Tuljima vs. Ilia

[Squee]

Arena:



BIGGER PICTURE HERE

All right, a sparse expansion of land with a few trees it seems. You have lovely mountains to travel end to end on. sun's setting, and with the dark cloud cover rolling in, it seems to sky is blood red. This calls for a good morning should the land survive the night.
The wind is starting to blow in, bringing in also the promise of rain, if within the next hour.

Ilia Asall and Tuljima Gunslinger
Duration: Six rounds
Dark Jedi Knight vs Jedi Guardian
The one who accepted the challenge begins

LET THE GAMES BEGIN! -ding a little bell and giggles-

[EDIT] Another round was added to this duel.

[Synth]

Nei'ro once taught Ilia that nature, regardless of the planet, was one of the greatest mediums through which he could invoke The Force; The Force laid dormant in the flow of life. It woven together the fate of the smallest living organisms present in the flora and fauna, and brought together all life and inorganic matter under one solid mantle of 'energy' that flowed as it [The Force itself] saw fit.


Using nature as the gateway to deeper understanding and knowledge, Ilia travelled through the grassy sunlit plains. A crimson sky clouds the heaven; a dark cloud looms over the horizon. Showered in the colours of human blood, the skies themselves seemed to mourn in misery; their tears in the form of thick rain threatening to fall upon the plains. The air was moist but sharp... and the wind would manifest like a wet set of whips beating whatever lonely vagabond crossed its territory. Ilia was no exception even as he moved through the plains, imitating the breeze with his breath... imitating the distant mist by shrouding his presence with the force. The ambiguity of his own silhouette in the distance comforted him.

Crawling beneath his robes, the wind taunted his skin with its distant touch. Almost real, palpable, but always quick and moist... gone before the body registered the richness of its touch without texture. Ilia felt at ease with his own emotions, with himself, with nature.. despite the sight of his broken light-freighter some good yards behind him. He had done a last minute landing, and the 10 meter skid mark brushing the ground behind the broken freighter was testimony of its awkward descend. The TL-22 light freighter was 'mostly' intact, save for its broken engines and damaged hyperspace drive due to a misfunction while reaching the planet's orbit...

The rage inherent in Ilia's frustration was beyond his own understanding, but unleashing it upon the ship would only bring more misfortune. Perhaps there was still a chance for the ship...



Stopping, Ilia decided to not to drift too far away from the ship before night reached. Nights were always dangerous, regardless of the planet and much more in a planet Ilia did not know. -Right, 'cause the ship's navigational computer broke too. - It was best to loose himself amongst the tall grass blades standing erect against the sunset; standing while swaying to the rhythm of the wind's crackling whip-like motions... it blew hard, then softly, fluctuation in pressure and speed. The grass followed, threatening to cut through Ilia's flesh, but they only managed to break underneath his steps.


At the distance, he could appreciate the presence of a being gifted with the force in a manner much similar to his own. A Jedi, grey or dark, or a general force user would be quite the desert for that full course of irony Ilia swallowed once his navigational computer broke, along with his ship... Now, stranded on a distant planet, Ilia had to face adversity in the form of the unknown figurine of shadows he could appreciate in the distance. Shadows sculptured to the form of a humanoid silhouette came close; the distance dressed the figure in doubt, and Ilia's sight could not reach the details that would define the figure.


As a sign of precaution and habit of comfort, force of habit, Ilia drew his hand closer to the hilt that rested neatly at its holster. The curved hilt was squeezed lightly by his nimble fingers, fidgeting to push it away from its safety lock locked onto his belt, and onto the cradle of his palm. Once there, the hilt hummed with the promise of ignition.

Ilia projected hostility and a palpable sorrow; a consuming wrath that burned the light around him, fragmenting it, clouding Ilia's features and gaunt expression. The Force was applied, through carefully ministrations of anger, to the very light that was contained by the ambient plains. The light, once fragmented, clouded the finer details that could expose Ilia; while exposing the natue of Ilia's connection to the force. Clearly a dark side user, a dark jedi of experience, Ilia imitated the wild beasts he once confronted on Dxun by assuming their righteous flaunt of ego and power. By demonstrating a fragment of his prowess in The Force in the form of a hostile aura, Ilia build walls of distance and reclusive defiance against the figure that approached. If the being was truly a force sensitive, they would feel Ilia's presence in the force... and if not, they would feel the uncomfortable violence in the air ushering their primal and animalistic natures to run in the face of that monster that Ilia pretended to be.

Even if falsely violent, Ilia was not without some sort of grace... But , the warning was clear: 'Don't come too close...'

[Karl the Unfettered]

"Oy, shoulda done 'is a while h'ago," a tall, lanky figure muttered to himself, sitting on the foreward brace of his ship and munching on travel rations. It was a Jedi ship, one of several older Dynamic-class light freighters acquired by the Order and retrofitted by their technicians for use by other Jedi. This lanky figure, dressed in reddish Jedi robes that were stained with food and drink, looked up at the red sky, thinking back to an old rhyme from his childhood:

'Red sky at night, hunters' delight!
Red sky at morning, hunter, take warning!'

Strangely apt, given what he'd become; a Knight of the Jedi Order, skilled and dedicated even if lacking in subtlety. His name was Gunslinger, Tuljima Gunslinger.

And he was currently on vacation.

"Buncha ijits," he growled as he hopped down, thinking of the teammates he'd had to deal with on his last mission. To Nar Shaddaa, they had gone, in search of a crime lord who had stolen a prominent Senator's daughter. His two fellows were freshly Knighted; Tuljima had argued fiercely against having them along, saying their inexperience would be the mission's downfall, but the Council was adamant. They claimed he needed to learn temperance, humility, teamwork and the like, and that the new Knights would never get any experience if an older Knight didn't help them out a few times.

The mission had very nearly ended in disaster, with one of the Knights being distracted by the teeming life of the Smugglers' Moon and the other insistent on diplomacy. It had in fact ended in a bloodbath, with one of the other Jedi seriously wounded and the crime lord, along with most of his entourage, cut down by lightsaber blades; the Senator's daughter, not without a good deal of pluck herself, had shot more than a few of her former captors with a fallen hold-gun.

After debriefing, Tuljima had informed them he would be going away for some time to himself, had taken a ship, and flew off for parts distant. This planet, sparsely populated, had caught his eye, so he'd landed here without bothering to learn its name. "Mebbe I'll medi'ate," he said with a laugh, stretching his limbs and gathering the Force into himself; he then set off at a great run, a streak of color against the lowering, increasingly cloudy sky as he ran down the hills and into the vast grasslands below.

However, it wasn't long before he saw a plume of smoke, and detected a dark aura ahead. "Ehh?" he said, slowing down to get a better grip of what was ahead. "Hmm... 'nother Dar' Jedi, mebbe?" It certainly seemed hostile; lesser men would perhaps have run, but Tuljima was a Jedi Knight. He took the offending aura as a challenge, drew his lightsaber out without activating it, and set off again, slower than before to conserve his access to the Force's energies.

As he came closer, he could make out a figure in the lowering twilight, just as a crack of thunder echoed out from the approaching clouds; a drop or two of rain came down, spattering against the dusty earth. "Ho thar," Tuljima called out, coming up within hailing distance of Ilia. "Wrecked yer ship, eh?" He could make out the other fellow now, his black hair and his slim build; he was perhaps an inch shorter than Tuljima himself, though not so gaunt perhaps. He knew the other man would be looking him over as well, his muddy brown eyes and the scar across his cheek, the stained robes and the apparently underfed frame.

This close, the other man's hostility was almost palpable, doubtless the result of some Force trickery or other. Tuljima pulled a flask from his belt and downed some of the contents; it was an energy drink, concentrated and strong to complement the eaten food from earlier. "Well... shall we?" the lanky Jedi invited, activating his lightsaber and taking on a Djem So opening stance. The blade's distinctive silver hue and pearly sheen, combined with the dragon's tooth housing, was an indication of Tuljima's prowess; only Durindfire gems and Krayt dragon pearls created quite such a shine in a lightsaber blade, and Krayt dragons themselves usually didn't relinquish their teeth without a fight.

The Djem So stance was a ruse, though. Tuljima's true specialty was Ataru, which in these wide open spaces would prove most effective. He liked to mix it up with other forms, though, especially Djem So and Makashi, to keep his opponents off guard.

[Squee]

Round 1

Synth:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2
Comments: Very good. Keep at it.

Karl:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2
Comments: Same as above

Total:

Synth - 20
Karl- 20

Interesting beginning so far.

[Synth]

Tuljima certainly displayed a martial prowess by the form and shape of his lightsaber hilt. The stance and the lightsaber drew parallels between each other; parallels Ilia could trace with the limited knowledge he had of the Jedi. As a Makashi practitioner, Ilia allowed his fingers to squeeze his lightsaber hilt gently. The pressure sensors and the right motors were triggered; as a precision machine would, the lightsaber was ignited quietly. A blue blade came to life; a life of mourning and death. Its very existence meant the destruction and death of organic life. Ilia's blade was precise and simple, curved at the hilt, clearly announcing his practised form as he took a stance and flourished it into an 'x'.

Shall we? The Jedi had asked, and Ilia responded quickly by moving forward in a set of conservative steps. His weight was distributed evenly with each covered step, as the distance between them grew as thin as the last rays of light slipping past the thick grey clouds. Lightning came to purr and thunder crashed, ushering Ilia to move under the influence of the force and nature's rage. Quite the dramatic setting, Ilia whispered the moment before his steps -steps as sharp as the blade he wielded - led him close enough to raise his blade in a quick swing. The slash, polite and simple, ascended while retaining the illusion that the blade was parallel to the ground even as it travelled towards the Jedi like a blaster shot. The very tip of Ilia's sabre was aimed to grace the Jedi's grip and raze the skin from their bones. The full blue arc of Ilia's blade expanded from his form as a scythe, malleable and liquid; a rush of melancholy and hate minimised and concentrated within the width of his blade.

The emotions that Ilia projected through his aura now worked in his body, provoking it to exert a force that betrayed his humbly weak appearance. With his disposition to kill, dismember and behead the jedi, Ilia allowed his rage to manifest and further twist the light around him... not quite a force camouflage in its fullest expression, but Ilia's ability sufficed to blur the details: The fluttering of his robes as his arm extended, the refracted light hiding the moment his back's muscles led his shoulder to move, then his arm to expand, and his wrist to flick to lead the hilt and then the blade as an extension of his body; Ilia's expression and movements hid beneath the haze of his slow and passive rage, seeping and burning...

Whether or not his blade was to touch the jedi's, or whatever possibility could arise, Ilia made sure to make the arc high and to the chest and/or neck. If the Jedi was to send down his blade Ilia could push forth his left hand, left idly at his side; his left hand was a weapon itself, wielding The Force as its shield. Even if unknown to Ilia that the Jedi was in a favourable position in open spaces, regardless of the form he would use, Ilia was mentally prepared to encounter hell itself... even if expecting surprise, the jedi probably had a few tricks up his sleeve that would surely upset Ilia; Ilia could only fight with a pure disposition to kill. Whatever the case, Ilia was a makashi practitioner, only influenced by some Djem So teachings. As a swordsman, his pride laid within the finese with which he would kill his victims. The taste of the air soaked in the scent of burning flesh was sweet and intoxication, but a rare and luxurious pleasure.

As he moved forth as silhouette of rage and shadows hidden beneath fragmented pillars of light breaking through the clouds, Ilia fought as if he moved forth to die.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Makashi, Tuljima said to himself, watching the Dark Jedi flourish his dark blue blade (for some reason it reminded him of tears, an ocean of frantic and wailing tears; not a pleasant feeling). He knew a little of Makashi, liking to mix it up with his form for more dramatic effect; the precision and finesse required for the more advanced techniques of the form were beyond him, reliant as he was on chaos and misdirection.

As opposed to Ilia's subtle anger, Tuljima's feelings weren't so sophisticated; he merely wanted to end his opponent. If he had fun doing so, so much the better, though he was certain he would have fun since he enjoyed combat. Ilia's aura of menace had little affect on the Jedi Knight; he had faced down Krayt dragons, the ghosts of dead Sith warlords, and countless murdering scum in his twenty-four years of life. This fellow wouldn't be so much.

He held still, gathering the Force within his body as Ilia approached, using the sharp steps of the Makashi approach. The sun slipped below the horizon at last, and thunder echoed loudly as his opponent closed the distance between them in his swift, balanced movements. He seeks death, some deep part of Tuljima's mind whispered, a part attentive and attune to the vagaries of the Force. The darkness curled and coiled about the Dark Jedi, creating a concealing veil between them; with a frown, Tuljima narrowed his eyes and called on Force Sight, piercing the veil and revealing his enemy's movements. It revealed other things, too; the swift gathering of dark power for the effort ahead, the complete desire for dominion, domination and death. Tuljima shook his head slightly, allowing a reproving grin to grace his lips. "Typical," he said in a whisper, his voice low and unlike how he normally spoke.

Tuljima was not normally given towards deep rumination, but in the seconds left as Ilia closed in, as the Force coiled within his form and filled his limbs with power, he found himself analyzing and judging his foe. Makashi was known for its elegance of form, of the economy of its motions, for the pride and finesse of its practitioners; it was a refinement of lightsaber-to-lightsaber combat, and its fighters were deadly. Tuljima had no doubt he was in for a struggle, but he did not dwell on such thoughts; he let them pass on, just as he allowed all other thought to drain away as well. They were but chains, encumbering his conciousness when all that he needed was to focus and defeat the foe.

And yet, despite his focus, Ilia's first slash landed with near-perfect form, scoring a grazing arc of pain across Tuljima's knuckles. It was not deep, not debilitating, yet the pain did burn; even as he gritted his teeth and willed the pain away, he could admire the smooth deception that had allowed Ilia to slip past his guard and land that taunting, superficial blow.

Quick as lightning Ilia aimed another slash, at neck height; if this had been the Temple sparring grounds Tuljima would have laughed. Ilia may have been fast, but he was faster still, and the attack was basic, simple in its elegance. To counter that grace, Tuljima simply drove his blade forward, catching his foe's blade near the base of his own, and with a quick, powerful block knocked it aside; at the same time he called on the Force and sent a brief burst of Telekinetic power into Ilia's chest and face, knocking the man backward and completely ruining his timing. This was the moment to strike, and strike Tuljima did. Following the arc began by the fierce block he spun himself up in the air, twisting his hips and bringing his booted foot around in an impossibly fast, impossibly powerful roundhouse snap kick, directed right at where Ilia's head would be in the next split second.

Whether or not the kick connected, Tuljima's next move would be to complete the midair spin and bring his saber around again in a wide slash, at chest level; if the kick did drive home the saber slash would cleave him in twain, hopefully, but if not it would still surprise his foe as he recovered from whatever dodging motion he'd used.

[Squee]

Round 2

Synth:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2


Karl:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2


Total:
Synth - 40
Karl- 40

And we are INTO it. Though someone HAS to pull ahead... Makes an interesting fight. >.<

[Synth]

Ilia had started with a slash, brushing Tuljima's knuckles, and proceeded with a second attack. Originally, Ilia had lifted his arm in one fell sweep of his sword. The second slash was only the recoil of his arm, returned in a wider arc and left to curl around Tuljima's sword as a whip. The curved hilt Ilia wielded allowed the angle of his sombre blade incline towards the Jedi, threatening to slip past his parry and once again tease the skin away from his muscles. But, without a doubt, Tuljima's abilities with the force and the incandescent blade proved to be menacing. Ilia was pushed back by a parry, and in that motion lost a motion and sense of time and direction as The Force was used to push him away, breaking his balance and timing.

Makashi was born from the necessity to evolve. Lightsabers, at their zenith, were deadly weapons... weapons not meant for peace. What peace could Jedi advocate with death in one hand - death in the form of a sleek hilt - and diplomacy in the other? Makashi, born out of necessity, was the testament of swordsmanship that withstood time. Whatever raw form Tuljima used, or whatever tricks he could try, Ilia was prepared to embrace the force and the power beyond understanding that only came with the freedom that was death. The hate and anger only empowered his body, and solidified his disposition to be erased from the world of the living and to be reaped from the galaxy; they were emotions acting as catalyst for power, not as a mean of intimidation. Hate, anger, and Ilia's gentle melancholy were warnings left to echo with every moment. But as Tuljima released a burst of energy, a blunt and invisible wall left to fall against his adversary, Ilia could only fall back because of the Jedi's deception and, quite honestly, ability. Yet, unharmed, Ilia allowed his body to pivot backwards as his right foot travelled over the soil. Brown streaks followed the path of his booths as the humid ground's surface broke. Moist soil made the dark jedi slip back with ease, led by his simple steps cutting a path through the tall blades of grass, piloting Ilia back using the momentum of Tuljima's push.

Despite Ilia's balance, his timing was upset, and he could only sway his upper body forward in pain; his head throbbed, and his chest seemed to burn with the lingering force of the impact. Shaken by the attack, Ilia had leaned forward, inclined towards his left. Meanwhile, his left foot slid back while his right knee bend. The Force, once against channelled through his body, fed upon the Ilia's will. Death seemed to be closer, but it would not grant him release from the world if Ilia did not fight at the best of his ability.

Once he noticed the Jedi's blurred movement, Ilia's concentration dropped and the thick and amateur's force camouflage dropped. An epiphany or premonition surged through his flesh; the memories of his body, the pain he felt, pushed him to a inherent instinct of understanding of his opponent's movements. With a rebarbative aura of anger rising, Ilia calculated his movements and swung his body lower, bowing his head as The Force guided him to avoid being hit by Tuljima's kick. Regardless of his movement, fast as it was accelerated by The Force, the jedi's foot still graced his temple, staining Ilia's brow with mud and a light streak of red brushed across his forehead. In reaction to the bittersweet sting of the Jedi's attack, Ilia rose as his right knee unbend, carrying him forward as his arm released his hate in one single streak of blue flames forced and constrained to the form of a cylinder. The dark lightsaber travelled in its precise arc towards the Jedi's torso, led in a rising motion left to fall like a hammer of irony upon the Jedi's shoulder.


Given the nature of Ilia's counter to Tuljima's roundhouse kick, and his speed, Ilia had the possibility of succeeding in severing his opponent's arm, but that was highly unlikely due to the nature of Tuljima's next attack; the Jedi's following attack was a wide lighsaber slash to finish the full circle of his spin, continuing the momentum of the kick. But, regardless, Ilia's slash was meant to rain down and minister judgement and hate upon Tuljima's body. The lightsaber radiated hate, and the crystals sang a hymn and ode to death with their passive hiss slipping through the air currents. The lightning purring in the background seemed to caress Ilia's curved hilt with its flashing, while thunder empowered the Dark Jedi's body with the hectic rhythm of nature.

With the motion of his body rising to deliver the falling edge of his blade, Ilia lifted his left hand allowing it to enforce his aura into the very wind around(and/or between) them. It raised, like a spear-head travelling forward, releasing a burst of hate in the form of a shockwave. It was not an inherently destructive attack, but it whipped the wind easily; Ilia's mastery of his body was equal to his control of the force, and as proof he used his blade and the force simultaneously. As his left hand raised, so did the wind threatening to lift Tuljima's feet from the ground and send him plummeting to the back to the ground. Upon rising, Ilia was ready to draw a step back with his right foot and allow his blade to slide off Tuljima's flesh and/or lightsaber, and then swiftly curl his arm back around for a low slash aimed towards the Jedi's waist. But the third attack, after the slash as counter to Tuljima's kick and the his left hand using The Force to attempt to rip the jedi's feet from the ground and push him down, was purely conditional and dependent on the flow of circumstance and fate.


Ilia was taught Makashi as a limiter and medium, a tool to refine his brutality and murderous muses; Makashi was Ilia's vicious anger's medium. The simplicity, grace, and elegance of Makashi served to Ilia as a beautiful expression of his homicidal tendencies and an artful manifesto of his right as a Master of the decadent art of swordsmanship.





//

Not a quote. Just using the quote box for the sake of comfortable organization. On Karl's request, I'll explain Ilia's 'dodges/attacks'.

Ilia was pushed back by the force push.

Ilia dodged the roundhouse kick by bending foward, bending legs, got his forehead brushed by Tuljima's kick.

Ilia, after dodging, immediately swung back his lightsaber in a high but concise arc towards Tuljima's body/shoulder, which should be spinning in that moment, while lifting himself.

Ilia's sabre would then be blocked by Tuljima's atack that followed the roundhouse kick. Whether or not Ilia's counter cuts Tuljima in two, is left at discretion.

Ilia, simultaneously, while rising, swings his left hand forth to use a sort of force push, to push/force Tuljima off of his feet and push him down/and or toss him around with said push.

A third attack is conditional to Tuljima's reaction.

After rising, and performing the sword-swing-force-push deal, Ilia would draw a step back and continue with a low/concise swing of his sabre.



I hope this clears it up, without the 'window dressing'. I apologise for any misunderstandings.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Tuljima's ultimate flaw had always been overconfidence in himself and the Force; having always encountered success in his life, naturally he came to expect it and take it for granted. The picture in his mind, of Ilia being knocked about and then cleaved in two, was so strong that it took him a brief second to realize it wasn't working out quite like that.

It wasn't until Ilia's saber threatened to cut his arm off that he realized just how not like that his plan was working. At the same time he felt the wind push against him, and figured the Dark Jedi must have employed his own trick against him; not good, not good at all.

The essense of Ataru being unpredictability, sudden slashes and chaotic dodging (or was that Juyo? He could never keep his philosophies straight), Tuljima decided to simply wing it and hope for the best. To that end he rode the wave of power generated by his opponent, whirling backward, parrying the upward slice and flipping over to land on his feet.

In that split second he considered his options. He could lunge forward again, slashing up and over with his lightsaber, but he had no doubt Ilia would be ready for something like that, and the lanky Jedi would end up with his guts on the ground. Or he could leap into the air again and pull off more acrobatics, but that would merely prolong things, and Tuljima wanted to keep this short.

Think! he ordered himself, eyeing the Dark Jedi before him. Makashi, what were the flaws of that form? Its practitioners moved in straight lines, using elegance and nimble footwork to systematically chop down their foes. Its focus on lightsaber-to-lightsaber dueling, and the traditional one-on-one of most duels, left its users open to blasters and multiple foes, and their reliance on elegance and precision left them at a loss when faced with the force and kinetic power of later styles.

All this went through Tuljima's head before his foot touched the ground; as soon as it did he launched himself skyward again, using the Force to propel his body high in the air, higher than Ilia's blade would reach, in an arc over the Dark Jedi. At the same time he pulled his heavy blaster pistol, tweaked for maximum firing rate and stopping power, and unleashed a barrage of laser energy downward at his foe; each bolt had the power to punch through duracrete and cause an explosion on the other side if it was thin enough, Ilia's puny human frame wouldn't stand a chance if even one of them connected.

Tuljima fired until he came down at the other side, then gathered the Force into himself yet again, bolstering his arms and legs. Doing this would enhance his speed and strength by a good deal, allowing him to launch a barrage of slashes and cuts that would wear down at Ilia's stamina and defenses, and open him up for a killing blow of some sort.

"Take THIS!" he shouted as he threw himself forward, blaster in one hand and lightsaber in the other, as he unleashed a flurry of powerful blows upon Ilia's defenses. Some of the attacks were feints, designed to distract his guard, while others had Tuljima's full power and dedication to eliminate the threat Ilia posed to the galaxy behind them. That was the Jedi way, after all; do not focus on killing an opponent, but on pacifying or eliminating the threat they posed.

Besides, if Ilia wanted to die, who was Tuljima to leave a man in such dire need?

[Squee]

Round 3

Synth:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 4/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 1/2
Comments: I'm simply loving your writing style, but when you went into detail, I was sometimes thrown off. I understand what you were trying to accomplish, but maybe it'll be best to sort of simplify it out a little so I'm not as... distracted, you could say. I mean, reading through Karl's post, I'm sure he got a little bewildered at your effort to explain Ilia's attacks.


Karl:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2
Comments: You're doing fine.


Total:
Synth - 60
Karl- 60

((Am I being too nice on you guys? xP I dunno. Maybe I just like it too much.))

[Synth]

At the age of twenty-eight years according to galactic standard, Ilia was at the zenith of his body's abilities. In that zenith, his abilities in the force culminated to reap what his master had sowed. Deep in Ilia's body memories of his time as an apprentice were planted. The glimpse and images of everything he shared with his master, as early as 'one year ago', still haunted him. He could see Tuljima simply fly over him in a high arch, well beyond the reach of his blade. .


The force swelled Ilia's emotions, making him react according to instinct; according to nature, the hairs on Ilia's back stood on end as chills froze his skin with the anticipation of death. Images of laceration, mutilation, burned skin and lightsaber wounds travelled through his head as he spun in an 180degree spin, using the momentum to push himself back and away as if to make distance to greet Tuljima upon his descend. Blaster shots rang, vaporising the grass they hit, screeching with the ground as they dissipated into the earth as marks of scorch. Ilia barely dodged, but only at the expense of his balance becoming bemused and feeble. Stumbling back, Ilia raised his sword to greet Tuljima, who charged with a vice set on ending the duel quickly.

Unlike the Jedi, Ilia was brought into training at a late age. When all his primal inclinations had been suppressed by the Coruscanti' streets and his life as a crime lord's son, Ilia was chosen as an self-exiled Jedi artisan to be trained in the ways of the force. The concept of a living force unifying the galaxy and a power greater than humankind and all alien species intrigued Ilia. He would learn to appreciate The Force, and crave more power along with a deeper connection to the deeper intricacies of it. It came down to the point where Ilia ventured where his Master did not; Ilia submerged himself in the darkest energies of the force, using his body as a medium through which power could be canalised. Ilia aimed to refine a small amount of energy, bring out its best qualities, and then impregnate his repertoire of skills and abilities with infinite posibilities. The simplest and most elegant lightsaber form was Makashi, the form his Master passed down to him, and through it Ilia could allow his potential to seep and leek into the edge of his incandescent blade. Ilia mastered Makashi, and found loopholes to avoid its weaknesses being exposed.

Like Tuljima might've expected, his barrage of slashes and cuts did wear Ilia down. Ilia was like a wall, slowly chippin away brick by brick. The force and nature of Tuljima's style seemed offensive and straightforward, but Ilia's makashi was deceptive and sly. Ilia's blade slid under the reach of Tuljima's sword, the angle of the blade twisted by the hilt being grasped by its curvature. Without much trouble, Ilia exercised the ability to slowly twist and manipulate his opponent's blade with carefully placed parries. While Tuljima seemed to wait for Ilia to open up, Ilia awaited for a moment to deceive Tuljima.

"Take this!" The Jedi shouted, bursting forth with a furious flurry of feints and powerful blows. Ilia, who's physical strength seemed a bit greater than Tuljima's, was definitely upset by the barrage. His rhythm was out of time, led by Tuljima's pace. The beat of lightsabers clashing was erratic at best. Slowly, Ilia began to place distance between them by moving back in a linear pattern. His arm was extended forth, his blade's tip pointed at Tuljima's chest. From there, his wrist spun and flicked, whipped, pulled, and pushed his lightsaber hilt with concise movements that altered the angle of his lightsaber. With elegant simplicity (as always), Ilia used little movements to brush away Tuljima's blade. But, clearly, the parries were not enough to kill the Jedi. As the Jedi seemed to be slowly gaining the upper hand, Ilia moved his lightsaber away, seemingly allowing space for Tuljima to slide in and behead him. His steps would stop. Ilia's right foot would slide behind him, planting itself against the ground, with the leg acting as pole to support Ilia's upper body. He pushed forward, leaning in, while rising his left hand. -


The details were best left obscured, but Tuljima would feel as if he impacted a blunt wall regardless. By stopping and brushing away his own lightsaber, then giving Tuljima the space to move in, Ilia raised his left hand and called upon the force to create a barrier. Through his mastery of his own body and The Force, Ilia accelerated the natural speed of his body while calling upon the force to create a solid dome to expand outwards from him. The raw energy, The Force, concentrated around Ilia's being was thick enough to stop the jedi in mid step, but the true danger laid between Ilia's fingers. As they held a silhouette and copy of Tuljima's neck in their grasp, they squeezed into the intangible presence of the force and created a palpable restrain upon the Jedi. Created in the split second after the force-barrier, the force-choke pulled upon the barrier's very essence and made it collapse upon itself. It was as if Ilia changed the shape of the barrier he created with the force, and made it snake around Tuljima's neck. It would come down like a metal brace, tight and vicious, meant to hold the Jedi down and away from him.

Ilia took a chance not without risk; the risk of being able to slam his makeshift force barrier, and use that moment, meant to distort Tuljima's sense, to put the jedi in a thick and tight choke-hold. Like a unbreakable choke collar, Ilia's grip would be constricting and deadly, but it would not kill. Of course, Ilia dared to do this at the possible expense of his skin being pierced by Tuljima's blade.

[Karl the Unfettered]

The man was good, Tuljima had to admit that. There was an opening, Tuljima slid into it smooth as butter for the killing blow; and suddenly he couldn't move, suddenly his neck was in a vice and blackness hovered at his vision. What the hell, were his thoughts at this turn of events. Git, he can't do that to me. And yet, he was; witness the shortness of breath, the fading vision, the frantic gasps. He had to do something, he had to move, had to attack or slash or-

And then the skies opened up, not gradually but all at once, as a bolt of lightning slammed down into a tree not twenty feet from them. The thunderclap echoed hideously around the two combatants as total darkness enveloped them, swiftly accompanied by pouring rain (not rain, though, not so much as a sudden neverending sheet of water dropping down on their heads). In the confusion Tuljima broke away, his lightsaber useless in the downpour, rubbing his neck and glaring at where Ilia had been. Use the Force, you dimwit, someone said in his head; appropriately he called on Force Sight to enhance his vision yet again, and there it all was. No dark or rain could hold him back, nosirree.

"Ahh weel naow," he said, grinning, as he put his lightsaber away and drew his sword. It was a backsword, a thick single-edged blade with a razor sharp edge and a sturdy basket hilt to protect the hand; the whole had a light cortosis weave to protect against lightsabers. "Ain't this a foine t'ing, aye?" He used a trick of the Force to conceal his voice, making it seem to Ilia that it was coming from all around; the rain and dark would perhaps hide him from sight.

With his sword and blaster in hand he circled the Dark Jedi, looking for the right moment. When he judged it right he sprang ahead, finger ready on the trigger as he brought the sword around for a heavy slash, followed up by a strong thrust. His form was a curious mix of upper class fencing and arena dueling, yet greatly effective for all that; the lanky Jedi wielded the blade easily, lightly, not at all bothered by the differences of weight and balance between a sword and a lightsaber.

((Random OOC: I've decided from now on that Tuljima has a Scottish accent.))

[Squee]

Round 4

Synth:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 5/5
Detail: 5/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2
Comments:


Karl:
Effort: 5/5
Fairness: 4/5
Detail: 4/5
Coolness: 5/5
Bonus: 0/2
Comments: The tree thing felt a little rushed and awkward to me, but, that's said and done.


Total:
Synth - 80
Karl- 78

Hey, last round you guys unless you want to add more. If you do, just send me a little PM saying you would like another round added.