Corr
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You can lead a fool to knowledge but you can't make him think.
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Affiliation: Clan Vhett
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Post by Corr on Jul 1, 2013 15:19:19 GMT -8
Rules: Standard GBA. No armour/weapon restrictions.Location: Jungle Boogie. 
As an ancient ruin, and the skilled craftsmanship notwithstanding, the mortar in a lot of the stone structures has long since crumbled to dust. Several of the mighty blocks used in the construction have been shaken loose by the elements and now litter the sand floor, creating cover behind which one could hide, or weapon for which one with the strength could utilise. There are several opportunities one could find for our duelists being there, from the battle in canon to a non-canon specific.
Our duelists find themselves approaching from opposite sides of the ruins, catching sight of each other as they step though an arch and onto the top tiers. The jungles teem all around them with the echoing calls of its wildlife and the blazing red orb of Yavin can be seen smoldering over the green canopy...
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 2, 2013 14:32:15 GMT -8
*What had it been, ten years ago; by reckoning I wasn't far off, the last time I had set foot in this place I had firmly belonged to the Jedi of Yavin IV and was a proud member of their order, of course now times had changed and no longer were the Order's of the Jedi fractured as they had been, of course back then then the Yavin Order had been one of the major Jedi Academies and it had served as my home, my source of solace and comfort when I had returned from the Darkness.
I had in my younger days even trained in this great monument, practiced my saber cadences and even the odd force power, whilst studied under the watchful eye of either Bahari Nav or Trelife Rite; I smiled a fond smile as the memories of this place brushed across my mind, as fresh as though it were yesterday.
However, in the here and the now, time had been less pleased with the Massassi arena and she had cast her eye cruelly and set the hand of nature to work on slowly over turning and over running what man had built; that was entropy for you.
The arena from the outside; as I had approached, had looked forlorn, unkempt and in a sad state of repair. Its once proud pointing triangular adornments that had once stood atop each wall had crumbled, and now as I approached from the East I could see that all but one had fallen inward and littered the ground with shards and blocks of material, this was no longer a clean flat open space. Instead now it looked like a giant child had gotten angry and scattered their toys, throwing the blocks about in a haphazard fashion, and where there was space, well the plants, mosses, and ivy grew.
I looked down at the floor bellow; I standing upon the stepped seating that wound around the arena, only the South side was largely incomplete with a large gaping chasm quite possibly man made as it looked rather like the impact of an explosive force as opposed to the gradual overtake of nature. Nevertheless I was observant and had found that footing upon these stones could not be assured, for the decades old mortar was but dust, more like sand than anything and the majority of the blocks seemed to be held in place by the weight of others rather than the bonding that once held them fast together.
Prior to my skirmish into the jungle I had disposed of my cloak, instead I wore a black tank top and loose trousers with both my wrists bound for support. I knew the humid close climate of Yavin well, it made everything cloy and sticky and I even recalled how when I first arrived how hard it had been to breath, thankfully some familiarity remained as I did not find my breathing labored, but the sun was not yet at its summit and the clouds could well roll over, if one thing I had learned it was how changeable Yavin was, and it's flash storms were a sight to behold but not fantastic weather conditions to find yourself in.
My casual dress and rugged all action boots would not mark me as a distinguished being and it would only be the feint dirty glint of two well used and tarnished lightsaber hilts that lay upon both hips that marked me as a Jedi, and something in the air told me I may require them.
I had been sent to investigate you see; well reunited with the Watchmen that was now uniform to what we did, and apparently some rather peculiar events had risen to suspicion, not at least to mention the missing person in the form of Doctor Whanlees whose last reported location had been not but two clicks from this area.
A member of the botanical and geological team stationed on Yavin Station, Whanlees had insisted her research was important, yet had also insisted that her need for assistance in the matter was not required, a decision the Jedi were beginning to regret, but alas she was a proud Woman and in here words; "Who would harm a humble botanist." That was of course unless you uncovered what the Doctor was working on, and then her life could be rather more valuable and even turn the tide of war.
So here I stood, the force flowing around me, through me and within every living organism, for now I felt no disturbance or warping in the fabric of the force, but then I heightened my sense, and there! A feint ripple, but a murmur, a presence, a being approached and they were headed this way.*
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Post by Orin Clash on Jul 2, 2013 17:51:01 GMT -8
Dancer dances in a dancing dance, dancing through life, swaying and sweeping, and always keeping cool. Dancer dances on, the mad little dancer, dancing along.
When he topped the stairway on the West side of the Arena and saw his opponent standing at the same point opposite him, Dancer's first thought was eloquently simple: Shoot! Even as his feet topped the platform, his hands swung the carbine up from his side and sank to a combat crouch, sighting in at Steffo's upper body and firing a triple-tap burst: two to the chest, one to the head. As the shots flew across the space towards his opponent, the Echani merc ducked and rolled to the North along the second floor walkway, taking himself out of his opponent's line of sight.
Why are you crying, little boy? You don't cry, you have no weakness. SHAPE UP!!
The Echani mercenary was clad in his brigandine and other armor, yet beneath this he wore only a thin black shirt and loose blue trousers. The jungle was too hot for anything else. Reminded him of one time he'd been hired for a job on Haruun Kal, dealing with a Trandoshan slave crew. His train of thought came full circle, from Yavin to Haruun Kal and back again - he'd encountered some of the Force-sensitive natives there. What were they called, Korunnai? That trip had thrown him for a loop, but it was the closest he'd ever come to an actual Jedi. He'd known men who had faced Jedi before, however, and since that sort of accomplishment was no small feat, those who survived it never failed to share every detail of the encounter in vivid detail. He would rely on what truth he had gleaned from those stories for this fight.
The world is out to kill you, little dancer. So you kill them first.
Pressed against the side of a block in the temple's corner, Dancer slowly rose and peered over the top of the chunk of shattered stone, attempting to catch a glimpse of his enemy.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 3, 2013 13:55:45 GMT -8
*The presence in the force became easier to discern, clearer, the movement of the being through the force sent ripples and I felt 'it' moving at speed. I trained my mind to focus through the lens that was the force in an effort to gain as much clarity as was possible.
I sensed only heat and purpose rolling off of the being in waves and reflexively my right hand coiled around the solid familiarity of my lgihtsaber hilt; in my mind I had planned to talk to this individual, but what ever his purpose or involvement, or lack of involvement he was not obviously to trade words or state his purpose.
My right calloused thumb hit the activation stud as my now would be aggressor rose into view, first his white flock of hair, followed by shoulders which were already in rotation; the force prickled with danger, and in a fluid motion he swung up a carbine and then sank to a kneeling position and fired three bolts.
Now I presumed he was a marksman, either that or opportunistic, judging by his weapon, which at a precursory glance was a carbine of some form its maximum range for decent accuracy would be up to around 120 meters, and as such, the arena at least on this upper tier was roughly 130 meters in distance the degree of accuracy in the shots would vary.
Holding my blade in my right hand I used the solitary motion of my right wrist in the Soresu form that I tended to favor, keeping the weapon close to my body, allowing for minimal exposure as I caught each bolt along the predominantly vertical line of my weapon, since all shots were along the central line of my body, rather than deflect the shots back at him; for now I knew my assailant to be a 'he', I simply deflected, the bolts largely were sent downward toward the arena floor.
No sooner had he shot, he rose and shifted his position, I had to give it to him, for had I indeed deflected the shots I could not have been certain they would have hit him, for he was fleet of foot, moving to the North wall, which was to my right, since the Southern wall with its large gaping chasm was not really an option.
Retaining a focus on his whereabouts I broke into a run, I knew roughly I would close on his current hiding place in about eighteen seconds, thankfully the way was clear, it seemed that the northern side having been protected more so from the sun had fared slightly better, I made a line to come around in front of the stone slab he lay behind so effectively I would block of the easiest and most reasonable escape route. I feel the force within and tighten my focus to draw on its wealth of power and manipulate it to support my needs.*
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Post by Orin Clash on Jul 5, 2013 12:26:17 GMT -8
Dancer heard the slap of the returned blaster bolts searing the rock behind him. In the quick glance that his gunsight had given him, he'd not seen any kind of ranged weapons on the Jedi's body. The bolts were his, then, sent flying back to him by the Jedi's weapon, and while they could sit at a distance and let the Jedi deflect his fire all day, Dancer had never known an enemy content to simply avoid an attempt to end their life, rather than counter-attack. This Jedi would almost certainly be trying to close the distance and attack him hand-to-hand, then. The Echani, looking over the top of the stone, saw Steffo come racing down towards him, one blade lit and burning.
Resting the barrel of his carbine on top of the stone, Dancer took the handle in his left hand and reached back to draw his sword. At the same time, using the stone as a support, he sighted in on Steffo and sent two more bursts in quick succession, three shots each, and each apportioned as had the first burst: two to the chest, one to the head, in a tight grouping. His previous attempt had been at a range that was iffy for his weapon's capabilities, but now his target was much closer. Granted, he was moving, but he was coming straight at Dancer, and Dancer was not moving. His aim would be significantly better, and his grouping almost certainly tighter and harder to deflect.
As soon as the shots were fired; maybe five seconds after Dancer had first taken cover, and a little less that from when Steffo had begun his charge; Dancer slung his carbine across his back again, turned, and sprinted about halfway up the stairs behind him. He was out in the open, able to maneuver and see the Jedi's attacks coming - hopefully. Eyes narrowing, the Echani crouched into an elegant battle-stance: knees bent and leaning to his left as if poised to run, sword-arm (his right arm) extended in front and his left arm raised to guard the side of his head.
Dance with me, you magic man with the magic sword.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 6, 2013 1:52:15 GMT -8
*Running along the upper tier seating area, dust flying up from beneath my feet; who was this man? Was he the one whom had taken the Doctor, or was he merely a subordinate, until I could close in on him I could not tell, only guess. It did seem clear in my mind however that he was guilty of some action, either that or had a vendetta against Jedi, for surely an innocent man would not attack me for no reason.
The air about my face beat against my cheeks, it provided a cooling breeze as I whipped through the air, despite the fact that now it was somewhat clammy, I could feel sweat trickle down my back and along my forearms and a bead splashed of my nose.
What had I been running, five seconds? six seconds. I only knew that I was about fifty or so meters away when I saw him rest his carbine atop the rock and then saw his other arm stretch behind him to grasp onto another weapon; as he reached I directed the pool of force energy I had been building, a single focused objective, in my minds eye I saw a strong firm hand gripping hold upon the barrel of the weapon and tugging it toward me. My left hand in mimicked the movement, fingers spread wide in a grasping motion and I tugged hoping to pull the weapon at least free from his grasp.
The bolts, if he did manage to squeeze a few off would be met in the same manner as the first, admittedly I was closer to hand, but I had effectively used Soresu and its maximization on blaster deflection against at least ten assailants; so any would be bolts would be met by the power of my blade, keeping the weapon once more close to my frame.
I did not and would not pause for breath. Seeing him rise and turn to run up a flight of steps which I had not seen; I had presumed that where the two walls met there was a corner, but alas the very block he had hidden behind had concealed these steps from my sight. I thought it a strange move to run up the steps as I knew there was not a third level to the arena, rather then, these steps ascended to the top of the wall.
I saw him stop half way, sword in hand, I summarized he attempted to use the height to his advantage, perhaps descend upon me from above, or draw me up to the thin perilous top of the wall.
The steps themselves went straight and then bent to what would be my left, his right as they moved parallel to the wall, I continued my run around the block he had moments before hidden behind and I would then cease running and begin to walk slowly up the stairs holding my blade in front of my chest; taking note of the sword I moved my left hand to join my right upon the hilt.*
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Post by Orin Clash on Jul 22, 2013 17:39:42 GMT -8
The Echani's quick brain was working like a beehive, telling Dancer what he needed to know about the world around him.
Dancer's mind is as nimble as Dancer's body, isn't it, boys?
This quick mind was informing him of several things: firstly, that his first triple-tap had been batted away, and that his second, already on the way, was likely to meet a similar fate. Secondly, that he had just somehow fumbled his own carbine, as it clattered across the rock in front of him - the Jedi's outstretched hand meant that he was probably responsible for it.
The world wants to take everything you have, little dancer. Hold tight and fight hard.
Thirdly, this man was fast - not just in footspeed, though that was certainly noteworthy - but in his reflexes. Blaster bolts did not move slowly, and he swatted them like flies. That was a concern. The Echani was backing now, watching Steffo as he took those few steps up towards the top of the wall and then held there. The Echani's sword-arm coiled in, tight against his chest, and both hands wrapped around the swordhilt. His eyes narrowed.
Fight until they are dead... or you are.
Even as Steffo moved towards him, Dancer snaked forward one step and made a quick, jabbing thrust at Steffo's eyes, keeping his arms coiled tightly.
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Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Jul 24, 2013 14:14:20 GMT -8
*He did not move for a moment, he seemed still as the wall behind him, then an explosive thrust, yet all things were relative, relative to what one could sense through the force, relative to the experienced watchful gaze focused on naught else but the man before me.
Such refined movements, perhaps scarcely noticeable to the untrained eye, such as a shift in posture, or a tightening of muscle, but these subtle shifts could help direct one in battle, for the force only gave me a feeling, a vibration in its rhythmic almost hypnotic throbbing, the as per usual arousal of the hairs upon the back of my neck, but I had never seen; well at least not in battle, the flashes of the future. I could not tell how he might attack, I only caught a fractional warning that an attack was imminent and then the attack followed.
As such it was these other small details that helped build up the bigger picture, a tightening in the sinuous threads of muscle and tendon in his biceps told me the attack was to be delivered with his blade, naturally not wishing to expose himself to a possible swift attack of my own, rather than expose his lower body by swinging at me he made for the much more practical and reasoned thrust aimed at eye level.
My vertical blade was lifted, the tip pushed further skyward and then using solely the rotational clockwise movement of my wrists, performed with a sharp flick I would deflect his blade past my right shoulder and also send it on a downward trajectory since his natural forward thrusting motion would not have been prevented, merely re-directed.
Blade clattered against blade, sparks eschewed forth as plasma met lightsaber resistant steel, no sooner had strike been deflected I drew upon the force and directed it to increase synapse response, support heart and lungs and drive my muscles to perform an incredible split minute burst of speed that should close the gap between my Opponent and myself in seconds, yet my boosted first step would aid me in not just closing the distance but also in jumping. A precaution if you will, but a worthwhile one.
Retaining the slight forty five degree angle my weapon had obtained upon deflection naturally would leave my lower limbs open to attack you see. I moved my weapon to follow in the deflected blades wake until the plasma blade was horizontal with my hips, yet that would not prevent a swift slice at my legs. Thus I jumped, the leap a natural movement, propelled into the air by my first step of my left leg, whereby I drew my knees up to perform the force enhanced movement to make the short leap as swift as I were able.
The intent was that whilst airborne I would make contact with my blade upon his wrists, neither severing or cutting you understand, the mark of contact designed to cause him to drop his sword with a shiim mark of contact.*
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Post by Orin Clash on Jul 25, 2013 19:11:52 GMT -8
Just as expected, the Jedi took the bait. Dancer's jab was never intended to even reach Steffo's body, and so was pulled back just as quickly as it had been extended - a feint. Yet as soon as it was retracted and Steffo's attempted parry was past, Dancer stabbed forward again, aiming this time for Steffo's throat.
See how foolish they all are, little dancer? One storm passes and they think they are safe. You must learn to shape your storms so that the eye of the storm looks like its back edge. Deceptive as wind, little dancer.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 28, 2013 14:53:10 GMT -8
*Feint or not, for it to be even contain the barest chance of it being convincing to an experienced combatant some degree of potential threat had to be put into it, as such the initial thrust would have had to have been made at least to a halfway mark whereby a thrust at my eyes would appear likely, naturally of course a diversion to one's throat would take little time, yet the blade thrusting and thus its trajectory had not changed to a different target.
My blade being vertical dealt with a strike at my throat just as it would have done to a strike at my eye level, a deflection would be performed in the exact same manner, the only difference was a minor delay in my timing, holding my blade back as he guided his blade toward my throat, then as planned I followed through with the execution of my move, deflecting, jumping, advancing and the hopeful disarmament of my opponent.*
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Diva, from Aeons Torn
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If blood is the currency of life, then what's its tax collection service?
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Post by Diva, from Aeons Torn on Oct 31, 2013 13:41:50 GMT -8
This one didn't exactly go as far as it should have, and just as it was getting interesting too.
I give this one to Dancer. Please PM any questions or complaints.
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Corr Vhett - puts the "Laughter" in "Manslaughter"..... 
