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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Mar 27, 2010 23:03:17 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Mar 27, 2010 23:03:17 GMT -5
Time period: 4 years ago Location: Coruscant/Lower City Participants: Rugs: Locke/Nomak: Nomak If he were in a better situation, Locke might have laughed. Laughed at the state of the slums that made up this particular section of Coruscant's Lower City. Laughed at the disparity in the quality of the lives suffered by the people that lived down here, while their more fortunate counterparts lived luxuriously over their heads. But, that wasn't his concern, really, nor was it the reason he'd been sent down into the city planet's bowels. No, the Council had sent Locke down to look into a recent flare up in violence between two gangs. Once he gathered all of his info, he'd send it to the local police ward, and they'd launch some kind of offensive that may or may not have involved him. Again though, he'd have to focus on the present. He ducked through a door and into a dim warehouse, where he proceeded to move to the shadows to take a moment to think. This was the first mission of importance that he'd been sent on so far in his now three-month-old Knighthood. There had been two assignments issued to him before this, but they were easy, and simple, no doubt to ease him into working on his own. Of course, both of those assignments had been resounding successes, and the young Knight's spirits were high, and his assurance that this, too, would end in success resolute. In fact, things so far had been smooth, and easier than Locke expected. He'd been on the case for about a week, and in that time, he'd gathered information--names of people of interest, locations of possible hideouts, things like that--and had begun to put together a report of his findings. Easy. Simple. Until earlier that morning, anyway. Locke had been sneaking around, eavesdropping on a group of what he assumed to be gang members from a distance when he heard it. One of them mentioned a man they were working with that wielded a lightsaber in battle, and that caught his attention immediately. For a moment, he thought there might be another Investigator on the case, but the men went on to talk of how this mysterious saber-wielding man fought alongside them, or at least on the same side as he did. That couldn't be good. So, for the rest of the day, Locke spent his time trying to track down the man, whoever he was. After all, if his quarry proved to be a some rogue or fallen Jedi, he'd have to do something--to either bring him in or kill him. And, though he kept the thought hidden, he knew that if he found the man, he'd have his first real challenge of his Knighthood; he'd have his first chance to prove himself, and he didn't intend to fail. But, either by plan or by happenstance, his target was proving to be hard to find. Locke's search had started in the morning, and now night was falling. He'd come to several near dead end, had a feeling he'd almost been caught more than once, and still, he didn't know if he was any closer than he'd been when he started. The Knight was committed now, though, and he refused to quit. Locke stepped out of the shadows and into the one of the dim circles of light that illuminated the interior of the warehouse. He wasn't dressed as a Jedi, as he normally didn't when working on jobs like these, since it usually only attracted unwanted attention. Instead, he was in the clothes a spacer might wear, a simple jacket, a shirt under that, with some pants and a pair of boots. A pistol hung from his utility belt, and he knew how to use it if he needed it, though he knew if he'd be going into combat with a saber-wielding foe, it would be of no use to him. Of course he had his lightsaber with him, hidden away up a sleeve, but he'd wait until it was necessary to reveal. The interior of the warehouse was crowded with stacks of large shipping crates that created alleyways of shadow within the feeble lighting, and motes of dust lazily drifted in and out of the circles of the light. Other than the sound of Locke's on breathing, the place was silent. If an ambush was to be set, it would certainly be a good place to go about doing it. Locke's pale grey eyes flitted back and forth as he walked slowly through the area around him. His search had led him here. But where was his target?
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
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Mar 28, 2010 20:59:05 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Mar 28, 2010 20:59:05 GMT -5
Compared to the global wastes of Korriban the chocked streets of the brightest jewel in the galaxy was a claustrophobic nightmare of turns, twists, dead ends and seedy bars. Every window and viewing port was either barred or protected with a grid, every doorway thick, designed to withstand forced entry. Nomak could feel eyes on his back, no doubt from some scared citizen, shut inside his home just waiting for the next distinct report of blaster fire and wailing alarms. A pair of massive, heavily armoured men ceased conversation and glared at the young man as he passed, one hawked and spat to the side while the other kept his finger on the trigger of his republic security force standard issue short barrelled blaster. No doubt...'misplaced' from the local police armoury or purchased on the black market. Nomak paid them no heed and simply continued on his stroll.
The dark Jedi halted by a railing to peer over the side. The only thing that greeted him was more city, as far down as his eye could see. Just endless lanes of traffic belching fumes, people walking here and there. The winding streets across from Nomak were decorated with crude symbols and gang slogans. A rough representation of a Rancor had been painted on a once plain wall, initials above and below giving nod to the questionable artist and his work.
Pushing off the railing Nomak glanced over his shoulder. A few creatures wearing hooded robes hurried past, heads lowered. A place of many races and cultures the young dark-sider had yet to learn much about any of them and wore a constant look of disgust on his pale features. That uneasy feeling returned to him like a punch in the gut. His gaze flicked up expecting to see armed creatures approaching him, determination set on their faces. Instead he was greeted by just another crowd of faces too wrapped up in their own conversations to bother him. He thought, just for a moment he saw something, a solitary figure moving with a certain direction, a certain purpose. He waited a few moments more, counting his own heart-beats. After ten had sounded he merely dismissed the cold instinct and continued on his way.
The ware-house was almost completely unmemorable. High, bleak walls, shelves and dust. The swiftly darkening sky and lack of lighting threw shadows all over the place. A fine location for an ambush, perhaps why the small gang of scum choose to hide out here. If attacked they could simply wage a hit-and-run war from the cramped confines, striking and vanishing before being struck. Admirable thinking, but flawed. Few men thought of combat as he did and some would simply set the place on fire to smoke out any defenders. Regardless of the ware-house and it's condition the Jedi settled in for the gang to return, finding himself a quiet nook from which he could observe the door through a gap in the shelves.
Nomak had forgone his robes today and instead wore a simple tunic of dark, tough leather, comfortable trousers and a pair of knee high, tough boots. His rather feminine features were serene, free of company he allowed the scowl to slip away from his face. That long mane of dark hair had been pulled up into a loose pony tail, a pair of braids hanging down from either temple. Those same braids were decorated with small pieces of a reflective metal that jingled like wind chimes. It was only fitting his enemies get a fair warning of his approach after all.
Six hundred heartbeats, ten minutes later and still nothing. The dark Jedi let an annoyed growl escape his lips as he folded his arms across his stomach and rested against the back of the crates. He felt that longing for battle begin to sing in his blood, it serenaded him with the need for violence, Nomak sighed again in despair, even if the gang members did arrive he doubted any of the vermin would give provide something worthy enough to be called a challenge. A shadow detached itself from the others and stepped into the warehouse. Nothing more than a simple spacer, complete with blaster. Nomak waited for the rest of the gang to show but none arrived. He suppressed the urge to smile. This was a calculated insult, sending only one man to face him.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid to come after me alone." The deep voice rang out, clear as day as it resounded from the four walls. Arms still crossed Nomak walked slowly from his little hiding spot, his side turned to the young spacer who had been sent to his death probably by a gang leader he'd never met. Turning to face the young man Nomak looked him over once, his pale lips forming into what could only be described as the ghost of a smile. His lips curved but there was no warmth, no humour, not even cruelty, only utter disappointment.
“You haven't run away yet." Nomak observed, dropping his hands to sides, the light sabre clearly visible strapped to his belt, his right hand hovering close to it. Arrogance laced every word as he spoke, dripping like poison. “Foolish, but valiant." A few more seconds passed before he spoke again. “Before you die, tell me your name." Nomak whispered softly, almost soothingly, as if trying to coo a weeping child to rest. Though somehow the sound carried over to his young opponent.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Mar 28, 2010 22:32:55 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Mar 28, 2010 22:32:55 GMT -5
Locke's wandering into the heart of the old decrepit building came to a halt and his breath caught in his throat at the sound of a voice ringing out through the warehouse. It echoed off of the building's walls, and made it hard to pinpoint where it came from, exactly, but the threat that was within was not lost on Locke at all. His fists clenched subconsciously by his side and he snorted softly as his eyes roamed over the small illuminated area around him. Some small voice in the back of his head warned him that he should leave, but he pushed it aside; he'd been on this all day, and he wasn't about to turn around and leave, not when he'd just found someone. Whatever was coming, Locke could handle it. He was sure of that.
Whoever spoke to him obviously knew where he was, so Locke decided to stay where he was and let them be the one to show them self. And, a few moments later, they did. They were a man, one with somewhat feminine features, but a man none the less. He was fair bit taller than Locke, and of looked to be roughly the same age as him, if not a bit older. There was something about the way the man moved that made Locke a bit uneasy; he carried himself with the utmost confidence, but not in the way that most fools or thugs did. Locke couldn't put his finger what exactly it might be, but something of the man's movements spoke of danger, and set that little voice in the back of Locke mind to once again telling him that he should flee. But, if anything, that grating smile--as if the taller man was disappointed in Locke--only made the Knight dig his heels in in his resolve to deal with whoever this new foe was.
Locke scowled a when the other man noted that he'd not yet run away. A quip about the man's sense observational skills, which were, no doubt, extremely sharp was on the verge of leaving his mouth when his eyes followed one of the man's hands to his side. No, to his lightsaber. Locke's eyes widened for a moment, and he could feel his pulse suddenly accelerate as adrenaline started to ease into his system. "I found you," he whispered in near disbelief, more to himself than the one standing a few feet away from him. The other man's last utterance caught Locke's attention, and his stone grey eyes narrowed dangerously as he brought them up to lock with the man's striking green ones.
"You're a bit cocky aren't you? And people in the Temple say I can be cocky." His voice wavered a bit, from a mix of a nervous excitement and fear, both of which stemmed from knowing that he was about to have the first real test of his Knighthood. "But, I am Locke." He paused for a moment as he weighed giving the man his last name before deciding to go on with it. "Nemsee. Jedi Knight Locke Nemsee, and I don't think you should be so quick to go stating that you're going to kill me like it's a fact. I've been searching for you for a good chunk of the day now." He brought his hands up, and calmly popped a few of his knuckles as he talked. "Word has it you've been involved with some of the less favorable types down here. I don't know why or what you're up to, but I'm going to put a stop to it."
Locke's teeth flashed in a grin at the other man as he took a few steps back and lowered his hands to his side. The hilt for his own lightsaber, just barely curved enough toward the bottom to be noticeable, slid down into his right hand, though he did not yet activate. "I don't think I ever got your name, stranger." His voice had grown stronger now, with the faintest edge of eagerness to it. "It'll make things easier when I'm filing a report about you for the Temple, but I'm getting ahead of myself. There are two ways we can go about business here. One, you can submit, and we'll work through everything nice and calmly, or two," his yellow-orange blade flared to life in his hand, "we can do this the hard way."
He didn't make a move toward whoever the other man was, but his tone--and past experiences giving that same ultimatum to others, though none so far had been Force wielders-- made it clear what route he thought they'd be going down. That voice, the voice of reason, whispered one last time for him to leave that warehouse, but he ignored it and silenced it. Honestly, though old master had warned him to be wary of being so hasty so early into his Knighthood, he was itching for a fight. One way or another, he planned on proving himself with this mission, and defeating a dark Jedi would be a huge step in that direction.
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
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Mar 29, 2010 8:00:26 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Mar 29, 2010 8:00:26 GMT -5
Incredibly the young man stood firm still, storm grey eyes fixing him. The gentleman was almost Nomak's age, perhaps only a few years younger. The air of determination around him was striking, he seemed intently focused on his goal which in this particular case appeared to be Nomak. A whisper of something escaped the young man's lips. The sound lost over the noise of a speeder passing by outside.
His next comment however shed light on the subject of why he had yet to run away. Only a few select people came from any description of temple, and he had no doubt of the occupation of this particular gentlemen. “A Jedi? So mine was not the only shadow dogging my steps." At least that indicated his instincts were reliable. He had felt as if he was being followed, purposely or otherwise. By plan or chance the Jedi had remained out of sight until this moment of conflict.
The younger man popped his knuckles, almost silently mocking Nomak. “Well... Jedi Knight Locke Namsee. I can promise you now you will not stop me, as one warrior to another I ask you to walk away, a man should know the warmth of a woman's flesh and see the sun one last time before he dies. I will not ask again." The small mix of emotions in the Jedi's voice amused him, it was fear. An emotion he knew like the back of his hand. The knight however insulted Nomak for he did not fear him; he only feared defeat and failure.
Nomak's eyes followed the flicker of movement. A hilt ejected from the warrior's sleeve. The slight curve so subtle, so fluid. The sabre's curve indicated a form II user. His own preferred style. His eyes flicked up to meet the young Jedi's and the mirthless smile vanished from his lips. “I have no such impressive titles as yours, I am Nomak Krell." The way he spat 'Impressive titles' made it nothing short of mocking. The fact the young Jedi was thinking about filing a report on today's events amused Nomak. He genuinely believed he would triumph. The light sabre flared to life with the hallmark sound.
“As you wish." Nomak whispered, his hand moving to the light sabre at his side. The hilt itself was plain, straight and un-curved. Nomak enjoyed leaving his choice f style open and indicated by the shape of the hilt. The light sabre flared to life, the red blade extending to its full length in a heart-beat. Nomak honoured his opponent with the form II salute, twirling the blade before letting it rest a few inches in front of his face. He could feel the intense heat from the blade and it awoke in him the song of battle. It was quiet now, but soon it would be a blaring canopy of sound that thrilled him to the core. Lowering the sabre blade Nomak slowly advanced on his Jedi opponent, the blade tip pointed to the floor, the very tip hovering just above the ground.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Mar 29, 2010 10:46:52 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Mar 29, 2010 10:46:52 GMT -5
Locke scowled when the other man, this Nomak, mocked the way he used his recently-acquired title. To be fair, it was something Locke walked right into. Normally, he wasn't too terribly fond of the use of titles himself, and he in fact called nearly everyone in the Temple by their first name, regardless of rank; yet, here he was, three months after becoming a Knight, flouting the title about like a fool, and Nomak rightly called him on it. "Fair enough," Locke said as a smirk played on his lips, "I guess I deserved that, but it won't change the outcome here."
Nomak's red blade came alive, adding its song to the quiet hum of Locke's own weapon as the two weapons cast an orange and red hue onto the area around them. Locke's eyebrows rose a bit at the familiar Makashi salute the man gave before taking his stance. So Nomak was a practitioner of Form II as well, then? Locke's eyes regarded the man warily as he wondered what level of skill his opponent might have. Makashi was Locke's favored form, and he was decent enough at it, though he'd still have several years to go before he could be considered a master of the form. But he'd been trained well, and surely knew enough to be able to deal with the threat that stood before him.
Locke returned the man's salute with a quick one of his own, bringing the blade up to his forehead and motioning toward Nomak before bringing it down. He held it out to the side with the tip pointing down in a somewhat open stance. He took a few measured steps back as Nomak advanced, backing toward the edge of the ring of light that was cast down onto the duo by the flickering light that hung from the ceiling above them.
He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, as his excitement crescendoed, and he knew the time to start the battle was upon him. His grey eyes met Nomak's green again, and Locke's slow, measured retreat came to a halt as he prepared to make his attack. The first exchange of a fight was an important thing, or so his old master had always told him. It provided the first chance to feel out one's opponent, and if one was either very fortunate or very unfortunate, it could be the entirety of the fight. It wasn't something Locke intended to screw up.
One, two, three heartbeats passed, and all was silent in the warehouse except for the gentle hum of their sabers and the quiet jingling of the small pieces of metal that hung in Nomak's hair. Locke tensed in a way that was just barely perceptible, and then he was was suddenly in motion, dashing forward toward Nomak. His weapon was an orange blow as he advanced, hoping to use the agility that was his gift in fighting--rather than strength--to catch his foe off guard. His first strike would come in a bit low, towards Nomak's left thigh, before he snapped the blade up to make clean, crisp cut at the man's right shoulder.
Two attacks. If they would hit, he could not say, but one thing was for certain: Locke did not plan on losing this fight. Not this first test of his career. He'd put this Nomak in his place, and knock that arrogance out of him.
Perhaps, if Locke hadn't walled it off away from the rest of his mind, he would've noted that warning voice pleading with him to be wary, but it was too late. Now he was committed, and he would not turn back.
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
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Mar 30, 2010 19:15:49 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Mar 30, 2010 19:15:49 GMT -5
The gentle thrum of the sabre's was music to the dark jedi's ears. The opening notes in battles thrilling tune. Almost dreamily he transferred his gaze from the sabre to Locke, focusing on his doggedly determined eyes. " Nothing will." Another whisper to counter the promose that no matter how much Nomak mocked him it would't change the outcome of the battle.
With a few deep breath's Nomak let his mind slip into that cold, dark place that kept him ready for combat. He no longer saw the jedi, only the pattern of combat and the near limitless possibilities. A spiders web of possible attacks and defenses, feints and thrusts spanned out from this single moment, but how would the young jedi fare? Would he attack or defend? Nomak had faced only a few sabre weilding foes, and of them all Locke was the only one to use a rather well studied form II.
The Jedi backed away from Nomak's advance, eyes locked as the young warrior carefully moved, every step perfectly measured, perfectly in pace with Nomak's own. Somthing in the younger man's eyes changed, in an instant he was attacking. The sabre flicked down, attempting a Sun Cho strike to try and seperate his leg, Nomak's sabre came down in a tigh arc to push the blade aside, the weapon narrowly missing his thigh. Impressivly though the younger jedi turned this parry into a perfect repoist, lancing the blade up towards his shoulder. Both strikes were well excecuted but Nomak had been waiting for his opponents move and knew full well the young Jedi would seek to end him swiftly for he was not an overly-large man and had likely fought battles on his speed and agility coupled with his skills as a swordsman.
The sabre came up to block the blow, swatting aside the strike before Nomak rolled his wrist. The sabre circled the man's blade, sending sparks flying from the weapon before Nomak's rolled wrist sent the point lancing towards his opponents chest. While the strike might have killed a lesser man he doubted this jedi would fall to the trick. Nomak was merely trying to forcefully create room for himself, his footwork constantly repositioning to cope with Locke's use of the style. So far he was finding the fighting against a form II user rather exciting. Everything hung on a knife's edge. One wrong move, one foolish attempt and either of them could die. It thrilled him to his very core.
The younger man despite his years was a good swordsman. Balanced, effective and moving in a manner perfectly suited to his style. The curved lightsabre gave him somthing of an advantage, a small one, but an advantage all the same. His foot-work was near flawless, a few little mistakes here and there but given time he coul be great. Nomak mused that it was ashame he would not live to learn of his mistakes. Regardless of if his thrust hit home or not Nomak backed up, careful to avoid a repoist.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Mar 30, 2010 21:41:36 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Mar 30, 2010 21:41:36 GMT -5
For moment, Locke thought his first strike would connect, and sever Nomak's leg. Wouldn't that be great? He'd defeat his first dark Jedi with a single stroke. But, ah, the foolish hopes of youth were hopes and nothing more. Instead of connecting with Nomak's flesh, his orange blade was easily batted aside. But that was okay, as Locke took the opportunity to strike at Nomak's shoulder, hoping against hope that the other man's defense of his leg would leave him unable to protect his shoulder.
Locke's advance was forced to an extremely abrupt halt when Nomak again knocked his blade out of the way, too far for Locke to mount an effective defense to stop the other man's counter. Nomak lashed out, and Locke's eyes went wide when he saw the blood red blade stabbing out toward his chest. The heightened reflexes of one who wields the Force were probably the only thing that saved Locke from impaling himself on Nomak's weapon. Even then, it was a close thing, and the red beam of plasma hovered mere inches away from Locke's chest before Nomak withdrew.
Locke swiped out at Nomak as he retreated, but it was a futile effort, and more something done from habit than an earnest attack. His foe was out of range before his attack even really got started, and the orange blade found nothing but air. Locke also took a short retreat to mentally regroup. Nomak was good, he had to admit that much. Locke's hope had been to surprise Nomak with his speed, but instead, the taller man kept pace, and stopped Locke's attacks easily, perhaps even casually. That wasn't a comforting thought to Locke. If Nomak was near--or, Force forbid, higher than--his level of skill in Makashi, then things might get rough. I'm gonna have to take this guy seriously, then.
Locke shifted his stance a bit, bringing his blade up so that it was more in front of him than off to the side, and angled up, in a more defensive pose. After nearly getting stabbed, he wasn't so eager to be on the offensive again, lest he make some mistake and Nomak exploit it. No, instead, he'd let Nomak go on offense this time, and wait to see if he could find some flaw in the other man's form that he could take advantage of. His eyes went to meet Nomak's for a moment, though some of the sureness was gone, replaced instead by a touch of doubt.
Still, though, he tried to push the previous exchange out of his mind and tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade. Perhaps he'd just made a mistake in charging at Nomak so eagerly, and as such, he'd almost paid for it. But there was no use dwelling on it; he'd have to note the mistake and avoid repeating it. The fight would be over before it really got started if he started to let things get to him.
"Tell me something, Nomak," he said suddenly. "What's a man like you doing down here running with lowlifes anyway?" He gestured at Nomak with his free hand. "You're obviously a man of certain... talents. Aren't there more, you know, grand things you could be doing than wasting your time down here?"
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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Apr 4, 2010 19:27:37 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Apr 4, 2010 19:27:37 GMT -5
The heightened senses of the younger warrior kept him alive as he managed to sharply pull himself from the line of the strike. Locke was surprsingly good for such a young man. As his father would have said however Locke had too many minds. A mind on the blades, a mind on himself and one on Nomak, a mind on position, Advantage, leverage and range. To become a true master of form II he had to let these things become as natural as breathing. He had to stop thinking and start living the duel.
Nomak moved forward a step only to halt as the orange sabre licked out, a more reckless fighter would have been cut in half by the saftey strike. Even struck by animal panic the young fighter had a cool hand, covering his retreat. A perfect form II technique, let the enemy rush to their own demise.
Locke spoke, the words illicting an almost musical chime of laughter from Nomak's pale lips. The young man was trying to lure him into conversation and make him lose his focus. Attacking the mind as well as the body. " Grander things? Wasting my time? How short-sighted. What is more grand than live combat? How is slaying a greater warrior a waste of time?" Dropping his guard for a moment Nomak brushed a rogue strand of hair from his face with a slender index finger. " There is no greater thing in this galaxy than facing a worthy foe face to face, blade to blade. Life and it's passions can only be enjoyed when death has been stared down." Flicking his guard bacj up Nomak took a few careful steps to the side.
With the battle lines re-drawn Nomak prepared for another attack, it never came however and the young warrior instead stood his ground, ready to defend this time. Nomak changed his grip on the hilt, seizing it two-handed and trailing his dominant leg behind him. He did all this rather slowly, giving the young jedi time to work out his attack. After all, Nomak fully intended him to deflect the blow. Springing forward Nomak brought the blade down two handed towards the young man's head, using his back lead to launch himself into the strike. The strike however was slow, clumsy and almost lazy. An easily parried blow.
All that changed however the moment Locke's blade moved to intercept it. His blade's fall was arrested and it's arc reversed, Nomak pulled his blade aside and brought it around in a curving sweep, aiming to slice the younger warrior in half while his blade was raised to defend a strike to the head. The metal in Nomak's harir turning from a soft chime to a violent rattle.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Apr 4, 2010 23:00:59 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Apr 4, 2010 23:00:59 GMT -5
Locke watched Nomak warily from his position on the edge of the circle of light. The other man's words sent chills rolling down the young Jedi's spine. Nomak seemed to be the type of man that lived for little more than the thrill of battle, and testing himself against whatever foes he deemed worthy of being called a challenge. Locke's master had warned him of men like that. He'd warned Locke that, though their way of life was a dangerous one, they were often very competent in combat. Locke was competent enough in combat, though he did not live it in the way that the types of men his master had described seemed to. If Nomak was that sort of man... Have I gotten in over my head? Locke steadied himself and tried to push the worry that was rising in his stomach away. He'd just have to deal with Nomak.
Nomak took the offensive, as Locke hoped he would. The larger man took his hilt in a two handed grip, which was something Locke had not been expecting after learning that Nomak was a Makashi practitioner. What's he up to? Locke's grey eyes narrowed warily at the new stance Nomak took, but he didn't get too much to think about it, as Nomak suddenly launched forward and made his strike. It was a slow attack, and one that only an idiot wouldn't be able to stop. A flare of irritation rose in Locke as the thought came that Nomak was mocking him. Well, he'd show Nomak. Locke moved to raise his blade and block the strike, and from there he planned to strike out and punish Nomak with a vicious riposte. "Don't toy with-"
His angered retort was cut off when Nomak suddenly changed the game. The violent red blade cut away, and Locke's orange kept rising, as he'd expected it to be stopped by Nomak's weapon. Horror filled him as he looked to see Nomak's saber closing in on his side. "What?!" There wasn't enough time to try to block the strike, so he did the only thing he could, and tried to spin back out of the way. He was almost fast enough.
Almost.
Locke's scream covered the violent rattling of the metal in Nomak's hair as a firery pain suddenly erupted across his left shoulder, and he knew he'd been hit. He dashed back and almost fell down to a knee from the pain, but he could not do that, lest Nomak end him. A look at the burn told him that it wasn't a deep cut, and that he'd probably just been grazed by the tip of Nomak's lightsaber. It was a shiim touch, then. Even though the wound in and of itself was minor, the pain that came with it was nearly blinding. Locke ground his teeth together and forced himself to stare Nomak down. Luckily, his right hand was his preferred hand for wielding his blade, though he was ambidextrous and could use either. He wasn't willing to trust his left arm, though, with the pain that shot forth whenever he moved his shoulder.
The Force flowed into him and he did what he could to dull the pain before he moved forward, rushing at Nomak. The wound on his shoulder burned as he moved, but he ignored it as he focused in on Nomak. Now he knew that he couldn't afford to lose his focus as he fought this man, or he would die.
Locke's orange blade lashed out at Nomak's side before he decided to try to use the man's own trick against him. He suddenly changed direction part of the way through his sweep and cut up, at Nomak's throat. He prayed his attack would be successful and put an end to the fight, but he feared that he was in for a much longer battle than he would like.
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
Force Sensitive
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May 26, 2010 18:15:35 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on May 26, 2010 18:15:35 GMT -5
A savage joy pulsed through Nomak as his opponent let out a scream as his blade snagged home into the young knight, extracting a wicked laugh from the dark jedi. Nomak dacned away lightly, prolonging the moment of his victory. He would give Locke a chance to let doubt enter his mind and fill it with that parasite that sapped away at the will to fight and replaced it with fear. Would the jedi beg? No... too proud for that, would he weep? Perhaps. Few men didn't weep when one took away their hands, legs, eyes and ears. That was a cowards fate however and for Locke's many short-comings he was no coward. Nomak would end him swiftly and in a fairly painless manner. He owed the young knight a clean death for providing such interesting sport.
" How can you protect others when you cannot protect yourself, Jedi Knight Locke?" Nomak paused to look into the blood red blade, smiling as it hummed with the subtle movement that brought it closer to his face. "Strange... Jedi knight Locke. Does the title comfort you in your last moments? I doubt it." Locke offered no retort and instead the air shifted as he drew the force to him, pumping life into his tired limbs for one final surge. Nomak cackled as he swept forward, blade held out low.
The young knight charged to meeth im and his blade swept towards his side. Nomak chuckled as he swatted his blade out to protect his side, his eyes opened in horrer as at the last moment he was caught out with his own trick. The blade swung towards his throat and would split him in two if it struck home. His own blade was out to the side and any attempt to bring it to guard would see him cut himself in two with his own blade. So Nomak did the only thing he could think of, he threw himself back. A ragged scream emitted as Locke's blade caught his tilted head with the tip. The orange blade struck the corner of his mouth, the heat drying up and cracking his lips and blistering the skin around them. The blade dragged up towards his earlobe, scarring the flesh as it moved untill it at last exitedh is flesh an inch from his ear which too blistered under the intense heat. Nomak hit his back screaming, his blade swung up hastily to fend off an attack. Rolling to his feet he backed away, swinging the sword out infront of him.
" Miserable cur!" He roared, putting a hand to his once handsome face. The blade had cut an ugly wound up his features which had been of course instantly sealed shut. It had narrowly missed melting his teeth and had sliced off a small metal sliver dangling from his hair. The scar itself made Nomak look as if he was constantly smirking. Anger flooded Nomak and he gave a wordless roar, venting his frustrations. Leaping forward with both feet Nomak landed just out of sabre range of Locke and took his sword in both hands, abandoning style and simply letting his wrath and need for revenge carry him forward. A two handed blow aimed at taking Locke's head off followed but Nomak was still out of range and the blood red blade slid easily through the dura-steel shelves supports splitting them like paper. An eerie creeking cut through the noise as the shelves slowly began to buckle, the metal crates resting atop them plummeting towards the fighting men. WIth a roar of effort Nomak back flipped clear, drawing on the force to agument his acrobatic ability. He landed into a neat tumblers roll, his lightsabre held out to a self inflicted wound, his jade eyes snapping up to see if his foe had met his fate under the falling refuse.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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May 27, 2010 0:09:48 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on May 27, 2010 0:09:48 GMT -5
Doubt was growing in Locke's mind. It grew when Nomak retreated, and insulted him. Locke couldn't know if the words Nomak spoke were chosen to cut deep, but they did. How could he protect anyone else if this man was handling him so easily? Locke glared at Nomak, but when he could find no answer with which to retort, he broke his lock with Nomak's green eyes, turn his own grey ones down and to the side in his shame.
The last exchange played through his mind again; the way he'd thought he was in control, only to have Nomak show him the hard way that he was not. It was the mark of a good combatant, to let the opponent think that they were the ones with the upper hand, when in fact, they were dancing on a string. It could do terrible things to morale, and as another wave of pain bit through his shoulder, Locke knew that his own morale was lower than it had been a few moments ago. But as Nomak continued to talk, Locke found determination rising; determination to show this man that he wasn't someone to be taken lightly.
Locke's next attack came, and Nomak moved to stop it. Truth be told, if Locke hadn't decide to use Nomak's tactic against him, he might have been screwed, since he really only had one reliable arm to use, now that an intense wave of pain short from his shoulder every time he moved his left arm. But he feinted, and it worked marvelously. Nomak almost escaped the hit, just like Locke almost escaped his, but were one to compare the damage both of them took, Nomak got the worse end of the stick than Locke. The Knight only smirked when Nomak fell back and rolled away, screaming in his pain. He was good with a blade, maybe even better than Locke was, but he was not invincible. There was still hope.
Nomak yelled at him, and before Locke could respond, the Dark Jedi was charging. It didn't take the Force for Locke to know that Nomak was pissed (which, for a moment, gave rise to the thought that hitting him might not have been the best idea), but he could feel the intense anger anyway. He noted that Nomak now held his saber in two hands, which, if they went blade-to-blade again, could lead to problems, with him being limited to one as he was. Nomak seemed to have other plans in mind, though, and lashed out at the shelves.
Locke was on the verge of saying something when a creaking noise arose, and he looked up to see he large crates that sat on top of the shelves falling, as the metal that held them up gave way. He looked back to see that Nomak was suddenly gone, and he was left to get crushed. Instincts took over, and Locke dived backwards, using the Force to add power to his jump so that he ended up sliding away on his back. It was close, but he escaped the falling containers, which slammed loudly to the ground.
He stood up, and dusted himself off before jumping up on top of one of them to see Nomak crouching on the other side of them. Locke decided to stay where he was and force Nomak to make the next attack. "You know, you really shouldn't be so sloppy," he said, his tone mocking. "I didn't really think that would work, but you made things easy for me, falling for your own trick like that. What kind of swordsman are you, anyway? What kind of fool can't counter their own trap?" Of course, Locke realized his words might get him in a whole lot of trouble if they angered Nomak further, but he wanted to hurt the man's pride. "Besides," he added with a sneer, "I don't think the ladies are gonna like that scar. Ruins that pretty face of yours."
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
Force Sensitive
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Jun 1, 2010 18:39:39 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Jun 1, 2010 18:39:39 GMT -5
It had been so long since being struck by the very weapons he favored that he had long since forgotten the sensation. To atone for the analysis his mind had drawn in a panic he reviewed the sensation. Unlike what most people expect there was no heat, only cold, fairly little pain and the smell of burning meat. His father had explained that the lightsabre was too hot to cause pain, it seared the nerve endings shut and destryoed most sensory capabilities of any portions of flesh it touched. A man struck by one screamed out more on instinct and in panic than by any real pain. Only a distinct cold, worse than holding ice against naked flesh was left in his memory.
His gaze flicked to the ruin of a warehouse and found with mounting frustration that his quarry remained alive. Somehow he had avoided the fate of being squashed like a bug and with the stubborness of a fully blooded wookie warrior he stood proud and ready, even goading him a little. Nomak tiwled his blade as he had a habit of doing before starting a slow march towards Locke. The crates in his way shifted to the side, it wasn't a graceful force push as most other force users were capable of but rather a jagged, aggressive shunt that walked the crates from his path, shunting them with the violence of an angry rancor.
A few feet from Locke now and Nomak froze in his tracks at the last comment about his scar. Eyes still fixed on his opponent Nomak eased himself down, sabre still held in a one handed form II guard while his free hand took somthing from his boot. Lifting the object up so it too was held alongside his lightsabre he glanced from Locke to this newest object. His reflection stared back at him in the small mirror which untill now had been concealed in his boots. Having witnessed his mutilated face for the first time he gave a cold, rather chilling laugh. " I hear they appreciate scars... I hope that proves true." Somehow the dark jedi managed to reel in his temper, that same temper which had almost got him killed and hammer it into a cold rage. It wasn't an angry, screaming, thrashing anger but rather a cool, vengeful and spiteful one. It had to be or Locke would havel ured him in and finished him. Different to his previous emotions in the way a snake is to a tiger. "Catch."
With a flick of his wrist Nomak threw the mirror at Locke, it twirled through the air towards him and if he didn't intercept it or move from it's path it would strike harmlessly off his face. The goal of the thrown mirror was not to harm however but to distract Nomak followed perhaps less than a second behind it, his lightsabre turning in a tight circle as he rolled his wrists, a single motion that unopposed would land two small strikes, strikes that could very possibly end the bout once and for all. The first was aimed at striking the inside of Locke's sabre hand just behind the wrist, hoping to inflict further pain and confusion on his surprsingly worthy opponent. If the motion remained onstopped Nomak would arc it round in a circle to try and strike Locke a hands length below the hip on his lead leg, attempting to cripple and/or disarm his opponent and claim victory in a most entertaining match that had put that violent little spark in Nomak's day.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jun 3, 2010 18:39:42 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jun 3, 2010 18:39:42 GMT -5
Locke smirked at Nomak when he pulled a mirror, of all things, from his boot. "Vain, are we," he muttered, too quietly for the other man to hear. Everyone was vain to some degree. Locke would be the first to admit that he was a bit arrogant, and he'd call anyone who claimed that they were not a damn liar. Nomak was on a whole different level, though. The man carried a mirror! And the only thing he could possibly have it for would be to look at his face. Arrogant fool, he thought as he spun his orange blade 'round in his hand idly. There's no way in hell I'm going to lose to you. "Yes, well, let's hope the old saying is true. You'll need all the help you can get with that face."
Nomak was silent for a few moments more, and then he suddenly looked up, turning his sharp green eyes to look at Locke, who was still perched atop the metal crate. He only spoke one word, and then the mirror was airborne, toward Locke. That was when Locke made his first mistake. As the mirror flew, his eyes followed, and Nomak was, for only a few moments, forgotten. In this lull in Locke's defenses, Nomak struck, and moved in to make Locke pay for his slip up.
Locke's attention snapped back to Nomak and he gasped in shock to see him up on the crates, and not three paces away. The mirror went unnoticed then, and he winced as it hit his face. That collision didn't really hurt, but the reaction was reflexive, and what little time it took for him to do it would be what determined the outcome of the next exchange. The orange of his saber came up to meet Nomak's red, but he realized after he started the motion that he'd started too late to stop Nomak's first strike. He shifted then, in an attempt to move his hand back and out of the way.
Again, he almost made it, but Nomak was too fast.
No physical harm befell Locke from the strike. It was because of this, and the way that Nomak seamlessly carried into a second stroke, that he didn't notice the way his lightsaber's blade flickered. But when he held it up to parry, he did see the way it suddenly died out, allowing Nomak's attack to go on unhindered.
There wasn't enough time for the shock of what was happening to register. The next thing Locke felt was an explosion of pain as the tip of Nomak's lightsaber bit into the muscles of his thigh. It bit deep, and Locke suddenly collapsed to the ground, his mind reeling, both from pain and the shock of his blade dying out. He called upon the Force, but it offered little solace from the pain. A quick look at his thigh let him know that the damage could be fixed, but he didn't have near the ability it would take to do that; it would probably take the work of one of the healers back in the Temple and a bacta tank to fix this wound. The cut did present another problem, though. A very big problem. Nomak had, in effect, crippled Locke. Even if Locke could push through the pain that erupted from the wound whenever he tried to put pressure on it, he'd be far too unsteady to move about properly, much less fight. Agility was his greatest strength in a fight, and now he'd been robbed of it.
The damage to his lightsaber wasn't much better. It only took a grazing blow from Nomak's weapon, but enough damage had been done to make it useless. Like his leg, it could be fixed with a bit of work, but he wouldn't be getting anything out of it now.
Terror filled him as he looked up at Nomak. It was funny; the man was already a good deal taller than Locke when they were both standing, but from this viewpoint, with Locke looking up at him from one knee, he towered. And, Locke realized, the older man suddenly terrified him. Or maybe it was the fact that he was suddenly in a very bad position.
He'd be damned if he was going to give in, though. They were positioned so that Nomak stood near the edge of one of the crates. Locke would have act quickly, if he was going to have any hope of surviving. He quickly clipped his now-useless lightsaber back onto his belt and switched his position so that he could push off with his left leg, rather than his wounded right. Then he acted, jumping up to throw all of his weight into Nomak. As he did, he reached out with an arm to take Nomak's saber hand by the wrist, with the hope that he could keep the Dark Jedi from striking out at him.
Though, honestly, he wasn't sure if he had the physical strength to keep Nomak's arm pinned. And he didn't have a clue what he'd do once they fell from the crate's top to the ground. But he'd have to try something.
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Nomak
" Anything short of perfection is not worth striving for"
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last online Jun 24, 2010 14:38:49 GMT -5
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Jun 20, 2010 18:04:45 GMT -5
Post by Nomak on Jun 20, 2010 18:04:45 GMT -5
A savage cry of exultion ripped through Nomak, replacing the earlier dissapointment when it looked like his strike had bought him nothing but a poor position. Locke's legs gave out under him and he fell hard, his sabre damaged enough to cease to function. Nomak decided it would make a most attractive trophy to remember the day after the short business of finishing off Locke was done with. In his infinite arrogance Nomak was already debating which to seek out first, a brothal or a ship off this dull rock. Locke had awakened in him a renewed desire for battle, a dire need to test himself against stronger still opponents. The only place Nomak's mind wasn't was the act of actually ending brave young Locke, that cost him dearly.
" I am filled with regret, Jedi Knight Locke... " He started, His lightsabre held casually by his side, his tone that which would be used in day to day conversation. " You were a fine swordsman, given time you could have been great..Perhaps even my equal..." The lightsabre lifted above Nomak's head, dready to deliver a final blow that would end Locke once and for all. " Such a waste of talent." Nomak added with a final " May the force be with you." He remarked, his voice once more slipping into that mocking tone. Before he could bring the sabre down however Locke did the unexpected, he lunged at Nomak, his hand arresting the dark jedi's wrist and stopping the swing.
Nomak placed his foot back to brace himself and found nothing but air under his tread, he waved his free arm, trying to balance himself as he fell backwards, striking the ground with a yelp. One of the pieces of metal he wore in his hair was digging in under his shoulderblade and his own lightsabre was now ntohing more than a dangerous hazard pinned close to his side. Raw panic touched him now for this was not his element, he was fairly competent with the open hand, but nothing special. Bracing his legs he used them to try and unbalance Locke. While being larger and slightly stronger than his opponent he sensed his opponent was every inch his equal in unarmed combat, and while he wasn't quite as strong Locke had leverage and pressure on his side. Nomak's free hand thudded ineffectivly against Locke's side, unable to find a soft target. With a savage growl Nomak did the only thing he oculd think of. Drawing his head back he thrust it forward, hoping to smash his forehead into Locke's nose and by himself precious moments to better his position. He knew full well here his tactics were limited, and wounds and weariness would take their toll on him before long. Nomak had to end the fight and end it swiftly before either Locke killed him or the local defenses forces intervened. After all the duel had created sufficent noise to be reported and Nomak had no doubt that locals would send at least a squad of troopers to investigate the disturbance. And naturally who were they more likely to side with? A renegade warrior or a Jedi knight?
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jun 23, 2010 16:32:43 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jun 23, 2010 16:32:43 GMT -5
Locke felt his shoulder slam into Nomak's chest as the tackle hit, and the two went sprawling off the crate and down, down to the ground beneath. They landed roughly, but Locke waited no time grabbing the wrist of Nomak's saber arm and pinning it down with all of the force he could muster. Perhaps, had they been positioned differently, Locke's efforts would have failed; Nomak was larger than he was, and from what he could tell of the man's build, probably stronger as well. However, Nomak's positioning was poor, and Locke's strong, and he had the ability to put his weight behind his pressing, where Nomak could not.
Still, it wasn't going to be easy. Locke struggled with his free hand to keep his balance while Nomak actively worked to topple him. But when his initial efforts at that failed, Nomak moved to striking at Locke, throwing his fist into Locke's side over and over. While the large man might not have been able to find a good place to hit, the blows still hurt, and each elicited some kind of pained wince or grunt from the young Knight. Locke held fast, though; he had to, or he wouldn't make it out of that warehouse alive.
Then Nomak changed his strategy. Nomak's head surged forward before Locke could react, and he heard himself crying out as wave of pain exploded across the front of his face. He felt himself shift, and then the ground beneath his back as he was finally forced to fall. Still, though, as his free hand went to his nose, and came away, wet with what could only be blood, he was vaguely aware of his other hand, still desperately clinging to Nomak's wrist.
Each breath hurt. Locke couldn't say for certain if his nose was broken, though his initial instinct was to go with yes, but here, that technicality didn't matter. His side was sore, and probably bruised in some fashion. His leg and shoulder still burned with pain from Nomak's strikes. It wasn't supposed to go like this. Nomak wasn't supposed to be good. Everything had been going so well up til now, and Locke had believed that dispatching this man would be an easy thing.
He'd been wrong, though.
And now, as he turned onto his side, lashing out at Nomak with his fist at his stomach, his face, anywhere he might be able to cause some pain to keep the Dark Jedi from attacking him, he realized how much his mistake might cost him. He'd underestimated Nomak, and now, he was stuck in a fight, not for the completion of the mission, but for his survival.
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