TheDutchman
Knight Commander
Force Alignment: 1106
Posts: 4131
Avatar courtesy of For Tyeth
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« Reply #133 on: January 08, 2018, 05:14:38 PM » |
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Interlude-The Zabrak’s Tale and a Master’s Lesson (Takes place after Shadow Etude: Epilogue)
Sweat poured from my brow, my short brown hair soaked through. Trying to see, I kept my lightsabers at the ready, my shoto in the Shien reverse grip. Before I was able to recover from the Zabrak’s last attack, his saberstaff was a flurry of motion, his form immaculate, flowing against my defenses hard. It takes all of my skill in order to keep his blades from striking. But even as he moves, so too do I. My movement is fluid, temporary, adaptable. As I defend, I set up my next attack, flowing from my center, always in motion. My main blade’s cut stops short, the Zabrak’s saberstaff an impenetrable wall. Again I flow, this time in retreat achieving my center. Not an actual “position,” but rather one of “self” and the potency that it delivers.
Simultaneously, I call forth a torrent of rocks, stones, and dirt, creating an obfuscating vortex that temporarily blinds my opponent. Pressing advantage, I eschew defense completely, attacking with both main and shoto lightsabers, my lightning quick strikes battering against the Zabrak’s saberstaff. But his Soresu is without equal; even as he seemingly loses ground, I can tell that he’s recovered from the distraction. His eyes suddenly open, scrutinizing his surroundings while concurrently focusing on any exploits in my saberwork. He smiles, the red and black face adopting a wicked grin. Again his saberstaff is in motion, the weapon striking hard again in rhythm with his Form. And like that, I’m forced to the defensive. And I know that I cannot defeat him—not this opponent—by defending.
Before his saberstaff can stab my leg, I see an opening, forcing the blade of my main lightsaber low, drawing his blade in a high orbit. I’ve got him… I smiled to myself as I cut with my shoto at his exposed side…only too late noticing the softness of his lower blade’s resistance. My eyes widen in surprise as I stare into his, hazel to his silver-blue. I immediately recognize my mistake: I’d been lulled into expecting the Zabrak to renew his Soresu. Instead, he switched to a passive Niman variant, tangling my lightsabers within his blades but leaving me completely open to the Force Push that propelled me across the room. Backflipping at the last minute, I was able to recover before I crashed into the far wall. But the Zabrak was already upon me.
His first saber strike disarmed me of my main lightsaber. Even before the hilt had fully left my hand, he spun his saberstaff, locking my shoto to my side, ineffective and useless. And on the same orbit, his blade struck my head at the neck. Closing my eyes, I could not help but smile.
“Now you’re dead, Zearic.” The Zabrak’s smile transformed his devilish visage, the good humor of his voice reflected in his ice-blue eyes. “But I am impressed with your Water Forms! Pranay must be working you hard if you say that you’d only recently achieved the ‘Waterfall of Balance.’ It’s been quite some time since I’ve faced a Water Warrior in contest against me, but you do yourself—and Pranay Torsin—credit.” He raised his saberstaff in salute, an easy smile upon his face lit by his dual blue blades.
“Thank you, sir.” I bowed deeply, truly honored to have this opportunity. “Kage Silman, how did you anticipate my riposte? I felt the softness of your low blade; you knew that I intended a high strike.” The Zabrak closed down his practice weapon, replacing it within the display case on the wall. I likewise followed suit, thanking the Mak’Tor battlemaster for lending me some of his practice sabers for the exercise. We walked towards the lockers on the adjacent wall, the beautiful trompe-l'œil of the Mak’Tor arrival on M’Tzigon done in low relief upon the ferrocrete.
“Ah, that.” Kage Silman’s smile became a full-blown grin. “I’m afraid that I have a secret to admit to. You see, I know Pranay’s emphasis on which Water Forms he teaches. I grant you: it took me the better part of our battle to finally decipher which Forms you favored. Well done that, Zearic. But, alas, I noticed that you tend towards expectation in the ‘hard guard.’” The Zabrak laughed. “Pranay always did have trouble with preconceived notions concerning certain defenses.” We stopped in front of the lockers, my hand unlocking the biometric lock.
Amazed, I could not help but laugh. Here I was listening to critique about my own Nexu Master…from his Nexu Master. Kage Silman continued, “But you do yourself honor: that is not as obvious in your own saberwork. In fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Pranay promoted you upon your next Testing within the Nexu Halls.” The kindly words held incalculable weight, coming from Kage Silman. Before withdrawing the contents of my locker, I bowed deeply to the Zabrak Kage.
“Thank you, sir. I cannot express my gratitude and just what your compliments mean to me, Kage.” And donning my robes, I looked back at the Zabrak. For a split-second, Kage Silman’s face looked impassive. Then laughter and mirth overcame his entire demeanor.
“Yep. You’re one of Pranay’s students. Please Zearic, we Mak’Tor are not so much about formality, pomp and circumstance.” His smile softened. “But you are most welcome, maenowan...”
Slowly, his voice trailed off, his eyes intent on the contents of the locker that I withdrew. Kage Silman did not raise either his voice or head but I could tell that his entire focus was directed at me. “Zearic. Where did you get that knife?”
Looking down, I hadn’t realized that I had exposed the dagger when taking it out. As with all times, the light around the black surface seemed to dim, as if being absorbed by the stone itself. Myself inquisitive, I related the tale of our battle within the crevasses of the Canticum Lowlands and how I’d found it among Jennira’s things surrounding her throne. “Why do you ask, Kage?”
At first the muscular Zabrak didn’t answer. Then, gently grabbing my shoulder, he directed that I put the weapon away in the sheath behind my belt while he led me out of the practice theater and towards one of the adjoining Gardens. As we continued walking among the tranquil fauna, I got the impression that Kage Silman was looking for a private place devoid of any other Jedi. Patiently, I walked beside him until we came to a pergola heavy with rare silver grapes. Casually looking around both of my shoulders, the Zabrak Kage continued.
“On Dathomir, there are…stories that the Zabrak males tell one another. You see, we’re a matriarchal society, males are viewed as little more than tools to be used…or exploited.” His voice grew quiet. “But rumors do still persist. The Clan Mothers—it is said—took direction from the highest on high, stylized the Pyth’N’ssam, the…Nightsister Queen, if you will.” Kage Silman’s eyes stared straight into mine. “One of the devices of the…'office,' was a black stone dagger, the Tenebris Pugione.” He paused meaningfully.
“…And you think that this dagger—” I gestured at the sheathed weapon behind my belt, “—is one and the same?” I folded my arms across my chest while the Zabrak looked contemplative.
“Honestly? I do not know.” He suddenly looked intent. “However, the knife was more than just an affectation of power. Have you noticed any…” For a moment the Zabrak Kage looked at a loss for words. But then, “…Vitality. Have you been in a situation where you suddenly—and inexplicably—felt inundated with vigor?” He closed his eyes. “No, that’s not quite correct.” He looked at me from beneath his black and red brow. “Tell me Zearic: have you found yourself feeling…a…wellspring of strength?”
Slowly, I shook my head. “No, Kage. Not that I can remember…” Had I? Looking back…was it possible? But after what Karm and, later, the Singers had done with their Healing, would I be able to discern the difference? My brows drew together in thought. And then...
“…Yes…” I spoke haltingly at first, talking faster as I went. “I…when Jennira’s Sith-Shadows first attacked Karm and I. There were literally dozens of them. Yet, not once, did I feel fatigue. Instead, I mowed them down.” I looked directly into Kage Silman’s eyes. “I thought that it was due to Karm’s battle-Song…or that my armor was protecting me—I’m sure that those did help—but, now upon retrospect, I had just attributed it to adrenaline or the Force.” I closed my eyes in memory. “But even then I noticed that I felt unstoppable. No, I was unstoppable.”
I felt the Kage’s hand upon my shoulder. “Zearic…if—if—this dagger is the Tenebris Pugione, I would be…reticent in using it. It is an evil artifact.” Sympathy filled his silver-blue eyes. “The Clan Mothers would constantly war upon one another in order to gain position and, by consequence, the knife. The position of Pyth’N’ssam is drenched in the blood of countless victims, willing and not.” He sighed. “I am not your Kage, nor would I presume to tell you what to do but, Water Warrior to Water Warrior, be very—very—careful with that weapon.” Then, suddenly smiling, he started walking, gently guiding me further into the Concordia Gardens. “Let me tell you about the time that I had a bet with Pranay about Du’an Chillum…”
<<<<< >>>>>
“…Master Chillum?” Jorya thought she’d misheard the venerable Gray Jedi Master. “…You want for me to…attack you?” She and Master Chillum were alone in one of the Training Rooms.
His wrinkled face held a smile but his eyes…his eyes were almost…predatory. “Yes, lass. I want for you to try to Push me, preferably, the further, the better.”
Jorya blinked. “…But Master…I don’t want…” She wasn’t quite sure how to continue.
“…For me to be too rough on you, lass?” Again, his sharp, hazel eyes gleamed. “Don’t you worry; I know how to be gentle to juvenile Gray Knights.” He winked.
Again, she felt the anger, irrational as it was. Breathe. Balance. Like Father taught me… she thought. “…No Master Chillum. I’m not worried about that. I just don’t want—“
“—To lose to an old man, lass?” He was no longer smiling; in fact, he looked…disappointed. “Knight Fah, do you really think so little of me?” The silence hung in the air.
Rage began to flare. How dare… Her jaw worked but no sound came from her mouth. OK…I will show you… Resolute, she said, “Not at all Master. But I don’t want for my parents to be angry with me if I accidently hurt you.” Mentally, she readied herself.
Master Chillum smiled. “Good lass, good. That’s what I wanted to see.” Contrasting his serious tone, his posture was casual, unconcerned. “Now. Show me what you’ve got.”
As soon as the words were from his mouth, Jorya gave a mighty Force Push, having collected herself prior. Her father had told her that she was more powerful than he was at her age, closer to her Mother’s potential. All of this went through her mind a split second after she’d projected the potent Push. Wait…no! The rational part of her finally caught up to her anger. But it was too late.
Almost nonchalantly, Master Chillum brushed the attack aside. …How…? Jorya looked stunned, her mouth agape. Even her Mother had never done something so…
“Come on, lass. Surely, you can do better than that…” His voice was quiet, almost bored.
Again, the anger. Balling her hands into fists, she closed her eyes. She felt the Force flow, from below her feet, from the planet itself, upwards through her legs, into her body, into her entire being. She’d never held so much of the Force before. Surely Master Chillum must sense—must see—what this much power could do…
“Hmph. Lass, I thought you were serious. Clearly, the Vhal-Dan made a mistake Knighting you. If you were mine, you’d still be a teidowan.” Master Chillum’s voice was soft, calm. He could have been speaking about trade negotiations for all of the passion in his voice. It caused to infuriate her. She didn’t even need to strike, only release the power…
It was incredible in its destructive potential, her Force Push would have plowed through twenty…no, thirty Sith-Shadows, bowling them over as effortlessly as a hot knife through butter…
The Gray Master again brushed aside her effort. And quietly, he said something that pierced right through her. “Hmph. Lass, you should return to Sekot. You’ll only let your parents down when they need you the most.”
All rational thought left faster than a pod-racer in the final lap. Rage—fear—took hold of her and she struck out blindly. Master Chillum stood unaffected. Again and again, she threw all that she had at him only for him to deflect them. She felt anger. She felt fear. She felt…impotent. And as soon as the thought came, unbidden, she collapsed to her knees, tears that she had forced down—denied—came forth like a dam bursting.
“Now, now lass.” She felt a gentle hand upon her head, softly stroking her montrals. “I know lass. I know.” Master Chillum’s voice was full of compassion. “You’ll not let them down, lass. Never that.” Each soft stroke of his hand helped to alleviate the dread, the sorrow.
“…I…I am so sorry Master!” She began to cry anew. “I…I felt anger…no rage! I…am so, so sorry…” Sobs racked her body. And still, calmly, Master Chillum continued to softly stroke her head, comforting her.
After a time, she felt drained but…relieved. The outburst, the tears, the honesty had been cathartic. She looked up at the old man, his intelligent eyes full of sympathy. Slowly, he wiped her tears. “Lass, it’s alright. Although…I think we’ll have to get a janitor or two in here…”
And, looking around, she finally noticed the state of the room. It looked as if a thermal detonator had exploded. By the Maker…! She thought. “Oh…oh Master! Please…I am so sorry!” Her renewed apologies were interrupted by the last thing that she expected to hear, utterly shocking her into silence.
Du’an Chillum, Master of Song, senior member of the Council of Balance of the Mak’Tor Gray Jedi, laughed. No, howled. Full-bellied laughter shook through him, infecting Jorya. Before she knew it, she herself was taken in by his humor, her own laughs echoing throughout the ruined Training Room.
Slowly, they both quieted, slight guffaws escaping now and again. “Oh my, lass. I am reminded of the last time that this happened.”
Lightly laughing, Jorya said, “So this happens a lot Master?” Her blue eyes squinted in humor.
Smiling broadly, fondly, and in remembrance, Master Chillum’s eyes lost focus, thinking of the past. “Aye, lass, aye. A young teidowan. Good lad…” His voice suddenly quieted. “Brave, good lad…”
His eyes refocused, his attention full on Jorya as he sobered suddenly. “Now lass. What did I do?”
Caught off-guard, Jorya stuttered, “…D-do? S-sorry Master…?” She looked confused. “I’m sorry Master; I don’t know…”
Gently, a smile again fixed on his mouth, Master Chillum patiently asked, “What did I do to defeat your attacks?” At a loss, Jorya shook her head, eyes intent on the old Gray Master. “Lass, I didn’t have to stand against your power, I only needed to redirect it. The more you tried to project, the easier I could deflect it, using only a fraction of what you yourself were using.” She was nodding even as he was explaining. “You see lass, you don’t always have to confront something head-on. Sometimes, it’s best to re-channel those energies, conserving your own in the process.”
He helped Jorya to her feet. “Aye, remember lass: you don’t have to be stopped by fear. You can…avert it. Use it. And, ultimately, allow it to empower you.” Master Chillum’s eyes adopted a raptor-like focus. “You’re strong, lass. Not because you overpower your fear but because you can harness it. Remember: give unto the Maker your fear; let Him to His job.” His eyes softened, as did his entire demeanor. “Your parents are proud of you, lass. As am I. Always remember that.”
Tears still in her eyes, Jorya threw her arms around the old Master’s neck, a small laugh punctuating her gratitude. “Thank you, Master Chillum. Thank you so much…”
Closing his eyes, he continued to stroke her montrals. “Aye lass… ‘Tis alright…’tis alright…”
<<<<< >>>>>
D’Aylanna sat at the holocom, the unit pinging as it awaited her IdentCode. Keying it in, a disembodied head emerged in the air, the hologram grainy and of somewhat poor quality as a result of the distance.
“Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr.” The face in the hologram was more handsome than beautiful, the light blue skin smooth, the orange eyes rare among Ferroans.
“Kage Oyuna Chand’n.” D’Aylanna nodded. “I take it you’ve reviewed my After-Action Report?” The diminuative Hapan woman had adopted a more casual tone after exchanging pleasantries.
“Yes I have, D’Aylanna. But that is not the purpose of this call.” The Kage’s face looked pensive. “The Council has received disturbing reports emanating from Hutt Space.”
If D’Aylanna was surprised, she hid it well. “Yes? Reports of what nature?”
The Kage’s orange eyes looked enigmatic, her tone conspiratorial. “Tell me, D’Aylanna: have you heard about the Sons of Kessel?”
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