A Comedy of Encounters: The Masked Man (complete)

[Jeran Conrad]

Rivendel
Outskirts of the Edda Forest
22:47 hours, Standard Time

The moonlight was so calming.

At the edge of one of Rivendel's deepest, darkest forests, Jeran Conrad squatted beside the mouth of an old, flacid stream. He was shirtless--no armor nor packs to be found on his torso. All of his things rested in a neat pile about 30 yards from the stream, beside another interesting landmark. For now, though, his attention was grasped by the cool, soothing water of the ancient stream. Having nearly drowned his thirsty face in it, he now washed something gently in his hands. A crimson whirlpool had appeared as he stroked the object under the surface, but as soon as it had appeared, the crimson cloud was taken slowly by a lazy current. Jeran held it up in the light--a slim, sleek blade made of steel, the grain sparkling in the moonlight. Having cleaned it to his satisfaction, he returned the blade to a small sheath on the left side of his belt--opposite his lightsaber.

Tonight, the energy-blade hadn't been drawn, mostly due to the fact that his target had not even become aware of his presence upon attack. As silent as the mother robin nested in his tree, Jeran had waited patiently. The young Dark Jedi was not even armed with a lightsaber--but Jeran had seen him before. He could smell the darkside upon him, and it took little though for Jeran to make the move. Swiftly, he had dropped down from the tree upon his target, killing him quietly with a slash across his throat. A nearly inaudible gurgle was all that could be heard from the young man as he fell. Then, Jeran had returned to the shadows from whence he had come.

Returning, a kilometer or two from where the kill had been made, to his set-up at the mouth of the old forest, he decided to make camp for the night. The current surroundings were surreal--a large, dense, beautiful woods with a line of wooden landmarks carved by hands unkown. The landmarks were statues--tributes to, what Jeran guessed, where either great leaders or warriors. Men did not celebrate anything but, and the weapons each weilded reminded him of the glory of battle.

Washing the tribal warpaint from his unshaven, dirty face, he threw his scraggly head back, drenching his back with water. It felt good in the cool air of the night. Filling his bantha hide canteen, he returned to the rest of his things and to his mount, Faith. The steed was grazing peacefully off the fertile, supple grasses and weeds surrounding the stream. Jeran took a deep breath--he really liked this place. It reminded him of his home, on Gais. He imagined a small cabin here with Dae and a warm fire. . .and a young one. He smiled at the thought, as he neared the old steed.

"Hey girl, looks like we're staying here for the night," he spoke softly to the horse. Running several fingers through her silky white mane, the horse huffed a retort of appreciation. He clicked with his tongue and she slowly turned around, showing her other side with held a few packs on it. From it, he took down a small bundle which contained his bedding and a small tent. Something crossed his mind again.

Dae.

And a child? He must've been daydreaming, and maybe even someone else was in his mind, for the warrior never once thought of procreating. It wasn't because he didn't want to; no, it was just too dangerous. Plain and simple. He wasn't in a position to have a family, not yet. Not untill certain dangers were abolished.

Dae.

He thought of her soft skin as he began to unroll the pack and how he longed to touch it. It had been a couple of weeks, and his mind had wandered to meet her own. He thought of her smile. . .her lips. . .the way they tasted when he kissed the sweetness from them. He envisioned--

FLASH

Something blurred through his mind. It was a sensation, a tingle, a fleeting moment of pure emotion. It was strange, and to many would be alarming. Jeran, however, knew precisely what it meant. He stood, reluctant in the second to move. He touched the lightsaber at his belt to make sure it was there.

FLASH

Closer. It was closer, the emotion and duration of the tingle enhanced. Someone was near, and not just an average someone. It was someone like himself--a Force user. Whether or not this user was pure or not was not included in the thought. But uncertainty was dangerous, and Jeran was never trusting.

He crept, careful of his movement, into a clearing between the sculptures. It was a place where about 8 of the monuments made a large, wide circle, like an altar. In the middle was a great podium with a set of stairs. He imagined that perhaps this was, or had once been, a meeting place. It was a very clear, level field that exposed most all directions around him. A clear vantage point to locate the source of the sensation.

There, in the middle of the great circle, below the statue of a great king, Jeran waited carefuly for his opponent to show himself. If he did--good, he was prepared. If he didn't, all the better. Perhaps the other was just passing through. . .

[Wargrave]

The Edda Forest was actually two forests. The natives called the part of the forest Jeran stood in, the Elder Edda as it'd been inhabited by the citizens of Rivendel long before there was as Balmorran Empire. And long before there was an Empire to begin with.

The inhabitants used to worship forest deities and believed those who exhibited 'supernatural powers' were 'heroes or villains'. Some still told stories about the ancient heroes, although most ended in the death of both hero and villain.

The wooden planet had never been consumed in war, like Balmorra, but instead various tribes fought before coming to the decision battle would only happen between one on one foes, not massive armies. Thus...duels were common until the Empire came in.

During the Empire's first occupation of Rivendel, duels were frowned upon. Stormtroopers routinely disrupted public battles, sending both combatants to holding cells where they waited for judgement. Mostly the arguments were sent to the Imperial Court where decisions were handed down, mostly fairly but still some people ended up dead under 'mysterious circumstances'.

When the Empire broke up, duels came back into fashion although more on a muted basis. If the courts couldn't (or wouldn't) solve anything, duels would happen in the area Jeran currently stood in.

The great King Forseti, who rules over 2,000 years prior watched over the area, judging who won or who lost. Rarely did both combatants escape with their lives. Even rarer was a battle where there were no injuries.

The King's wooden hand, cracked with age and weather pointed out towards the Elder Edda Forest before Jeran, as if saying, "Your combatant will come from there."


* * *

The feeling came over him like water pouring over his body as he took a bath. Someone with power was near him. Not as powerful as he was...but someone of considerable skill and ability.

The cloak he didn't need for this one, he allowed his grey face to touch the cooler air around him. He breathed deeply, his boots *crunching* on the pine needled ground as he walked towards the source of the power spike.

He emerged onto the 'Circle of Forseti' seeing a lone figure standing beneath the carving. His lightsaber, black against his black clothing, came out and ignited; the yellow blade giving an odd light to the area.

"A bit out of your element, aren't you?," he had a slight accent to his Basic, of unknown origin, " I thought I was the only one here."

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran reguarded his opponent, eyeing the figure before speaking. His power was strong to say the least--much stronger than his own. But the fact that he stood before him, his blade ignited, prevented him from escape. Something inside of him--something inside this great circle of heroes--beckonned him to stand his ground. It demanded that he face the opponent before him with valor and that he would not feign into the cover of the night.

"Nature has always been my home," he returned with an answer to the previous question. Strangely, his opponent had said it with a sort of medium tone. It wasn't mocking, and it wasn't demeaning. Jeran drew power from the forest, a power his opponent would feel. It made him stronger.

"I thought I was alone as well," he drew the sleek, silver hilt from his belt, igniting a dark blue blade. He held it out at his side with one hand, the other off of his opposite hip for balance in case he needed to make a quick move. "I stand corrected." Jeran wanted to say 'How 'bout we just go our separate ways and call it a night.' But he could not.

This ground was stained with the blood of ancient combatatants, and its call for more tonight would not be ignored.

[Wargrave]

Nature had been his home too. He remembered as a boy cutting down trees and feeling the forest around him. The Rivendel Forest always provided comfort to him. Now the comfort was disrupted by this 'unknown' Force User.

However, there was a familiar scent on him. He could sense it...unknown for the moment...but something quite familiar about him.

Wargrave continued to walk down the wooden steps, carefully now, he didn't want to give Jeran an advantage.

"Well...since we're intruding on the other. Shall we make known the names we were given so people can tell tales of our duel and its effect on this place?"

[Jeran Conrad]

Fair enough. This was a duel between gentlemen, and rules and norms would be followed. He appreciated civility.

"My name is Jeran Conrad of the Conrad family, honorary warrior of the Bikhati tribe of the planet Gias." He wondered if he should mention that he was a member of The Lost. Better not to, he thought. Marcus had instructed him to remain anonymous at all times possible, and he knew that the group was not common knowledge. There was no need to do so.

He looked back to his opponent, waiting for his reply.

[Wargrave]

The reply was simple.

"My name is Wargrave. I have no past family or tribe. Balmorra is my planet."

He made no mention of The Black Hand. These were two individuals meeting, not members of a group of some sort. He hoped the combat would prove invigorating...he hadn't had a spar in such a long time.

He hefted his saber, placing in an 'en guard' stance in front of him.

Then he waited for Jeran's response.

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran nodded to the man before him who had taken an aggressive stance. Whether defensive or attacking, the other was prepared for combat. Jeran reached to his side, placing two fingers into a small bag on his hip. He drew the fingers forward and drew two long stripes the entire vertical of his face on each side of his nose starting at the top of his forehead and down across his eyes. It was his tribal marking, and he always wore it when he could in combat. His opponent did not attack, and Jeran was thankful.

His eyes shown like white hot beacons through the black paint.

He gripped the saber with both hands and allowed his feet some width between them for mobility. Jeran could tell his opponent was not going to attack first--considered by some an honor to allow one's opponent to strike first. Jeran did not waste the gesture. With a quick stutter step to throw his opponent off, he swung his saber rather lightly--to test the waters--straight down at his opponents left shoulder.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave's yellow blade and Jeran's blue blade connected, throwing off a white *hissing* light as the two blades sprang off each other.

The Dark Jedi's saber swung towards the flying back blue blade, ready to press the attack against Jerran.

He swooped his blade around, swinging towards the Lost Jedi's own left shoulder.

[Jeran Conrad]

Though he found himself slightly off balance as the other leaned into his blade--Wargrave was powerful--he was able to bring his blade up to parry the strike at his shoulder. The blow carried its momentum through as he stumbled a bit backwards. It was somewhat embarassing--Wargave had clearly one that particular attack.

Jeran was far from finished.

He put a little strength into it this time and let out a small, guteral grunt as he rushed Wargrave. Swiping hard and downward, he brought Wargrave's saber down in a defensive position. Then, spinning his body, he brought his opposite leg around for a strong kick to his opponent, hoping it would land.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave's body jolted as the kick caught him in the shoulder. It knocked him away from Jeran, sending him rolling in the pine needled forest. His saber disengaged to keep him from cutting himself.

Wargrave came to his feet, smiling at the pain in his body. The armor he wore, visible on his shoulders, shielded himself from too much pain...but there would be a bruise later.

His saber reignited, casting its odd glow in forest. He still had to get used to using the lighter saber to his heavier great sword.

It twirled in his hand and he flipped over Jeran, his saber feinting a swing at his head.

Instead a booted leg caught Jeran in the back.

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran could smell the attack coming as he raised the saber above his head to block the swing. Instead, however, his opponent's body shifted and the saber's did not clash. Crap, he was feigning--

The correction came too late as the boot dug into his back, throwing him into the ground in front of him. The needles and dirt tasted terrible as he ate a handful off the ground. Rolling to his back, he pulled his saber up in time to block another attack as the light flashed from the clash. He rolled to his right, coming to a crouch. The fall had hurt worse than the kick, but he felt his natural toughness kicking in to erase it.

He was getting adrenaline to his brain, and that wasn't always good. The more he got, the more energy and rage he built. It wasn't dark rage, but it bordered on control. He decided it was time to fight with some skill. Striking out with his saber, he pulled an opening combo--which was easily caught and defended by Wargrave. Three slashes, followed with a heavy stab, all parried. On the final stab, however, Jeran cartwheeled right, pulling his saber low across Wargave's ankles.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave jumped over the saber, using the Force to assist his jump. Still...Jeran clipped the bottom of the boot, taking a small part of the heel off.

He flipped over Jeran, stumbling because of the awkwardness of the leap. Jeran was on him instantly, slashing and stabbing at Wargrave.

Finally Wargrave got an opening, knocking the blue blade away and elbowing Jeran in the face.

A cross-wide slash from Jeran's right shoulder to his hip followed.

[Jeran Conrad]

The battle was getting brutal, and Jeran was feeling a slight, slight twinge of fatigue. His mouth was slightly bloody as the elbow had lodged into his cheek and jaw. The slash came down and--instead of catch it with his blade--he attempted to dodge it. Jumping backwards, he was a bit too late as the blade swiped across his shoulder, searing the flesh and sending him backwards in pain.

"Arrrrggghhhhhhhh!" He growled like a wildman as the pain pumped more adrenaline into him. It hurt like hell, but he ignored it--he had to. It wouldn't be there for long. He shook his arm once and returned his hand to his blade, so that he found leverage again. He could feel the beast inside of him raging to get free.

He lunged forward, saber outstretched. In one fluid motion, he struck Wargrave's, breaking through his defense to point the two weapons away from both men. Then, he brought his left shoulder into Wargrave's chest, digging in. His arm wrapped around his shoulder, and he wrestled the other man to the ground--both sabers pinned on the opposite side of the body.

On the ground, he raised up and headbutted the other, hoping to loosen his grip on his weapon. But Wargrave's strength was powerful, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not get the other to let go. Another headbutt. . .nothing. He kept the other pinned, hoping to weaken him, as he contined to fight to disarm his opponent.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave didn't talk during battle. He had better things to do...like fight. But he couldn't help commenting, with gritted teeth,"Good....irk...job," to Jeran as their bodies collided with force.

His head was slightly disoriented, although his senses were still clear. Jeran was dangerous...especially when angry...this was something to exploit.

Whatever this "Bikhati tribe of the planet Gias" was, they trained their warriors well. But Wargrave had plenty of warrior training too.

He let go of the saber with one hand, pressing into Jeran hard, then punched his chin with gauntleted fist. Jeran didn't stop though, pressing even harder against Wargrave. Another headbutt and Wargrave saw stars.

The Dark Jedi spun, the lightsaber blade extinguishing- giving him release from the hold. Another kick to the back and Jeran fell forward into the pine needles again.

Wargrave spat, noticing blood mixed with the saliva. Jeran was very good...a treat to battle. He pressed the attack, swinging his saber down towards Jeran's waist, attempting to cut him in half.

[Jeran Conrad]

With quick reflexes a bit enhanced by his awareness during battle, he rolled again to avoid another possible dismemberment. He found himself frustrated--his jaw aching from two blows now, his back surely bruised from two kicks, and his face plenty dirty with the needles and dirt from both trips to the ground.

Still, he was suprisingly relentless.

The searing burn that had forced a shriek from his mouth earlier was nearly gone--amazingly healed in a blindingly fast ammount of time. He had always been like that--he couldn't explain it. Of course, this stange natural healing had faithfully aided him in battle with knicks and scratches and had done a good service to help him recover from sickness and major wounds a smidge quicker, but major wounds still cut deep, which made him wary of his movements. He wasn't invincible, and he was dang well sure of it.

Huffing and Puffing, he crouched in a defensive stance as he realigned himself. His opponent was swift, strong, and battle-smart, and it was not making this fight any easier. Perhaps it was time to add a new element to the game.

Jeran rushed Wargrave for yet another time, but this time, he had a diferent strategy. With a quick thought, he outstrethced his hand and called upon the Force around him. As the air was interrupted and the flow of molecules readjusted, a poweful push was unleashed, which was aimed directly at Wargrave's body. Continuing--instictlivey--with his momentum, Jeran also slashed with his saber, hoping to catch Wargrave off balance and possibly in mid-air (seeing whether or not the push caused him to leave his feet).

[Wargrave]

Wargrave allowed the push to send him back, somersaulting in the pine needles, mixed with grass. He smelled the needles, reminded of the first time he'd come to the Elder Edda Forest. He'd been here with his father and brother as a boy. It was one of his most pleasent of memories. One of the few, in fact, of his childhood.

The slash had caught his leg searing it but, outside of the cauterized cut, Wargrave was uninjured.

Jeran's push suddenly raised the stakes of the duel. And Wargrave liked raised stakes.

Wargrave's gloved hand shot outward and he slowly started constricting Jeran's vocal chords and trachea. The hunter wouldn't stop his charge and Wargrave's Force Grip increased in strength.

After a minute he released the grip, and sent Jeran flying back towards the statue of King Forseti and his judging wooden eyes.

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran knew--almost more certainly than he thought--that Wargrave would not end his life with a simple Force choke. That just wasn't the honorable method. It wasn't typical among warriors. Still, his lack of belief in the possiblity of death did not decrease the ammount of pain he was feeling. His airway felt tighter and tighter by the minute, like it was going to cave in on itself and end his breathing altogether.

But he fought hard against it.

Still it pushed, tighter than before, until finally, blood trickled from his nose--the product of a vessel or too in his sinuses popping. Just when the warrior was losing his steam, just as he was coming to his knees from lack of oxygen, Wargrave released him--but with another thrust to boot, which sent Jeran flying in an unkown direction. He reached for his throat in relief--in midflight--dropping his saber to the grassy floor below him.

THUD

Pain shot through his lower back as his body connected with a large, thick, sturdy something, shocking his whole skeleton with the force of the throw. He cried out in pain as his eyes flashed a blink of lightning of pain in his brain, falling another few feet until he came to rest in a heap at the base of what appeared to be one of the monuments. He felt a very small smack to his side as a piece of the monument landed on him, a little bit of damage to the statue.

"Unnnhhhhhhhhh," he groaned, rolling onto his hands and knees. He could barely move--his body was so stiff. The jolt had shocked him rather badly, and it was going to be a second until he recovered. He was able to come to a crouch, his ribs burning with a fire he hadn't felt in some time.

"Not a bad toss," he coughed up a few mouthfuls of blood--he was probably bleeding somewhere inside. Not for long, he thought. "But I ain't outta this yet, bub." Calling on the Force for strength, Jeran knew he had to move quick. He didn't want that saber out there in the open for too much longer. With pure tenacity and gut, he dug his hands into the ground, pulling up as much dirt and grassy pine needles as was possible. Hefting the cloud of debris at his opponent, he made a break behind it for his saber. Calling his weapon to his hands, the blade ignited as he jumped with the distraction, attempting a slash from behind his cover at a hopefully blind opponent.

[Wargrave]

The debris caught Wargrave towards the face, causing him to wince and stick his saber out in a block position, in case Jeran attempted to take a swing at him.

He did.

With a *krissh* the two saber blades collided, sending a few sparks around the area.

Wargrave's feet, moved in the pine needles and he used the Force to sense out Jeran's directed thought. They were much like his own and through it all...Wargrave found it.

Turnabout was fair play.

Wargrave imagined Jeran's eyes dark, unable to see. It was a temporary effect, only distractionary...but Wargrave took it.

Even as Jeran's eyes went white and he lost his ability to see (only temporary though, about 1 minute)...Wargrave swung at Jeran's chest.

[Jeran Conrad]

As though all the lights of the universe had been switched off simultaneously, Jeran felt himself immediately loose all concept and grasp of sight. In a single second, he felt himself panic as he had no way of seeing where his opponent was. With fear coming over him, he tried to come to his senses. He let his memory take over.


He remembered a time when he had control. Out in east field beyond his uncle's farm where he once played sports or ran with his cousins, he stood with a dark blindfold pulled over his eyes. In his hand was a wooden sword, and standing directly opposite of him was Uncle Kit, holding the same. He stood tall in the afternoon sun.

"Now, block my attack." Uncle Kit's voice was soft but challenging. He swung the wooden sword lightly at Jeran's legs. It smacked against his thigh as he yelped with pain.

"Ow! Uncle Kit, I can't see!" Jeran pleaded, rubbing his thigh.

"You will face times when you will not be able to see with your eyes, Jeran. You must rely on the Force--like I told you." He looked down at the boy as he pondered the answer to his question.

". . .I think I understand, Uncle."

"Good. Let's try again." This time, Uncle Kit swung at Jeran's arm. Without his head even pointed in the direction of the attack, Jeran threw his false blade into the path. CLUNK He heard the sound of wood on wood as he blocked the attack. He grinned ear to ear, understand perfectly what was asked of him.


KSSSSSSSSSSSK

The sound of the two sabers meeting shocked the air around the two as bright light burst around the two blades. Jeran quickly withdrew--though he was able to defend a bit, he was in no condition to attack. With his mind, he could see a very dark, rough outline of the world around.

Flipping back in a one handed cartwheel, he dodged another swing by Wargrave. He had to do something on the offensive--he coulnd't remain a sitting duck forever. He saw the outline of a medium-sized rock (about the size of a basketball) in his mind. Reaching into the Force, he levitated the rock and sent it whizzing towards Wargrave.

With no idea how well aimed the rock was, he ducked to a crouch and concentrated on trying to find Wargrave's signature and visualize his position in his mind's eye. Things started to become a tad bit clearer--perhaps his vision was returning slightly.

[Wargrave]

This one had excellent training. Wargrave was impressed.

The rock hurtled towards the Dark Jedi, forcing him to stop his attack and block the approaching rock. He cut it into two symetrical pieces. One flew harmlessly over his head...the other caught him in the stomach.

Wargrave backed off, catching his breath for a moment. Jeran showed intelligence and cunning, he was a true warrior. Wargrave was honored to face him.

He extinguished his saber, still keeping it in his hand...but allowing the quietness of the area around him to surround him. Then he leaped from the ground to the statue, perching on the outstretched hand.

He waited four beats, then leaped at Jeran, waiting until the last instant to activate his saber and swing towards his body.

[Jeran Conrad]

He heard a slight groan as Wargrave reacted to the rock--it must've hit. Jeran smiled, as he was pleased. Now, with the aid of the Force and the effects of the blindness begining to wear off, he could see ever so slightly. It was as though he was looking through a stained glass window--this particular window a torrent of night and forest colors all meshed together--dark blues, greens, browns and blacks.

Then, something happened. Their was a blur of motion and he had let his mind slip slightly away from the situation at hand. He concentrated on the ground ahead of him--but he could no longer sense or see the figure of Wargrave. He had moved and in an instant, Jeran had lost him.

FRELL! he scolded himself. He turned in several directions trying to identify his opponent--nothing. Not even the familiar sound of the other's lightsaber could be heard. He was sheilding himself from detection, and Jeran had to figure out where he was quick if he intended to live. He took a deep breath, taking in the scents around him. He sniffed the air--smell being important to the hunter--and tried to find Wargrave's location.

SNAP-HISS

Jeran turned as he heard the sound and the direction it had come from with perfect hearing. He threw his body into reverse motion to get away from the slash--but he was too late. With a searing pain and a light brighter than the sun on a hot Gias day, the tip of Wargrave's saber sliced across his chest. The wound was not deep--it had barely cut into his skin--but that did not stop it from hurting.

"AARRGGHHHHH!" Jeran let out a guteral cry as he stumbled backwards, falling flat on his back. His chest--now a bright red sear across his it--heaved with tenacity as his breathing continued violently. He could smell burnt flesh as his upper body ached. As quick as he was able, he came to his feet, a slow, leaning stand as he held his chest. The good thing was, the system shock had broken him from the blindness.

He could see the look on Wargrave's face--calm, collected, cool. Despite his training, the man was much stronger than he was. He had no chance against him pound for pound, skill for skill. There would have to be another way. He thought of one. Letting his mind roam to the forest behind them, he called out. He called out for help. He'd done this before and, to his suprise, he'd been heard. He had a strange connection with animals, and perhaps this was a good time to excerise that connection. He called into the forest for help, hoping by the Force that anything would here him.

With his body, however, he had to hold up until help got there. He raised his saber defensively, the gash across his chest looking suprisingly better than it was moments ago. With a quick burst of energy, he spun his body and released a fierce combo of attacks on his opponent as a few pairs of golden, shining eyes began to show themselves at the foot of the forest.

[Wargrave]

They had visitors. Wolves from the forest no doubt. Probably a bear or two. Legend had it the king, Forseti, before his death was changed into a large white bear so he could avoid his final rest. And at times the white bear still roamed the Elder Edda Forest, hunting for food and companionship in the dark woods.

Wargrave was comfortable around animals. As a boy he'd had a horse and a wolf as a pet. Now he had none, but he was still comfortable around them. They helped relax his nerves at times.

He blocked Jeran's blows with increasing difficulty, the man had skill, he appreciated it.

A flurry of blows and Wargrave pushed Jeran's saber up and away from his body.

Then the lightening came.

It racked Jeran's body, forcing him back away from Wargrave. A pause for an instant and Wargrave pressed the attack with his saber again.

[Jeran Conrad]

He had been expecting it, but he didn't know when it would happen. He had trained against the Darkside for several years now, and he knew the skills of a Dark Jedi Master. He knew that sooner or later, Wargrave would call upon the crushing power of the Force to produce the deep, purple, dabilitating lightening that many lightsiders had always feared. It was inevitable, and he promised himself that he would be prepared for it.

He wasn't.

With his lightsaber knocked away from his body, and Wargrave's hand pressed directly in front of his chest, he smelled it coming but had no chance to do anything about it. The lightening shocked his chest, burning his insides and throwing him backwards. He felt his bones vibrate with the intense pain, and he stumbled backwards, coming to a knee, trying to preserve his strength. The sheer energy and voltage of the shock had zapped his lightsaber, shorting out the blade and throwing hit from his hand. He looked up--dark, beaten eyes through dirty, golden curls peering at Wargrave.

He faced death as the Dark Jedi moved toward him, saber held high. But he did not fear. He was brave. He kept his composure, and stared Wargrave down as he charged. But, it was too much to feel death upon him. He closed his eyes, calling into the Force. Making one last prayer for his safety and the safety of Dae and Marcus and Terran and all those who he cared about. He could feel the air disrupt as the blade began to come down upon him. He could almost feel the heat of it on his head as he kneeled, defeated.

Then something more miraculous that he could have imagined occurred.

Out of nowhere, a low growl was heard. Suddenly, and without so much as a warning, the sleek, silver furred animal leapt into the air, jaws clenching around Wargrave's saber arm, teeth digging into his strong forearm. Jeran opened his eyes to see the creature hanging on with steel-trap jaws, refusing to let go. As though the cavalry had arrived, two other wolves had emerged from the forest, bearing their teeth. Slowly, they surrounded the Dark Jedi, a pack defending one of their own. One even stood beside Jeran, not bearing his jaws, but his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight.

This was his second chance, his one and only chance to get back into this fight. He spied his saber, and made a move towards it.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave had been surprised.

This Jeran was worth fighting after all. Command of animals was impressive...most impressive.

The Dark Jedi'd been so focussed on defeating Jeran, he hadn't noticed the wolf until it attacked him. And even then...it wasn't until the teeth seeped through his armor did he realize what'd happened.

His instincts kicked in.

He had to prevent the wolf's jaw from locking onto his forearm. While his armor would protect him for the moment...if the wolf started to shake...

He had no other choice...Wargrave had to rid himself of the armor on his right arm. The knife, large with a serrated edge, was in his left hand and quickly Wargrave cut through the armor. The wolf bit harder...he was almost through the protectant. Wargrave pulled...the arm came free. Blood trickled down the two places where his arm'd been cut.

Wargrave flipped away from the wolves and towards the hand of Forseti.

[Jeran Conrad]

Diving into the dirt and coming to a crouch, Jeran pounced on his saber, returning it to his hand. He fingered the control switch as the saber coughed and spouted sparks. Nothing happened--it was shorted out. Frell!, he cursed, trying the wepon again by turning it back off then back on. Nothing still--only sparks. If he kept forcing it, it would only damage the weapon and possibly explode in his hand. So, he returned it to his belt.

Looking back to Wargrave's position, he found the man perched on one of the statue's hands. Below him, a few of the wolves were snarling wildly, foaming at the mouth. Jeran took a handful of dirt in his palm and rubbed it around to cleanse the dry blood and sweat that had made its way to his palms. Finaly, as though they understood he was back in action, the wolves made their way back to the woods. Some stayed at the edge, watching with silent eyes. Others plodded back into the underbrush disappearing into the tangled growth from which they came.

Jeran drew the only other weapon he was carrying: a long hunting knife. The blade was roughly 10 inches long--sleek and smooth, a hunting knife of the Bikhati tribe fit for a warrior. At the very inside of the blade at the hilt, it was serrated, made to tear and dig into flesh if applied right. He looked to Wargrave who had used a similar knife to cut through his armor.

"You have me at a disadvantage," he spoke of the malfunctioning lightsaber. He adjusted his body into a ready position, though it was sore from the punishment it had already taken. Holding the knife behind his head and pointed downward, he crouched his body, his other arm outstretched for balance. He was prepared to do all he could do with the only weapon he had.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave looked down at Jeran, disengaging his lightsaber.

"Call off your dogs," his Basic was accented, "The battle is between you and I...not anyone from his planet."

Silently, the wolves moved off to the side, still offereing muffled growls at Wargrave, but not attacking.

The black lightsaber in the Dark Jedi's hand went back to his belt and the long knife came out.

But before, Wargrave cheated...just a little bit.

His gloved hand crackled and he flung Force Lightning in Jeran's direction.

His body followed, propelled by the Force as Wargrave flew towards Jeran for an attack.

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran nearly smelled the lightning coming as it burst from Wargave's hand. With a quick eye--and even quicker reflexes--he spotted the burst of hot energy, and flung his body right just as the bolt ripped through the air. It missed--just barely--and as he came back to his balance, Wargrave followed through with a flying knife attack. Jeran met the stab and parried with a loung CLING of metal, his blade across his body, putting the men arm to arm, knives intertwined.

Jeran threw his shoulder into the other, giving himself a bit of room. He pulled the knife back across his body at Wargave's arm, but his attack was thwarted by a quick block from the Dark Jedi. Again, the metal blades clanked as a spark from the friction flew from the attack. Jeran was feeling more and more aggressive by the second. He moved in quickly, slashing from the top of Wargrave's right shoulder down to his waist. The slash was met again by his opponent--who was very skilled with the knife--and the two blades were locked across the bodies of the two men.

Immediately, Jeran threw his hand down and onto the forearm of Wargrave's knife hand. Grabbing hold, to keep him from attacking, Jeran then turned his body to the right, sliding his feet into position. Keeping hold of Wargrave's arm, he reared his leg back and kicked into his opponent's gut. He threw a few kicks into the stomach of the man before releasing his arm. As Wargrave was recuperating, Jeran came across with a very violent slash aimed at his chest.

[Wargrave]

The slash caught Wargrave in the chest, slashing through towards the armor beneath it. Still, the force of the blow caused blood to seep from his skin. And there would be a bruise on his chest as well.

Wargrave's elbow collided with Jeran's chin, knocking Jeran down, and numbing the Dark Jedi's arm. A booted foot to Jeran's face and then his chest knocked the air from the Lost.

The Dark Jedi took a few steps back, motioning with his right hand.

"Get..." his breathing was fast, "...up..."

[Jeran Conrad]

His jaw screamed as it absorbed the blow from Wargrave's elbow, jarring his bone structure and sending saliva and blood spurting from him as he fell to the ground. As he brought his eyes back into focus, he was just in time to see the heel of Wargrave's boot as it stopmed directly into his face, cracking against his nose. Jeran's head rocked as the boot connected, sending sharp pain to his face. Adjusting his leg to a different angle, the boot then came into his chest, the sheer momentum of the attack rolling him over as every molecule of air left his body.

Gasping for air, he rolled onto his hands and knees, spitting up blood as his lungs struggled for breath. His nose released a deep crimson and green concoction--mucus mixed with blood shaken free from the blow. Saliva, blood, snot--all his fluids mixed with the dirt bleow his head as he hyperventilated, regaining his respiration. They trickled down and around his lips and mouth, salty against his tongue.

Wargrave backed off. He probably could have continued the assault, but he was a sportsman, and it was evident to Jeran that he was enjoying the contest. In some sadistic way, so was The Lost Jedi. Jeran faced his opponent. His hair--matted with dirt, sweat, and blood--fell across his face as he stared out from beneath it. His eyes were wild. He was an animal beaten and cornered, but he was not done.

"Get. . .up. . ." The other challenged him, and it took little to incite action. He rose with a fury--he knife held high and pointed downward--and charged. Lowering his shoulder, he tackled Wargrave again, pulling his knife down hard towards his head. The arc of his arm quickly descended upon his head as the blade glistened in the moonlight. The blade was closer--almost piercing the skin now.

CLINK

Wargrave's weapon met his own furiously, halting its velocity in a loud crack of thunder as the two blades sparked with friction. Their faces pressed close together as Jeran leaned into the blade, struggling for power, trying to turn Wargrave's blade upon his neck. Saliva foamed at his mouth--nearly rabid--as he pushed hard against Wargrave's knife with his own.

[Wargrave]

This was indeed how battle was to be faught. Man to man...hand to hand...not with technology or blasters...but with blades and pure spirit!

Wargrave revelled in these things as he pressed against Jeran. The ground around the two began to give way a bit, mired by the battle between the two warriors.

Then...he slipped, his foot caught on some leaves in the used ground and Wargrave went down on his face. He quickly rolled over, his chest avoiding the blade but not the exterior of his arm.

Blood flowed from Wargrave's left arm and he smelled it. It smelled good.

With a growl, not as inhumane as Jeran's but with full force, Wargrave leaped to his feet and slashed Jeran's chest with his blade.

[Jeran Conrad]

The blade--though cold steel--seared into his chest with an intense heat as it ripped through his flesh. He growled as the attack finished, crimson curtains descending down his chest as wide as the wound. It was a deep gash, deep enough to send a regular warrior to his knees. These two men were no ordinary combatants. Through the Force, they were stronger, harder, faster, tougher. These weren't ordinary men.

And in this ring, where rules or laws did not apply, they were gods. Nothing mattered but the battle, and it was for everything

Jeran gnashed his teeth, doing what he could to supress the pain he now felt. Wargrave was fierce, and Jeran felt as though his opponent would not ceas until he was dead. There was a new fire in the other's eyes. Jeran thought to end it as quick as he could. He threw the fist of his left hand forward into Wargrave's face. Catching his nose, Jeran then spun his body, pulling his blade across Wargrave's torso. The attack was parried.

He stabbed forward--parried by Wargrave.

He hacked downward--parried again. He couldn't connect. Frustrated by his opponent's strength, his rage was fueled even more.

Slash--parried.

Stab--parried.

"Arrggghhhhh!" Jeran was not entirely rational anymore, and he had turned to any means of attack. He kicked forward into Wargave's shin to throw him off, following his momentum with a stab.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave's leg ached as the booted foot made connection with his foot.

With a quick movement, he knew he was falling again, he spun away from the blade (it catching on the mail around his stomach but slicing a good gash in it). As Jeran's momentum took him by Wargrave, the latter grabbed the former's hand (slashing Jeran's cheek in the process) and the two fell towards the wooded ground.

Both warriors slowly started to rise to their feet and Wargrave sprung upon Jeran, both knives lost for the moment, and punched him in the bleeding face.

[Jeran Conrad]

Before he knew what had happened, he found himself jerked down to the ground with his opponent. A quick sting caught his cheek as Wargrave's blade drug across it, slicing flesh and opening another crimson river from his cheek. He didn't have time to think about the pain, as he soon found himself on the ground beside his opponent, his knife lost in the struggle.

Without warning, Wargrave came upon him, pummeling him with punches. Luckily, both blades were not to be found in either hand. Unluckily, Wargrave's now bload soaked gauntlet was currently pounding his face. Jeran fought against the blows, writhing his head and thrashing back and forth. Finally, he was able to gain momentum. He planted a boot into Wargrave's chest and then heaved, vaulting them man from on top of him to the ground beside him. Just as fluidly, he found himself on top of his opponent, his bloadsoaked face gleaming in the night. He threw his left forearm into Wargrave's throat, blocking his air and trying to pin him. With his right hand, he threw a punch to his jaw.

[Wargrave]

Wargrave saw stars and felt his jaw ache.

Jeran still had a firm grip on his throat as he started to choke the life out of the Dark Jedi.

But then Jeran felt two large gauntlets slam into his ears as Wargrave punched him with open hands.

The Lost let go, and the Black Hand member threw him off of his body.

[Jeran Conrad]

It would have been more quiet to hang a 1-ton bell over his head and sound it.

Jeran shouted, but did not hear himself do so. All he could hear was the sound of a thousand echoes and a sharp, annoying ringing. He reached up to his head instinctively, feeling the blood that had come out of his ears. He wondered if he would be ok. He'd heard stories about men losing their hearing in such manuvers and hoped that this would not be one of those instances. Rolling onto his back, the dirt and grime of the forest floor stained his naked back. He was a poor site to behold--covered in blood fron his head to his chest--now writhing in pain with his head covered by cupped hands. Some of his hearing slowly came back as the loud ringing subsided.

He squared himself up with Wargrave again. He was exhausted--his body beaten, his mind growing tired, his heart fatigued. He was begining to feel cold--perhaps from the heat leaving his body through his wounds. Perhaps it was the night's chilly air. Perhaps it was his strength leaving him. He didn't know.

His chest heaved as he stood, a pile of hair, dirt, blood, and flesh. He waited for an attack, as he had no strength to pull an offensive. He wanted to see what Wargrave had left.

[Wargrave]

The Dark Jedi rose...Jeran wasn't planning to attack...so Wargrave would. This fight was to the death...and both combatants knew it.

One of the knives flew across from where it lay in the leaves and needles into Wargrave's hand.

It was time to end it now. The Dark Jedi took a few steps towards the Lost.

And then the animal roared.

Not the wolves, who stood stock still off to the side by the King Forseti statue, but a giant white bear- who emerged from the woods just as the knife went into Wargrave's hand.

The bear growled at both combatants and started forward on its four paws towards Wargrave and Jeran...its intentions unknown.

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran sneered--Wargrave intended to finish this. This was it. Jeran would not survive another attack. His chest heaved with anticipation as every hair on his body tingled. He closed his eyes, taking in the Force to strengthen him in any way possible for his final stand. He heard the knife rise to Wargrave's hand from the earth around him. Be strong--die strong, he remembered the old Bikhati proverb. He would. He only had one silent prayer to say.

Dae, he spoke in his mind. I love you. I always have, and I always wi--

And then the animal roared.

Charging out from within the woods, Jeran could feel the ground around him shudder with the strength and weight of the four legs digging into the earth as the creature chugged toward their position. Jeran turned, feeling the animal upon him, just in time--

ROOOOOAAARRRRRRR!

He only heard the creature bellow as he caught a strong paw against his bare chest that sent him flying. Rolling to a stop a few meters from the initial contact, Jeran slid through a pile of dirt and grime. He grabbed at his chest--it hurt, but it was not gashed. No blood? No cut? His eyes peeked through a hazy mat of hair to see the creature--now identified as a great white bear--hurtling towards Wargrave. Why hadn't it clawed The Lost Jedi? It perplexed him more than the bear's appearance, and even more so than the pain in his chest. He watched with childlike anticipation as it rushed the Dark Master.

[Wargrave]

The bear stopped in front of Wargrave, its blue eyes in sharp contrast to the white of his fur.

Blue eyes...like...

The bear's mouth opened, but instead of a roar, Wargrave's ears heard something else growled.

"This duel is not sanctioned by my rule."

Wargrave's eyes were no stranger to odd and queer scenes. But the sight of the giant white bear (strange to these parts of the Edda Forest) standing in front of him and telling him the fight wasn't sanctioned...

Wait...duel...the bear growled duel, not fight.

The story came back...

King Forseti, wise in his ways...
The Sole Ruler of Justice in his days...
A pact with the forest he made...
If he could continue to judge, he would be changed...
The Forest heard and to this day...
His Iron Hand still views all who stay...
And allow his judgement on their duels...

One of the bear's paws was metallic like iron. And Wargrave's eyes looked at the statue of the King Forseti.

His left hand, the one by his side...was iron.

The Dark Jedi's eyes widened...

Forseti...

The king had come to judge...

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran was truly at a loss.

In his life, he had talked to many an animal. Indeed, telepathy with beasts was not a problem for the Lost Jedi. This, however, was a totally different story. The animal spoke with an audible, very refined voice. It wasn't distorted or hard to understand. It was as clear as he could hear it, and he nearly checked his head for voices.

"This dule is not sanctioned by my rule."

That was the statement the creature made, and Jeran had little bravery to disagree with the hulking beast. He scooted his body further from the beast as it growled. He sent his mind out to his surroundings, trying to locate his saber. Calling it to his hand, he fingered the hilt of his blade tightly. If worse came to worse, he would need the weapon. He also found the hilt of his hunting knife beside him.

The beast's pure blue eyes pierced his own as the creature eyed him suspiciously. He returned the wepon to his belt, a near gesture of submission. Cautiously, he watched--trying to connect with the creature's mind. But it would not do. It was as if the other was protected by the Force, by the will of the forest.

Jeran remained seated, his body and mind at the will of the creature, waiting to see what Wargrave would do.

[Wargrave]

The bear looked at the two combatants.

You two will leave...or else you will face my own wrath. You cannot continue your combat here...Be GONE!!

Wargrave stared at the bear. If he remembered the stories correctly, those who lingered and waited for the king to act would be shown some thing.

He bowed to King Forseti in respect.

"Of course."

As he turned to go...the pain struck him as the bear penetrated his mind.

A hammer...strong and firm...Wargrave could almost see it in front of him. He'd never used a weapon such as this in combat, only read stories. The Grand Master always thought bladed weapons were best to use. Hammers were tools...unless wielded correctly.

And Wargrave had trained with almost every sort of weapon, including hammers. He knew the feel of them, he'd seen the stories of battles.

And a part of him wanted one...needed one...and he'd get one.

A map sprang forth in his mind...the hammer was guarded by some elemental being he'd never seen before. And on a remote planet.

He had to go there and defeat the being, then hammer would be his.

Wargrave reached out and touched the hammer...then fell into a pit of blackness where he couldn't get out...

[Jeran Conrad]

Jeran was captivated by the being's presence. It had been repeated to him many times that he was more in tune with the living Force than any of his trainers had ever seen; thus it was no suprise that he would immediately attempt to analyze the creature. To make contact with it. To touch its mind. Jeran closed his eyes to concentrate.

SILENCE, was the reply. It came sharply, before Jeran could establish the connection. The King, as Jeran now understood, promplty turned to face the warrior.

Guard your tongue, tribal warrior, Forsetti spoke. His voice was commanding and wise, and all Jeran could do was listen. Pick yourself up and walk away. Return to love. Return to life. For it will be too soon taken from you! With that, his commands ushered and his task complete, the bear returned to the woods before him. Disappeared, just as quickly he had appeared.

Jeran remained seated, his eyes wide with the voice he had just heard. What just happened? What had he just learned? Did this enchanted creature speak the truth? Jeran decided that only one thing was perfectly clear: he was to leave this place immediately. He stood, his eye crossing the several meters that now separated the two opponents. He stared at Wargrave. The man seemed engrossed in something else. With the help of the Force, he collected his weaponry and returned it to his belt.

There was a solemn silence between them.

Turning, he slowly made his way back to his camp. Faith stood ready to move, slightly spooked and neighing. Throwing his things together, he mounted the horse, never looking back to see Wargrave. He didn't want to see him again. Not after the dark omen he had recieved. Something told him that it wasn't safe around this other.

A heavy cloud hung over the warriors head as he rode away from the woods. A heavy pain in his heart guided him to his next destination.