Shadows of the Republic: Walk the Line

[Demitri Drahmin]

The lightsaber blades met for only a moment, the core of each beam hissing, before they swept away from one another. The figure in pale gray tunic retreated, criss-crossing his saber before him in a brand that would have severed all four limbs had his opponent been foolish enough to charge headlong into it. Instead, she withdrew, edging back along the invisible line that ran directly through their duel, bisecting the room.

At the edges of the sparring room, a collective sigh ran through the group of Padawan's who had gathered to witness the fight. What they wanted was acrobatics, the twists and turns the likes of which Master Skywalker could deliver, and few amongst them had the patience for the subtleties of the Contention Form, Makashi.

Demitri Drahmin was aware of them, but his awareness did not settle upon them. It was spread outwards, encompassing all that surrounded him – all that was and would be – as he allowed the Force to guide both his steps and his hand. His sabers hilt angled downward at his side, but he sensed it would not remain there for long. In moments she would take up the attack and advance, and the dance would begin again.

[Tionne Thanewulf]

Drahmin’s tactic was flawless, his proficiency as a Makashi user without a doubt the most advanced in the current ranks of the Jedi Order. The flowing elegance of the form, coupled with its intrinsic accuracy accounted for one of the most beautiful displays of swordsmanship ever to be seen amidst the walls of the grandiose edifice of the Jedi Temple.

But it was not his skill with the lightsaber that made Demitri’s name known, but prudence and unimpaired judgment reigning his being. A true servant of the Living Force which he so meticulously followed had taught but one student; the Order’s sharpest mind and tongue, a disciple who’s mind was, like his, unclouded by ideas of balance. In a world where benchmarks of morale already began to crumble, there was little certitude, even within the allegedly proverbial guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy. Master and servant thus remained observant, as the drums of war echoed through the galaxy…


‘’Do not underestimate a Form II user, fellow Jedi ‘’ Thanewulf said, voice intermittent as she struggled to steady her breath – ‘’It is only used by the sliest of foxes.’’
Her mouth stretched into a subtle grin directed in the general direction of her Master when Tionne stepped out, administering a diagonal slash to cut from his left shoulder to right hip. Her biceps flexed, hands firmly gripping the sordid handle of her grandfather’s electrum hilt, every atom of strength conserved to be used on the defensive.

‘’Use Ataru against this…and your opponent makes a cocktail decoration out of you!’’ the Knight warned, almost shouting to be heard over the hiss of sabers that once again clashed, the luminescent flash casting vivid light onto her pale face.

[Demitri Drahmin]

Their blades danced in and away from one another like the heads of cobras, striking for only a heartbeat. Demitri paced one foot over the other, in steps which would inevitably inscribe a circle around his student. Rather than advancing or retreating, he elected to alter the field of play, offering both combatants a moment to gather their wits and bring to mind another plan of attack.

“Yet the Form is not without its weaknesses...” Drahmin began, intending to prompt further discussion from his pupil.