A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Adi vs Ryu Rules: Equipment in first post, no slugthrowers, *blasters are ok I guess...ugh*, light to no armor, top 10 powers Location: Kamino landing platform, rainstorm (see below)
The aquatic planet of Kamino always seems to be subject to torrential downpours, and today is no exception. The duelists will find themselves on one of Tipoca City’s innumerable landing platforms, exposed to the elements. This scene is reminiscent of the incident in which Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi sought to apprehend the bounty hunter Jango Fett, but it’s almost certain that that took place on a different site than this. The platform itself is a durasteel construct, 50 meters in diameter, recessed into the familiar half-dome structures favored by the Kaminoans. Only a small lip stands between solid footing and a slippery slope to a watery grave. Protruding from the platform are four half-meter wide maintenance catwalks extending over the ocean, located at the two o’clock, four o’clock, eight o’clock, and ten o’clock positions. At the six o’clock position, there is a three-meter wide, ten meter long pathway leading into Tipoca City proper, but the automatic doors of this platform are out of service for the time being. There are also two triads of pillar-like structures, serving as the communications relay and primary source of illumination for guiding vehicles to land and pilots to disembark. Presently, this landing platform plays host to {see judges’ note}. Duelists, your scene is set and the pieces are in play! From here on out, the game awaits.
Judges’ note: Please select at your discretion (or by player request) from one of the following occupants of the landing platform and substitute that line in for the bracketed text:
-no ship at all; the entire circle is open, with the meticulously-patterned floor simply begging for action. -a battered-looking, heavily modified YT-1300 freighter. The disc-like vessel will not provide much cover from attacks, but as an umbrella? Unparalleled. -one of those impressive experimental models from Sienar Fleet Systems, a TIE/vn space superiority starfighter. -a Firespray-31 patrol ship. (Are we absolutely sure this isn’t the same platform that Fett used to call his own during his tenure as a clone template?) -a T-70 X-Wing starfighter. Beneath the vessel, a lonely R7 model astromech droid takes what little shelter it can from the rain, undoubtedly having been told by its heartless master to ‘stay with the ship’. As the combatants appear, it lets out a mournful whine to alert them to its presence. -a pair of Mandalorian Protectorate interceptors. Are the owners inside Tipoca City? On a mission, perhaps? Will they return to their ships soon? [After 15 posts, two Mandalorians will appear from Tipoca City. They can be controlled by the duelists as NPCs, or by a third party, but in any case must be hostile to the primary participants.]
Ok, two challenges here. No slugthrowers, *blasters are ok, I guess...ugh*, Light to no armor, top ten powers.
Andor-You, me, Theed Gardens...the rematch. Ryu-I know Im gonna regret this, but I want a crack at you, too. Kamino landing platform during the rain, Obi-Wan/Jango style.
*At Tal’s summons, Ielyn arrives to ferry us. His shuttle, originally intended for platoon deployment, carries us over the wastelands of Korriban, none the poorer for our misadventure just minutes ago. Just as the barren landscape is flashing by, trivial thoughts fly across my mind. We’re fortunate to have this vehicle at our expenditure. After all, I have just wrecked the who-knows-how-many-th ship, which was itself not mine. Should this planet ever be completely abandoned, I would be marooned on this desolate world. Perpetually scavenging for scraps until I could construct some sort of vessel by which to leave the surface. How atrocious. I know that I could do it, though, and I can tell you exactly how I’d accomplish it; are you able to do the same?
Arriving at the landing pad of the Sith Academy, we disembark. By and large, the conversation has idled. Is that all too surprising, though? When you start with a confession of stagnation, it is difficult to then transition into pleasantries. And let’s not forget the part I had to play in the lack of topics to discuss. Crashing a space station and walking away unscathed certainly gives license for the line, “another happy landing”, but after you say it, no one’s got any retort for you and then you’re stuck in the silence you created. That’s something they don’t show you in the movies. If only real life allowed you to do a transition-fade and get to wherever you needed to go next, that would be so helpful.*
[/font][/ul]
*As we cross the threshold and enter the cool, dark corridors, the fanciful imaginings of ‘what to do while stranded’ give way to more meaningful contemplation. Once more, it has been brought to my attention that there ample time has elapsed over the course of my hyperspace voyage; in this case, for calamity to have stricken the universe. And, as has been the tradition for countless times in years past, a new order is rising among the Sith, with yet another man staking his claim as the Dark Lord of the Sith.
Our footsteps echo within the hallways, and, in natural fashion, I allow my Force Sight to drift throughout the whole of the sprawling premises. Here and there, down hallways, training rooms, meditation chambers, libraries, personal quarters, dungeons, gathering spaces, medical facilities, dilapidated throne room...all is laid bare before me. Observing, mapping, planning. But even more than gathering information about my surroundings, this act also serves to announce my arrival. As was the case for Tal upon the space station, when my Sight falls upon you, you have a chance to sense me. As a faraway being turns its eye towards you, in that brief moment, you can realize you’re being watched. Go on, then. That’s my intention.*
[/font][/ul]
*I have examined the Academy to my satisfaction. Now, it seems, is when Tal wishes to present me before the leadership of the ensemble. So be it, if this is a necessary step towards correcting his course. He has, after all, been around this place longer. For now, I follow; only when one becomes well-acquainted is when the time to change the currents of reality is appropriate.*
[/font][/ul] *A part of that, I'm sure, is the sepulcheral theme deliberately created for the graveworld of the Sith. But undeniably, the inhabitants of this temple amount to a capacity undue the size of the structure.*[/font]
There is no other description for Alkor’s body movements. In order to evade my block of a kick initially aimed for the side of my left leg, he quickly transitions to a hook kick — which is a high kick that will enable him simultaneously to get his leg over Vol, and to at its completion re-take the inside position in what will provide opportunity for a heel hook that aims to sweep my front leg forward, with greater power than he could manage before thanks to the penetration step that he is executing with his right leg, which by default moves his right leg out of target position.
It takes great courage to face down a lightsaber-wielding enemy and decide not to use your lightsaber at all. Is it my error for bringing a lightsaber to a martial arts fight? Or is it Alkor’s error for bringing his kicks to a saber fight? I suppose we’ll find out.
The issue is that Alkor has overestimated the amount of time he has available. The horizontal chop with which I aimed to claim his right leg was short, exceedingly brief in fact. It was unnecessary to take a big swing, because Alkor’s leg was coming to me and so only a miniscule motion was required. All of the movements I have made in this duel have been quite minimal. There’s a pattern here. Moreover, remember what Alkor himself reminded us of earlier on? A weightless blade completes its movement faster than a weighted one, and given the mass difference between his leg and the lightfoil, my chop is done sooner than his leg crosses over to the inside of mine. And it was at the conclusion of my chop that I had pulled Crux’s trigger. In other words, it is as Alkor is driving his body down, and before his heel has reached mine, that Crux’s trigger is pulled, not after he performs the reap. And so, as Alkor knows well, without the attack from Crux being thrown off-course, he is indeed standing at risk of being flashed hideously in the eyes and momentarily blinded.
Let me comment for a moment on the operation of the flash-pistol. Unlike a blaster bolt, the burst of light emanating from the nozzle is not contained in a well-defined, magnetically-confined package. It is more like what you might expect from a sawed-off shotgun, in the sense that the photons are free to reflect many times over within the chamber, reducing the effective collimation factor of the chamber and ultimately leading to a cone-shaped emission profile. It covers less volume than a flash grenade, of course, which has that coveted 4π steradian area of effect, but it should do the job in this case.
To Alkor’s credit, none of his subsequent movements rely on eyesight, and so whether or not Crux finds its mark, the following sequence takes place. He reaps, I stab, he connects, I miss, he closes in, I Reflex. There is one exception to what Alkor intends: as his left hand moves to slide down and assume a centered position, that motion will be arrested by his left forearm coming into contact with Saurez (recall that it is angled at a slight diagonal below horizontal, enough to cover my right shoulder without compromising line-of-sight from Crux to Alkor’s face). With our bodies close enough for him to execute kicks, and stepping in as he is, it’s also close enough that an extension of my right arm (which I do) ought to keep his saber arm safely stuck up high, killing time on the top edge of the shield, for the moment.
His reap connects and pulls my left leg from under me, pulling me straight forward. I am unprepared for the quick readjustment leading into such a sudden change of direction, although given that all he has attacked this entire time has been my leg, perhaps I should have been more ready for it. Yet, as my left foot loses contact with the ground, the effects of my Force Reflex kick in. Relative to me, time slows. Even the wind’s howling seems to diminish in intensity, from my perspective.
I consider the situation. There is no way to recover my balance from here, the only question is how to maintain a fighting posture. I elect to drive my hips down, enabling me to prepare to drop onto my right knee in order to counteract sprawling on my face or being thrown over. The decision is quickly made — so soon that, in Reflex-time, gravity pulling me to the deck is very slow by comparison. Thus, while my leg has not even touched the ground, I have time and speed with which to counterattack (for if time slows relative to me, that means I speed up relative to others). By closing in with his preparation step, Alkor has brought his body astride the cyan blade of Vol. The natural end of my stab was to execute a slight flick to my right before retracting (that was originally intended to relieve his left knee of its attachment to the quadricep muscles), and so I continue the motion already in place while my arm is retracting: to drive the saber blade of Vol, already in perfect position to attack, across my body from left-to-right, in the direction it was already headed. With Alkor’s body having dropped closer to my level, this aims to separate lower from upper torso, to cut straight across at stomach-level.
I will use my Force-augmented Reflexes to overcome his defenses (in similar fashion to how his hook kick overcame mine) for I am compelled to do all in my power to ensure that this stroke lands. All of which will happen before my right knee has touched down. I must watch his response carefully and adjust accordingly. The effects of Force Reflex are potent and have not yet begun to ebb, but I cannot sustain this ability beyond this one attack.
The calamitous weather rages. The ship has pierced into the inner arms of the hurricane, and there will be no escape. The captain of the ship acts in vain, because the ship will soon be stricken, and thrust itself upon the city of Harnaidan. I expect that that fact shall only bear consequence for one of us.*
*It's the latter, then. Freedom was entirely Tal's to grasp, and he squandered the opportunity which was bowing before him. The diagnosis is of a lack of direction, or a lack of self-knowledge, to understand what next steps he ought to take. With such a bold claim of power — like a solar entity among mere candles — he ought to have been able to accomplish all that took root in his mind. Is there a more fitting definition of victory? To scoff at that, and to claim that the existence of this crude matter is reason enough to preclude the possibility of freedom's existence for you, is the height of both arrogance and willful ignorance.
Ironic! At the same time you assert that your existence amounts to no more than the atoms you consist of, you summon the Force to shield yourself. Tell me, what is the elemental composition of your Force Barrier? At the instant your complaint of being shackled to reality falls from your lips, you tap into the essence of the Great Mystery to defy the certainty of utter annihilation. Tell me, what is it other than your power to alter the fabric of reality that saves you here?
No one is more blind than he who refuses to see.
Long ago, I used the power of Battle Meditation to share my Force Sight with those who were unable to see for themselves, in order to grant them the power to defeat that monster, Solus. It was trivial, by comparison with this, to augment their physical vision and allow them to glimpse, transient though it was, the world from my perspective. It is far from being that simple of a solution, here and now.
We have uncovered a daunting task, after all. That's good; if the problem were soluble by any other, why should I be the one to face it? In silence, I consider all this. No flicker in expression or faltering in my breath to betray the decision I have arrived upon. It is futile to explain it any further at the present, especially given that we are overdue for a rendez-vous with the ground.
Tal enacts his Force Barrier sooner than I do, and in different fashion. Rather than a sheath covering the skin, more akin to Force Armor, I delve into the Force in order to construct a geodesic Barrier. Translucent hexagonal plates shimmer into existence, intersecting their edges and encapsulating my local area, including a portion of the floor I stand on for good measure, inside a protective sphere. And then —
Catastrophe.
As far as meteoric impacts go, the station is both smaller and less dense than most extraterrestrial incursions. However, most meteors also lack engines driving them, so there is more kinetic energy involved in this two-body problem than the average. We strike the desert surface with tremendous force. A fireball subsequently erupts as the fuel reserves are breached and burned, glassing significant amounts of sand in the immediate vicinity. Debris is thrown into the air to heights exceeding several kilometers, and massive quantities of smoke erupt in quick fashion from the cratered crash site. A significant amount of the station is immediately disintegrated, with the flames doing their best to consume the rest.
The winds blow and the air begins to clear. And, to any onlookers, at ground zero the shimmer of both of our Barriers becomes gradually apparent from within the haze.
The heat from impact dissipates shortly thereafter. When it does, I release my Barrier from whence I summoned it. And, at that time, I break my silence. The smile has faded from my face, and the tone of my voice has dropped into a deep resonance, at a volume scarcely greater than a whisper, yet one that carries with a surety louder than any other.*
*At these words, my smile, though unfading, becomes accentuated with a brief jump of my eyebrows, as Tal’s lightsaber clatters away, banished from his side. Can you imagine the ramifications if everything were indeed untrue? It is unthinkable. Very amusing, that would be! One almost longs for the possibility, just to see what response it would elicit from the Sith. (Most likely, and disappointingly, very little would change, because most Sith do not understand as we do the true meaning of what it is they claim to follow)*
*It never fails to please me to dive into these mental exercises with Tal. Indeed, the quality of my True Son is of such merit that it consistently demands of me nothing but my utmost meticulousness, knowledge, thoroughness, and wisdom.*
*His cry for help is inaudible, yet expressed as loudly as the roar of Korribanni air while the station plummets ever further. Speaking of which, the viewports begin to glow from the heat of friction as we enter the mid stratosphere.
I cannot help but notice that things are failing to line up exactly as one would expect. Tal states that I am the most powerful being in the universe, the only thing standing in his way. Well, that reveals all the more the motive behind the betrayal. But why is it that he refers to stagnation in my absence? Had he not already been stagnating on Kamino, and did I not seek to motivate him, at that time? Why does he refer to me being gone? This was just a brief excursion to Nubia, and assassination attempt on board The Vengeance, rigged for destruction in the event of failure, was it not? The signs of calamity in the Force which I see on the station, and Devient’s ominous words about the absence of traffic around Korriban, echo in my mind.
How long did I stay in hyperspace?*
*The word ‘we’ slips out automatically. Such a natural part of the phrase, but full of meaning when you pay attention to it. Already I assume my participation, but I suppose that was a given. More importantly, I assume his cooperation in the investigation. Obviously, I’ve not fully considered what this could entail.
But then again, isn’t that the way things always tend to go for me? Swept along by the currents of events, influencing them as it pleases me to do so, leaving them alone as I desire, unencumbered and unthreatened by any; this is my freedom, a signature of who I am.
How great is the allure of tumultuous waves when seen from the doldrums of a tide pool!*
All right, I've gotten myself composed and I'm ready to address questions on the system now.
I've had the time to develop a spreadsheet and modify (simplify!) the Elo method down to a basic score-tracking system which might prove useful to the GBA. It’s best to explain in practical terms, but there needs to be some mathematical intro, too. So I’m going to present the formulas, and then walk through a hypothetical series of matches between 6 GBA participants.
The core of the Elo ranking system is to predict what someone SHOULD score, using a quality score (ranking) between them and their opponent, and then recursively update the score based on how they actually performed, each time around. So if you have two equally-skilled players dueling, you would predict a 50-50 chance of one of the players winning the match. On the other hand, if someone is (let's say exactly) twice as good as another player, then it’s skewed to 67-33 chance of winning.
You can write a formula down, in terms of expected win percentage (P#) based on a consistent numerical rank (R#) of the two players;
P1 = R1/(R1 + R2)
P2 = R2/(R1 + R2)
And then obviously when you add up the win chances P1 + P2 it comes out to 1.
Now you take and ask the question, “what was the actual score (S) versus the predicted score (P)”? And here’s where we get into actually coming up with the basis for R# values. The beauty of this part as it applies to GBA rankings is it doesn’t actually matter what point system you use; for simplicity with the formulas in the practical example, I used the W=1, L=-1 system, and I disregarded ties (because I don’t think they should exist). But because the formulas deal with the score differences, and a scale factor (K) (which only exists to make numbers more readily understood), it can apply to any system of points, and it can accommodate ties. The actual formula for how the ratings change after a match result is;
dR = K(S - P)
So in the 50-50 case, because that match could have gone either way, the actual score for the winner is 1, and their ranking will reflect that they “earned” half a win (+0.5*K) over what was expected. That’s uninteresting, it gets clearer why this is a good system when you consider the two possibilities of the 67-33 match. If the favored player wins, his predicted score tells him he’s already 2/3 of the way to victory, so his ranking will change by what he “earned”: 1/3 of a win (+0.33*K). On the other hand, if the underdog wins, the formula shows that was a much tougher match, so his ranking goes up by a larger amount (+0.67*K). In other words, when you win against people who are further below your perceived “skill level”, you will get less improvement on your rank. On the other hand, if you are playing against someone who’s “out of your league”, you’ll be heftily rewarded for an upset. The upper and lower bounds of the system will tend to level out as they approach limits, which depend on choice of K. Most importantly, within a very short number of matches, the rankings will stratify and you will get distinctions with a much finer level of granularity than the system being proposed, where 4-2 = 2-0 as far as points total goes.
Trivially, if there's no other parts added to the formula, you can see that dR(loser) = -dR(winner).
So, enough theory. Let’s consider the example of Players A, B, C, D, E, and F. Each one picks an opponent and I’m going to go until 3 sets of 3 matches are played (in practice, you will update the score after each match, not waiting on anyone else to complete their games, but this is a fairy tale example. Deal with it.). I wanted the limits to be approximately bounded by 100 and 0, so a good number to use for K is 25. Everyone starts at 0-0 and is given R# = 50. The results per “round” are shown below. At the beginning, it looks like this: Round 0
Player
Wins
Losses
Score
Rank
A
0
0
0
50.0
B
0
0
0
50.0
C
0
0
0
50.0
D
0
0
0
50.0
E
0
0
0
50.0
F
0
0
0
50.0
The matches played are; A vs B C vs D E vs F Since everyone was evenly-matched, we get the uninteresting result. Bear with it, it gets better from here. Winners get +12.5 and losers get -12.5. And the bracket then looks like this: Round 1
Player
Wins
Losses
Score
Rank
A
1
0
1
62.5
C
1
0
1
62.5
E
1
0
1
62.5
B
0
1
-1
37.5
D
0
1
-1
37.5
F
0
1
-1
37.5
The next set of matches played are; A vs C B vs D E vs F Now we’ve got some different numbers coming out: Round 2
Player
Wins
Losses
Score
Rank
A
2
0
2
75.0
F
1
1
0
53.1
B
1
1
0
50.0
C
1
1
0
50.0
E
1
1
0
46.9
D
0
2
-2
25.0
This is where it’s starting to get interesting; there’s variations in the players with equivalent score based on the perceived difficulty of their wins. Because E beat F in round 1, F goes into the “grudge match” with a perception of a harder opponent and comes out more rewarded for it. It's a curious little outcome, and it's probably not a very meaningful difference here, but it is a distinction worth pointing out. Meanwhile, the winner of a match where both players have the same rank (B & D being 0-1, A & C being 1-0) gets the same points change as in the Round 0 case, so that’s how B and C got back to 50.
Final round; A vs F B vs C E vs D Gives us: Round 3
Player
Wins
Losses
Score
Rank
A
3
0
3
85.4
C
2
1
1
62.5
E
2
1
1
55.6
F
1
2
-1
42.8
B
1
2
-1
37.5
D
0
3
-3
16.3
And this is a fully-distinguished bracket, if you go by rank. A obviously is the “man to beat”, poor D is the “whipping boy”. Scores told you that much. Scores don’t tell you who’s had easier matches to get to 2-1 or 1-2, but the ranks do tell you that. C keeps playing opponents who are the “same” level as him, so so far he has just wavered between 50.0 and 62.5. E lost the grudge match, so he decided to take it easy this time and beat up on D, hence his score doesn’t rise as much, because the ranks can tell what everyone knows: D is an “easy target”. F has lost to A (who can blame him? That guy’s unstoppable) so he doesn’t fall as low as B, who lost to someone about equal to his skill level. What this example shows you is that you get more information when you ask the question “who did they beat?” instead of “did they win or lose?” The pattern you might be seeing as well is that the player values will tend to oscillate – quite wildly at first, before it becomes apparent from the outcomes who’s a good player or not, but then as more information emerges it will tend to hone in on a value which ought to be pretty indicative of someone’s “true skill” at a certain point in time, without making it difficult to improve your standings.
It also shows that if someone near the bottom of the ladder beats someone near the top of the ladder, the top person will fall in ranks more than in score. That's appropriate, and it makes more sense. It helps everyone in the ladder this way. People at the bottom of the ladder can also leap-frog over other folks without beating them directly, so people who are really getting better will show that improvement more quickly. It makes the competition fiercer.
The fact that it is formula-based and score-independent will open up the possibility to add in some pretty useful dynamic effects, too. You can easily imagine adding in something to the effect of, "if you were the player who issued the challenge, you were probably slightly favored to win" and that will help distinguish the rankings even further.
And consider: if you went lifetime 22-5, you earned 17 points. Nobody takes that away from you. But if you decide to retire from the site, I don’t think you deserve a spot that high up the rankings list anymore, right? Hall of fame, ok sure. But…the rankings system can do that, automatically, without needing to remove names from the list. You just add in a “time decay”. A formula to the effect of “if a player goes inactive, they should gradually lose points on their ranking such that it would return to 50 over the course of 365 days with no duels completed” and which is very simple to incorporate. This makes it so that it the top of the ladder doesn’t get saturated by inactive people who did well and then disappeared, and maintains incentive for people at the top of the ranks to keep going if they want to maintain.
Another improvement you can think about is putting a match-total dependence on the K-value. As we saw, it’s wild in the beginning, and then settles down a bit as the rankings start to accurately portray people. So maybe you say, “for the first 5 games a player duels in, K=10. Then, we up the ante to K=25 for the full-fledged players”. (This also helps discourage two negatives of the rank system: veteran players beating up on newbies [who will, statistically, enter the GBA with a better rating than half of all prospective duelists], and newbies instantly scalping the top of the ladder [i.e., a very good duelist who’s not actually dueled in the GBA yet comes in and targets #1, being able to climb the ladder really quickly]) Again, trivial to implement a formula that accomplishes this.
In a world where Google Sheets exists, it ought to be pretty easy to get the GBA staff access to a single spreadsheet containing all the formulas so that all you’ve got to do is put in a match result, put in the rankings, and then sort/copy/paste the output here.
I've tinkered with stuff enough that I think I'm able to answer any further questions on the topic.
*As Tal approaches, I draw my right hand to my face. As my fingers stretch over Devient's smooth metal surface, the series of latches which affix her in place release with audible clanks, and with a slight hiss, I remove her. A familiar face is revealed to Tal, complete with the signature black glass eyes.
For my part, with Devient no longer in place to act as my filter, my Force Sight is restored to its full capacity. Unrestrained, I clearly see the Force surging around me. I hear, more plainly than ever before, the footsteps of the man approaching me. I feel the cool air of the station, stinging my face. And I sense the conflict at hand.*
[/font] *How long did that take, I wonder?* “Coming to that realization is no cause for punishment. Discipline, perhaps, if you really have become wayward.”[/ul]
*His saber is lit, though I imagine Tal has reached the same conclusions about the futulity of challenging me as a test of power. But desperation may drive him to a point where the foolishness of a choice becomes irrelevant to him. What a waste that would be! The route he chooses is of no consequence to me; all that matters is that, when it is called into question, my power is able to respond. By fight or by guide, my power will do.
The freedom to see, and respond appropriately to this situation, is the privilege I therefore enjoy. With my powerful hand, I am free to bring about the most favorable outcome. My lips curl into a smile, one that he has seen me give on countless occasions in the past. It must get frustrating, from time to time.*
*Somehow, my lightsaber strike had failed to find its mark. In masterful control of his gait and momentum, given that he had been rushing straight at me, Alkor manages to pivot and drop-step his left leg behind his right, which means my target—the junction of left pectoral and shoulder socket—will fall out of range. With his saber still pressing against my mask, however, his bicep would be what occupied the space where his chest had been before this dance-like step. A fundamental rule of combat is that, if you are able to reach your opponent, they can reach you, too. You do even better to assume they can reach you even when you cannot reach them. Well, perhaps he twitched his arm just so that my blade flashes beneath and burns naught but air. It is of no consequence. Another fundamental rule of combat is that you do not release your guard until your opponent releases his last breath. In due time it will be clear how the follow-through I made to that attack is the perfect example of this mantra.
In response to his foot-y readjustment, I make a very slight one of my own. Emanating a soft ~shuff~, the sole of my left foot slides along the deck without lifting off, following him, turning to my left, toes pointing directly at my opponent. My right leg will slide around in turn, though slower. It is just a good habit, don't you know, to endeavor to keep your opponent in front of you. The position he took up for his kick would, if left unchecked, allow him to take my back in due time. It must be denied. Seems like he might be the kind of person to attempt a grapple with his free hand.
He keeps his lightsaber in contact with the mask. I do not understand this, but I have no complaints. Were I to understand his motive, I would admit that it is true that the mask will eventually heat up and burn my face. But, much in the same way that you can place a pan on a gas stove-top and leave your hand on it for several seconds without thermal discomfort, it will take time for this stratagem to pay off. Different temperatures involved, say you. Different metals involved, say I. It will take time to bear fruit, and it seems highly unlikely that Alkor can afford not to use his weapon for anything else during that time. Though, I'll not afford him the chance to choose otherwise, as much as it depends on me. As he pushes down, I stiffen my neck and resist the pressure. You're too weak to manipulate my upper body from that position, standing on only one (same-side) leg, body momentum going in a tangential direction, with your sword arm reaching across your own chest. Alkor will have to manage to free his blade by lifting it up from whence it came, or by extinguishing it. Neither of which is a good option, which is why he wants to take my leg out, or force me to retreat, or both.
With the momentum that Alkor has gained by switch-footing on me, he plants on his left leg and unleashes a kick with the right, coming at the side of my front leg (well, initially aimed for the back, but I am rotating). But here is the due time where you must take note: when I returned my lightsaber to ready position after executing my failed chest-carving maneuver, I brought it lower and further out to my left than before. It is poor form to use a blade to defend your lower body, for reasons that I will not delve into here. Yet, when Alkor makes this offer, I do not resist temptation; I had put Vol exactly where it ought to be to open up this gift, so let's do it.
I execute a short horizontal chop from right to left, because my blade is set up so perfectly to block, so to speak, this kick. A block that threatens a bisection of his leg just below the right knee.
The motion does not end there, however; he is planted on his left leg, after all, and one should accept gifts in their entirety. I rotate my left hand to arrest the momentum from the chop, and am prepared for the next sequence. And so, for the first time, I will strike with the type of thrust you really would expect from a lightfoil: a stab, the target of which demands that I extend my left arm almost fully in a whip-like lash. I aim to embed the tip into, and completely through, that back leg; at such as spot as to cut cleanly through the femur. As soon as my arm reaches full extension, hit or miss, I will twitch the wrist to my right as it retracts starting position, then incline the wrist upwards to restore a high guard.
It'd be pretty great if I manage to Matt him with this. Yet, we never count on such things.
Now, if this block-and-riposte has failed to have taken Alkor's right leg, nor forced him to abort his kick, I have no alternate defense; the kick will land. In that case, I will go exactly nowhere, since my weight has been almost fully transferred to that leg from the lunge. In such close quarters, and with my mass coming in at equal to his, plus half again, a physical strike to sprawl me out will require something more along the lines of a fully-committed leg sweep. Alkor's admirable choice of simultaneously attacking from above and below precludes him from executing a kick capable of that here.
At the moment I rotate my left hand, immediately prior to extending my arm, I squeeze Crux's trigger. From the angling of my shield and arm, the nozzle of the flash-pistol is pointed towards his face, no energy shield in the way to abate the flash (the rim of the shield is following my shoulder, and my arm drawn back as described before, so he will have clear line-of-sight to my right hand in which Crux is held). And it discharges, instantly illuminating the immediate vicinity as brightly as if lightning itself had struck from the ever-intensifying storm, though lacking the peal of thunder (which was provided in the aftermath of the most recent lightning strike) and also lacking the heat.
For me, anyways. I imagine to anyone with physical eyes that it would burn intensely.
And, at the moment I begin to retract my left arm, I feel that I cannot resist any longer. I give in to desire, sensing the wisdom at this moment to augment my reaction time. Force Reflex. It should come as no surprise, correct? Its effects, so far unseen, will be brief, but if even a fraction of what I have sought to unleash upon my opponent comes to pass, then just an instant is all I need. Relative to me, time slows...*
To correct what has gone amiss is the mission laid before me. And, like moth to a flame, Tal now seeks to enter my presence. At the far end of a long corridor, a door hisses open to admit him and he comes towards me with apparent haste. In turn, I stride to meet him.
His betrayal is not forgotten. Though, not something I would be prone to hold a grudge over. To assert his freedom by ridding himself of me is a commendable thought, and not a foreign concept to the Sith. Often enough, their so-called Final Tests have been to slay their Masters. If you succeed at that task, the reasoning goes, your Master had nothing left to teach you. Over time that logic became corrupted, and the important part—the means to the end as opposed to the end itself—became less important than simply reaching the destination. Demonstrably so: consider the Tragedy of Darth Plageuis the Wise. Undoubtedly, there was more that Darth Sidious could have learned from his Master. Yet in his haste to reach the end, he demonstrated his ignorance of the true purpose of the Final Test.
In regard to that tradition, the Way of Lapay is wholly in accord with both the journey and the result. Might I remind you that, unless you test your power often, you have no basis by which to accurately judge how powerful you are? You should seek out ways to exercise your strengths, and overcome the strengths of others. Your Master is no exception to this rule. Demonstrably so: consider the Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise. The power of Darth Sidious is shown in his ability to exploit the vulnerability of his Master while he slept, and the weakness of Darth Plagueis in failing to anticipate and deny this possibility. Thus Darth Sidious's power was proven, and Darth Plageuis's power shown to be lacking. One must be prepared to die along the journey to freedom.
Shall we lay out the options here? Trogdor hungers, the hum of blades extending from the staff held in my left hand reminding me of his presence. Do I strike my son down? Kill Tal here and now as a consequence of his lack of power? No complaints from either of us if, having pursued freedom, he were to lose his life. Isn't that correct?
But pointless. I have already shown my power, in surviving—thriving, actually—through his betrayal. Power, the means by which freedom is obtained (if you know the Sith Code, then you know it to be true), is sacred. To use it in trivial fashion is vanity, a sin. Because the difference between Tal and myself is already known, there is no need and therefore no reason to test my power. No, the solution to the question of what sort of correction I must do is not to be found in harping on the failure.
What do you do when you take aim at freedom and fall short? You reevaluate yourself, and you ought to be grateful for the opportunity to do so. You take stock of your strength, and from there you have two options: to add to them, or to improve them. In either case, all strengths are derived from passions, just as all power is derived from the totality of your strengths. Prune those things from which your interest has waned, and seek out those things to which you are drawn. Train that which lacks. This is the heart of the Way.
What do you do when your power is so immense that you cannot help but be free? Well, in that case you've gotten to the end-game, but that's a discussion for a different time. Those are the deep secrets.
We approach.*
[/ul]
*The station shudders, its ancient structure ruing its first encounter with atmosphere. Very soon, as gravity aids the engines in accelerating the ship to impact with the surface, the husk will start to burn away. It enters the clutches of Moraband, never to be released from its grasp again.*
*Alkor moves towards me, so the final moment at which I take my stance is earlier, and not as close to the prow of the ship, than initially estimated, but nothing else is interrupted by his decision to move towards me instead of waiting. And as he approaches, he breaks into a trot, and then he unleashes his attack. Far more satisfactory than initially expected. Nobody wants to devote any more thought to Jedi than they have to.
He launches a downward strike towards my head. A commendable target; let’s make this duel high-stakes, why don’t we? And, the clever man simultaneously executes a deceptive and perhaps nigh-undetectable Force Pull on my left heel, intending no doubt to stagger my defense and throw me off-balance for his next attack, should I manage to successfully defend! Truly a delightful combination.
And, this is a rare moment! We get to see both an advantage and a disadvantage of Devient come into play. The disadvantage is that I fail to detect the imminent Force Pull. If I weren’t wearing her, I would have seen him use Telekinesis. The advantage is that Devient, being of Alchemical fashioning, is as wholly impervious to lightsabers as the Sith Swords made by those same methods in the olden days of yore. I need no other means of blocking Alkor's lightsaber than her.
So; as his saber wails towards my head, six discrete events take place, all almost inseparable in time but still best described piece-by-piece: First, I tilt my head up, so that the blade's path will take it to impact at the point tangent to my hairline; if I remained still, his saber would still be blocked, but a little too close to the upper edge of the mask. This ever-so-slight adjustment of position gives me more breathing room. Breathing room that I would not need if I gave in to the temptation to use Force Reflex now, perhaps, but the time is not yet right. Second, Alkor's Telekinetic interference tugs at my left foot, which is my front foot in the stance I had assumed, towards him. This takes place a mere instant before the third event. From my balanced posture, this results in pulling me into a lunge; a move I would very much consider doing regardless, but I will admit that it is a bit sooner than I planned. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. The sudden movement lets my head pitch back a little more than planned; middle of the forehead instead of hairline, then. While initially put off-balance, the fact that it is so similar to a lead-in to lunging allows me to rapidly recover. My right foot shifts its angle slightly, and my right knee extends, and all of a sudden I'm back in business. And, as this involuntary lunge is Forced upon me (get it) my body sinks lower, which always happens whenever you take any large step forward in this manner. Third, his saber blow lands, and, as predicted, does not slice through Devient. Thanks to his Force Pull, my head height is lower than when he initially swung. His lightsaber therefore strikes along my forehead, with the tip extending past my head, between the two prongs of my mask. Reflexively, as I feel the impact, I angle my head slightly to my right. His saber will slide down to the joint where the left horn erupts from the left temple vicinity of the mask. The impact itself does not grieve me; as Alkor has pointed out, the weightlessness of a lightsaber gives it greater speed than non-weighted weapons. The kinetic energy it delivers upon impact is therefore likewise negligible. Fourth, at the exact moment I register the feel of his saber landing on Devient, I deliver my answering strike. The lightfoil's tip had been around mouth height on Alkor when he approached; thanks to the lunge that he has pulled me into, it is both even lower and closer to him than before. Any speed difference can be compensated for, as you should well know, by minimizing movement. Doesn’t matter if your can move even twice as fast as me; if your motion makes you travel three times as far as mine does, I take less time to complete the trip. My left hand tilts forward and inward to my right, traces out a small “Cherek” (rounding off the corners, though, definitely a sloppy shape for writing purposes, you could probably use it as a captcha, if you took a picture of it), and returns to near its starting position, but slightly lower and a bit further out to my left. A truly snakelike strike. The effect is that the tip of the foil should pierce well into the left side of his chest (not far enough to exit the other side of his body, though), and then follow a half-circular path by which Vol’s blade would enter, cleave his pectoralis major tendon, and then leave. Alkor’s choice of head for target means that his blade is higher than mine to begin with, his body angle in relation to me neatly exposes his chest to this attack, and Devient’s interference in completion of the swing from the third event means that he will struggle to move his saber any further to his right because of my left horn. Fifth, concurrent to the retraction of my strike, I adjust the angle of my right arm, raising the elbow upward and turning my fist so as to allow Saurez to minimize the opening to my throat, and cover the gap over the right side of my neck, lest Alkor try to exploit an opportunity to try to sever my trapezius muscle. The final position is similar to, if you imagine me with no equipment, I were drawing my right arm up over my shoulder as if winding up to to deliver an overhand smashing punch to Alkor’s nose. But the shield is in the way, so no way could I deliver that kind of fist-on-face action. Sixth, as more of an afterthought than anything else, when his Force Pull relinquishes, my lunge will come to its landing position; if his left leg is anywhere near that spot, I try to maneuver my foot such that it lands on his left toes in order to pin the foot of my foe. The least of my concerns, but I will be gratified if it lands, all the same.
A cadence of discord, and I claim the best is yet to come. The Force is so ready to augment my Reflexes, yet even now I resist the urge. I know about patience. I know about restraint. Both are worthless unless you practice them: not for their own sakes, but only when they prove advantageous. Well, how does one determine when that is? The answer is an exercise best left to the student.*
In spear-like fashion, The Vengeance has unleashed itself upon the out wall of the docking station. The ship roars as it suffers a tremendous lurch, followed by ominous aftershocks, reverberating all throughout the decks. Astutely, I sense that my time to disembark has come.
What you ought to know about this station is that it was never meant to receive anything larger than a personnel shuttle into its hangar. This was a clearing-house for people wishing to enter Korriban, but capital ships would not dock with it. They would stay in orbit, and they send an envoy to the station. And anyone with a personal starfighter or freighter would be able to enter the station with their ship to represent themselves. So, it is not a large station. It was never meant to accommodate a DP20 under normal circumstances, far less so in an uncontrolled docking procedure such as the present.
To my benefit, as ship and station collide, I am floating. The tremors rippling all over the floors do not concern me. Neither did the initial impact. But now, as the DP20 embeds itself and appears to not be stopping any time soon, I relinquish my Telekinesis and stash my effects, all save one half of Trogdor. This dragon-man is my ticket off of the vessel.
As debris scatters left and right, I march with footsteps echoing into the dim emptiness, a brisk pace to be sure, making my way towards the nose of The Vengeance. The hull of the ship creaks and threatens to give way at any minute, as its own engines continue to drive it on to impale itself, starting to crumple by its own dumb operation. There's probably a lesson to be found here, but I can't be asked to articulate it.
The orbital station has engines, used to correct for small variations-over-time in the trajectory of the station. All orbits eventually either decay or escape, don't you know? Without these enegines to offset its course, the station would run the risk of falling into Korriban, or flying off into space to Force-knows-where. Possibly right into the star. The engine systems are wired to a computer, primitive by most standards, which was tasked to track the current trajectory and calculate the engine output necessary to keep the station in stable orbit over the planet.
Woe to the programmers! Because this droid barely classifies as a Class One, devoted single-mindedly to its task. The sensor systems would alert the station crew if a collision (say, with an asteroid) was imminent, and a different system entirely could be exploited to take evasive action. The parameters of The Vengeance's collision, and continuous thrust, were outside of the norm. They could not be accounted for, because they were not predictable. And so when the station suddenly received a significant change in momentum, the data brain arrived at a solution for what to do.
The station has been moved into a decaying orbital path. It can be returned to a stable orbit. The engines should provide thrust at a certain angle with a certain amount of power such that, in addition to the current velocity vector, the station can reach the stable orbit path. Calculate the angle. Calculate the power. Fire the engines.
Everything in that algorithm sounds right. The problem is that the velocity vector exceeds the boundary conditions assumed by the computer, hence the normal program operation runs the risk of losing validity. Sure enough, the computer calculated that the most efficient path to return to stable orbit was on the other side of Korriban...to be reached by passing through the crust of the planet itself. Before anyone (well, all the sentient overseers are dead, anyways) could do a sanity check and stop it, the station ignited its engines and began to send the station meteoring into the upper reaches of the atmosphere of the planet Korriban.
All of this is so far unknown to me, as I am now approaching the fomremost ship wall. It has lodged itself firmly into the station, having in fact penetrated through the station wall. So here is where I'll take my leave. Sayonara, The Vengeance. It's been real.
Simultaneously igniting the three outer blades of my polearm, I plunge it into the centimeters-thick compromised matrix armor.*
“...that won't be an issue for Trogdor.”
“All right, but it would still be faster and easier elsewhere.”[/ul]
*That's true. But, without taking off the mask, I wouldn't be assured that the DP20 was actually in contact with the station. It's quite likely that Devient is trying to kill me by having me take a space walk.
The process of shredding a hole in the hull is a slow-going one. But everything about this is slow: even with all of the active engines cooperating in directing the station into a fireball-esque demise on Korriban, there's still over ten minutes left before that happens. And so, before long, Trogdor has burned an accessway for me. I take one last look over the ship, for dramatic effect, before ducking through the portway and entering onto the orbital station of Korriban. Once out, I pause to gather my bearings, thinking back to what I saw mere moments before in terms of where Tal would be in relation to my current position, and the pathways which would lead me there.
Trogdor, at my side, still burns in a brilliant red glow.*[/font]
*When did that guy get there? It isn’t until he starts moving that I actually notice Alkor’s presence. As motionless as he was standing, and being that close to the foremast, I mistook him for the ship’s figurehead.*
[/ul] *Come now, Devient, that's not a hard and fast rule. Who are we to say what the rich and famous will use to testify to their opulence? Just because it isn’t traditionally done is no reason not to start. Anyways, there’s probably some sort of symbolism at work here, but I was never very good at wrapping my head around that sort of thing.
Speaking of tradition, as I approach, and while we are still separated by a gap of about 15 meters, he ignites a single saber in his left hand.*
*All this races through my mind as I approach, apparently uncontested, with him waiting for me, having taken one step and then stopped. Alkor, don’t you know that it would halve the time to engagement if you were walking towards me, too? It’s possible that you really enjoy fighting, but that doesn’t make sense given that your choice to remain stationary would appear to be a measure of delaying it as long as possible. Are you perhaps savoring the anticipation? Bah, if that’s the case then it just means you’d rather think about fighting than actually fight. But I don’t blame you; it’s far more comfortable to leave fighting me in the realm of the imagination, where you still stand a chance.
Nonetheless, despite my unfavorable impressions about his weapon of choice and recalcitrance, I credit him this: using a single saber is a good mask. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Sidious both used single sabers, yet their styles were as different as night and day. No matter, though; you may employ an ocean of Soresu or Juyo or whatever style suits you best, I will devour it all, overcome it, and show you the truth of the Way of Lapay. So what style will it be?
A head shorter than me, and far slimmer in build. There is a good chance that this guy will try to defeat me on the basis of being faster. That’s fine; maximizing your strengths relative to your opponent is all a part of what being powerful means, and that’s probably what I would try to do if I were in his position. I am no slouch when it comes to quickness, however, so it’s hard to imagine that he really is much stronger than me in the domain of speed. At 20 paces apart, I nevertheless decide that I will squelch that possibility and outright deny it, because that is also what it means to be powerful. In this case, it means I start focusing my willpower in the Force in preparation to employ Force Reflex at a moment’s notice. Thanks to Devient, it takes me more time than the usual man to plan on using the Force in that manner. Thanks to Alkor, I have that time.
Another bolt of lightning flashes across the sky—and this time, it strikes the ship! At the stern, though, far from us. The scent of ozone doesn’t reach this far, other than what is produced by the lightsabers. The ship has a cap drain (fancy folks, after all) and so nothing appears to have been damaged by the electrical surge, nor did the deck nor the railing just beyond my arm's reach become electrified. But as the light fades, Alkor will note that I likewise have ignited Vol, and illuminated Saurez. Cyan on the left, orange on the right. An aesthetically pleasing combination, or so the experts in color schemes say. Both of my arms are bent to almost 90 degrees, with Vol held at a slight inward angle and extended (tip at chin height on Alkor), and with Saurez in ready position on my right side guarding shoulder to waist, eager to go toe-to-toe with the enemy’s blade. I halt by taking a longer step than all the others, at three meters’ distance left between us, several steps beyond striking range. Left foot is forward, right foot turns to an outward angle, I rise onto the balls of my feet, and I bend my knees and waist to sink down somewhat while leaning forward slightly. Unhesitating, well-practiced, balanced, a posture I’ve assumed a thousand times.
I have centered myself, in body and in Force. But I voluntarily cede Alkor this one last chance to initiate the bladework; no more than a pause, really, drawing measured breaths before I make my strikes. Once you start to duel, you’re underwater. Alkor, if you don’t make the most of such a chance now, and come to regret it later, that is no fault of mine.*[/font]
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[/ul]*I silence the crew member with my upraised palm clenching into a fist.*
[/font][/ul]
*All the while muttering his protests, the poor fellow. No matter; to say nothing of the immeasurable power of the Force at my beckon call, this man—though of average height and not wholly out of shape—does not even measure up to my physical prowess. So as he gives a mere halfhearted attempt to block the hallway, I brush him aside with no more than a brisk stride and a stiff shoulder. Juggernaut.
There is a lesson here: Words are meaningless when you lack the ability to enforce them. And, as the last pneumatic door hisses open to admit me onto the sun deck, with the last light of Muunilinst Prime stretching across the sky, and a tremendous gust of wind immediately bursting upon my body, another lesson: Not for nothing did he try to bar entry. Surely this is but a taste; just one of the outermost rain belts of the storm centered over the blackened section of sky to our—I turn in place briefly to catch my bearing—southeast. And fast approaching, as if the storm itself is drawn to the same source I am.*
[/font]
“Ryu, why did you pick a luxury cruise run by such an idiotic company? Don’t they realize that they can just fly this ship above the cloud layer? Did they forget about that?”
“None of my business how foolish they choose to be.”[/ul]
*Devient, my mask, adorns my face, and I must admit that for once she and I were thinking along the same lines. Why isn't there a procedure for flying the ship over the storm? This whole scenario seems like it really could have been avoided altogether with a modicum of common sense.
Striding across the deck, I have quickly become accustomed to the strong, steady blowing of the wind. It appears I will not have any issue with mobility, at least not until the storm worsens. Even the occasional strong burst of wind isn’t causing me to lose my footing. No, far more troublesome is the massive heated pool inconveniently sunk right in the middle of the deck, restricting the amount of traversable terrain, and the deck chairs ringing its rim. Well, I say restricting, but there’s still over five meters between myself and the nearest one. I am right at the ship’s railing, though, so perhaps if you are perilously obese, or of ronto descent, you might find it a bit claustrophobic here.
I make my way towards the bow, following the starboard edge as it gradually curves towards its apex. As I walk, I casually shift my gaze, observing my surroundings. An albino bat flitters across the sky, seemingly unperturbed by the approaching squall. On the bowsprit, an abnormally large metalmite is perched, motionless. Nearby, some vandal has emblazoned the symbol of the Rebel Alliance on the ship. Surely that will be cleansed soon. But so far, beyond this general sense of foreboding, no sign of others around here.
To any and all, I must look at least somewhat horrifying. Possibly not entirely out-of-place on a ship reserved for the extravagantly rich, who include in their number some of the most eccentric of all beings in the universe. But as hinted at, I, an Icarii, bear a somewhat imposing frame at 190 cm in height and about 100 kg mass. Larger than the average humanoid, but given the right crowd of alien species or body builders, I’m absolutely miniscule. And well-trained, to be sure; if you know me, then you know. To add to the shock factor of my appearance, I wear Devient. She is a mask I fashioned with my Sith Alchemy. Function over form was the rule. Her function is to reduce the efficiency of my Force Sight, and reduces my ability to use the Force overall. There are a few side effects, too, such as the fact that I tend to hallucinate, and hear her voice often in my head. We converse, it’s a thing. Her form is an expressionless sheath, both mouthless and eyeless, covering my face; an alchemically-enhanced polished metal surface with apparent depth and stylistic swirls of various shades. Stare too long, and their subtle, lifelike movements can have a hypnotic effect. Fully resistant to lightsaber strikes. And pronged, too; two to count, razor-sharp, 15 cm horns protruding from the top of the mask. I think, once, I managed to gore someone while wearing this mask. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember the details.
As the gale continues to gradually intensify, I am glad that I thought to wear Freedom, a duster coat. Of Zeyd cloth weave, its fibers have been imbued with Norris root dyes, making it flame retardant and slightly less susceptible to damage from energized attacks. Nightmarish to repair, let me tell you. The Norris dye was worth every penny. Clasped over the right forearm sleeve of the coat is a bracer, housing a personal shield projector. Saurez is his name, and the shield he projects is a perfectly circular, slightly curved entity, one meter in diameter. It is impervious to lightsabers, blaster bolts, and physical strikes until his batteries are depleted (proportional to the amount of damage he sustains; for instance, he’d probably be able to take a single shot from a decent sized starfighter, but that would take an entire battery charge). I happen to have one spare pack—a diatium power cell, actually—reserved for such a purpose, though if there’s to be a fight, as I imagine, I do have trouble picturing how I might make enough time for myself to change it out. In my right hand is what, to any onlooker, could be identified as an LL-30 blaster pistol. If you thought so, congratulations on your extensive knowledge of blaster makes and models, but that’s not correct. This is Crux; it is the twin brother to an actually functional LL-30, Crisis, who decided that it would be more comfortable to stay in my room on this ship than to come with me. Crux’s internals were replaced (by me; Sith Alchemy can sometimes be thought of like surgery for inanimate objects) by mechanisms reproducing the effect of the Exocron-native weapon, the flash pistol. I have heard rumors that some people were able to make flash pistols capable of dealing damage to their foes, but I did not attempt that; by my estimation, managing to secure a few seconds of blindness in my opponent is all I need. It puts myself and my foe on even yet unequal footing: I have managed my blindness for years with Force Sight, a power I’ve not seen used by almost any other in this whole universe. The grooved section along the LL-30’s nose, and the butt of the handle, have been filled with unrefined cortosis ore (which was a massive headache in terms of craftsmanship). And, since the pistol’s sight is useless to me, a man who sees with the Force, I replaced it on both Crux and Crisis with a 420 nm heatbeam emitter.
All of these trifles, all of these toys with their cute tricks and clever functions, pale in comparison to the masterpiece in my left hand. An ornately-hilted lightsaber emitter, second only to one in my entire arsenal. Vol. A lightfoil, to be exact. She emits a brilliant cyan blade, when lit, stable and confined to a blade thinner by about one-third than the typical lightsaber. Longer than the standard length, as well, by about three centimeters. The hilt itself features a hand-guard made from phrik, elegantly curved into a slim bell guard encapsulating the entire hand on one side (the other side is half-exposed so as to actually be able to insert the hand that grips it). Everything about Vol suggests Makashi, but it is worth mentioning that I have never been trained in any of the classical forms, instead choosing to fight with my own, self-instructed style. Do I therefore lack the muscle memory of ingrained techniques taught for thousands of years? Of course. But I have my own ways; not using Makashi does not preclude my ability to strike with precision, where needed. And there are many advantages to that; for as my coat suggests, I am Free.
A smile spreads across my face, beneath the mask, followed by a quiet chuckle as I continue my slow march. Juggernaut, indeed.*[/font]