Rembrant Vorte vs Locke Nemsee

[Jenno]

Rembrant Vorte vs Locke Nemsee

Link to larger image: xadhoom.deviantart.com/art/Tower-29108500



Nal Hutta, Glorious Jewel to the Hutts. Its surface is rolling with wasteful green gases. If it was once a peaceful land covered with rolling hills, vast lakes and grand forests it was now completely unrecognizable. Nal Hutta has served as a breeding ground for the Hutts, the planet's many palaces and grand buildings serve as bases of operations for many of the greedy Hutt families.

One such tower and its master had drawn the attention of particular people as of late. Greegar the Hutt's eventual return to power had landed him with many enemies as well as a publicized name. Within one of his primary bases, a tower surrounded by ships and a personal guard large enough to be considered an army, Greegar enjoyed the wealth he had 'earned'.

But there was no time to rest easy. Two figures had made their way into this building. Both there for separate reasons, their target was the same. They had moved up through the tower from the ground level using stealth, wit and sometimes deadly force. And now they stood at either end of a great hall. Sat against the wall in the center was Greegar, flanked by a number of guards. All of whom were waiting to fire upon whomever attacked first.

From the impressions given through the force it seemed like the Dark Jedi was seeking death and the Jedi was after knowledge. They both had their reasons, missions or personal matters were known only to them. But they stood in the way of gaining what the needed to.

And they both had to get what they were after.

Lightsabers were ready to be drawn.

Rembrant Vorte vs Locke Nemsee

Six Rounds, Rembrant Vorte (Kellaishleya) to go first.

Remember there has to be an attack every single round, including this one.

Ding, Ding, Ding.

[Kella]

The very tower seemed to inhale and exhale, breathing in the presence of the Dark Jedi. Already, the structure was imbued with darkness, its foundation hate, while greed formed its ribbed trusses. The phantom had surmounted this spire with ease, rising from the toxic green cloud towards the thick, heavy sky. He moved like a scythe, decapitating row upon row of wheat with a swift, gliding stroke, leaving a shower of broken dross in his wake.

The Force here was dark and tainted, and yet it still mingled with that vast network. Already its twisted demons knew the name of the white-haired one, who walked down silent halls. Rembrant Vorte, they hissed, curling lovingly about his heels like faithful hounds. They heard his thirst for blood, and resonated with it, producing an ominous harmony within the Force.

There was a single distorting presence, a hollow place the darkness hissed at, for it was a place it could not fill. A Jedi. This man was young, Rembrant could feel it in the way the darkness probed him experimentally, for he was not yet set in his ways enough to dispel the demons' curiosity. His path was mirror to that of Rembrant's own, and their speed much the same. This was not, however, the only presence that concerned Rembrant.

It was a more subtle presence than the Jedi, for it did not touch the Force. However, the Force saw it, as the Force sees all things, and Rembrant perceived through its eyes. Greegar the Hutt. Though Rembrant had long ago come to accept the tragedies of his past, that did not mean he had forgiven those who had ripped his life to shreds. This particular Hutt held a secret, a secret that promised vengeance... Rembrant would stop at nothing to find that secret. He did not fear death -- rather, it would be perhaps a respite. However, Rembrant had no plan on endorsing or hastening that fate, and he knew that he was very, very hard to kill.

There was no hesitation as Rembrant turned the corner, the length of the hall collapsing with his perspective. The dark metal of the walls gleamed with Rembrant's hazed reflection -- the sharp flash of steel on his combat-style boots, the black inky flow of his cloak, and the dark green of his shirt contrasted sharply with the pale pallor of his skin, and the stark whiteness of his hair and those pupil-less opaque eyes. The Hutt's guards immediately snapped to attention and the gluttonous mass spun around at the sound of his voice.

"Hello Greegar," he said, his voice as chilling as an Arkanian wind, "You have something I want." He stated no more. He wanted the Hutt to squirm, to fret, to worry that perhaps this ransom was not something he could give. That was almost as much of a torture as the other things Rembrant had planned...

The far half of the Hutt's guard nervously reversed directions at the expected arrival of the Jedi. A few, however, bore stony growling faces; they would be intimidated by no show of strength or magic. Simply killing them was no issue, however.

"Jedi, be gone," he called down the hall, the walls directing the vibrations and ushering them along so that when they met the Jedi's ears, they echoed slightly, as loud as if Rembrant were standing right next to the man. "This is my prey, and today is not your day to meddle."

Rembrant had one been trained as a Jedi -- he had once stood in similar positions to this man. To Sense in the Force brought pin-point markers to subtle gestures, intents, stances. From this Jedi's step, and the way he stood, Rembrant knew that he would not be frightened off. In fact, he might even have been the sort to make the first move. Despite the possibility otherwise, Rembrant would not give him a chance to exercise this advantage.

Suddenly, Rembrant raised his hand, and the guards readjusted their grips on their weapons. For a moment, nothing happened... Though a quiet whine from above began to crescendo...

A cacophonous shreik erupted as the light above Rembrant exploded, sending shards of glass in every direction -- save at the Jedi himself. The next light burst, and then the one after that, no match for the ripping claws of Force that Rembrant drove upon them. Sparks hissed wild into the air, dancing and writhing as they showered down upon the floor, before all went black. This provided only one disadvantage for Rembrant -- he wouldn't be able to see the red of the blood on the floor as the guards were slaughtered -- colour did not show in infrared.

The last remark was met with some sarcasm in Rembrant's mind, for though he was cut of a dark stock, sadism had never been a past-time that entertained him. Seeing the shades of heat was an ability that all his species possessed, and he now surveyed the hall in a range of gray, the brightest spots the semi-exposed heads of the many guards, and the steaming pile of slime.

Not a moment after the lights were gone, the hall was overcome with a flurry of bright streaks, each pellet distorting the air in shimmering waves of heat -- the guards' pitiful attempt at resistance. With one smooth movement, Rembrant drew his saber, a weapon that retained all the energy of its heat and left the air untouched. A master of Soresu, there was no flinch in Rembrant's stance as his saber twirled, a blue dance of light intermingling with his vision of the heat. Silver sparks arced out from the core with every slash, and the bright red bolts fled from the length of his sword, running swiftly back towards their masters. One guard received the full force of this, and despite his armor, was down with a fatal shot. Slowly, Rembrant began to walk forward, guiding the red flashes to gouge the walls, or the floor. The red and blue flashed like lightning, sending sharp, gaunt shadows across the glinting walls. No other guard would he strike -- there was too great a risk of hitting the Hutt, and he needed the Hutt alive.

Rembrant's hands were trained with Makashi as well as Soresu, and so it was with ease that he deftly welded the blade with one hand, as the other made a groping circle of his four clawed fingers. One of the guards lifted slowly up into the air, writhing like a caught fish as he clawed at his own neck. A sudden crack echoed into the hall as the man was suddenly still, and Rembrant used the limp body to flatten another two guards, even as he continued methodically forward. Knowing the Jedi would be soon to react, he crooned to the Force in such a way that it reacted with eager familiarity.

Suddenly, he drove his free hand forward, and felt a column of air move around him, leaping down the length of the hall. Like the concentration of Plasma in a gun, the narrow structure of the hall concentrated and magnified the mass of air, and it sped down the hall with enough kinetic force to knock down a grown Wookie. Rembrant paused as the pressure equalized, a breath of air pushing him backwards, though this back lash was much softer than the initial force. Already, Rembrant had deactivated his saber, plunging the hall into darkness once more. He kept it at the ready, fully able to draw it quick enough to protect himself, while he let his presence in the Force sink outwards, so that detection of his exact location would have been difficult for any but the most sense-adept.

The Jedi posed a greater threat than the startled guards, and so in the moment devoid of blaster fire, Rembrant reached out with a claw of the Force toward the Jedi, wrapping it carefully about his throat and compressing slowly. This, however, had the potential to be difficult if the target were moving, as the Jedi had mostly likely begun to do. In all, the time from the explosion of the last light, to the sharp shove in the Force had been a mere five seconds, and a simple two had passed since that.

Rembrant continued walking forward towards the center of the hall, heeding the whispers of the Force in order to better judge the intent of the Jedi's counter-attack... The Hutt would be his today, and no Jedi was going to get in his way.

[Rugs]

Things never seemed to go the way he wanted them to.

Locke Nemsee had spent months on this case, months that had been filled with bribery, fighting, betrayal, and several events that had brought him closer to death than he would have liked. But he had a job to do, and he'd done it well, and the roads had lead here, to Nal Hutta. There was a Hutt--by the name of Greegar--at the top of a tower on this light-forsaken planet, and he was at the heart of a truly expansive crime ring that had led Locke and his apprentice across the galaxy, on a hunt that had had its fair share of dead ends and other frustrations. And tonight, everything would come to a head. The plan had been for Locke to ascend the tower alone, using stealth to get to the Hutt, and for Jazen to come in with the authorities once the signal was given. Simple. The kind of thing Locke had done more times than he could count. Nothing could go wrong, right?

Wrong.

Well, in a way. Nothing had gone wrong yet, per se, but things would get ugly. And soon. He was willing to bet his lightsaber on it. Even now he could remember not too long ago, when he'd stood out in the Nal Hutta night air, looking up at the tower and the others around it that reached toward the sky like the fingers of some dead and long forgotten giant. It had been then that he'd felt it. Or felt him, rather. There was another Force-sensitive here. And from what Locke could sense, they seemed to be rather... intimate with the Dark Side of the Force. Locke's original hunch as he moved into the tower was that the other was a hired hand, and that the Hutt had somehow gotten wind of the noose closing in about his corpulent neck. But as their little race up the tower had unfolded, he thoughts changed.

The tower was filled with darkness, and the planet itself wasn't the brightest of places, so it had become difficult for Locke to keep the other pinpointed, but from what little he could tell, the demon that was rising through the tower with him didn't seem the sort that would be hired by a crime lord looking to save his skin. The demon seemed to be... angry, perhaps? But not in the usual mad-at-everything-for-existing way that many Dark Jedi seemed to have. It was different. It was hard to tell, but it seemed to be focused, or perhaps driving in some way. Locke didn't know why, but that sent more chills down his spine than it would have had the other just been some run-of-the-mill Dark Jedi. Come to think of it, why was the demon going up through the tower? If they'd been hired by the Hutt, wouldn't they be up at the apex with him? Whatever their purpose, Locke decided that he couldn't afford to be the last one to reach the Hutt.

And so he'd risen up, forcing him self to move quickly to rise through the soaring structure at the same pace as his darker counterpart. It wasn't what he'd preferred to do, as he would have much rather taken his time and moved carefully, and he'd almost been caught a few times. But he had to be swift, so he did what he had to do. And now, he stood in the shadows, looking out a window as he waited for the final elevator that would take him to his destination to arrive. Locke glanced out of a large round window set high in the wall, and he could see Nar Shadaa shining in the night sky. His homeworld. Funny how my work keeps bringing me to the area, he thought wryly. Perhaps if the damn Hutts would stop being so criminally inclined... Ah! There it is! The elevator doors slid open, and Locke let out a sigh of relief to find that it was empty. The young Investigator stepped in, and ascended up to go face whatever would happen.

The first thing he did when he arrived was to use a key card he'd stolen from one of the Hutt's men lower down in the tower to lock all of the doors in the hall. There'd be no escape for the Hutt, not until Jazen arrived with the authorities. "Time's up, Greegar," he called out as he shrugged out of his cloak, leaving only his robes on and baring his blaster pistol and lightsaber as he started to walk towards the overly-large slug. "The Republic's gonna see you rot in a pris-" The other was here. Locke heard his threat to the Hutt, and shivered in spite of himself. It wasn't the threat that made him wary, though the fact that this man seemed to know Greegar was certainly interesting. No, Locke could feel the power that lay within the man, who, if those mily white eyes were anything to go off of, was an Arkanian. And from what Locke could tell, the man was strong. Very strong. Wonderful, he thought.

An instant later, the Arkanian's voice was in his ear, demanding that he leave. And even worse, he told Locke that today was not his day to meddle! Meddle?! As if he hadn't spent months of his life working to get to this point? "I'll meddle whenever I damn well please, thank you," he retorted, letting no small amount of his irritation through in his voice. Was it Jedi-like? Not really, but Locke had never really been the most Jedi-like Jedi. Locke could feel his jaw setting. A fight with a Dark Jedi, especially one that he had reason to believe was stronger than he himself was was not something that Locke wanted. But he had a duty to do, and though he might not have acted like the best Jedi at times, he was devoted to his Order and to his work. He could not back down. Not now.

There was suddenly an explosion, and the hall fell into darkness. Locke jumped a bit in surprise, but quickly steadied himself, and rested his hand on his lightsaber in preparation, but he did not draw his blade. Not yet, anyway. The young Jedi reached out to the Force, drawing on it to steady himself and to reach out with his senses in the sudden reduced light in the hallway. His eyes would adjust a bit to the darkness, but he'd have to rely on the Force now.The scream of shattering glass and dying men assaulted his ears, and everything erupted into chaos. Blaster bolts flew to the Arkanian, and a sliver blade erupted to life, deftly knocking them away. Locke thought he recognized the movements of Soresu, but the way the Arkanian wielded his blade brought thoughts of Makashi to mind... A blend of both perhaps? If that was so, it would not at all be dissimilar to the way that Locke fought with a blade. Interesting indeed...

The next thing he knew, there was a wall of air barreling down the hallway at him. He threw out a push of his own, hoping to stop the Arkanian's assault. But it was not enough. Certainly, it slowed the attack down and took some of the ferocity out of it, but it continued on, unbroken and unyielding. Locke swore aloud and hastily began to construct a barrier in the Force to protect himself. Unfortunately, he'd been just a tad too slow. The push slammed through his newly-formed barrier in the way a wave pushed by the wrath of a giant storm would crash through a wall made of drift wood. Locke was thrown down to the ground, but he rolled to his feet as fast as he could and stood to face down his new foe. So it would come down to a fight, then. Splendid, he thought as he started to walk toward the middle of the hall, the one job where everything seems to be going right, and this happens. I guess it can't be helped, but it would be nice if I could have one mission where something didn't go wrong. But again, he had a duty to do, and he could not back down.

The Arkanian's presence in the Force faded as Locke continued to make his way down the hall, and a brief stab of panic rushed through him. Where'd the Arkanian go? Locke had been using the Force to keep tabs on his position, and if he could hide himself... No, there's no use in getting worried, he thought as he slowly exhaled. That only leads to making bad decisions, and I can't afford that now. As he walked, he noticed something odd about his neck. At first it had just been faint, and merely annoying, but it had grown stronger and stronger with time, as if something was trying to choke him. He reached out with the Force, and discovered it was from his new friend, who was trying to choke him, though Locke was able to dispel the air that was threatening him.

"Well then," he said as he stopped near where the Hutt sat. "Pleasure to meet you too, ah... I think I'll call you Chuckles. This is quite the meeting, isn't it?" Locke smirked a bit at that, though he was rather surprised at how steady his voice was; he wasn't afraid, per se, but there was certainly a bit of an edge to him at the moment. "The name's Locke, by the way, but let's skip the formalities, hmm?" He sighed and looked around in the darkness, and noted that his eyes were adjusting a bit to the darkness--he could make out the dark shapes of the dead and dying men on the ground. "I don't know what your business here is," he said, turning back to look in the general direction the Arkanian had been in, "but I've got much more to do than 'meddle.' So you should just let whatever it is you have with the Hutt go, and make your way out of here. He's in a boiling vat of water anyway." Locke's expression became thoughtful for a moment before he continued.

"Or that's what I'd like to say, but it would seem fate's prevented that. See, I can sense... something in you, and reeks it of the Dark Side. Now, I'd love to just let you go your way and be done with you, but the whole being a Jedi thing won't let me. So that leads me to this little spiel I'm supposed to give you." He paused for a moment as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other before continuing. "Now, I'm supposed to give you two options. You can return to the light, or I'll have to do righteous battle with you and cut you down. For justice and goodness and all that. I'd love to extend the offer to you, but your, uh... previous actions sort of tell me that I'd get a rather emphatic "no" from you, so let's get down to business, shall we?"

With that, he took the slightly curved hilt of his blade in his right hand and ignited it. A yellow-orange beam of light exploded from it, and he saw that he hadn't stopped that far away from the Arkanian; he was within striking distance. Locke nodded slightly to the man--a sign of respect--before bringing the blade up before him in the Makashi salute. After that, he flowed smoothly into a Makashi flourish, but this was not the normal one done before engaging in combat. Locke lunged forward at the same instant that his blade started to move, making both strokes of the maneuver an attack, with full intent to hit behind both of them. As the second strike completed, he spun on his heel, turning so that he'd be coming at the Arkanian from a different line, what would be the man's right side. Locke flowed into to more attacks at roughly the same tempo as the two in his flourish, striking high at his foe's neck before thrusting low at his thigh. Then he pulled with the Force, with just enough strength to try to through the Dark Jedi a little bit off balance. An instant later, he reached out to one of the bodies of the dead men on the floor, wrapping it in coils of air before tossing it mightily at the Arkanian as he took a quick jump back to prepare to defend against whatever counter would come.

Whatever he may have wished, he'd reached the point of no return. He'd enganged his foe, and now he was committed, until the bitter end. There could be no turning back.

[Twysper]

Ahoy Adam! *waves*

*leans over* Argghhh, yer crew be talking mutiny behind yer back, the black-hearted fiends... I be advising ye to watch yer back 'round this lot... I hear they've gone s'far as to bribe someone tah off ya...

Which would be me, as it were.

Arrrgh, allow me to reiterate all quick like in case ye missed it the first time ye scurvy land-lubber; I'M COMMANDEERING THIS VESSEL AND YE BE WALKING THA PLANK!

*pushes Adam out of duel*

LET THE SWASHBUCKLING CONTINUE!

ROUND ONE.

Rembrant Vorte - Kellaishleya
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 4/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus:

Comments: BA, wonderful description, slightly iffy on fairness for Rembrant's all encompassing actions and exertion. =3


Locke Nemsee - Rugs
Effort: 4/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus:

Comments: Fitting post to Kell's, you both write on a relatively even plane here. <3 the dialogue. But I see typos, hence, docking effort. xD

Total:

Kellaishleya: 19

Rugs: 19

Overall comments: Two wonderful writers, sheesh, unless one of you really decide to drift from usual preferences, this is going to be a lot of 4's and 5's according to Twys' grading system. Maybe the grading system will have to ramp it up here. =3 Yes, I think it will.

Next round. Go above and beyond.

[Kella]

Rembrant gave to Locke the same sort of attention one would give to a small child proclaiming his latest earth-shattering bit of wisdom. Rembrant only paid enough attention to the words to ascertain their general meaning, instead applying the great bulk of his mind to exploring the general area with the Force, forming plans, strategies, understanding the placement and position of certain things...

Rembrant could see the Jedi clearly, the whitish-grey of his skin, the darker shade of his clothing, the empty black of a cold, metal saber, and the vague, sinking cloud of breath in front of him. The man was less than two yards away, and yet, he knew nothing of Rembrant's proximity. He could not hear Rembrant's breath, he could not see the white sheen of his skin, he could not feel him in the Force. Rembrant allowed a slight grin to break the cold stone of his face. For all the Jedi thought they knew...

"You know nothing," he said forcefully, as the hall was lit in orange fire. Rembrant, having seen the Jedi prepare his saber, was ready, and his own dark blue blade leapt to life. As he focused to prepare for combat, his presence was suddenly drawn back into himself, momentarily flashing bright in the eye of the Force, before dimming back to its usual intensity. The Jedi distorted the Makashi salute into an attack.

"The salute is a gesture of honor," Rembrant said, catching the first slash. While his saber was reserved, his tone bit and condescended.

"It is a symbol of respect," he said, silver sparks flying from the second clash.

"The salute is never an attack. It is the confidence to reveal to your opponent who you are." Rembrant's muscles tensed and bulged as the Jedi spun around, hefting a strike at his right. His arms felt the strain, but they stayed true, again throwing off the Jedi's assaults. Rembrant's mind was acutely focused, and while the saber slashes flew, he had not the excess for much of anything else.

A high strike came towards his neck, and Rembrant caught it, this time driving strength into the block, shoving the orange blade away. "It is fitting for a Jedi to have so disparaged an art."

Rembrant followed the arcing of the fiery blade more with the sense of it, than with his eyes. Once more their blades met, as he parried the low strike, the awkwardness of the angle forcing him to divert the blow, rather than stop it. The smell of burnt cotton rose into the air as the orange saber skimmed the canvas over Rembrant's right shin, black wisps of smoke like demons, goading Rembrant and reminding him that every victory was won by such a close margin... so close. And some day, he would simply miss...

Long ago, Rembrant had learned that it was foolish to fight the advances your opponent made in the Force -- rather, to flow with them, to use them to your advantage, was both much more effective, and much less expected.

And so, as Locke attempted to pull his feet from him, Rembrant felt the Force around his feet and allowed it to move him into a forward stride, further closing the distance between he and the Jedi. He sensed more than saw the corpse as it flew towards him, through the shifting light of blue and orange.

He possessed the ability to stop it in the air, but instead, he continued his stride into another, and arced his saber into a powerful downward stroke, more reminiscent of Djem So than Makashi or Soresu. Sharp, acrid tendrils of burnt flesh rose into the air from the corpse that lay at Rembrant's feet -- anterior on the left, posterior on the right.

The Jedi was close enough that Rembrant continued this downward strike, centering it on the Jedi. He then took a half-step back, making space for his blade to maneuver. Three strikes followed in quick succession; a feint towards Locke's neck, a slash at his left shoulder, and a sly stab at the lower right of his abdomen.

Rembrant once more raised his free hand, using the enclosed space to channel his efforts, and push the Jedi backwards. It was only enough to send him stumbling, perhaps to knock him back a step or two, but Rembrant was confident it would be enough -- he needed all his remaining focus.

With his mind, he reached out into the surrounding wall, again finding the waypoints he'd laid during Locke's monologue. Two hands on his blade, Rembrant launched a mighty strike at the durasteel wall. His strike was decisive and clean, a trademark of Soresu, but the wall was thick, the metal sturdy, and for all his exertion, for all the bulging and the straining of his muscles, he could draw his blade only eighteen inches down through the metal.

However, it was enough. Hot steam immediately began pouring from the slash, hissing around Rembrant's saber, even as he quickly withdrew the blade.

As if with a life of its own, the steam rolled into the hallway, obscuring everything in an undulating milky darkness. The fluid in the pipes was pressurized, and used as a coolant in the walls of building such as this. But when its pipe had been severed, that pressure relieved, the fluid instantly boiled, releasing huge amounts of heat into the air.

Rembrant had understood the cost of this. The opaque steam in the thick darkness made his eyes useless, the all-encompassing heat blinded him to infrared. Rembrant could rely now on only the Force to see, and he had intended to cripple his opponent in the same way. After all, Rembrant was a master, and the Jedi was too young to be anything but a Knight. Should not the distribution of skill be clear?

Soon, the steam would fade away -- these pipes only bled so long before their emergency mechanisms kicked in. The cloud would last maybe a minute, and in this minute, Rembrant had to strike. There was no focus to be spared to hide his presence and the Force, and so for anyone looking, it was open and obvious, an invitation and a taunt. He would wait, as the patience of Soresu had taught him.

Wait for the Jedi to make his move... all it would take was a single ill-placed strike, and this duel might be over. However, Rembrant was prepared for other alternatives. He would only give the Jedi so long before Rembrant himself would go on the offensive, cutting in with quick slashes of Makashi.

Rembrant was a blend, a combination of the two; the patience and strength of Soresu, the art and agility of Makashi. But both forms had their weaknesses, both forms their vulnerabilities...

Rembrant could only hope that this young Jedi would be too blinded by his arrogance to see the opportunities in front of him...

[Rugs]

Locke felt something in the brief moments between the end of his talk and the beginning of his attack on his Arkanian foe. Rembrant's presence in the Force flared, briefly, brightly, and the intensity of it sent chills rolling down Locke's spine. The strength, the intensity, the ferocity of that flare, brief as it was, was of the sort that Locke had encountered very few times in his twenty six years, and those were most often from the more powerful members of the Order. What have you gotten yourself into, Locke Nemsee? However, much as he might like to--and his common sense screamed at him to--turn back, he knew that he couldn't. He had work to do. And I'll be damned if I'm going to be cowed by his stupid showboating.

And so a salute was made, leading into his first strike. Apparently, Rembrant disapproved, not that Locke particularly cared what the Dark Jedi thought of him. Orange and blue slammed together violently, and Locke's first attempted strike failed. With that failure came condescending talk from Rembrant. Locke paid him little mind, though, and continued on, striking out again. Again, his strike failed, and again, Rembrant reprimanded him. Locke snorted, but held any retorts he might have made to continue along with his offensive. Another blocked attack came, along with still more disapproval from the Arakanian, and Locke could feel his ire starting to rise.

Said ire was momentarily forgotten when Locke struck out at Rembrant's neck, hoping against hope that it would slip through, though he already knew deep within his mind that it wouldn't. He was proven correct, in that regard. But the amount of brute force that was suddenly put into Rembrant's block caught him off guard, and his eyes widened a bit as his blade was forced back and away. Now, it should be said that Locke was not physically weak, per se, but strength was not his... strength. It wasn't an uncommon thing for him to fight against foes who were physically stronger than he, and he'd grown used to it over the years. But, were this sudden display from Rembrant any indication, Locke's ability to exert brute force paled in comparison to that of his opponent. So he's stronger than me. That might prove worrisome down the line, Locke mused as he started to flow into a new strike. We'll have to see how well he dances later on, though.

Of course, Locke's attention was brought back to Rembrant's condescending talk when the Arkanian insulted him once more. "Disparage an art, my ass," he shot back as his saber lanced out toward Rembrant's thigh. He knew what a salute was for. He also knew that he'd have to press every advantage he could get in this fight if he was to have any hope of living through it. Honor and integrity tended to not be worth as much when one was fighting to survive, and Locke would take not being dead over having the respect of some man he'd never met any day.

His orange blade was stopped by Rembrant's blue again, though Locke noted that the Arkanian's defense wasn't as strong as it had been with the other attacks. In fact, it seemed as if his lightsaber came very close to touching flesh, as it grazed the fabric of Rembrant's pants. Locke noted that fact and filed it away within his mind, so that he could try to find away to make use of it later on.

Of course, that one exchange had only taken a second, if that, and Locke wasn't done talking. "Do not pretend to be my teacher, Arakanian," he said flatly as he took hold of the Force to reach out to try to throw Rembrant off balance. Rembrant merely adjusted, stepping forward with the pull, and Locke snarled in frustration. He reached out with little telekinetic fingers toward one of Rembrant's victims. "I know your kind is into the whole 'superior to everyone' thing, but please, do keep your lecturing to yourself." Those telekinetic fingers took a body within their grasp and started to lift it from the ground. "Perhaps you should've been a professor at one of the universities if you want to lecture, but you are not one, nor is this a university, so please, spare me your talks. If I want your thoughts on my abilities, I'll ask."

The body flew forward through the air toward Rembrant, though the effort was in vain, as Rembrant promptly decided that the body would have a fight with his lightsaber. The lightsaber won. I hope that poor sap was actually dead, Locke thought idly.

The balance of the fight shifted then, as Locke's string of attacks came to an end and Rembrant took the offensive. The first strike was easy enough to see coming, as it was a fairly straightforward attack. Locke's blade went up and over his head and he caught it, though he questioned the wisdom of using one hand to do it, since the strength behind the blow nearly drove his own blade into the top of his head.

Rembrant's attack continued wish a strike toward Locke's neck that Locke discovered--almost too late--was a feint. As such, he had to race to get his blade over to a position where he could stop the strike aimed at his shoulder, but he did. It was a sloppy thing, and not something he was particularly proud of, but it kept him alive, and so he didn't pay much mind to it. Rembrant's next attack was a thrust, aimed at Locke's stomach. Now, Locke could knock it aside with his own blade, but he acted almost on instinct, putting some of the agility that was one of his greatest assets to use as he deftly turned aside and out of the way. Rembrant's dark blue blade found naught but air.

Of course, Rembrant followed this up with another shove, and though it wasn't as powerful as the last he'd used, it was enough to catch Locke of guard--especially given their close proximity--and make him falter for a moment. When he regained his balance, he looked up to see that Rembrant turned his attention to attacking the wall, of all things. The Investigator just stood there for moment with a dumbstruck look on his face. The wall? Maybe it said something about his mother. Or kicked his puppy. Or maybe he's bipolar or something of the sort. Realization as to what Rembrant was doing dawned a moment later, though.

The Arkanian's blade ruptured some lines in the pipe, and that led to copious amounts of steam suddenly flooding into the room. Ah, I see, he thought as the building steam started to obscure his vision. "Well aren't we clever?" Locke took the time to slink off to a different position as the steam continued to build, to the point where he could barely see more than a foot in front of him, if that far. But, he knew Rembrant would be similarly blinded. The Knight reached out through the Force, poking gently to find Rembrant's presence. It wasn't a difficult thing to do. He could guesstimate Rembrant's position based on what he felt, though he couldn't tell exactly where the other man was. Not without getting closer, anyway. And therein lay the rub.

Locke could rush in valiantly with his lightsaber toward Rembrant and engage him once again in righteous combat for the sake of fighting the darkness. But some feeling in the pit of his stomach made him wary of attempting such an attack. He didn't know if Rembrant had shown the full extent of his ability with a blade yet (though he doubted it), but he could tell that there was a fair bit of an ability gap between them--one born of the years of experience that Rembrant had and Locke lacked. Of course, if he didn't, he'd more than likely find himself forced onto the defensive, and that could have just as many, if not more, negative implications for him than attacking Rembrant outright. If I hadn't locked those damn doors this wouldn't be a problem. No, then the steam could simply boil out into the hallway, and this whole issue could've been avoided. Oh, the woes of not being able to read the future.

He moved slowly about with his blade held ready, knowing that any moment could bring an assault from Rembrant. So what was he to do? He didn't want to engage Rembrant, not with his vision degraded as it was, nor did he want to give him enough time take the initiative. And getting into a battle of strength in the Force was simply out of the question. That was when his decision was made.

Locke's left hand eased toward his blaster, and he took it up, though he kept his blade ignited. It's times like these I wish I had a slugthrower, he mused as he looked his weapon over, or at least something that can be silenced. Or muffled. But he'd have to work with what he had. Determination flashed in his stormy grey eyes as he looked up, and set his attempt into motion.

He didn't know how well versed Rembrant was in the school of sense, though Locke suspected he had to be good at it, or he wouldn't have gone through with blinding them both with steam. That, or Rembrant was incredibly stupid. Locke was inclined to go with the former, though, if for no other reason than that it fit in well with Rembrant's lecturing a few moments earlier. So, in reality, it could be that Rembrant could see much better than he himself could, but he was still reticent on the whole running in to attack issue, so he chose to go with what he had in mind.

Movement would be the key part of what he had planned. He moved around, keeping tabs on where Rembrant's presence was and adjusting accordingly. As he moved about, he raised his blaster and opened fire, wincing a bit at the way the sound of his shots echoed loudly through the room. Movement would keep the shots coming from different directions, if only somewhat, and it would also hopefully help protect against him getting a shot returned back into his face. In the end, Locke didn't know how effective this tactic would be. Perhaps something would get through and hit Rembrant, perhaps not. However, given the current situation and his lack of desire to engage Rembrant directly in said situation, he'd just have to go with it and see what came of it.

He just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

[Twysper]

ROUND ONE, [shadow=red,left,300]TWO.[/shadow]


Rembrant Vorte - Kellaishleya
Effort: 4/5
Fairness: 4/5
Detail: 4/5
Coolness: 4/5
Bonus:

Comments: Rembrant is still BA, but I'm (relative whim, I know) fed up with steam and fog in lightsaber duels. xD


Locke Nemsee - Rugs
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 3/5
Coolness: 3/5
Bonus: +2

Comments: Locke's thought processes should be studied by geniuses. Effort ish 5 for skirting censors. xDDD

Total:

Kellaishleya: 35

Rugs: 37

Overall comments: Moving right along here, so Kella can post and not maul me for making her wait! A good deal for everyone involved. =3

[Kella]

Rembrant allowed the heat to surround him, to ease his eyes shut. It was an odd sensation, relaxing the barriers of the mind enough to spread out into the world around. It was counter-intuitive, and at any moment, instinct might snap him back to his normal, biological state. But for now, Rembrant saw... Rembrant was... the ethereal.

This allowed him to see, to feel beyond the immediate target, to the ultimate goal. To the Hutt. The slug attempting, quietly, to slither away. It would have been easy, but not applicable, to say 'No such luck', for with Rembrant, things were never left to rely on luck.

Fire, pinpoints, plasma further in the hall. So this Jedi employed a blaster as well? Interesting. Rembrant raised his own saber and ignited the blade, one, two, three strides back along the hall. The first bold hit is saber, and diffused into the metal floor, the second, his saber again, the third allowed to graze the outside of Rembrant's arm. It was no new challenge; pain and he were old acquaintances.

By allowing this one to slip, Rembrant could better prepare the next, and angled his blade so as to refract the bolt in a particular direction -- but not back at the source. Rather, he barely redirected its course, so that it would singe the floor at the foot of the fleeing Hutt.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he menaced. Rembrant allowed himself to sense the Force more deeply, even into the nonliving things around him. He found within the walls the wiring for the control panels of the doors, both known and secret, through which the Hutt might try to escape. The muscles in his clawed hand clenched as he felt these wires, traced them back to the control panel... here, he could feel the electricity pulsing through the main power conduit, tickling lightly the Force...

With the sudden hissing of sparks, the control panel closest to Rembrant lay on the floor in ruins, the electricity feeding the rest of the hall's door's cut. He would have no trouble escaping later, but the Hutt -- and any cronies he called to aide him -- would not find passage nearly so easy.

The Jedi... that was not so much a problem. If the Jedi lived to escape, Rembrant would most likely be dead, in which case, it made planning for the scenario foolish. Dead men have no say.

This moment of focus, of deep distraction came at a high cost. Instead of barely grazing, this blaster bolt cut, deeply. Though it cauterized its own wound, the pain was searing, the flesh cracked and burned, the outside of Rembrant's left, lower arm bearing a new black scar. A tightly controlled hiss of air fled from between Rembrant's clenched teeth.

Despite the power that the dark, tainted side of the Force contained... it was a fickle mistress. The sweet nectarine lure of the dark side belied the carnivorous beast it was -- seeking sadistic pleasure in the suffering of those who claimed to have control over it. Rembrant made no such claim, and could see the wicked malevolence of the darkness for what it really was. But it had been his choice to start upon this path. It was now his duty to end upon it.

It was worth the fatigue to use the Force to take the edge of the pain, and so he clamped his right hand over his arm, watching as it glimmered with the slightest hint of blue light. Just the slightest hint. Just the slightest glow. Just the slightest relief. More than the slightest fatigue. But it was enough, and Rembrant was like a Bulldog. Once he had his teeth sunk in, it was impossible to get him to let go.

He could feel the heat around him ease, conducted by the metal walls. His eyes flashed open to reveal a thinned mist. Water began to condense in an even layer over all, and in the sheen of the floor, Rembrant could see the sweaty, feverish Hutt. He had no weapons, no route of escape. The only danger to the Hutt was collateral damage, and with Rembrant aware of the potential problem, it wouldn't become a problem at all. Once the Jedi was dealt with, Rembrant would be free to do as he pleased with the Hutt.

Rembrant traded the ethereal for the visible, eyes focusing quickly on the cold, sharp edges around him. The mist was rapidly condensing, forming fine, chilled droplets on the metal walls and roof. Rivulets were beginning to trace their way through the droplets. Rembrant did not have much time.

Rembrant's allowed the wall to become its ally, moving along the edge with his saber raised, doing what he could to divert the blaster bolts as parallel to their original path as possible. If the Jedi was using a blaster, it was likely he did not have his blade in hand...

The blade of Arkanian midnight came swiftly at the human, as its owner emerged from the dissipating mists. The now-slick floor would quickly catch any unwary step. A strike aimed at the offending blaster, to hit or miss, was quickly followed by another, and yet another, eventually engaging the rival blade. Instead of stabs and thrusts targeted at the Jedi himself, Rembrant's offensive tactics were directed at his blade. Twisting strikes aimed to wretch it from the Human's grasp, swift, cutting strokes honed in towards the emitter. As the Jedi rose to the offensive, Rembrant would ease back into Soresu, or as the Jedi sunk to the defensive, Rembrant would make forceful strokes, yet easily parried, not to attack -- but to wear down the strength of the younger Jedi, to test his endurance.

The Arkanian's face was as unemotive as if etched from Ice. It showed no compassion, no impact, no anger. But even if the face itself formed no expression, there was pain written in it. Nowadays, there was always pan written in it -- in the deep creases of his brow, the hollow set of his jaw, the agonized light in the opaque white eyes. Rembrant had once stood in the shoes of the Jedi. He had once faced his own nightmares, his own enemies of the Order as this Jedi now faced. But this time... Rembrant was on the opposite side. Perhaps the pain came from knowledge of his own darkness, or perhaps his past had convoluted him beyond this mercy. But for now, at this moment, the Jedi was merely an obstacle -- an obstacle to be overcome.

[Rugs]

{Whoops! Sorry it took so long ><}

Sweat started to form on Locke's brow as he moved through the mist, firing with as much precision as one could expect to have with such poor visibility. Or, perhaps the liquid that as gathering was left over from the slowly-dissipating fog, which was leaving a number of things in the large hall/room moist. There was certainly a dampness seeping into his robes... Or maybe that was his sweat... Point was, the hall was wet. Locke hadn't the time to think about what was making him wet in particular, though. Not against an opponent like this, unless he wanted to end up dead. Coincidentally, he didn't want to end up dead. He'd heard it was rather unpleasant.

Still, he continued on with his attacks, though the sound of bolts hitting the Arkanian's lightsaber told him he wasn't making any headway. Frustration started to rear its ugly little head in some dark corner of Locke's mind, but he put it down before the emotion could find a place to take root and grow into something that would be a problem. He couldn't expect things to be easy here, but by the Force it would be so nice. But no, being an in-the-field Jedi means I have to do difficult things, he thought grimly as he squeezed of another round. Maybe I should apply to work in the Archives instead. Boring perhaps, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with this. Locke persevered, though, settling into that grim obstinace that'd seen him through so many difficult situations before. He'd see his way through this. How, he didn't know, but he'd do it.

The sound of a muttered threat, followed by the ruckus of something being torn apart drew his attention, brining his string of attacks to a halt, if only for a moment. His skin took on an orange tint as his blade went up defensively, in a sort of instinctive withdrawal into himself. Whatever the noise was wasn't directed at him, so it seemed. At least, not for the time being. There was no doubt in his mind that his milky-eyed friend had a part to play in it, though. Part of him was tempted to rush forward, with the hope that the demon he was facing would be preoccupied with whatever he was up to, leaving an opening in his defenses. That would be foolish though, and, more likely than not, end with one very dead Locke Nemsee. So instead, he went back to what he'd been doing: shooting as best he could into the fog and praying to whatever gods would listen that he could get a hit in.

Perhaps one of those gods smiled on his effort, because the sound of a pained hiss from deeper within the foggy room came forward. It was a welcome sound after the near-constant back and forth of his shots ringing forth, only to be answered by the hum of the Arkanian's saber as they were knocked harmlessly away. Good, he's not invincible, then. If I just stay calm, I can do this. No time was wasted in continuing his assault, though if any other bolts hit, the Arkanian gave no audible sign of it.

Locke found himself moving forward as the mist started to clear; forward towards his foe, towards the crossing of their blades that he knew was inevitable. The outline of the Arkanian's broad-shouldered figure was visible now, a stark contrast to Locke's own, which was lean and slender, and built for speed, rather than power. He hoped he could use whatever advantage he might have in that area to even the odds against the Arkanian's obviously greater strength and technical skill. The Force only knew Locke would need to use every advantage he could find.

His shots came to a halt once he came within five or so paces of the Arkanian, and none too soon. They were both moving toward each other, and that distance was closed much too fast for Locke's liking. To be sure, the only thing that probably saved him from suddenly being short one blaster (or hand, for that matter) was the habit he'd developed over the years of wielding a blaster in one hand while keeping his saber in the other. The Arkanian's strike at his firearm missed, though it was a very near thing. Locke's footwork echoed those of some of the finest dances in Coruscanti theatre as he moved, weaving this way and that, desperately trying to keep Rembrant's blade from either his weapon or his body.

Unfortunately, that same wetness that was growing on his body now coated the floor, and he was so occupied on staying in one piece that his mind slipped. He slipped with it. Fate was apparently trying to make up for his lucky hit on the Arkanian earlier, as the slip came at the worst possible time. The dark blue blade lashed out, and though Locke parried the strike, the sudden unwanted shift in his weight made everything go awry, and in doing so, his parry only made things worse.

Rembrant's saber was caught and held on his, but as Locke started to fall to the side, his saber was forced in by the Arkanian's superior strength, and he gasped in surprise when he felt the tip of the blue blade drag across his left side, near his ribs. Thankfully, the fall pulled him away from it, but even a glancing blow from a lightsaber was extraordinarily painful.

Locke landed roughly as the blaster clattered across the floor. His expression distorted into a mask of pain, but he wasn't given much time. Before he could really fathom what was going on, another strike went out toward him. He rolled on instinct alone, and the Arkanian's blade found the floor, rather than his head. Locke was forced onto the defensive then, working feverishly to fend off blow after unrelenting blow--a process that, after a few moments was starting to wear on him. He hadn't the physical strength to compete with the Arkanian already, which was troublesome in and of itself, but his poor positioning, coupled with the way that Rembrant seemed to be working with the intent of eroding his strength away, had the potential to be absolutely devastating.

So he acted. As Rembrant's onslaught continued, Locke's mind worked, seeking some sort of pattern in the way the blows fell. It took longer than Locke would have liked (which is to say a few moments), but he found one. Exploiting it for what he had in mind would be difficult, but he was sure it could work. And if it didn't he'd be screwed. Of course, the Knight was screwed if he didn't do anything, so he threw caution to the wind and set things into motion.

A tempo came alive in his head; triple metered, with each of Rembrant's slashes marking a beat. When one imaginary measure ended, Locke shot his orange saber up to meet Rembrant's blue, rather than keeping it near to him and waiting to parry it. The hope was that it would be enough to cause some hesitation, or at the very least, throw Rembrant off, if only for a half a second; Locke didn't need much time, but he did need some time. One.

As his blade lashed out, so too did his right foot, at one of Rembrant's knee. Locke was turned to the side a bit, so if the kick landed, it'd be the heel of his foot that connected, and the side of Rembrant's knee that took the blow. And, by this point, his trick with his saber would have run its course, and Rembrant's blade would more than likely be moving at him again, either by sheer brute strength or through some other method of getting around Locke's weapon. Two.

Locke called on the Force, doing what he could to speed his movements as the third beat began, and with all that he had in him, he rolled off to the side, hoping to get just out of the range of Rembrant's lightsaber before bounding to his feet. He came to a stop in a wide stance, bracing himself to keep from falling back down and ending up in the same situation. The wound in his side hadn't agreed at all with the way he'd been moving, and he grimaced deeply and clutched at it with his free hand as another wave of pain rolled out of it.

His hair was a sweaty mess, much like his robes, and he was panting heavily as his studied Rembrant. The corded, wiry muscles in his arms burned from having to keep Rembrant's lightsaber at bay for so long, but he was still alive. For the time being. He wasn't sure if he could make it out alive on his own, though. But if he could just waste enough time for the lawmen to arrive...

"Hey, hey, wait," he called around his heavy breaths. "There's no need for this, right? Ok, well, I know I'm the one that started the fight, but can you blame me? I mean, you probably would have attacked me if I didn't attack you, so..." This wasn't helping. "Look, er... whatever your name is, we've got the same goal here, right? You want the Hutt, for whatever reason, and I want the Hutt, by order of the Republic. There's no need for you to kill little ol' me just because I'm working for the Republic and just happen to be after the same slug as you, right?" He offered Rembrant a smile, though his teeth were pressed together to keep from yelling obscenities from the pain of the saber burn.

"How about this: I am willing to let you come on as an interrogator once we take the Hutt in. That way, you get to cause him misery in payment for whatever the hell it was he did to make you so angry, and I get to leave alive. Everyone wins! So, what do you say?"

A quick tug of the Force brought his pistol back to his hand, and Locke set it into the holster once more with a short flourish. The offer was a move of desperation; proud though he may have been, Locke did not want to fight this fight alone. But maybe, just maybe, if he could keep Rembrant busy long enough, the others would be able to arrive, and then it would (hopefully) be easy work from there.

Locke wasn't stupid though. Ballsy perhaps, but not stupid. His saber never deviated from its defensive stance, and even as he spoke, his hold on the Force was deep, and ready to defend himself at a moment's notice.

Maybe his little ploy of drawing Rembrant into talking would work. It probably wouldn't, but Locke could dream, right?

[Twysper]

ROUND ONE, TWO, THREE.


RembINTENSITY: 4/5rant Vorte - Kellaishleya
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 4/5

Coolness: 4/5
Bonus:

Comments: Description nice, fairness better, REMBRANT SO INTENSE.


Locke Nemsee - Rugs
Effort: 4/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 4/5
INTENSITY: 1/5
Coolness: 2/5
Bonus:

Comments: Verreh fair, effort 4/5 for taking so long to post (), detail good, Locke lost points in 'Intensity' and 'Coolness' for offering to parley/be more diplomatic. Liek, rly Rugs?

...Rly?

Total:

Kellaishleya: 57

Rugs: 53

Overall comments: YOU WILL NOW BE GRADED ON YOUR INTENSITY

[Kella]

Experience was a powerful ally. It imbued one with strength and power. Strength and Power were even more powerful allies.

Rembrant's allies drove the Jedi to the ground. The wetness of the floor was both advantage and enemy, as things always were with the Dark Side. It had felled the Jedi, but it prevented Rembrant from planting his weight, and bearing down on the Jedi with an unblockable blow. As it were, the Dark Jedi continued forceful strokes, continued to erode the Jedi. Even a Soresu master could be defeated by exhaustion. Rembrant should know -- he was one. The choice paid off -- Rembrant landed a hit to the human's side.

As soon as Rembrant heard the Jedi's blaster fall to the floor, he pounced upon the oportunity. It came at the cost of dealing a heavy, decisive blow to the Jedi on the floor, but Rembrant was no prideful fool, and he knew a single blaster bold could be his undoing. There was no time to do anything more than to shove a wedge between two parts of the blaster, disengaging the powercell, but this Rembrant did, and he would have to rely on his other skills to make it enough.

Makashi was a steady, rhythmic form. This was one of the reasons Rembrant had chosen to study it -- there was an art and a music to its strikes. But with so many things, Makashi's greatest strength was its greatest weakness. Rembrant genuinely had not predicted the blow to his knee, and he stumbled. Perhaps, then, this Jedi deserved a modicum of respect, for having listened to and heard the rhythm of Rembrant's Makashi. Rembrant recovered his footing, posture mirrored by the Jedi, who was now on his feet, with saber in defensive stance.

In a moment, the young human lost all of Rembrant's respect. Pity.

"Hey, hey, wait," he said. "There's no need for this, right?"

He was actually trying to reason? What were the Jedi teaching these days? Obviously, if Rembrant had taken the initiative to attack first, he had no interest whatsoever in sharing custody of the... witness. This human knew nothing about revenge. A Jedi should at least understand the motivations of his enemies, for within that knowledge is advantage. Perhaps he had assumed that Rembrant was most other users of the Dark Side. Rash, fickle, and prideful. There had never been a falser assumption. If the human had fallen prey to such -- well, that was his problem.

Rembrant listened patiently to him. Patronizingly patient.

"So, what do you say?"

"You call yourself a Jedi," Rembrant growled. "The Jedi I remember took their fates like men. Sniveling and bartering used to be for my kind. Jedi face their deaths without fear. You, human," he spat, "Are no Jedi."

Rembrant angled his saber to attack."Perhaps you will change that now. Or perhaps I will save the Order the trouble."

The Jedi had re-holstered his blaster, but this did not phase the Arkanian. The human had put up a defensive stance; it was time to change games. A grim disgust set Rembrant's jaw. Disgust at this human for what he had just done. Disgust at himself for what he was about to do. Rembrant whispered alluring words to the Force, bidding it to do his dark will. It agreed. Rembrant wouldn't fool himself -- it obeyed because it wanted to, like a master slips bacon to a begging pet. But for now, it moved to his beckon, and a powerful gust of darkness caught the few droplets that still hung in the air and poised to strike the Jedi in the abdomen, just below the ribcage. The blow was intended to knock the air out of the Jedi, to interrupt that vital process, breathing, long enough to disarm and incapacitate the Jedi.

Immediately, Rembrant followed this by planting his left foot, raising his right as he shifted his balance, then lashing out in a straightforward kick, toward whatever part of the Jedi's skeleton was closest. His intent; to overwhelm and stagger. It came at a cost, though, as all things did. Rembrant's own balance would be vulnerable. He quickly began to lower his right foot, to anchor his stance again. But he could not avoid that moment of vulnerability.

And sometimes, a moment is all it takes.

[Rugs]

"No, no, Arkanian," Locke shot back, with touches of heat playing at the edge of his voice. "I am a pragmatist, first and foremost. Honor and pride and all that means nothing when you're dead. Nothing. So you can take your honor, take your pride and your manliness and shove it up your ass when you get off of that high horse you're, riding, but I will work to see another day. You know why?" He snarled at the change in the set of Rembrant's jaw The man's disdain was obvious, but Locke cared not a whit about that.

"Because while people like you are rotting in your graves, blathering on to each other about how brave and how gallant you were, I will live on, and I will continue to do my duty to the Republic. I will continue to fight, and I will continue to serve, while you fade to be little more than a memory." For a moment his expression mirrored Rembrant's, and he spat on the floor. It was off and to the side, but it was still very obviously in Rembrant's direction. "Dead men do no one any good, Arkanian."

He grunted irritably, and decided he'd spoken enough for the time being. Though he would never admit it aloud, Rembrant's words hurt. They bit deep, deeper than the lightsaber he wielded could ever hope to. And they infuriated Locke. Who was Rembrant to judge Locke? How could he know of the pain and the suffering he'd been through, or for the sacrifices he'd made, all for the sake of the Republic? Many things could be used to describe Locke Nemsee, but he was not a coward. Of course, Rembrant probably didn't know of the strike team that, even as they spoke, was moving up, up through the tower and toward the Hutt. Locke smirked at that. Perhaps he'd fall to the Arkanian here, before they arrived, but the team was large, and well armed. They'd get in, and if Rembrant stole the Republic's prize away before they could grasp it? Well, he seemed a capable sort. He could deal with it on his own.

But Locke couldn't waste more time contemplating what might come in the near future. No, Locke could feel Rembrant drawing the Force to him, and so he did the same. Whatever the outcome of the battle might be, time was short. The bell would toll for one of them, or both of them, but Locke had no intentions of going down easy. Not to this holier-than-thou fool of a man. And if he had to waste time for his comrades to arrive and lend aid to defeat the Arkanian, then so be it, but he would show Rembrant in the end.

He began to call the Force to his hand, hoping to strike out at Rembrant before the Dark Jedi could do the same. Unfortunately, he was too late. Rembrant's strike was launched before Locke could finish, and all the young Jedi could do was steel his will to keep from losing what energy he'd already built up.

The blow landed, unhindered. Oh sure, it knocked the air from him like it was nothing, but beyond that, it hurt. It hurt a lot, like someone hand physically taken him and slammed their fist into his stomach. He bent over, his face a mask of pain to go with the pained gasp that escaped him, but his built up energy in the Force held. Barely. It wouldn't for long. Before Locke could react, Rembrant attacked again, slamming his foot into Locke's chest with enough Force to take him off of his feet for a moment. And when that blow landed, Locke's concentration on holding his halfway-prepared attack faltered, and it burst out from his hand. If there was any solace to be gained from the whole experience, it might come from the way that, when he was shoved back by Rembrant's foot, his arms were moved forward; as such, his hand was toward Rembrant when the burst was released. It wasn't near the strongest blat that Locke could have made--how could it be, unfinished as it was? Truthfully, as he slammed back into the wall and slumped to the ground in a violently coughing heap, he didn't care. If something good came of it then, great, but that was far from the first thing on Locke's mind.

Each cough brought a sharp pain with it, and Locke had the creeping suspicion that Rembrant's kick, forceful as it was, had broken a rib. Well, if he managed to get away with just one broken rib, he'd count himself lucky.

I'm going to die.

The thought came almost of its own account, as he opened a steely eye to look at his foe. His hand tightened around his lightsaber hilt, as if grasping it for enough strength to carry on, just long enough to see this to the end. Strangely enough, there was no mental protest at the thought, only a sort of calm acceptance. Of course, none of his injuries, painful as they were, were lethal, but the difference between Rembrant and himself were obvious. If he could not buy enough time, for the other men to arrive, he was through. But still, even if he was slain before they got there...

"You think you're gonna get away from this, don't you?" Defiance filled his eyes as looked at Rembrant dead in his milky white ones and laughed. "After all, what's this fight to you? Kill the Jedi that's half your age, do whatever it is you're here to do to the Hutt and then leave. Easy, right?" As he spoke, he reached out, stretching little telekinetic fingers to one of the pieces of metal that fell from the wall when Rembrant destroyed the mechanism that opened the doors. It was decent enough in size. And most importantly of all, it had a sharp point, where two of the edges came together in a corner. It would do.

"An easy kill, with an easy escape to follow it," he continued as he did his task. Locke groaned as he slowly pushed himself to his feet, straining to the edge of his will to keep forcing his preparations onward. "But you're dead wrong if you think that's the way this is going to work." He presented an almost pitiful figure, leaning against the wall with one hand, side clutched in the other. But his eyes never left Rembrant, and whatever fire might have been lacking in his posture burned hot and bright within them. "You think I came alone? To a job of this scale? Do you know how much time I've put into this investigation? Or how much time the authorities that were working before me put into it?"

Again, he laughed, and for a moment, he feared that madness might have been touching him, but he didn't care. "NO! Even as I sit here, wasting my time with you, who, if I may add, weren't supposed to be here, there's a team moving up to our location. And they'll arrive, friend. They'll arrive, and they'll find you. And they'll ruin you." More sweat was starting to form on his brow, and his voice was strained, from the effort of standing up and the effort of holding onto his attack, but he refused to strike before he'd had his say.

"Or maybe you'll get through them. Well, lucky you then, but do you think that will be the end of it? We didn't come here to play a game, Arkanian." He laughed again--a noise that was more a whimper than anything else. There were more officers waiting down below, covering all of the ways out of the tower. This raid was massive, and they wouldn't be willing to let anything slip through; not even the Arakanian. "Kill me. Make me face my fate 'like a man,' if you wish, but even if you do," in a move that almost brought him to his knees, he summoned a small, pathetic burst of the Force to the hand that had been holding him up and let it fly at Rembrant. He had no delusions that would do anything, but if it could just distract Rembrant for a heartbeat, as his other hand twitched, lifting the metal piece from the ground and sending it hurtling toward the Arkanian, point first, it would be enough. "You're through."

[Twysper]

ROUND ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR.


Rembrant Vorte - Kellaishleya
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
INTENSITY: 3/5
Coolness: 4/5
Bonus:

Comments: Solid post, very nice, although Remmy came off as far too overly cocky for someone of his experience to me, which makes Intensity mreh. =3


Locke Nemsee - Rugs
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
INTENSITY: 4/5
Coolness: 4/5
Bonus: +2

Comments: There's something about last stands against a superior foe... Something about how you always write especially well in those situations, Rugs. =3


Total:

Kellaishleya: 79

Rugs: 78

Overall comments: Errrr... >.> I apologize for my relatively eccentric grading/whims last time?

...anyoneknowhowintensityendupinremmy'sname?

[Kella]

((FTR: There was a ripple in the time-space continuum, and despite the fact that the calendar says it is Sep 8, in reality, only two weeks have passed. That is all.))

"Dead men do no one any good, Arkanian."

Rembrant shook his head ever so slightly, in a way that both acknowledged and dismissed. "You don't die for yourself. You die for those left behind. Think on that."

Lower, almost indecipherable, he added, "And when you have none left behind, you die for nothing."

Rembrant's attack hit dead-on. As the Jedi fell, Rembrant felt a push in the force wash diffusely over him -- enough to move the air, but not quite enough to persuade the denser matter.

The Jedi was slumped against the wall, and Rembrant could hear the labor in his breath. There was a time when Rembrant would have felt compassion, comradeship for this man. But reminiscing over that wasn't worth the effort. The Jedi's back-up was a new variable, but new did not make it threatening. He could keep them at bay long enough to extract the caveats from the Hutt and dissolve into the shadows. And if he couldn't, death would solve all his problems, and that was just as well.

Locke finished his monologue.

"Time?" He demanded, with a painfully wry smirk. "Time. So much of your time. Time isn't yours or anyone else's, and it doesn't heal. It doesn't hurt. We're dust, you and I. Your lifetime. Mine. We're just vapor on the wind. A flash. In the end, we're pawns of the force. You have all your friends, but Jedi have survived worse assaults from Sith, but nobody pays that a second mind."

Rembrant felt the stirring in the Force behind him, the whispers and the movements lighting clear as day in his mind's eye. A light push came at him from the Jedi's direction. It was a valiant last effort. Sloppy, yes, but it showed a certain level of determination. It demanded a certain level of respect.

But respect was not enough to stop Rembrant from pulling the air into his manipulation, like clay in his hands. He shaped it, thickened it. With the air he caught the shard, and with his mind's eye he locked onto it.

He turned ever so slightly and held out his hand -- the chunk of metal landed neatly within his fingers, wrist absorbing the rest of the impact. Rembrant turned back to the Jedi, and looked at it thoughtfully.

"If the Force wills it, I will die. If the force wills it, I will live. I have been through ever since my life became forfeit to the ethereal. But the Force goes on." He turned the jagged metal over in his hand. The hum of his still-ignited saber filled the silence.

"Such a fickle, fickle thing, the Force." There was no smugness now. Only remorse. Remorse and hate. "It would let me, a murderer, a thief, a wraith live," he tossed the twisted metal at the Jedi's feet, then looked him square in the face. "And it would let the Jedi die."

The phantoms didn't care, they didn't care if he liked it or not, so long as he obeyed. So they did not rebuke, but rather whispered, and urged. They caressed the edges of his thoughts, pulling them and tugging them into line. He could sense the other presences in the distance, and then less of a distance; the promised team. And he could also sense the phantoms wandering towards them, hissing and spitting. They were his hated protectors, his despised guardians.

"Yet it seems, today, that as such is to be. And who am I to argue?"

Rembrant flipped his lightsaber to a reverse grip, in one fluid movement, stepping towards the Jedi. He loomed.

"To die by the blade. That is the most I can give you."

And so the blade like a viper lunged.

[Rugs]

{FINAL POST TIME! EIGHT MONTHS LATER!

I finally get around to writing the entire reason I signed up for this thing xDDD So sorry for the wait, guys}

There were times, though they were rare, when Locke felt the desire to cave, to just throw his hands up and quit. There were times when things seemed so crazed, so lost beyond his ability to do anything about them that there didn't seem to be any feasible way to make it through. But he always scraped by, always found a way to survive.

On Alderaan, when it seemed an entire city was set against him and his student, he'd found a way to save the girl that needed saving.

On Rhen Var, when he and his fellow Blades had been trapped with their backs to the wall against an overwhelming tide of Sith invaders, he'd found ways to avoid the fate that befell so many other Jedi.

On Druckenwell, in the stadium that had erupted into chaos when the Sith tried to kill the Chancellor, when he'd been pushed into a fight against a Sith who could have--and should have--killed him, he'd survived.

The Force had always seen him through, always let him live to fight on for another day. So surely, surely it would see him through here? Surely the Force would send some way of escape, give some measure of relief to help him survive against this man that was so far beyond his ability to handle on his own.

No.

He felt tears gently welling in his eyes when Rembrant plucked the twisted metal shard from the air, as if it had been thrown to him in a game. And when that shard was plucked, so too was Locke's last hope. His last hope of killing the Arkanian, or at least of distracting him enough to make an escape. Or enough to do something that wouldn't end with him dying.

But no, not this time. The force would not see him through this battle.

I'm going to die. Sweat slicked his palms. The pit of his stomach twisted into a knot. I'm really going to die.

"Such a fickle, fickle thing, the Force. It would let me, a murderer, a thief, a wraith live." The Arakanian tossed that broken metal--tossed Locke's final hope--to the ground. It clattered across the still-wet floor and came to rest at the toe of his boot. For a moment, Locke simply stared at it.

"And it would let the Jedi die."

Grey eyes, the color of distant thunderheads slowly lifted to look at Rembrant. Fear blazed behind them, then faded, only to be replaced by resignation. It was over. There was nothing else he could do. Offer some final pitiful fight, but the end result wouldn't change. He was too weary, his body too battered to continue to fight this demon; simply breathing was painful enough.

"Yet it seems, today, that as such is to be. And who am I to argue?"

"So it seems," he said softly, weakly. With a final press of will, he pushed himself from the wall he'd been leaning on to stood on his own waning strength. He met Rembrant's gaze evenly, defiantly staring him in his milky eyes. If this was to be his fate, he'd take it as a Jedi should, not like some sniveling coward.

"To die by the blade. That is the most I can give you."

Locke nodded once.

The blade lunged.

Fire erupted in his core. He looked down to see blue beam of light had impaled him in the chest. A gasp broke his lips as he staggered forward, his hands working on their own accord and clutching at those of the Arkanian. He gasped again as he felt his life start to leave him and gave a final look up into the face of the demon that would so abruptly usher him into the next life.

And then he fell away out of life and into the arms of the Force.