The Shepherd
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 10:01:25 GMT -8
Rutil Iorek vs. Vidalu Na'an
Rules: Standard GBA Location: Jedi Training Ground Weapons: Lightsaber / Force only
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 7:52:50 GMT -8
Open challenge.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 9, 2015 7:09:02 GMT -8
Unless they somehow have Force-sniffer dogs at the checkpoints and being Force-sensitive is an honest-to-God crime on Naboo, I can't imagine a Sith with half a brain cell would have too much difficulty getting through. Besides, this is supposed to hearken back to 1.0, where people regularly teleported to their destination, security checks be damned.
may or may not seriously want a Sith planetside so he can use something to get the gunk out of his teeth
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Post by The Shepherd on May 8, 2015 20:43:43 GMT -8
"...and I'm telling you, he said it was a holocron! Like, a genuine...Jedi...holycron...which is why I'm here, y'know?"
There were many interesting people to be met at a spaceport bar. In point of fact, if one ever wanted to find anybody worth talking to, all they would have to do is book a ticket somewhere and make a beeline for the dive closest to the gates. The proximity to the actual starships was important; the galaxy's travelers were weary after a long flight and in need of a drink, preparing to make the first step of a long journey and in need of a drink, or generally just hoping to make the hours - or even days - of their travels more bearable with the sweet release of alcohol. Despite the thousands of species and billions of individual souls crossing the space lanes every standard year, the almost overpowering need for booze was one of two commonalities across the spectrum. The other, as the Force would have it, was twofold; each person had at least one interesting story to tell, and a burning desire to share it with others.
When one had the savvy to send both inherent needs on a collision course, the results were rather informative.
"D'you even know what a holycron is, old man?"
The Nautolan laughed a hearty, mocking, drunken laugh as his hooded benefactor waved the bartender over, silently ordering another round.
"Not especially," the hooded man said with a gruff, almost gravelly voice, "but it sounds important."
"Arc-arcane knowledge. Secrets of the Jedi. All a bunch o' bantha fodder if you ask me, but hey, some poor kriffer's gonna shell out biiiiiiiiig money for one."
"There's always one."
The drunken Nautolan let out another laugh, clapping the brown-robed stranger on his shoulder as he took a deep gulp from the newly-arrived mug. It had taken two of them to really get the conversation going, and another two for the Nautolan to broach the subject of the lost holocron. Clearly, he had been hoping to keep that a secret, looking to get the bounty himself despite the fate that had befallen the original thief. But everyone in a spaceport bar had a story to tell. Everyone in a spaceport bar had a need to get royally plastered on at least one leg of the trip. But even that had not quite been enough for the spacer to spill his guts about the Jedi relic.
Fortunately, one need amplified the other, and the cycle had softened him up enough for the hooded man's final move.
"Tell me where the holocron is," the hooded man said, gently waving his hand under the table, his voice suddenly carrying far more weight and authority as the Nautolan seemed to slip into a trance.
Suddenly groggy and quiet, the Nautolan blinked a few times and raised a webbed finger as he began to speak, the words just about to escape before he stopped, puzzling over some unknown thought. Rather, unknown to most, perhaps even to himself, but not to his new drinking buddy. Far-flung and scattered though his thoughts were, the spacer still had an idea of where to find his score, even if the words had not quite reached his mouth; it was all he had thought about since he himself heard the story.
"I-uh...I heard it was in the water somewhere. Not, like, far though. I mean, far, but more...down far, not sideways far..."
That was all the hooded man needed to hear; the brews had either done their work splendidly, or the gravelly-voiced man's ability to influence minds was far better than he gave himself credit for. Perhaps both. Either way, so far as the Nautolan could tell, he had told his benefactor truth. The holocron was in the ocean somewhere, and not especially far from Naboo's capital; the rest he could figure out from there.
With a curt nod, the hooded man stood up from the Nautolan's table, pushing his seat in. But as he turned to leave, the Nautolan grabbed at the stranger's scarred forearm.
"Wait, wait, you said you'd tell me how that horn o' yours got broke!"
"Take your hand off of me."
There had been no need for plying the spacer's mind with alcohol. There had been no need to reach out with the Force to get the spacer to comply. To those that knew him - and a good many that did not - Rutil Iorek was infamous for having a scowl that was etched in stone, and a glare that could melt through durasteel faster than any lightsaber. And had that been anything more than a metaphor, the increasingly inebriated Nautolan would have been reduced to a pile of ashes and cinders on the spot. Fortunately, that was to be avoided; the second the grizzled Jedi had stopped speaking, the webbed hand flew back to the wooden table as though Rutil's leathery forearm had been a concentrated inferno. Rutil held his glare for a few more seconds and turned to leave the spaceport altogether, walking at a brisk pace.
Rutil Iorek had been trained in the ways of the old Order, before the Great Purge. And in the days following the rise of the Empire, he had trained in a great many more ways to keep himself from being found out. And with the decades and the training came the experience.
And the experience told him he was not the only person in this spaceport looking for the holocron.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 8, 2015 15:01:26 GMT -8
When's this thing kicking off?
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Post by The Shepherd on Aug 15, 2013 15:00:54 GMT -8
The departure of the Jedi Master, the two soliders, and his conflicted apprentice left Rutil with little to do. He wasn't needed anywhere in particular, and anything that the old man could think to do was already being handled by people far more qualified than himself. The best case scenario was to prep a ship to run the blockade and make a break for a shadowport; this would be done to prepare for a mission that the Zabrak had been waiting to execute for years. And the worst case scenario was the Mandalorians breaching the outer defenses, at which point Rutil would be needed in more places than he could be at.
While he was happy to be among his own again, Rutil lamented how complicated his life had become since his return to the Praxeum. Having operated under the "find Sith, kill Sith" mode of thinking out in the field for as long as he had, the old Knight still had trouble acclimating to the educational, militaristic climate.
With a huff, Rutil left the ship himself, leaving it empty once again (and, to his delight, leaving the ship's computer with nobody to yell at).
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 23, 2013 15:07:11 GMT -8
Were he younger, Rutil would have taken offense at being almost totally ignored by Master Madoon. The two soldiers had assignments, as did his informal apprentice, and what was he supposed to do, stay on the ship and look for intruders in the middle of a heavily-armed military installation swarming with infantry, droids, and Jedi? Dust the outer plating of the ship for prints? But after some time, Rutil had come to realize that between his skill, reputation, and attitude, mistaking him for a Master was an easy mistake to make. If nothing else, it made scenarios like the one before him - where he was almost totally ignored (and thus, not treated as a subordinate) - slightly more tolerable.
In any case, Master Madoon and the corporal would be going to question a potential Mandalorian spy. One that was familiar to Caoimhin. The same Caoimhin that struggled with his darker impulses and even now was - by his own admission, no less - susceptible to succumbing to them at any moment. And while Master Madoon could probably handle such a revelation about someone he was taking to meet a potential threat to the Jedi, it would be far more important for the boy to tell the Master that himself. Coming from Cao, it would be an admission of a problem. Coming from Rutil, however, it would be a threat assessment. And as Rutil had told himself before, bringing the boy completely to the light would mean letting him go to it. Telling Master Madoon of his struggle on his own terms and of his own volition would be a good step in that direction.
And it was not the only one he could take.
"Caoimhin, you said you knew Captain Aridigo. If there's anything you can tell Master Madoon or myself, now would be the time."
It was as subtle a push as Rutil knew how to give. The answer might've meant outing himself as a former dark-sider. It also might've meant incriminating an old friend of his, if things truly were as bad as they looked. But if Caoimhin Shan wanted to prove himself, such things would have to come to light.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 12, 2013 16:44:42 GMT -8
"Good."
Rutil eked out one last acknowledgment before he depressed the ship's comm button, loosing a low growl as he rapidly opened and closed his fist to cope with the infuriating electrical jolts. The gruff Zabrak did not make a comment about how trying to sense this ship's captain should've been the first order of business; odds were good that Caoimhin got the point.
"If I were you, I'd set about finding Captain Aridigo. If you run into Master Kor-taan, all the better."
Nodding in affirmation, Rutil turned his head to call to the two soldiers that had boarded just behind him, his voice carrying throughout the ship.
"Anything worth cataloging?"
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 10, 2013 6:26:39 GMT -8
Rutil listened, trying to ignore the occasional (and intensifying) zaps shooting from the nearby power outlet. He was a Jedi Guardian; a warrior for peace who had faced down criminals, terrorists, and even the occasional Sith. And he would be damned if it was a petulant AI that finally made him submit. When Cao finished filling him in, Rutil spoke through gritted teeth - the only alteration to his otherwise implacable scowl - as he tried to ignore shocks that were rapidly going from annoying to genuinely painful.
"Can you feel the ship's captain here?"
A simple question. Caoimhin had opted to investigate the ship alone, which was already a fairly dumb move regardless of how violent the ship threatened to get. But dumber still was that the boy had an inherent ability to sense the presence of others - particularly the presence of others that they knew or encountered before - and hadn't thought to try it. There were at least two other ways to find out what he needed to know without needlessly endangering himself or breaking protocol.
And Rutil wasn't even going to begin with the problems inherent in indulging his dark alter, no matter what its intentions were.
Shooting a glare at the control console as another shock hit him, Rutil waited for a few seconds - letting the ship know that what he was about to do was on his terms rather than its - and depressed the mute button.
"Step to it, boy."
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 4, 2013 15:54:52 GMT -8
Rutil had been around ships of this type before. In almost a century of fieldwork, the Zabrak had worked on several vessels for various reasons. Most memorably, he'd had to learn how to work with a ship's flight computer in order to troubleshoot software problems in flight. Most ships had been Corellian. And fortunately, Corellian vessels were all remarkably similar. When greeted by a ship computer that had an annoying voice and was simply in the way, it gave someone with a familiarity of Corellian ships a major advantage."And who the hell is that. I don't recall giving you leave to enter me witho-" Knowledge of a press-to-talk PA system."Cao, you have thirty seconds to explain yourself. Go." Rutil turned to face his apprentice, keeping an index finger firmly pressed on the button, keeping the electronic voice silent.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 4, 2013 15:21:26 GMT -8
Rutil simply gave a firm nod in response. Frankly, the "softening up" idea was a crock of bantha crap, and the two soliders should have known that. At the very least, one of them should have gone to accompany Caoimhin. In spite of his progress and his unofficial status as a Padawan, the boy was still technically a prisoner of the Praxeum. What if the kid had one of his little mood swings? What if he blew open the hangar door and flew off? What if there was a threat on board the vessel that couldn't be detected by the usual means? Force forbid, what if he tried to use his new hand for non-celibate purposes?
The old Knight took but a single step onto the boarding ramp, striding right through the soldiers to do so, before turning his head upward and calling into the purple vessel.
"You have anything? Playtime's over."
Without waiting for a response, Rutil strode up the boarding ramp.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jul 3, 2013 18:11:26 GMT -8
If you all could be so kind: here.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jun 30, 2013 8:03:18 GMT -8
The old Zabrak's only change in facial expression was to raise a single silver eyebrow at the corporal. Did machines need softening up now? Was the Shan boy going to talk it down from a homicidal rampage? Perhaps oil down the ship's hyperdrive and massage its durasteel plates until they were good and pliable? If Aridigo's ship had kinks that needed to be worked out, then she should see to that herself. A ship did not need softening up. It did not need to be convinced, chatted up, or otherwise persuaded to allow access like some drunken Zeltron floozy. And even if it did - even if the universe had somehow grown so wild and alien that a YT-1300 could somehow develop sapience and be in need of softening up - Shan had to be the single least qualified person in the Praxeum to do it. After all, the presumably-aware ship would likely be identified as a female, given traditional spacer customs. And if that was the case, Caoimhin's candidacy was sent even further down the pecking order; if his ability to flirt with a woman was anything like his ability to fight one, odds are the poor boy was dead already.
If nothing else, the image that Rutil's mind produced would be plenty entertaining during the days to come.
"And if Master Kor-taan can vouch for Captain Aridigo, why are neither of them here for the...'softening'?"
While Rutil's voice rarely lost its gravelly tone, one could have almost felt the contempt dripping from the word he chose to end the sentence with.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jun 22, 2013 7:57:00 GMT -8
When one was a Jedi living in a temple that had more recently become a war base, there were some minor perks to be enjoyed. One of them was a form of automatic promotion, in that Jedi outranked virtually every soldier currently in the massive building. Another was that, if a Jedi looked like they were in enough of a hurry, the military personnel practically threw themselves into the walls to get out of said Jedi's way in a stunning display of respect and discipline. But chief among all of the minor advantages? With all the chatter burning up the communications equipment, all a Jedi had to do in order to find one of their own was feel those tiny pockets of calm in the midst of the calamity and go from there.
It was one of these pockets of calm - a calm exterior that nevertheless had the Force's equivalent to radio static as uncertainty and fear wormed their way throughout - that led Rutil Iorek to his informal Padawan.
Rather, it led him to a peculiar sight in the hangar. A freighter that held a peculiar color scheme that was painted onto a peculiar - for the Praxeum, anyway - model in a peculiar - for the situation, anyway - place. A guest that was currently stuck there thanks to the Mandalorian onslaught? If so, Rutil wondered to himself how it hadn't been blown apart. Given its status as a prime oddity in the middle of the heavily-militarized Praxeum hangar, one would think it would have been a premier target for the Mandalorians.
Unless that hadn't happened. It had been a confusing time, and Rutil had been too busy securing any Jedi younglings unable to fight in well-defensible areas and assigning Padawans to protect them to make it to the hangar before the supposed attack had been repelled.
And where, during all of this, had the Shan boy gone?
"Gentlemen."
Coming up behind the two soldiers also staring at the peculiar freighter, Rutil's voice carried a frustration that only added to his renowned growl.
"Whose ship is this? And who's in it?"
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Post by The Shepherd on Jun 13, 2013 14:04:58 GMT -8
Rutil felt the Force twist and scream as the Dark Lord brought it around himself as a form of protection, much like he himself had done. Nexus had a much different body language coming into his next strike than what he had done before. It was reserved, calmer, and much more conservative than the wild and powerful attacks that he had chosen to open the fight with. The man's movement spoke to a familiarity with Makashi, while the decision to move towards that form of attack meant he was running low on energy. Which was good in and of itself. Unfortunately, Rutil was also tiring, and was at several disadvantages because of it compared to the Sith; he could not contort the Force to stimulate his body in response to pain or anger, his mastery of the Crucitorn technique would only serve to fuel his opponent after the initial shock unless he were willing to risk falling to the darkness himself, and he did not know enough about Jedi healing techniques to provide any sort of meaningful aid even in the best of conditions, let alone in the middle of pitched combat.
Fortunately, the old, broken-horned Jedi Guardian did have some tricks left up his shortened sleeves.
Rather than leap in response to the Sith's targeted strike, Rutil simply hopped upward, tucking his legs under him to let the red blade pass harmlessly underneath. As the blade passed, Rutil's intense focus found its way onto Nexus's pale body. Blood, muscles, and nerves all working together in perfect motion, operating in perfect balance. Rutil had learned long ago how to upset that balance using those very same mechanisms.
While landing poised to intercept another attack on instinct, the Jedi's mind now bombarded Nexus with the power of Malacia, twisting the Dark Lord's bodily mechanisms and turning them all against him by disrupting the natural flow of things. In most cases, it could make a target feel queasy and dizzy. In some cases - most often in the hands of a true master of the power, as Rutil was - a target could be forced to vomit and fall unconscious as their body turned against them. If successful, the Sith would wretch and lose sense of things before falling unconscious.
And when that happened, Rutil would have a decision to make.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jun 8, 2013 20:54:06 GMT -8
Congratulations, summer hits the perfect temperature for your personal desires. Unfortunately, the rest of the weather follows suit. Before long, seasons as we know them are barely perceptible. The planet is trapped in a perpetual early-summer mode. Only a select number of crops will EVER be in season anymore, to say nothing of the tears of children everywhere flowing when they realize Frosty the Snowman and Santa Claus just became outdated relics thanks to your personal wish of a warmer summer. Jerk.
I wish I knew how to make art.
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Post by The Shepherd on Jun 3, 2013 9:24:06 GMT -8
Rookie error.
Rutil had broken one of his longest-standing rules of combat; never, ever let go of the lightsaber. It was more than just a weapon. It was a tool, a companion, an extension of oneself. More than being a means of self-defense, it was one of the greatest symbols of the Jedi Order, and the only thing in the galaxy any individual Jedi could truly rely on. In using a saber throw, one not only needlessly disarmed and exposed oneself in the middle of combat, but one cast away both a part of themselves and a part of the family they shared in for the sake of a strike. A strike which - as Nexus had been all too happy to remind the older Zabrak - had exactly no guarantee of landing in any practical situation. That the Sith had been no farther than a meter away made no difference.
The Jedi Guardian did not dwell on his mistake, however. There would be time to chide himself later. A time where a deranged devotee of the Dark Side wasn't bearing down on him.
With little else to do, Rutil rolled himself to his left, putting his body on the Sith's right; during their duel, he had noticed that Nexus was left-handed, and moving in the opposite direction would give him a few precious centimeters to get clear of the red energy should the Sith blade try to follow him. But he did not escape unscathed. The lightsaber seared through the skin on his lower back, cutting through saffron-colored cloth and tan skin to come just shy of exposing muscle and coming dangerously close to crippling him. Pain shot through Rutil, but he kept his momentum going to swing himself up and around into a crouch, facing the pale man with a grimace that at once conveyed pain, frustration, and simple Zabrak stubbornness.
Rutil gathered the Force unto himself once more, anticipating the Sith's next move.
Even with the Force, though, Rutil's body was starting to tire. While he was only in what would be considered upper-middle age for his species, the fight and the planet's hostility was starting to take its toll on his body. The Sith had a body far younger than his own. The Sith still held a lightsaber. The fight was winding down, and unless the Jedi did something to quickly even the odds, it was not going to end in his favor.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 30, 2013 13:19:03 GMT -8
Depending on the timing of it all, Cap'n, some associates of mine and I may need to get off-world in a big damn hurry.
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Post by The Shepherd on May 30, 2013 10:40:28 GMT -8
Taking Rutil's lead, Vesten dialed down his lightsaber's power setting as well. He let the majestic, golden-hued blade hum to life. Taking note of the opening pace, he brought it up to meet the blue blade of Rutil's saber. His wrist twisted to provide a steep angle off to his right side. Simultaneously, he slowly cross-stepped left and pushed out to the right to deflect the force, as light as it was."And what brings you out to the Garden on this fine day?" Ves inquired casually. He stepped back a moment with patience in their on-the-fly velocity.He couldn't recall having seen the elder Zabrak spend his time in the Garden much, if at all. Of course, he knew that such a lack of observation didn't equate to the fact that it never happened. Still, it made him ever so slightly curious. "I figured I'd actually try meditating the way most of us do." Rutil executed every step and every strike with pinpoint precision. He had to; the Zabrak had pushed himself too hard for too long to accept anything else, and it was a Master of the Praxeum he was "meditating" with. Even on their lowest setting, weapons such as theirs left nasty stings in the wake of contact.In any case, Rutil did not meditate in the traditional sense. Try as he might, he simply could not quiet his mind the way his peers could. The only sense of peace the Zabrak had ever found was with the chaos and emotional intensity of combat. It lent itself well to his position as a Guardian, to be sure. It also ensured that his presence in the more tranquil areas of the Praxeum - such as the Gardens the pair found themselves in - was a rarity that some Jedi had gone their entire apprenticeship without witnessing."Should've figured it wouldn't happen."
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Post by The Shepherd on May 30, 2013 8:35:15 GMT -8
As the Sith charged him, Rutil considered his options. Leap left? Leap right? Drop back, into the pit? The decision had to be made quickly; Nexus moved with a speed that quite possibly surpassed his own. The masked monster's hatred was palpable even from the rapidly-closing distance. And still Rutil simply stood there, moving only to drop into a crouch, blue blade ready to make violent contact with red once more. Nexus jumped, and Rutil made his move.
Suddenly swinging his lightsaber to run parallel along his right leg, Rutil instead dove across the sand, clear under Nexus' body and blade before turning in mid-air to land on his back.
Nexus had assumed Rutil would continue his use of Ataru. And in most cases, he would have been correct; the form was almost perfect given the open space and the need to overpower the Sith Lord. However, Nexus had not considered that he was facing one of the more prolific combatants of the Jedi Order. While it was not a mistake to assume that an average Jedi would only master one form over the course of their lifetime, Rutil had mastered five, and was every bit as comfortable jumping about in the Ataru form as he was using swift precision in the Makashi form or the strong offensive flurry of the Djem So form, or switching forms to maximize his ability. None of them utilized the unorthodox method of jumping headlong into the dirt to avoid an attack from above. Conversely, however, none of them had a direct method for picking oneself off the ground in the event that one had to jump headlong into the dirt.
Nevertheless, in assuming the broken-horned Zabrak would stay with Ataru, Nexus had made a potentially fatal mistake.
Though he had put himself a short distance - barely over a meter, even - behind the Sith Lord, he had not yet fallen into the pit. The instant his back made contact with the ground, Rutil reactivated his lightsaber and pointed it at the pale Sith's back, letting the Force guide it through the air to piece the monster's body and end his wretched existence once and for all.
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