Rikkavi vs Fenn Soran

[DreadPirateMike]

Sorry, folks!  No blood feuds or hostage situations this time!  Just a couple Jedi in training, looking to sharpen their skills.  Well, one of them is.  The other is mostly just there in hopes of ducking any actual chores that might otherwise get handed down to him.  Either way, soft colors, rounded edges and a serene view of the verdant Temple gardens all accentuate the point that this is simply a safe and friendly bout between colleagues.  The trio of blaster remotes hovering over the proceedings break up the mood a bit, but let's be honest.  If the life of a Jedi was ACTUALLY relaxing, we wouldn't be reading about it.

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Rikkavi didn't anticipate anything particularly useful coming out of this little exercise, but then that didn't make it much different from any other lightsaber training.  Not that he'd dare repeat that sentiment to Verity, of course.

Of course he was amazed by her talent and power, every time he saw his master move, and grateful on top of it; already, his own skill had advanced further and faster under her instruction than he'd have guessed possible.  And as his control with the Jedi weapon improved, his old fear of the damn thing continued to diminish.  But no amount of training or familiarity would ever be able to banish his distaste for the thing.  He still harbored his private skepticism that he'd ever make for a real Jedi, but if he did, then his idea of a successful career as a Jedi was one in which he never used a lightsaber.

Whatever ritual importance they built around a lightsaber, it was still a weapon, designed for much the same purpose as any other implement of death, and a good deal more effective at it than most.  Knowing what this "elegant" and "civilized" weapon could do to the poor soul on the receiving end, the thought of actually using it on another sentient being was "nauseating".  Jho obviously believed, as did Verity, that it was a nobler tool, and since Jho would know all about tools, Rikkavi had had no issue with helping his friend build his own lightsaber.  But as far as Rikkavi himself...there was, in fact, a reason why at 16, the Battlemaster's apprentice still hadn't constructed a proper lightsaber.

As for the specific help that Fenn hoped for from him, he was frankly even more skeptical about that.  Insights into how to fight Verity, even in a controlled exhibition match?  His immediate response had been "Watch what we do, then try anything else.".  Fenn had seemed unimpressed, but he still wasn't sure he had anything better to offer.  Separately, he and Jho got overpowered almost immediately.  Together, they just got in each other's way more often than not, but even on their good days, when they advanced together and tried to support each other...they'd still never come even close.

But what the hell.  It was Fenn's skill that his master would try to gauge, not his.  And Verity had trained him.  It seemed reasonable to conclude that something of her technique would be present in his.  Maybe he'd think of some advice on the fly, and if not, maybe he'd give it anyway.  Somehow.

"Start up the toys whenever you like, nurse." he jabbed, igniting his saber and assuming a basic low guard.  "But if you're waiting for me to make the first move, I hope you brought snacks."

[lion]

The best way to gain insight about a teacher, is through the students.

The proverb had been perhaps one of the only that Master Torell had imparted during his tenure as the Bothan's educator that Fenn could truly comprehend. The old human's habit of throwing cryptic half-phrases generally leading the young man to confusion more often than wisdom, but when they found their mark, it was perhaps clearer than polished transparisteel; there was no denying the logic the phrase carried. 

Thus had been the young Fenn Soran's answer to the question of advice, regarding the looming Trial of Skill ahead. Crossing blades with undoubtedly the Order's foremost duelist was far from what sounded like a fun task, something more akin to a criminal's sanctioned punishment rather than a means of real education, but it had been with alarming speed that the young Bothan apprentice had found his answer.

Facing off against the Jedi Battlemaster was no different to treating a patient or repairing a lightsaber; there was a problem, a process of scrutiny and learning of the problem, and applying the correct course of action to rectify the problem. In a patient, no treatment could be given without diagnosis, and thus no satisfactory results could come from ignorance. Rather than panic and blindly attempt to face the test before him, Fenn instead opted for a closer look at what he was up against, to thus learn the best avenue through which to proceed.

It was perhaps a little insulting to bring Battlemaster Vyshaan down to the level of a bacterial infection or virus, but the little burst of cynical 'too-wrong-to-not-laugh' amusement at the thought was likewise hard to deny. Of course, there was no doubt that the lofty Jedi Master would have probably made the test just that much more punishing for even suspecting such thoughts, but a man headed to the metaphorical gallows wasn't exactly going to spare a bit of levity.

And what better way to start the diagnosis, to gain a real insight into Battlemaster Vyshaan's skills, than to meet and spar with her students? It wasn't unreasonable to expect some differences between master and student, but so deeply tied together that the two were in Jedi education, crossover of skill and method wasn't by any means unreasonable. Her apprentices, the Selonian Rikkavi and the Devaronian Jho'zol'fura would both likely exhibit some form or another of their Master's teachings and personal preferences solely through emulation.

At least, that was the hope, anyway.

Tracking down Rikkavi hadn't exactly proven difficult, but convincing the Selonian to even agree to the attempt had seemed equivalent in effort to trying to move a sun with only one's hands. The otter-featured teenager was as lazy as the Council was wise; it had taken the promise of 'as much flatcakes as I can get a hold of' paired with 'you won't have to do much' to get the younger Jedi to go along with it. The big guns, of course, were the lingering knowledge that Fenn had been the medic responsible for patching the Selonian back together during the apprentice's scuffle with their Devaronian counterpart, but it was hardly worthy conduct for a Healer to coerce in such a way.

And, of course, having word like that potentially get back to Master Caelum, well; the Master Healer had a tongue that could put lightsabers to shame for its sting. Rumours like that were often untrue, of course, but Fenn Soran wasn't about willing to risk his furs on it.

Standing across the piste from Rikkavi, the five-foot Bothan could only feel his fur shudder and his facial muscles tug into something of an amused little smirk, as the younger padawan's voice stirred him back to reality. The subdued tones of the training room, contrasting with the vibrant greens of the courtyard gardens through the viewports to the left of the chamber, seemed almost calming in their way; quickly shifting out of one's attention in favour of the other objects in the room.

Patiently, the Selonian stood; the trio of spheroid training remotes buzzing patently in their stand-by pattern, waiting the ignition of the duelists' blades to register before committing to their own programmed routines.

"Alright, calm down. Besides, I bet you're hoping I brought snacks regardless, right?" Fenn jibed back with a chuckle; the shorter Padawan's tapered ears flicking momentarily before his right arm fell to his belt. A careful grip of the fingers and a snap of the wrist tidily plucked the lightsaber from its loop; the near featureless metallic tube partway disappearing into the furry hand of its master.

And with the press of a thumb to a button, the beam of plasma flashed to life. Sunset-light glowed around the sharply formed white core, almost jarringly so, as the weapon hummed in idle patience. The weapon's power was low; training exercises did not require the sheer cutting power the deadly objects were capable of, and live-blade practice fencing was often reserved only for the masters. The lightsaber was, after all, a weapon; its ability to end life at a flick and cause grievous trauma meant it was to be at all times treated with respect and care; so too the training partner on the other end of it.

"I did, by the way, just so you don't panic. But those come after some exercise." The Bothan jibed, shifting his posture into the ever-reliable 'Jedi Ready' stance, bringing his dominant right leg back and the low-power blade into a right to left, hip to shoulder guard. Mischief poured into the mirthful little grin, twisting it into a wry little smirk. "I don't want to have to start prescribing you insulin shots, after all."

The first attack was Fenn's, and with a sudden snap in motion, the Bothan lunged forward into striking range from his three-step distance, bringing the lightsaber forward for a gauging thrust, only to whip back and around from right to left in a mid-line horizontal sweep; probing the Selonian's defense.

[DreadPirateMike]

Rikkavi's eye, while technically trained, was hardly the high precision tool of observation, missing very little, that the masters were known to possess. Still, though the bout had only just started, Fenn's technique had been on display even before his weapon had gone active. It was hard to put into words, exactly, but something about the way he'd drawn the saber from his belt just seemed oddly effortless and precise, as if even that small detail of his technique had been practiced and re-practiced with a diligence that bordered on the obsessive. The impression was very much confirmed as Fenn assumed a Form V stance which may as well have come direct from the training manuals.

Rikkavi's movements, by comparison, were basic and half disinterested. He may as well have been fetching a wrench out of a toolbox for all the thought and care with which he'd plucked the cylinder from his belt.

Not that there was anything wrong with basic, mind. For all his reluctance to handle the damn thing, Rikkavi usually managed well enough with a lightsaber, at least among his peer group. And that was precisely because like right now, he didn't actually do that much. He'd found his philosophical match in Form III, but most of his actual technique was still rooted in Form I, and its various target zones. So long as he could remain face to face with an opponent and mostly ditched the idea of attack, devoting all his focus to simply protecting those zones, all he had to do was imagine a little box in front of him. Its limits were defined by his torso, and his lightsaber never left that box, in fact moved around as little as possible even inside it. That way, he could virtually guarantee he was doing less work than the other guy.

Less work was where he thrived.

Fenn's initial thrust was pushed off to the side, and when it was withdrawn, Rikkavi's yellow blade simply returned automatically to the center of the box, from which it only had to move another few inches to stop the follow up swing. In a perfect world, all he'd have to do was stand there and keep half-assing it until his opponent grew tired or quit in resentful irritation, as was his favorite way of beating Jho at Dejarik. But the closer he was to his sparring partner, the less time he had to react to any attempted feint or other fancy maneuver. And besides, close quarters favored he shorter Bothan. And with those damned remotes to think about...he needed to create space, and keep it to win.

Little of this deceptively trained consideration showing on his face, he followed up his block with a wide slash at Fenn's chest, aimed at creating an opening for him to retreat a couple steps and put his sword between them.

"Yeah, so I don't think distracting Verity with trash talk is in the cards for you. Besides, I've got my diet well in hand. Most of the bad stuff comes from stressing about it anyway."

[lion]

The Selonian might have been lazy, might have been a layabout, but there was no denying he had at least some measure of control when it came to the fight; the taller apprentice's yellow beam working a tight and careful deflective pattern as Fenn's blade dared to edge in. A careful push followed by another, with elbows tucked to the body, Rikkavi's body language was all defence and response; Form III through and through.

The knowledge was instantaneous for Fenn; whilst the Bothan himself had no formal grounding in the art of Soresu, the young adult could almost immediately pick the form out regardless. Soresu was, after all, one of the building blocks of both Ataru and Shien/Djem So, with many of the former's techniques and stances still appearing in its descendant styles.

Shien itself, perhaps, was the closest expression to Soresu without actually becoming it, Fenn had found; if Soresu was pure defence, Shien was offensive defence. Many had referred to Shien as simply Soresu with the mindset of competition borrowed from Makashi, the idea of continuous engagement, but the Bothan had always found the form to be more akin to Soresu merely with initiative; at all times defending one's self, but never remaining idle enough to solely rely on that defence. 

The thought made the bout perhaps both a little easier, and a little harder; the pair were almost diametric opposites of a similar fighting philosophy, their moves almost the same, merely with a differing intent. Both young men favoured a good defence as the best offence; the only difference was the level of degree their styles allowed in just how much passivity was tolerable.

Letting his wrists gently slacken to take the impact and roll as his lightsaber battered against Rikkavi's own, nudged aside and out of the intended line, Fenn almost instantly recovered; guiding his lightsaber away from the engagement and quickly back into line with his body much in the way the Selonian had; covering as much of himself as he could. However, rather than tight and close, Fenn's guard seemed far more loose; distant, claiming and threatening more of the space between the two men.

Whether it was simply rote instinct or guidance through the Force, however, the return to guard was a prudent move for the Bothan, as the taller Corellian-borne Jedi launched into an attack of his own; a haphazard, wide horizontal swipe against his middle line.

A simple attack but one backed by some strength, Fenn wasted no time in beating a retreat; rearing away with a sudden backward lunge to carry himself further out of the reach of the yellow beam arcing toward him. Rather than directly block, as Soresu would have demanded, Fenn instead allowed footwork to carry him out of harm's way, using his blade instead to secure the opportunity given to him.

No sooner did Rikkavi's lightsaber pass the apex of its swing, carving through the space that had just momentarily prior contained Fenn's chest, did the Bothan's orange lightsaber come soaring through in something halfway between a thrust and a cut, catching and grinding with a sudden sputter of sparks the Selonian's blade on the 'back' side, just below the tip of the beam. Rather than meet force against force, the Bothan instead applied force with Rikkavi's own, using what leverage he could to further unbalance the taller Jedi by pushing his blade further along its path.

It was Shien 101; opportunity and counter-attack, turning incoming offence into outgoing offence, and whilst it wasn't exactly deflecting a blaster bolt, Fenn's application was nonetheless following line with the philosophy. Had it not been for the interference of one of the spheroid drones, hovering in their excited and erratic patterns about the duel, the Bothan would have switched gears and leapt into the offensive; sweeping low to capitalise on the Selonian's compromised position.

Instead, cutting his attack far short, the nagging pull of the Force ripped Fenn's lightsaber from its restraining position and brought it across his body in a lightning-fast twist, from right-low to left-high in the blink of an eye, catching in mid-flight the yellow-amber bolt of plasma hurtling for his face. Rather than burning fur and skin, the beam bounced from the lightsaber, spring like, changing angle at blinding speed, splashing with a series of sparks and the stink of burned cloth and plastic the satchel Fenn had brought to the fight.

Momentarily surprised, Fenn reared back and yielded ground, taking a halfstep out of the Selonian's reach, a slightly amused if nervous expression on the older jedi's face perhaps shedding away some of the maturity expected of an on-the-cusp Knight.

"I uh...Hope you don't mind your snack a little burned?"