—they both knew what they were here for.

He raised his empty hand as he hopped to the sand and pushed, hoping to knock the Jedi from his perch atop the battered metal sphere.

“Mmm, don’t think I can let you do that,” he called out, walking casually. The back end of his staff ignited and a navy blue blade dragged like a fingertip through the sand leaving a serpentine path of thin, brittle glass behind it.

“Funny how this always works out, isn’t it?” the Firrerreo asked, grinning a grin showed the tips of his fangs. “The idiots screw something up and now we have to fight to fix it.”

The second blade ignited, this one a liquid-hot beam of brilliant gold.

“Ain’t it a shame?”

[DreadPirateMike]

So, the opposition had committed more to this particular op than it first seemed, this new arrival seemingly constituting the third plan for disposing of this stricken and beleaguered machine. Intriguing, actually. It was enough to make him suspect the data core might indeed contain some interesting reading material, if the Sith showed this marked a preference that the Republic never see it. Even so, a slight difference in numbers aside, it seemed to Jaidan that both sides had actually approached this conflict in much the same way. Send some of the big guys to draw the attention up in space, slip in some of the little guys to finish the job. Something was oddly comforting about that, the idea that even when two parties disagreed to the point of interstellar war, everyone was still basically on the same page. And if they thought basically the same way when it came to killing each other, then maybe there was enough in common all around that time would prove the High Council wise. Perhaps, if there were enough people on either side interested in looking for it, the groundwork existed for an eventual peace that would not require one side battered into shell shocked impotence.

But, just as it was when he chose to answer Master Took's call, he didn't hold much hope that this theoretical happy ending was to be any time soon. After all, it didn't just mean smug rich folk guilty of appallingly bad taste anymore when one spoke of the Sith. And unless his senses had utterly failed him, the real thing had just arrived.

The guess was soon borne out as his enemy emerged from his ship, looking and seeming every bit the last thing this mission needed. The malevolence of this man was palpable enough, but that was hardly surprising under the circumstances. As usual, he paid more attention to how this Sith carried himself, how he stood, how he moved. A cursory glance showed him relaxed enough, but this was of course only partly true. The tension was there in his muscles, the energy building and awaiting release, as adrenaline combined with training to unleash the violence that no doubt played before his mind's eye. It was just that there was a lack of any real anxiety about the violence to come, a relative calm that came with real confidence. A true warrior, then. As was only fitting.

In any case, Nieraan would successfully remove Jaidan from his elevated vantage point, but not in quite the same way he intended. The shuttle landing was hardly any more covert an arrival than his own, and by the time the Sith Knight emerged, Jaidan was poised and ready. Anticipating an assault with Force powers was a bit different than watching for a punch to the face, but ultimately not THAT different. The fact that a Force Push tended to be done with a hand gesture meant a lot of the movements were the same, and the trained Echani eye immediately noted the movement of his adversary's shoulder, combined with a sudden buildup of power, in time for him to execute a high forward flip. The telekinetic assault disturbed only air, and its intended target instead landed in a crouch down on the sand, approximately fifteen feet closer than the two had stood previously, lightfoil thrust out to the side.

"Oh, I don't know." Jaidan replied calmly, with the look of one who'd given the Firrereo's words some thought. If the Sith wanted to banter, the Jedi took no issue with being sociable. "Everything happens for a reason, they say. And thus far, I'm actually rather enjoying this place."

His eyes were, naturally, drawn to the other's exotic weapon, but not for the theatrical effect with the sand or the unusually eclectic color selection, but rather he took a certain professional interest in the weapon itself. A saber staff...he'd seldom seen such a weapon used, and for the most part, he ascribed good reason to that. The basic mechanics of swordsmanship were easily enough applied to use with an energy weapon, because in either case, the idea was just to grasp the hilt. But a quarterstaff...that was meant to be a more fluid kind of tool, wielded from anywhere along its length. Inadvisable for his enemy to try here, unless his every garment had been constructed with a cortosis weave inlay. And the need to grasp the weapon only from the center would surely place a significant restriction on the Sith's available angles for attack and defense, leaving Jaidan with a distinct advantage in a duel. At least, that was the conclusion in theory; he'd never actually faced a dedicated expert with such a weapon in real combat, and he looked forward to the education. And yes, the flash was impressive as well. But a Makashi duelist never hurt for flash himself. Abruptly, he executed two fast and graceful diagonal strokes, drawing out an X in the air before bringing the emerald blade in close to his face, facing skyward. The classical Makashi salute, save for one difference.

As the salute terminated, the lightfoil ending at his side and pointing down, his off hand came up holding the blaster pistol he'd drawn from his holster hidden beneath his robe, and fired off several quick shots. It was almost as much for the irony as anything else that he carried the weapon in addition to the usual Jedi arsenal. The blaster may have been the most common weapon in the galaxy, but in the hands of a Jedi, it was as exotic as the Tapani style lightfoil. Would that be enough to take this Dark Sider off guard? Would the theatrical attempt to draw his attention to the more conventional threat first make any difference? He'd prefer to find the answer was 'yes', just as it was no doubt hoped that opening Force Push would take him off guard, and he'd be on the intruder in a moment to follow up if he saw an advantage. But either way, he'd learn something from the result. And if it proved the man's instinct to try sending the blaster bolts back to sender, as one generally tried against a normal soldier, then perhaps Jaidan could offer up another surprise.

All those years playing blaster tennis hadn't been for nothing, after all.

"Oh, and as for the Republic, I believe I've learned much from them."

[Rugs]

The Force washed like a wave over the fallen probe, teasing loos flaps of tortured metal to bend with its passing. The Jedi, however, was a wiser sort than some others Nieraan had met in recent encounters and escaped. The maneuver was telling, but not surprising to the Firrerreo — just as prescience spared the Jedi from Nieraan’s opening stroke, so too did it whisper word of what was coming to Nieraan’s senses.

His senses, as it happened, were rather well honed.

So he grinned slightly as the Jedi landed, nearer now by about three meters than he had been on the probe.

"Oh, I don't know," the Jedi said casually, as if settling in for a chat. "Everything happens for a reason, they say. And thus far, I'm actually rather enjoying this place."

Nieraan gave a rough half snort of a laugh. “Blue skies and white sands are nice, Jedi, but there’s war on,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Hardly time to enjoy the scenery.”

He’d made some cursory observations in the few moments he’d seen the Jedi. His hair pointed to Echani blood, but that would remain to be seen. If that happened to be the case, Nieraan would have to be particularly careful; he’d had first-hand experience of Echani combat prowess as a youth, and though the desperation of death knocking at his door had awakened a talent he didn’t know he had, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant memory.

More, the Jedi carried himself as a warrior would. He was steady — he come across as boastful in the short moments they interacted, but neither was he cowed by Nieraan’s presence.

Could be a dangerous sort, the Firrerreo mused quietly, watching the Jedi with his eyes, more than that, listening, feeling through the Force. Could be fun.

The Jedi raised his blade in a salute, one Nieraan recognized as the famed Makashi opening. But the Sith’s eye twitched as the Force whispered warning.

Much as it was difficult for a bounty hunter to catch a Jedi unawares with a shot from a gun, so too did Nieraan know something was afoot before the Jedi pulled the blaster from his robe. It was a brief warning, a subtle fluttering of intent through the Force, but it was there. The gun leveled, and fired.

Nieraan’s blades blurred, streaking gold and blue through the air as they rose, rotating up to meet the blasts an bat them, one, two and three away into the sunny sky.

“Was that some of it,” he responded to the Jedi’s assertion that he’d learned things from the Republic. “Clever Jedi. Trick reminds me of a Sith I know…” Whether Yin would view that as compliment or insult, he’d never know.

“But enough of that,” he said, starting to close toward the Jedi again. The Force rushed into him, a full tide coming into a fill an empty harbor. It filled him with life, lifting him in a magnificent swell just as surely as the Dark Side’s taint threatened to tear him under. Energy crackled around his open hand. “I’ve heard your people talk through combat. That is a fascinating concept. Why don’t we talk?”

The loose, crackling energy strengthened to a surge of lightning at the sand beneath his hand. His fist clenched and swept in the Jedi’s direction, tearing shards of glass from the ground and hurling them at Jedi.

[DreadPirateMike]

Hardly time to enjoy the scenery, eh? He meant to offer only a shrug at that, but he found it merited a subdued chuckle as well. He was curious just what a Sith WOULD regard as a good time to stop and enjoy their surroundings, short of 'Once all sentient life and their cats lie prostrate at my feet!' But then, that was the problem, wasn't it? For people who drew so much of their strength from emotional extremes, from rage and pain to ecstatic joy, something as simple as contentment must be seen as a sort of poison. Like a Firaxan Shark, he supposed. Keep moving, or die.

Deserving of pity as much as scorn, really. All that power, an abundance of capacity to inflict harm, yet what was the point? Where was the actual BENEFIT for the angry Darksider? So, as with every other Sith he'd met in battle since he became part of this war, he'd do his utmost to grant this man peace of a sort.

Looked like it would be no easy thing, though. Re-holstering his blaster with a soft sigh of disappointment, he couldn't say he was all that surprised by the failure; precog was a pain in the ass that way. Worth a try, though. After all, the Firrerreo's next move essentially confirmed what Jaidan had already suspected: he wasn't winning this thing via his understanding of the Force. Not exactly a star-shattering revelation; to be blunt about it, Jaidan simply wasn't all that powerful. He'd long since known it, and this was not the first time he'd had to place his faith in skill where raw power would not avail him. Before this war was concluded, he might very well need to focus on developing his powers where possible in order to do his part, but he failed to see how he was going to make any appreciable progress toward that end in the next few seconds, so he focused instead on what he was good at. Getting in close, and finishing the job with the art at which he WAS exceptional.

"Through fighting, yes. Flashy hand gestures hardly count. But I'll walk you through the art as best I can."

His task would still start with use of the Force, of course. If he had a specialty, it was employing his power to supplement his natural physicality, and so he concentrated, and watched as the shards of heated glass seemed to slow in mid-air even as he closed his eyes and charged forward into their midst. His lightfoil did much of the work of clearing him a path, intercepting and vaporizing previously deadly projectiles to leave him just barely enough room to work with. His off hand came in next, seeking the less jagged sides to slap glass shards away from his face and chest, and the rest was a matter of calisthenics, ducking to the side or twisting in mid-air just so until finally - Technically, a second at most, but a damn long second. - he was through! His brown outer robe was in tatters, of course, and that was a pity, but with time, care and some thread, he knew it could be made whole again.

He'd take that opportunity as his reward if he survived the next few moments. Feet beating down onto sand for a few short feet in a full run, he executed a lightning fast lunge, knowing full well it would be intercepted. Yet this was simply one more feint, for he had the hilt of his shoto in hand now as well, ignited and brought up to engage the other end of Nieraan's staff. And if he could lock blades with the Sith, even for a moment, that would be time enough to attempt a quick but potentially debilitating kick to the side of his adversary's left knee.

Precision over brute force, every time..and a little brute force thrown in anyway.  The essence of Echani and Makashi both.

[Rugs]

[Taking some time to get back into the swing of things after being computerless, but should hopefully be workable]

Nieraan tsked. “You don’t like my flashy hand gesture? But I prepared it just for you.”

It was a pity, truly. But it was forgotten as the Jedi agreed to show Nieraan what he could of the Echani ways. The Firrerreo smiled subtly, but readied himself for the real matter at hand.

The glass was ripped from the ground and hurled, a mass of tiny, biting knives, at the Jedi. The attack, a simple, almost lazy thing, could’ve been enough to kill in its own right — and against a normal foe, things very well may have ended there. But Nieraan’s foe for the day was both Jedi and Echani.

Besides, normalcy had hardly been a theme for the day.

Instead, the measure tested, and Nieraan watched the results, drawing the Force into himself to loosen and strengthen his body as the Jedi reacted. The foil met the glass shards, rather than the Force, and a hand slapped others away as the Jedi twisted to evade others. It was an impressive display of athleticism, but Nieraan wondered for half a heartbeat if that spoke merely to the Jedi’s preferences or something more.

“Tendencies can make or break a foe,” his mother had told him, repeatedly. ”Just as they can make or break you. Discover theirs. Mask your own.”

Tendency was important yes. But he’d need more than a lone exchange to find this foe’s.

The Jedi began his counterattack, intent to harm washing against Nieraan’s senses. The Jedi lunged. Nieraan, seeking to disrupt, reacted, stepping diagonally forward as he began to bring his staff to bear. The blades, already beginning to whirl in his hands, rose, blue catching the foil and pushing it away as the rotating motion brought the golden blade to catch the shoto strike that near-instantly followed. The rotation would turn the blades away from him, and the motion would free his own weapon to move as he set his attack.

Nieraan continued to move, bringing his back leg around to settle behind him, with the aim of his movement forward into the Jedi’s lunge putting him out to the Jedi’s side or rear. The Jedi kicked as his leg move, barely catching the side of his shin in a glancing blow. The strike stung, but it was an annoyance.

An annoyance that, now, would need to be repaid.

His staff, came down, finishing the spin that took it up to draw the Jedi’s blades away. As it did, Nieraan moved back slightly, allowing himself room for defense if his stroke, which sent the blue blade cutting through the air in a strike aimed at the Jedi’s shoulder, failed.

[DreadPirateMike]

Well, on the plus side, his knowledge of this Sith was quickly growing. Now, from their brief contest of locking blades, Jaidan knew - For, while he did detect a certain deliberation about his opponent, as though the Sith was still trying to get a better sense of his Jedi enemy before he truly launched himself head long into the combat, he'd know if the Firrereo was holding back in terms of brute force. - that his enemy boasted not only speed comparable to his own, but somewhat superior strength as well. A valuable insight indeed, if not the sort he might have preferred. He might have just paid a steep price for bad news.

He really did have to commend the man's technique. Evasion, defense, counter-stroke, all in one unbroken movement, fluid and powerful. An honor to behold, a challenge to withstand, a style firmly grounded in the finest traditions of Shii-Cho. Granted, the full spin Nieraan executed to free his saber staff up from deflecting his foils and turn it back to the attack did briefly expose his back, usually a blunder to be avoided at all costs, unless you enjoyed the benefit of your opponent's even bigger error. The mostly failed kick had left him off-balance. Only briefly, but long enough for Nieraan to make him pay for it. And to lose your balance in the middle of a fight...the way he'd sometimes explained it to Younglings at the Temple, children who'd yet to graduate to advanced sparring but who usually had at least a few games of Dejarik under their belts? It was like losing your Kintan Strider. Potentially crippling.

Then again, while it was seldom employed this early in the game, the Kintan Strider Death Gambit was a fabled tactic of that ancient Jedi game for a reason.

Come to a fight armed with surprises. Since his early Padawan days, that had been the ethos which formed the core of Jaidan's style. Yet it had become immediately clear that between acute powers of perception and the reflexes to react to the warning of his senses with minimal delay, it would be very difficult to catch this Sith off guard. But it was one thing to react to an assault while at rest and prepared to defend yourself; dealing with something new after you'd already committed yourself to a move was another thing altogether. So, here he was. He'd launched that kick in full hope that it would connect, and inflict an injury that would drastically restrict mobility. But one always had to consider the possibility that their attack would fail, a lesson that his enemy himself seemed to grasp well, given the space he was maneuvering to leave himself. Fail it had, and in the process left Nieraan an opening to finish this fight in the first few seconds.

He'd see if he couldn't use that opening as bait for a trap.

As his foils were swept off to the side and the Sith began his spin, common sense instincts screamed at him to hop back, tuck into a roll, anything to regain his balance. Instead, right leg still up in the air, the Echani leaned backward into a fall onto the white sand. Simultaneously, he deactivated his main hand lightfoil and re-adjusted his hold, hooking his thumb around the hilt to keep the weapon in hand while splaying his palm open. The shoto, on the other hand, suddenly grew into a full length blade in the split second that Nieraan's gaze was elsewhere. And so, as the blue lightsaber blade passed through where Jaidan's shoulder had been a moment before, it cleaved only air. Flat on his back as he was about to be, he'd have a harder time evading the next attack. Unless he did this right.

The shoto swept upward in a diagonal arc, aimed to intercept not Nieraan's blades, but his over-sized hilt, hopefully rendering the weapon inoperable by destroying the machinery. Well, or one of the hands which grasped it. Either way, the result would be similar. As for his main hand, that was his insurance against THIS attack failing to strike home. Even as he fell to the sand, he thrust his right palm forward, unleashing a full force telekinetic strike aimed at hurling the Firrereo back into the shuttle which had brought him here.

Again, his raw power wasn't likely to be the thing that could win this for him. But it might help.

[Rugs]

The blue blade seared through the air, lusting for the Jedi’s flesh as Nieraan directed it. It would be a shame to end the fight so early, while still only probing to see the Jedi’s true mettle. Inwardly a part of him expected — hoped, even — that the snow-haired man might find a way to escape the stroke and keep their little contest going.

It had, after all, been quite some time since the Firrerreo truly got to put his strength to the test against a worthwhile foe. But that did not mean he’d spare the man the punishment from his own failures either.

Blade drew nearer to flesh. The Jedi moved.

Nieraan, in tune with the whispers and guidance of his senses, began to react to the drop as it happened. It was a smart tactic, and if he didn’t always go so far as to fall — though desperate moments sometimes called for desperate acts — he knew the value of evasion in a fight.

It also said something of his opponent’s quickness, though there was hardly time to consider it in the heat of the moment.

His saber’s path began to alter as it passed through empty air where once the Jedi had stood. Nieraan began to withdraw, to give room for defense for inevitable counterstroke. He could feel it coming, more than see it, could feel the Jedi’s intentions shift as his body collided with the forgiving sand underfoot.

The Force stirred into the Jedi. For what, Nieraan did not know, as more pressing matter presented itself.

As his attack failed, the Jedi stuck with his lightsaber in retaliation. Nieraan saw the blade move and some quick-processing part of his mind that kept him alive in fights recognized that the blade meant (well, not entirely) to strike his person, but rather the hilt of his saber staff. It wasn’t an uncommon tactic against a lightsaber staff.

That didn’t make it a welcome one.

He spun the blade in his hands turning it sideways to narrowly avoid the green blur. It passed a deal closer to his knuckles than he liked, and he was briefly reminded of why he detested fighting Echani.

Until the Force blared warnings inside his skull.

There wasn’t time to stop the Jedi, so he let his body go limp as the Jedi loosed a wave of energy at him. It kept his senses about him and let him use the attack — a leaf blown along on a gust of wind rather than a house pushed over by it. He twisted in the air, blades whirling around him, and landed in a hard crouch. The metal ramp to his ship gave slightly from the force of impact. His blades gouged glowing trenches into the metal. He grunted from the impact as dull pain lanced up his legs. It was far from comfortable, but no worse than some grav-ball falls he’d had as a youth.

Or some of his falls in duels against his mother. Hard landings tended to blend together after a time.

“Not bad, Echani…” he muttered, and in spite of the fact that he’d just been hurled through the air, he smiled, feeling a glimmer of excitement light itself in his belly. Perhaps he’d find a good fight here, after all.

But the Jedi had put distance between them, sorely tempting Nieraan to call on the Force in answer to the Jedi’s use of it.

Close combat against an Echani was always a tricky proposition. On the other hand, Nieraan had very little problem engaging in a battle of strength through the Force.

The fingers of his free hand splayed and clawed as he pushed up to his feet. The Force roared in answer to his will, and sought to lift the Jedi from the sand and send him skyward. He wasn’t particularly subtle about it. Dirt, sand, dust, everything on the ground around the Jedi was ripped up into the air.

That wasn’t really the part that mattered, though.

As his hand reached its zenith, the Firrerreo called on the Force again, sweeping suddenly down. The hope was that the Jedi, were Nieraan fortunate enough to trap him in this, would be shoved rudely and abruptly down.

And it was never the fall itself, but the ground below…

[DreadPirateMike]

Balance, it seemed, was loathe to relinquish its status as the over-arching theme of the fight thus far. Jaidan had shaken off the mild impact of his back against the sand, sprung back up to his feet, and assumed his fighting posture just in time to see Nieraan arrest his flight. Still more or less blow for blow, then...or lack of blows, at least. Not one to fall behind now, Jaidan found himself answering the savage smile playing across the Sith's face, though his lack of fangs robbed it of quite the same predatory quality.

Were he a less seasoned man, never minding that he'd quite possibly be in much worse shape by now in that case, this might well be the time for frustration. Faced with the significant and obvious advantages enjoyed by his opponent, both the mission and his very survival depended on creating a few advantages of his own. And yet, for all his hard earned skill, Jaidan's only real accomplishment thus far had been keeping up...well, and irritating the Firrereo with a few near misses. Given the choleric temper most Sith nursed so religiously, it was possible that might yet work to his advantage. But so far, his enemy's focus seemed undented, and Jaidan had managed little more than inconveniencing him as far as real offense. Put simply, he needed to do better, or die.

Fortunately, Jaidan was not that hot-headed and hypothetical youngster, and the puzzle remained exhilarating, just like the long process of trial and error which had finally produced the emerald lightfoil that now surged back to life in his right hand. Or the much longer quest to find some way of defeating Han, the Ataru master whose dizzyingly fast acrobatics had for years made a mockery of his elegant and dignified fencing. He'd managed both eventually, no matter that the latter had taken him a decade and more. Failure had far more dire consequences, granted, but the way past this darksider's onslaught and through his defenses was just one more puzzle. One he was considering even as his legs ate up the distance once more.

Legs! He hadn't scored much of a hit on his enemy with that kick, but it had been a hit all the same. And now that very same leg had absorbed quite a bit of impact in the landing. He'd recognized the pain of it, if only briefly. That gave him a target, then. They were evenly matched enough for speed that even creating a slight hindrance could still give him the edge he needed. The question was, could he pile on the damage consistently enough to outpace a Firrereo's regenerative abilities?

A question that would have to be tabled. Dammit!

Once again, Jaidan recognized the danger of Nieraan's latest Force attack, but the assault was a little more clever this time, and his failure to judge it properly in time would cost him. Evasion required footing, and suddenly, he found himself robbed of purchase as the ground was simply ripped away into the air, and him with it. The Sith's intent was easy enough to guess, but in the time he had, his options for what to do about it were extremely limited. He could form a telekinetic bubble to soften the impact, of course, but the result would still be jarring, and leave him little counter against this attack simply being repeated at length until he had nothing left to fight back with.

He needed a moment to consider his options, so once again, as he was pulled skyward, he did what he could to secure that moment. Once again, the Force flowed into him, lending speed to his thoughts as his eyes took in his surroundings. And there it was, still glowing behind his attacker. The metal of the shuttle's landing ramp, not yet cooled back to its natural solid form after Nieraan's saber staff had carved a trench through it. Throwing his foils out to the side - He'd need his hands to brace himself for the fall, anyway. - he reached out with his left hand, and ripped a good few orange globules free from the ramp. At that close a range, and with Nieraan focused on dishing out the pain, they stood a good chance of spattering across his back, and with force sufficient to knock him off his feet if he didn't brace himself in time.  Ordinarily, he might think ill of such a sadistic tactic, but he WAS about to pay his penance for it.

Perhaps this would disrupt Nieraan's concentration enough to take some force out of the telekinetic slam to come? All he could do now was hope, and brace himself as his rapid descent to the beach began!

[Rugs]

Nieraan didn’t allow too much satisfaction to wash over him as he tore the ground — and the Jedi with it — skyward. After all, the battle wasn’t over. Not yet. But he allowed the savage, predatory smile to grow as the Jedi flew against his will.

Battle was a matter of exposing and exploiting an enemy’s weaknesses while concealing your own. Holding strengths in reserve certainly helped. He wasn’t afraid to engage the Echani up close, but past experience did make him wary of the people. But if he’d found a path here — strength he could use without allowing the Echani to do the same, well…

He’d be remiss to forego using it.

Yet something felt wrong as Jaidan reached his flight’s apex and Nieraan began to force him downwards. His senses told him Jaidan was using the Force behind him. He turned, his attention shifting to his immediate rear and let a yelp of surprise out as he saw a glob of molten metal hurtling at him. He reacted as anyone might, throwing an arm up to shield against the threat.

Some metal splattered against his forearm, which was shielded in part by the bit of durasteel plating he wore outside his sleeves. That didn’t save him entirely, however.

Another glob hit him in the side, and another, smaller piece grazed across his back. The Force that pulled them free washed over him, and if he could’ve defended against it under normal circumstances, these were far from normal. The waved tipped him over, off the ramp and onto the sand with a grunt, followed by a protracted hiss at the metal, which was unbearably, incensingly hot.

There wasn’t time to sit and be angry about it, though. Nieraan rolled to his feet, blades coming alive again after he’d shut them down during his fall. With the Force, he removed the burning metal from his person, leaving behind aggravated skin and holes burnt into his jacket and coat.

The skin would heal, with time, but the pain remained. His back ached vaguely between his shoulder blades, from his less-than-graceful landing.

“Clever Jedi,” he muttered to the Echani, as he took steps forward. The look on his face said he was less than pleased as the Force roared into him. He imagined the Jedi sought to push him past the point of logic, to a rage that would ultimately see him defeat himself. It wasn't an uncommon tactic against Sith. He wasn't near that point, but he decided it was time to open the playbook a little more.

His fingers splayed again as he moved toward Jaidan, and this time he pushed, throwing a wave of dirt and dust at the Echani. It was just a distraction, though, from the forking arcs of lightning that seared the air in their wake.

[DreadPirateMike]

Jaidan DID allow himself a moment of profound satisfaction as he felt Nieraan's attention, and therefore his power, waver. And really, why not? It was a victory. Not the BIG win he was ultimately trying for here, of course. At best, maintaining a draw in overall terms. But even so, he'd solidly breached what to that point had been a virtually impregnable defense, and that was a thing to be celebrated! This was much of the wisdom that Arik Han had to offer when he sought to teach a younger Jaidan the alluring mysteries of his homeworld. Every battle a war, every bout a campaign, every victory a thing to be recognized. And savored, no matter how briefly.

Therein lay the joy of a good fight. Therein lay the joy of anything you loved.

Besides, in much less poetic terms, Jaidan didn't really have anything better to do in that precise moment. The chance to defend himself against Nieraan's attack had come and gone, traded for an opportunity to strike back. Whatever his thoughts, indulgent or otherwise, he was still taking that plunge; all he could do now was brace himself against it, and that much he could combine with upbeat thinking. And really, given the less than ideal circumstances, he WAS fortunate. 'Where and how would you most like a Sith to hurl you to the ground like a bored child with an over-ripe melon in hand?' was not a question he'd had much cause to entertain, but as terrain went, sand was pretty forgiving. He'd trusted in and benefited from that very property once already in this bout.

It would go far worse for him this time, of course, unless he brought more to bear than positive thinking, and so, with a combination of training and instinct, he took what steps he could. Limbs were pulled in tight to shield his core against the impact. Muscles were tensed into rigidity, especially his neck so as to prevent whiplash. The air in his lungs was quickly exhaled just before he met the ground to prevent having the wind forcibly knocked out of him. And naturally, every bit of power that could be marshaled in time was used to fortify these ordinary measures against a degree of abuse that bone and sinew had never been designed to absorb.

Physics could never be wholly ignored, of course. The aforementioned limbs screamed out in protest as the weight of his body was driven cruelly down onto them, and in truth, that he did not scream along with them owed more to the lack of air to scream WITH than any Jedi discipline. And of course, there was no way to brace his brain against being pressed by the deceleration against the inside of his skull. His head was suddenly swimming as though he'd just taken a punch from a Gamorrean with vibroknuckles...the fact that he registered the pain anyway was actually a good sign. He stumbled a bit as he scrambled to his feet, but he managed to stay standing all the same. Good. Then nothing was broken. Nothing was so banged up the point that worrying about it couldn't be put off until he had the luxury of worrying about it.

And that was VERY good. His reprieve, it seemed, was over, and even with concern for a minor concussion, he was pretty certain it didn't take this much power simply to fling a pile of dirt and sand.  There was more coming, he was certain.  He was equally certain he didn't want to be in its way when it got here, but at the moment, that was a bit of a problem.  He hadn't fully recovered his equilibrium just yet.  He could dodge this attack, but could he land again, steady enough to stay ahead of the next attack?  He honestly wasn't sure.  So instead, he opted to change things up once again, and stand his ground.

He regretted it, at first.  Bringing his own telekinesis to bear to throw up a protective wall of beach in the way of the chunk now flying at him, he was sent stumbling back onto one knee, unable to fully blunt the momentum of the more powerful Force user.  But even so, he kept the barrier in place, and not a moment later, it saved his life as he'd hoped once it became clear what Nieraan's followup was.  The crackling sound, the smell of ozone, the heat he could feel, and indeed soon see as it began melting the hastily erected earthworks into hot glass...of course it would be the damned lightning.  But for all the destructive energy behind that Dark Side technique, it lacked the kinetic force to simply batter its way through a physical defense.  In short, Jaidan had the extra moment he needed to take a few deep breaths, focus his eyes forward at the glowing orange wall in front of him, and make his determination.

Was he okay?

He was okay.  For now.

Time to move, then.

Coiling his legs for a jump, he reached out with his right hand, calling his discarded main hand lightfoil to him as his left maintained the wall for the last necessary split second, and then...he was airborne once again, an even higher and more powerful aerial flip than the one executed at the start, and with a twist this time.  While Jaidan's work with telekinetic techniques had not yielded the raw power of his opponent, it HAD led to some interesting revelations.  The gesture was a critical focusing tool, put aside only by the true masters perhaps, but that gesture didn't necessarily HAVE to be with the hand, as one tended to expect.  Instead, he lashed out with a kick, normally a pointless gesture against an opponent twenty feet away and below, save that the Force flowed through the channel provided by his outstretched leg just as it would with his arm.  Well, close.  He couldn't produce quite the same degree of force when channeling telekinesis in this manner, but there was still a good bit of oomph behind it, and as usual, he placed a lot of value in the surprise factor.  Twisting himself about like a spinning top in mid-air, he repeated the move with his other leg, hoping to capitalize on any impact from the first.

Then, he was on the ground again, foil ignited and the Jedi holding it closing in with a fast zig zag pattern to his run.

"Clever Sith!  The fight favors you more at range, so you ably keep me at a distance!  But make no mistake.  I AM coming for you."

[Rugs]

The collected dirt and sand stopped abruptly in the air before they reached the Jedi. Nieraan felt the Force ripple as his foe called on it to pull the grains and clumps of matter together, to form an amalgamation of soil that, if loose, still provided a moment’s worth of shelter as Nieraan’s lightning crashed into it.

Nieraan, face hidden by the earthen barrier, allowed a smirk. Some Sith might see a hindrance here, but he saw opportunity. The lightning poured into the Jedi’s makeshift defence. The dirt warmed to the point of glowing, and sand flashed to shards of glass scattered through the wall.

Nieraan let the lightning flow for a moment more, then stopped. His hand turned, fingers splayed and palm out toward the Jedi for half a heartbeat before closing to a fist. The barrier shattered. Bits of heated dirt and broken glass raced toward the Jedi… or rather, where the Jedi had been. By some fortunate twist, the Echani had leapt skyward right before Nieraan struck.

A thrill rippled through the Firrerreo as his senses followed the Jedi up into the leap, Force still racing into him. His senses told him that the same was true of the Jedi; the Force rumbled the instant before Jaidan acted.

The Force told him enough that he could react in time to the first kick. He rolled backwards, sand bursting up in the place he’d been standing as Jaidan’s attack crashed aground. His sense warned again of a second attack as Jaidan loosed he follow-up in the air. Nieraan made a throwing motion with his free hand, the Force raced forward. Rather than marshal enough of his strength to beat the falling blast with raw force, he concentrated it do a wedge that sliced through Jaidan’s attack and sent it sailing wide around him as he rose to stand.

Nieraan rose to his feet at the same time the Jedi landed and made his proclamation. He smiled gain, showing a fang. That so?

It was obvious that the Jedi wanted to fight him up close, and truth be told, despite his wariness of the Echani’s abilities, he longed to lock blades and test himself against the Jedi.

More importantly, the Jedi’s rush provided a chance. The Force stirred in Nieraan, steeling his muscles for action, and he acted. With a subtle motion, he reached out with the Force to tug at the approaching Jedi. It was a subtle thing, which he hoped would be enough to throw off Jaidan’s balance if only for a moment.

Nieraan could be defensive or aggressive in combat as a situation required. But in all things, he sought to disrupt his opponents, to constantly keep them off-balance and prevent them from settling into their own preferred means and methods.

At the same time that he attempted to trip Jaidan up, he took a Force-powered lunge forward to meet him, gold blade leading his staff as he struck out at the Jedi’s chest.

[DreadPirateMike]

(The 458 views would seem to suggest that someone either than Rugs and myself has been reading this thread...at least I don't THINK I've re-read that many times plotting my next move. If so, be advised that Rugs and I have been discussing the direction of this encounter at some length prior to its being moved off the Practice Duel forum, and I've received his permission to write out all these attacks save the very last one as connecting.)

In all honesty, Jaidan could hardly say he was surprised, either that the Sith anticipated his unconventional telekinetic strikes, or that he'd already shrugged off the effects of being knocked on his ass by projectile molten durasteel to such an extent that he had his pick of ways to deal with the assault. Impressed, yes. Annoyed...well, he'd make a deal with himself. If he should find the Firrereo somehow able to shrug off a strike from his lightfoil, then he'd allow himself to feel a bit peevish. In the meantime, however, his enhanced kicks had still done their job. The Sith, who was now attempting to kill him with far greater gusto than at the start of the fight, had been forced to defend himself instead of trying to blast him out of the air with his own telekinesis, or lightning or whatever he liked, and Jaidan was now back on what passed for Terra Firma, setting up his next assault with most of the necessary ground now closed. Still, in less than Temple approved terms, this guy was one tough son of a Hutt.

Even so, in the moments that followed, the Sith made a mistake.

Jaidan was, in truth, a little bit sad to see it, for it coincided with an intriguing glimpse into this man whose name he didn't even know. Up until now, while it was plain to see the Firrereo possessed great talent in the use of his lightsaber, both for attack or defense, he'd made the solid tactical choice to place far greater emphasis on the benefits of his midichlorians (Not that Jaidan hadn't given back a little of that himself.) than his martial training. Yes, it was a bracing challenge, having to fight his way past the storm of Dark Side power, and he most certainly respected the abilities of his adversary. Yet it was only now, as the physical duel seemed ready to begin in earnest, that he caught some glimpse he might have a degree of respect for the man himself. It wasn't anger that produced a toothy smile like that. The rage was always there, of course, adding strength and vigor to the onslaught of every Sith he'd ever contended with, but as Nieraan surged into action now, it was something else entirely that animated his muscles, something Jaidan recognized all too well within himself.

Joy. The thrill of it. The Darksider had fought well, fought smart. Now, he wanted to have some fun with it. Get his hands dirty, as it were. And truly, under different circumstances, the Echani in him would love nothing more than to oblige that desire, at length if need be.

But even in the midst of this fight for his life, the Jedi remembered that other lives were on the line too, more of them lost the longer this duel continued. And his enemy HAD made a mistake, the very mistake he'd so diligently avoided in fact. He'd underestimated this Jedi in his decision that he'd been cautious long enough, and seemingly taken for granted that his switch from raw power to subtlety would catch Jaidan off guard, because it was plain to see that this time, Nieraan had committed his entire body to the followup strike. More than that, actually. He'd thrown the Force in the lunge as well, and left himself precious little with which to alter his direction or check his momentum.

And perhaps the Sith's confidence WAS understandable, given his success in ensnaring him just moments earlier. But Jaidan was as much on alert as he could be, determined to avoid such a repeat failure, and this time, he DID recognize the danger. And the opportunity. Rather than resist or attempt to evade the pull, he made a split second decision to USE it, leaping into the force tug and transitioning into a long slide that took him in underneath the attempted saber slash. He was by no means content simply to evade this time, however. If over-confidence was this Sith's weakness, even in this one isolated moment, he'd pay for it. In the moment before their collision, Jaidan's legs came apart like a pair of scissors, a brown Jedi boot impacting against the Sith's gut with a force amplified by his own momentum.

Now there was the sort of solid hit he'd been trying to land. He literally FELT the Sith deflate, briefly stooped in shock - His body's shock, if not his mind's. A man with instincts this well honed must have realized the fate of his lunge by now, even if it was too late to change the outcome. - as the air violently vacated his lungs. Nor was Jaidan done. With barely any delay, the scissors closed, Jaidan's left leg coming in from behind to sweep the Sith off his feet.

All told, more satisfying than it should have been. He couldn't help it; no matter the effectiveness of the telekinetic throw or the famed Jedi mind trick, it always felt better to do things with his actual hands and feet. In general, it was a good way to make sure you didn't get lazy. In a fight, it was...intimate, in a way. A respect due even to an enemy. Should the fight end in the next few moments, at least he could say it had ended properly.

As he must now end it, if he could. Even as he swiftly pushed himself up to his feet, he could see the twitches and false starts as Nieraan struggled to make his muscles cooperate, a bit like power flowing into a faltering light fixture. He'd hurt the man, true enough. But it was apparent now that to the spirit animating this warrior, pain was nothing more than a wrong to be avenged. Only the body around it remained his obstacle, the nerves which still remembered that pain was a tool for survival, a warning of very real peril. And that wouldn't slow him down long. But Jaidan could think of one thing that surely would.

He HAD made a mental note to attack the legs, after all. And so he brought his lightfoil in a low, wide sweep, aimed at his nearest target. And if Nieraan was even a little slow, he'd still live. But he'd be very interested in the quality of prosthetics these days.

[Rugs]

[Luff the post <3]

---

Nieraan was not entirely unfamiliar with that moment of realization that an attack had failed, and worse yet, invited disaster onto himself. A half-lifetime of sparring against Kamirille was enough to make him feel acquainted with it, even, like an old, unwanted neighbor come to his door to visit again. Familiarity did not breed welcomeness.

But it did keep him from panicking.

He felt the shift in the Jedi’s intentions, felt the whisper of what was coming on the Force as the Echani smartly moved with his pull, rather than against it. Briefly, he cursed himself for a fool; it was the same philosophy his mother had pounded into his head. The same that he’d used earlier when the Jedi threw him back toward his ship — ride the Force, rather than act against it. Turn the momentum to an advantage.

And here he was, pulling the Jedi toward him.

Unfortunately, even for one with Nieraan’s sharp reflexes and nimbleness there wasn’t much to be done. He was committed fully to his blow, and the Echani was too quick to allow him the luxury of mounting a defense. All he could do was try to push some of the air from his lungs, try to start hardening his stomach against the boot that rushed through the air toward it.

The efforts, preliminary as they were, didn’t offer much comfort. The blow connected solidly. He gave a grunt of pain that turned to a breathless gasp as the Jedi forced the air from him and his feet left the sandy ground for half a moment. His eyes widened and his body convulsed, fighting for an instant against his control as he willed himself to keep from falling over. But then something hooked behind his leg and the white sand below was suddenly above him.

He thanked himself that he at least had the presence of mind to kill one of his blades as he fell — flopping around on the ground with one deadly plasma beam was dangerous enough. Two would be crazy.

Nieraan’s head swam vaguely from the jolt of hitting the ground. His stomach ached — not agonizingly so, but enough to truly hurt. He tried to roll over, tried to push himself to his feet, knowing that time wasn’t on his side, but his body protested.

Until he saw the Jedi’s shadow fall over him.

He looked up, and for a moment his eyes were wide and frightened, like the boy he looked like, as the Jedi’s blade rose threateningly into the air.

The blade fell, and some potent mixture of adrenaline, the Force, and oh-crap-I’m-gonna-die gave him enough strength to roll backwards, feet over head as the Jedi’s lightfoil seared the sand where his knees had been a moment ago. His stomach muscles protested at the forced exertion so soon after the Jedi’s punishing kick, but better to deal with that than looking at his shins lying on the sandy ground.

Nieraan gave a push as the roll came around and with more athleticism than thought he could muster, managed to spring up neatly into a half-crouch. He held a hand to his stomach as his second blade came to life again and watched the Jedi, measuring.

That was closer than it should have been. Gods-damned Echani.

/- -\

A young man’s cry filled the warehouse.

Under the dim , flickering light, Nieraan retreated, clutching with one hand a side that he was certain held a broken rib. The other was held up protectively, as if to ward off his opponent. He was bruised all over, it felt like. Blood dropped slowly from a long, shallow cut on the side of his forehead. His breathing was heavy, his movements slow and tired.

Fear filled his eyes.

The Echani wasn’t supposed to be there, but that wasn’t even really the problem. The Echani shouldn’t have been hard to dispatch. Nieraan had the Force, after all, and a lightsaber. Yet after he’d been been disarmed and pummeled by the white-haired man, he wasn’t certain that he could stop him.

His back bumped against a shipping crate behind him. The Echani approached. He was a few inches taller than Nieraan. Some indeterminate number of years older. A little bit stronger. The precognition made it hard to tell if he was faster.

Nieraan did know one thing, this warrior was certainly better…

/- -\

Nieraan clenched his jaw and shook his head. None of that. This Jedi isn’t that Echani. He stood up fully, mind returning from his hurts and that battle in the warehouse a decade ago to the battle at hand. And I killed him all the same.

I still hate fighting Echani.

Even so, it would be wise to be more careful. The wild, careless approach wasn’t going to get him anything but pain.

“You’re good, Jedi,” Nieraan said, offering a rare compliment as he closed the gap, blades ablaze in his hand. “I’ve never faced a Jedi quite like you before… Have we spoken, yet then, Echani?” A touch of distaste, riding memories brought fresh to the surface, colored the last word. Still, it was hard to begrudge the man his obvious skill. If he weren’t in pain, Nieraan likely still would’ve grinned at fighting such a foe.

Then again, he hadn’t fought many Jedi until the war began. Through it all, he’d never lost to one. He didn’t intend for that to change here.

As he came near range again, he burst to motion again. This time he came in more solidly, more aware of the capabilities he was up against. His staff came around to strike at the Echani’s stomach, but as it did, the blades broke apart. The blue, leading blade’s path shifted up, in a path that would take it through the Jedi’s underarm and out the top of his shoulder if it found flesh. While it certainly could if the Jedi suddenly chose to drop all pretext of conscious thought, Nieraan didn’t intend it to; it’s purpose was to draw a block or movment, to call the Jedi’s attention for a split second. The true strike followed near immediately.

The gold blade stabbed out, quick as a serpent, at the Jedi's navel. All it would take was a piercing. Then he could rip it out one of the Jedi’s sides. And he was prepared to use his other blade and feet if needed, should his stroke fail.

[Edited to fix a few grammar/spelling mishaps]

[DreadPirateMike]

(Thanks!  I'm having a lot of fun.     Also, woo for trauma flashback!)

Nieraan would have the breathing room he needed to recover. Jaidan certainly considered the idea of immediately pressing his attack so as to deny his enemy, as well he suspected he could have. More and more, he regretted that this man was in front of him rather than at his side; he could be proud of a fellow Jedi rather than simply respectful, and once again, the recovery was impressive. Even so, Jaidan was upright and in possession of his balance as Nieraan executed his backward somersault, and in the time the Sith was getting his own footing back... well, a simple but fast lunge was a technique well honed even in first year Makashi practitioners. Hardly impossible for a man this skilled to extricate himself from, but he'd have been in an unenviable position all the same.  But Jaidan had rushed in once already, when they'd first locked blades, and it had not served him particularly well. He had a better opening now, granted, and a better understanding of the talents arrayed against him, yet even so, he would take his time, and do this properly. If Nieraan wished to suss out his preferred technique, after all, then he'd more than earned it.

Still, if he'd wanted to make this man's life immediately difficult, he could have. And as Nieraan readied a fresh assault, his swagger just a bit abated, perhaps he'd know it. That would be enough.

So, instead of charging right back into the fray, Jaidan stayed right where he was, and calmly extended his open left hand out to the side. At no point did he take his eyes off of the man who intended his death, but no visual was required. A moment later, he felt the satisfying light slap of metal through stone roughened synthleather as his shoto returned to its creator. It was immediately ignited, jade joined with emerald once more as the Echani readied himself for the next clash. And if Nieraan had some familiarity with the typical Makashi guard and footwork as well as the salute, then it would be clear that this was something different. No slight crouch here, no knees slightly bent in preparation for rapid movement back and forth, no shifting so as to place his opponent slightly off to the side. He just continued to face the Firrereo head on, holding his gaze unflinchingly, foil pointed directly towards him at about head level while his shoto was held further back, ready to be brought to bear wherever it was needed. The overall effect was to send a grim message, most appropriate for a style that, however modified, was still at its best against a single opponent.

You, you in particular, are marked for death should this continue. Come ahead if you dare.

"And you're gracious, for a Sith." Jaidan offered back as the assault did, in fact, come, nodding appreciatively... and maybe a bit proudly after all. "Don't think it isn't appreciated. And in answer to your question, yes we have. And if it's worth anything, I'm so very sorry."

And then, their blades met once more. This time, however, Jaidan made no effort to even briefly keep Nieraan's lightsaber immobilized by brute force. Scratch that, lightsabers, plural. A fellow Jar'kai user then; so they had that much in common, at least. As the blue shaft of plasma came in, Jaidan executed a quick horizontal parry, intercepting the weapon at the furthest end of the blade, toward the tip, the spot where Nieraan had the least control of the weapon and his strength would serve him the least. Thus, with minimal effort he was able to divert the Sith's weapon from its intended path. At the same time, he side-stepped, further reducing the danger of Nieraan's opening strike as he began to circle the man, a maneuver which had the more important result of moving him out of the path of the followup thrust.  His shoto was brought down into a low guard just to make sure the golden blade stayed away from him.

Now was the time, it seemed, to show this Sith his greatest strength in a duel, and possibly his advantage here: speed. It wasn't so much that Jaidan was naturally any faster; indeed, it remained difficult to say if either one possessed an edge in that regard. Rather, it was a simple matter of mechanics, of the blades and the bodies that wielded them. To accomplish that arc with what had initially been a two-handed weapon, Nieraan had put his shoulders, as well as his hips into it. This made the stroke powerful, but also rendered it slower than the parry which had instead employed the elbow as a pivot point. The Jedi's weapon simply had less distance to cover.

And now, for the merest fraction of a second, there was nothing between Nieraan and a burning emerald lightfoil. And it required barely more than a flick of the wrist to disengage that foil and send it lashing out at the Firrereo's face with no warning whatsoever. In truth, there was barely any thought, any intent behind it. This was just years of training doing its job. In short, a worthy test of the Sith's impressive precognition. But even if he did successfully evade or defend, Jaidan had committed nothing by way of balance to the attack, leaving it a trivial matter to either press the attack or withdraw.

"That language has its limits, of course." Jaidan continued calmly, nothing of the dire stakes of this duel evident in voice or visage. "Have you a name, sir?"

[Rugs]

[Not a great post by any means, but it’s something, at least. Like I said, trying to work back up out of a work-induced slump, so bear with me here. Also gonna switch to a bit more generalities for a bit in combat to let their talking take the forefront as needed]

Nieraan’s first stroke met resistance, as expected. A few moments earlier, he might have felt a rush at the Jedi handling the sudden divergence of his lightsaber from one independent weapon to two, but for now only a steady determination remained. A steady determination, and deep, lingering the back of his mind, a finger of doubt.

The Jedi had to be defeated. He couldn’t suffer another defeat; not from a Force-damned Echani.

Still, the Jedi’s block was fundamentally sound; forte to foible, arresting the weakest part of Nieraan’s blade with his own. But the Firrerreo’s stroke drew the block, as intended, as his blade stabbed fiercely out at the Jedi’s stomach.

The Jedi was moving, though. The gold blade went just wide, finding air instead of the Jedi’s side. Nieraan might have swept the blade to follow the Jedi, but his foe’s second blade came to block that option.

More worryingly, some combination of the Force and Nieraan’s own instincts as a warrior warned that a counter was coming.

The Echani struck at his face, which was open and undefended. Nieraan leaned back to avoid the blow, drawing his sabers back. The blue blade in his left hand rose horizontally up in front of his body, swatting the Jedi’s strike safely away.

"That language has its limits, of course. Have you a name, sir?”

Nieraan shifted himself as he rose from his evasion, turning to keep pace with the Jedi’s attempted flanking. His lightsabers flowed smoothly as he turned to harry the Jedi’s sides to try attempt containing his motion.

“Onin,” he said simply, above the sound of their clashing blades. “Nieraan Onin.” He did not offer his Sith title, nor attempt to hide behind some other false name. His people believed that names held power, and rarely gave their true names to anyone. His parents broke the mold; Ared found the thought silly, while Kamirille flatly rejected it.

Nieraan, in Kamirille’s way, rejected the belief.

And an enemy as worthy as the Jedi was proving to be only deserved to know his true identity.

“And you?” He asked in return, voice low as he tried to pierce the Jedi’s defense. “Or am I to just call you ‘Jedi’ until one of us runs the other through?”

Blade met blade again, and Nieraan voiced another thought that lingered in the back of his mind. The Jedi had spoken to being sorry about something. But what? "What are you sorry about?"


[Edit note: I forgot to have him ask about Jaidan's statement first time I wrote this. Just tacked it on at the end. Not the most graceful way to handle it, but the easiest without having to do some reconstruction to make it flow better. Next post will be better, promise >>]

[DreadPirateMike]

(It's all good, as always.  And now, I shall see your generalities, and raise you...a monologue!)

Onin. Onin. That was...interesting. No real spark of recognition flared to life in the back of Jaidan's mind, and yet there was something there he wasn't able to entirely dismiss. Not a familiar name so much as...a familiar sound. A bit like when one heard some fragment of a tune they'd listened to once. He didn't know the name, in short, but nor could he say with utter certainty that he hadn't heard it in passing at some point. That would likely irritate him a bit...later. Right now, fortunately, he had far more immediate concerns to occupy his thinking. Such as returning the man's gesture.

"I'd take no offense at the title. But my name is Jaidan Shatani. At your service."

There was no sarcasm meant by the phrase, nor was it entirely just a long accustomed courtesy, for when he brought his swords to bear against a Sith, service was never far from his mind, be it service to the Republic to which he owed allegiance, or the enemy to whom he owed oblivion. Where Dark Jedi were concerned, Han had sought years back to explain it just so to his young Padawan: No matter the skill and cunning possessed by a bearer of the red lightsaber, their lot was ultimately not much different from any rabid animal, and to be viewed with much the same pity, for the Dark Side was corrosive to more than just the moral compass. As the lure of power ultimately led to nothing more than an increasingly hollow need for more, as priorities were twisted until they could no longer tell friend from enemy, as the fantasy that they were still in control of themselves grew more and more impenetrable, that path would inevitably end with their destruction in one form or another, and they would, in their pained death throes, lash out to hurt anyone within reach.  

While the years since had, in Jaidan's estimation, proven his old master wise in this as with many other things, they had also furnished the former student with more actual experience facing Dark Jedi than his teacher ever possessed, and Jaidan did judge his master incorrect in one respect. Han had always believed that sadly, in most cases, there was little to be done for the Force sensitive in question, and yet Jaidan had found that he and his blade could still visit upon them one last kindness, so long as he was better. He could grant them an end to it, and send them to their rest. Quickly, cleanly, and with some final measure of dignity.

And who was to say that the Sith might not appreciate the service in some fashion? It was clear, of course, that this Nieraan was firmly committed to his own survival, but it was only now that Jaidan was able to confront him with his greatest strengths, in close and blade to blade, would they truly see if the Sith's appreciation for this art, for pure skill truly matched his own. And his foe's technique remained solid. His adaptability was admirable; confronted with an unusual style, Nieraan had not only identified a potential weakness in circular footwork that kept the duelist in relatively close to his opponent, but was already employing a theoretically solid countermeasure: keep him boxed in from both sides, deny him his footwork, and presumably from then seek to overwhelm him with greater strength as he stood relatively immobile.

It was a solid tactic, and one which made his task significantly harder, but Nieraan might find it significantly harder to successfully implement than it was to formulate. It had been no idle threat when Jaidan had warned of the coming melee moments ago, and he had a plan of his own: keep the Firrereo busy working his ass off just to keep his head atop his shoulders. Makashi was, after all, a very aggressive style if the swordsman wished it so, and this one had already granted his opponent a sporting chance to recover without interference, a gesture of respect he bore no obligation to extend twice. Even as his foil's thrust was swept aside, a simple twist of the wrist had it right back in position and thrusting again the blink of an eye later.

And that pretty much set the tone for the exchange that followed, defending himself but giving back with equal vigor. His shoto would strike out occasionally and with little warning, but for the most part ensure a solid defense, while his main hand foil struck out relentlessly at any target that presented itself. A quick cut at the arm making the wide swing that tried to box him in, a fast thrust to try and slip past a close in block, all in such a fast and unbroken succession that the path of his weapon remained briefly burned into the retina, like the slowly dissipating contrail of an atmospheric aircraft as Jaidan sought first the shallow cut that would cripple, then the fatal conclusion that would follow.  The idea was not to overpower, but to simply flow past a defense, and many a lesser swordsman had ultimately found defending against such a precisely directed onslaught a bit like trying to block a waterfall. The weaponmaster behind the performance, for his part, remained curious if this Sith would prove the talented exception, but in the meantime, the conversation continued as well.


"Do you perceive a difference between a man trained to dodge a hit, and one trained to avoid the pain that comes with it? Most don't, nor would they see any need to; the dodge is what concerns them. All the same, it is there, just as the man who can endure and overcome pain is not the same as the man who has had it inflicted upon him so often that he's all but indifferent to it. I'm quite certain, however, that you know well the difference between the anger instilled by the fight itself, and the anger you arrived hoping to take out on whoever found themselves in your way. So I am sorry, Nieraan Onin, because I have fought enough victims of the Dark Side to recognize the difference between the damn fool who took the initial steps themselves onto that path, and the ones who were dragged onto it. I'm sorry, because whoever set out to twist you into this savage thing, no tally of victories and no power amassed will ever be enough to make you into anything other than they intended."

A brief pause came after that, and then the one cautious nod to optimism.

"That said, you do always possess the means to save yourself. But for all its simplicity, I am further sorry that so few of you ever manage to see it."

[Rugs]

Jaidan Shatani. Nieraan didn’t recognize the name. That, in and of itself, wasn’t all that surprising; he didn’t really know any Jedi’s names save those few he’d come across on his own and bothered to learn. What few names he might have remembered from his parents’ stories of their Jedi days had long since faded to distant memory. Not that it would’ve helped in this case — the Firrerreo had a sneaking suspicion Shatani wasn’t too far removed from his own age.

“A much better name than simply ‘Jedi,’” he said, allowing a subtle smirk as their blades clashed and ozone tinged the air between them. “I’ll remember it. That, at least, is something most of your brothers are denied.”

Their contest began in earnest now. The testing, the probing, the gentle and not-so-gentle teasing of their foe’s tactics and defenses left behind as they, two warriors, settled for settling the matter as warrior would. Surely, some piece of that testing, those attempts to draw an opponent to ruin remained as they warred against each other.

Nieraan sought to pressure the Jedi from all sides. His style was quick, furious, constantly seeking to attack and force Shatani from his goal to encircle. His tempo constantly shifted, his strokes seeming unrefined and off-beat on the surface, but with a deadly, measured intent behind them all. If one strike landed and did not kill, it would surely incapacitate to set the finishing blow.

It was one major mark Kamirille, the deadly, masterful Juyo practitioner that she was, had left on him, and even if Nieraan did not know the form itself, he knew from countless bouts against it that its apparent, directed wildness was just as deadly as its raw ferocity.

Still he maintained some control of himself, and he did not constantly fight like a thing enraged. Sometimes his blows came swift and staccato, as if agitated, and then just as soon his movements sang as Shii-Cho’s flowing language briefly entered his swordplay.

Constant change. Constant motion to keep Shatani on his toes. He only needed one slip-up, after all.

But the Echani was skilled; quite a bite moreso than many of the Jedi Nieraan had crossed blades with. Most didn’t warrant the use of both his blades, and the few that did rarely stood for long once he gave himself to the fight.

Shatani, though did not only stand, but pushed back. After Nieraan’s initial offensive burst, the Jedi began returning favors, his blades licking out like lightning from a snowy storm at Nieraan’s person. It was a clever tactic, constantly seeking holes in Nieraan’s defenses as the Firrerreo sought to attack. Nieraan could press an attack or shelter back to defend himself as needed, as any balanced swordsman might, but he’d hoped to overwhelm the Jedi with an initial onslaught from all sides.

As it became clear that was not to be, he reined his attack in, settling on a more balanced measure to find his chance to strike, lest he find himself suddenly missing an arm, or worse.

A sort of stasis emerged between the duo as they struggled for advantage. Nieraan would attack, only to find himself under attack and forced to dodge or turn the blow away before his blades could issue a retort.

And as the fight evolved, the Jedi spoke.

“Do you perceive a difference between a man trained to dodge a hit, and one trained to avoid the pain that comes with it?”

Nieraan furrowed his brow slightly, then ducked as a swipe as his neck found air. He lashed out in answer, only to find his strike quickly turned away and a lightfoil dangerously close to his side that he stopped with his azure saber.

The Jedi kept talking, and the Firrerreo largely dismissed it as philosophical Jedi babble — which, in truth, was only a hair worse than philosophical Sith babble — until…

“I'm sorry, because whoever set out to twist you into this savage thing, no tally of victories and no power amassed will ever be enough to make you into anything other than they intended.”

Gold and green crashed together between Sith and Jedi. Nieraan’s yellow eyes went wide. Unknowingly, he held the Jedi’s blade with his own, if only for a moment. But a moment’s opportunity passed unnoticed…

/- -\

He crashed into garbage bins, sending their tops flying as boy, bins and bins' contents tumbled to the ground in a heap. His lightsaber, golden blade dying, pinged metallically as it bounced on the duracrete ground, forgotten from where it’d been in his hand a moment earlier.

Nieraan’s head swam. He screamed as some foul liquid leaked onto his back, onto the burns that were still raw from Kamirille’s blades. Even the accelerated healing of his birthright hadn't helped those scars heal in the two days since she took him. The raw, angry flesh protested loudly when he tried to move too much, let alone at… whatever was spilling through his tattered shirt onto it.

Before his head could clear, he felt that he was airborne again. A fist of terror knotted his stomach as he saw himself flying through the air toward his mother, who waited for him with outstretched hand.

“No…” he managed to get out before he slammed against her knee, which had risen from nowhere to dig into his stomach. The edges of his vision went white. He tried to yell, but could only gasp for a fleeting, terrified moment before he coughed up blood.

His body sagged against his mother’s leg, and she lowered it, he crumpled like a ragdoll to the ground.

Nieraan had tried to run. He’d tried to sneak away from the little apartment she kept him in after she stole him from his father. But she found him. Cornered him in a dark back alley where no one would see the beating that unfolded.

And even if anyone had been around to see, they would not care. Metallos’ poor had too many other problems to deal with.

He fought valiantly. He simply couldn't come near to her with a blade and his still-developing affinity in the Force was far too weak to stand against her.

“Please,” he said, lips dragging against the ground as he struggled not to pass out. “Please don’t… Just let… let me go…”

He felt, more than heard, her move, and cringed reflexively as her hand touched the back of his head. But she did not hurt him — instead she rubbed his hair, flattening it as if to sooth a small child.

As if she hadn't beaten him to the edge of his sanity for the second time in three days.

“You bring it on yourself, Nieraan,” she said. Her words were soft, her voice hushed only for him, but it brought no comfort. “I cannot let you leave. I will not let you leave. I have too many plans for you…”

She put an arm around him and hoisted him up and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her strength surprised him.

“You will not like what I am going to do to you,” she said as she picked his lightsaber up with a tug of the force and clipped it to her waist. “But one day, child, you will thank me.”

/- -\

A green blade lashed out at him. Nieraan’s mind snapped back to focus. Too late to bring his own blade to bear. He turned, blading his body and moving backwards. He knew it was too late to avoid pain completely, and bit back a grunt as Shatani’s foil grazed his chest front of his chest and right shoulder.

A graze with any other weapon… well that might be ignored. But burning plasma could not do anything but hurt, and Nieraan struggled mightily to keep back a pained grunt.

Still, the blow was better than the trust through his chest it would have been otherwise. If only just.

Stupid, stupid,stupid! He chided himself. He’d lapsed for a moment, but in such a close contest a moment was all it took…

Nieraan staggered back, forced to the defensive. The Jedi still came at him and he managed a few desperate blocks from further attacks as the Jedi kept talking.

"That said, you do always possess the means to save yourself. But for all its simplicity, I am further sorry that so few of you ever manage to see it."

The Force welled in Nieraan — had been welling, brought roaring to life by embers of fury Shatani had stoked with his words.

He yelled and it erupted from him at once, much in the way a shockwave tears at the air after an explosion. Sand and dirt and dust flew as the wedge of power raced out in front of him, and he found himself with a moment of reprieve from the fight, if not in spirit.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I can and can’t be?!” He yelled through the clearing dust. The Force seeped quietly back into him and the dust seemed to fade from view as he began to see through the Force, rather than with his eyes. “How are you any different?!

“Raised from childhood to do what they say. Told that you can only do this or that, forced to live by some Code!” Nieraan’s breath came hard. The burn across his chest and shoulder ached, would impede him in further combat, but he did not care as he stepped into the dust to reconfront the Jedi.

“I might have been like you, Shatani,” he said, voice hard and cold with a quiet fury. “But you Jedi banished my mother and father for their love. So I got to grow up out in the real world, and one of the same Jedi your code said must go made me into what I am today.

“That twisting,” he said, blowing the settling sand away with a rush of power and wave of his hand as his vision returned to normal, “began in your Temple’s halls, when she could not stay because your Code said it was so. So if you apologize for anything, apologize for that. But I do not need your pity.”

His grip tightened on the blades and he moved to engage Shatani once more.

[DreadPirateMike]

Better than his brothers...interesting choice, to see the taunt or the compliment in that. Either conclusion would be correct, he imagined, but if he was getting a bit of Dun Moch thrown his way, he somehow felt more force of habit than real malice behind it. They'd each essentially taken the other's measure at this point, and while he was hardly thrilled to hear this man had Jedi blood on his hands any more than he had reason to think the Firrereo was lying, the contest hadn't left the statement much shock value. Natural talent counted for a lot, but one simply did not become this good without enduring the shock of real battle. The surprise would be in learning that either of them had NOT been responsible for the death of a few of the others' acquaintances. He always had the option of hating the Sith for it, but aside from the danger that would pose to him personally, it was just wasted effort.

It was enough that he meant to kill the man. And that he'd get the pure contest he hoped for first.

To Nieraan's credit, it took Jaidan a moment to realize what he was doing with the seemingly disjointed assault, even if the movements themselves were anticipated in time to deflect or evade. And when the revelation DID hit, his smile returned, a bit wider this time, for this was something quite unexpected, and surprises in a pure saber duel were hard to come by for him. This wasn't QUITE Juyo; he'd faced the real thing enough to tell the difference, and this was more deliberate, actual thought put into every new change in angle and pace rather than the instinctive, if not truly random onslaught of a true practitioner. Still, his opponent had obviously observed the style in use often enough to appreciate and assimilate a few of its basic principles. Jaidan was much the same way with Soresu, having watched Han at work until he could copy the stances and economy of motion to a degree; when defending himself against enemy blasters, for instance, he was often known to employ something not entirely unlike the Guardian Circle. An interesting insight, if not an immediately useful one. It DID leave him idly wondering for a moment just how quickly the Firrereo could incorporate such things, if it was he who left this place alive.

And then, there it was: his best chance thus far to ensure that scenario never came to pass. He hadn't specifically been trying to unnerve the Sith with his words, so much as simply giving an honest answer to his query, but nor would he waste the advantage now that he saw it. Blinking, he might have missed it, but all of a sudden, his enemy's focus waned, and the onslaught stalled a moment like a random and isolated engine misfire. The result was not quite the instant kill he was trying for, but near enough. A glancing blow, even from a lightsaber, wouldn't slow a warrior like this down too much, but they were too evenly matched to begin with for either of them to withstand a handicap. Nieraan simply wouldn't be able to keep up, and so for a moment, victory seemed a certainty. A hard and closely fought certainty, but a certainty all the same.

Such things were often fleeting, of course, and a moment later, Jaidan was confronted with the drawback of provoking a Sith into an emotional explosion. The sort of raw power to be found in unchecked anger might well make a warrior sloppy, but it was still power, and this Nieraan had an abundance of it. It didn't catch him off guard this time like his earlier pummeling against the sand, but sometimes, seeing it coming was not the same as being able to do anything about it. He hurriedly braced himself, and for a moment, he was able to hold his ground against the sudden explosion of telekinetic force, but it soon proved impossible to maintain, and he found himself none too gently hurled back off his feet. It was all he could do to remember which way the ground was despite the sand obscuring his vision in every direction, and twist into a roll. It seemed enough; his hair suddenly cascading loosely around his face revealed the most dramatic and immediate injury, the simple tie having evidently snapped. To this could be added a mouthful of sand now, and doubtless another bruise or two later, but now was still the time to finish this.

"Well, you DID ask." the Echani muttered as he spit out the aforementioned sand and rose to his feet. He was just about to reignite his foils, extinguished for his latest fall, when he thought better of it at the last moment. At no point prior to his head leaving his body would this adversary cease to be dangerous, but judging by the enraged tirade being directed in Jaidan's direction, perhaps that well-honed, focused edge hadn't simply snapped right back in place after all. Time to see what that did to Nieraan's capacity to adapt. Had he been trained to expect the same trick twice?

The mainhand foil did indeed flare back to life, as he presented his profile with a more conventional Makashi stance than he'd employed in the duel thus far. With luck, in combination with the dust cloud, that would obscure his off hand, which returned his shoto to its accustomed home on his belt and made a quick substitution. After that, he simply awaited his moment, and struck just as Nieraan spent his power on dismissing the dust cloud, lashing out with a quick telekinetic strike of his own. Failure to block or deflect the attack would once again leave the Firrereo flat on his back, an outcome that frankly seemed overly optimistic, but if Jaidan had timed it right, gotten him just a little off balance, then dealing with that would create an opening for the real attack. Rushing forward into relatively close range, Jaidan brought his blaster back up, and fired off two shots. This time, however, he elected for the stun setting, its wide angle pulse far more problematic to block with a lightsaber.

"I've apologized for nothing, Onin." Jaidan countered as his foil lashed out. "Carry her around with you if you will, but for all the injury she's done you, your mother is not here. Your sword, your own hand seeks my death. Only own it, and your path is your own. I claim no more or less for myself. So let there be an accord between us. I'll do my best not to insult you with dogma or any other sort of condescension, if you in turn will spare me your excuses. If one of us must die, then let it be with some measure of peace."

[Rugs]

Nieraan growled in response to Shanti’s answer as the Jedi picked himself up from the ground. Earlier, the Firrerreo almost certainly would’ve bantered back, whether the Echani meant it as a shot or a simple statement of truth. Now, though, he was too irritated, too focused on tearing Jaidan’s arms off to bother.

The Force continued swelling within him, to the point that he began to ache from the strain of holding the power all on. Some of that ache dissipated when he blew the dust away, but he was drawing so deeply, so fully that the Force rushed back again, even as his senses roared — a roar that his fury dulled to the point of a quiet suggestion that Nieraan pay attention — warning of Jaidan’s quick telekinetic counter. Nieraan’s steady, angered advance didn’t stop even as his hand waved again, in the opposite direction, to negate the Jedi’s attempt to little more than a flutter of wind and shift in the motion of the settling dust.

Jaidan moved toward Nieraan again, and the Firrerreo bared his fangs like an enraged animal as he prepared to engage. But this time a gun, rather than a blade, rose to meet Nieraan, and he suddenly found himself hopping away. He watched the first shot zoom by, spreading out in a wide arc that was not at all normal for a regular blaster shot. Realizing the Jedi’s trickery, Nieraan growled again, and began to turn to face Jaidan, right as the second blast caught him full on in the chest.

It was, perhaps, only some combination of the raw power that flowed into the Firrerreo and his own strength of will and unrepentant stubbornness that prevented him from collapsing in a motionless heap on the ground as the stun bolt wreaked havoc on his body. Still, he fell to one knee, one hand planted in the sand to keep himself from falling face first into it. Jaidan’s blade lashed out then, and Nieraan met the strike desperately, clumsily turning what should’ve taken an arm off, or worse, to leave a glowing, glassy trail through the sand instead.

Nieraan struggled to move as the Jedi spoke. His face strained as he willed his muscles to cooperate, but he couldn’t — not at the speed he needed them to in order to survive the encounter.

“We won’t find peace, Shatani,” he spat, looking up at the Jedi who seemed suddenly to tower over him against the perfect azure sky. “There’s no peace until we’re dead, not for people like you and me. Because whether you choose to admit it or not,” the hand in the sand formed a fist, clawing at the ground as the Force filled Nieraan to near the breaking point and reluctantly resigned himself to releasing one of his lightsabers, “you’re a killer just like me. You just tell yourself it’s for some greater good.”

He looked up again at Jaidan again, and this time, forced himself to motion. The edges of his vision went dark as he released the power that’d built within him in two directions. A portion flowed from him, spraying lightning at the Jedi as his blue saber hissed to silence in the white sand. But most went to forcing his body to motion as he lunged forward and up, gold blade shrieking out hard and fast toward Jaidan’s body with enough Force-backed power that a blow with a regular sword would cleave the Jedi in two. With a lightsaber, there was no doubt what would happen if the blow hit as Nieraan desperately needed it to.

His body screamed against what he did, against the sudden infusion in burning, toxic Dark Side energy, against forcing it to move to roughly against the stun shot’s lingering aftereffects.

Nieraan didn’t care. If he struck the Jedi down, he would have time to recover.

If he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter anyway.