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Thread: Beasts

  1. #21
    "Only if you are offering your surrender personally."

    Slate's reply was spoken in a casual tone like a parent replying to a child who just said something nonsensical. For the briefest of moment he cast his eyes at the creature, held her gaze intently and then immediately broke it off to resume speaking to the Reptoid. It was clear the large alien was the one in charge of this unit of soldiers. A man of authority can spot another, even if their perches in society vary considerably. There was a weight to responsibility, and it could be seen in the shoulders of those who bare it.

    "There will be no negotiations. You are currently harboring an enemy of the Holy Leh'beni Empire. A war criminal, no less. I am Mister Slate, Forty-Seventh Arbiter. I have the authority bestowed upon me by the Council of Nine, The Huntmaster's Lodge, the office of the Arbiters, and by the Will of Solfar; Lord of Light. You will hand her over to me, and if you do not than I shall kill every last soldier under your command, yourself, and the girl. There is no salvation for the monster. She will pay for her crimes. It is Solfar's will."

  2. #22
    The only answer was silence, as Krale cast his beady eyes downward to the pale man before him.

    Finally, a strange tug at his lips which revealed the barest hint of a toothy maw.

    "That's a lot of fancy words to say a lot of nothing, Pale One. Of course she's a war criminal - she's a Jedi. I don't know anything about her being a monster, but she certainly does have a monstrous temper."

    His chest swelled then, and all four shoulders rolled back, eliciting a series of cracks and pops. Two of his hands rounded into fists, the skin over his knuckles creaking in anticipation.

    "Now. You and yours best be setting back the way you came. Me and mine have a job to do, and if I go back to my General without his little lady, you'd best bet your bottom credit that he'd come for you."

    One fist pounded into the open palm of a hand, and Krale opened his mouth to continue, but a rough shove from behind caused any further words to die away. The shove was forceful enough to give him enough pause, and the arms of one side lifted to allow the Jedi woman room to duck under and through.

  3. #23
    Moving around the Besalisk, s'Il drew up to stand before him, her diminutive stature a strange sight with the backdrop of the four-armed Phrexus Krale. Her rifle shouldered, the Lupine swiftly unclipped her saber from the clip on her belt. She didn't ignite it - no. That would be improper. Rather, she simply pointed the emitter at the Guardian.

    Mr. Slate.

    "A'ta'ek o'ka'seh. I challenge you, A'kha'ru."

    While he'd spoken directly to her in answer of her previous question, there was still the immediate return to Krale as the go-between. It was a non-answer and an insult. As such, she returned the slight with the age-old name that her people had long ago given the Leh'beni.

    A'kha'ru.

    Slave.

    "We will settle this as it is supposed to be settled."

  4. #24
    "A'kha'ru!?"

    The air crackled suddenly and violently between them like a thunderclap. Slate's hand reared back above his shoulder, and between his fingers the faintest silhouette could be seen. Like fog on the mirror floating in the air, between his fingers, stretching in both directions to form a long, thin object and an unmistakable point. A spear. Made of nothing and everything.

    Every fiber of his being demanded that this bitch be destroyed on the spot for her gross disrespect. How dare she stand there in the sinful wake of her people and still act with such insolence. Everything he had ever believed was proven true. The Lupines were indeed simply evil beasts who had learned nothing and would never rise above their station. Truly, they existed only to destroy and be destroyed. Restricted by their nature.

    Nothing but an animal with a pretty face masquerading as a person.

    "You deserve no such honor, beast."

    Slate's voice was composed once more, as if his outburst had never happened. The intangible weapon disappeared from his hand and it lowered back down to begin unbuttoning his jacket. One by one the simple yet elegant buttons were unfastened and the coat removed to reveal the matching vest and cream shirt underneath.

    "You are not my equal."

    Stepping back the coat was carefully handed over to a Templar Guard. Turning back he locked his eyes on the creature as he rolled up one sleeve, and then the other. Carefully tucking it one roll at a time until it was neatly pleated above his elbows. No creases. No wrinkles. Mimicking his opponent he pulled his sheath from his belt and held it in front of him as he made his way back to where she stood with her white knight; holding the sheath up for her to see the slaughter depicted beautifully in it's body.

    "You are but an insolent whelp that must be taught a lesson. I accept."

  5. #25
    Was there a small bit of satisfaction that welled up within her? That she had managed to cause this Guardian to lose himself for even just a moment? Yes. Yes, there was. She found herself inwardly content at his brief flicker of unhinged reaction. It was... it was as it should be. Even despite her foster father, there were ingrained feelings that could not be denied.

    Stepping away from Krale and forward to meet the Guardian, she lowered her own saber hilt.

    A long breath, and her eyes traveled over the sheath that was presented to her. She forced herself to show at least a modicum of respect to the weapon that was meant to end her life. It was as the ritual demanded, after all.

    <"A presumptuous depiction despite the artistry,"> she lapsed fully into Dev'eni Bast'ek. The Divine Tongue. The high speech.

    <"We do not live in the old days of the Black Crusades, and there is no Kantür here to flay your young and wear their bones as armor.">

    She paused for only a moment, as her broken, mismatched gaze swept up from the sheath to the eyes of Mr. Slate.

    <"Tell me, which of your silly gods shall I send you to, today? Is it Solfar still? Or maybe one of the lesser pantheon?">

  6. #26
    "Solfar is the one and only God. Show some respect and you may yet get the chance to beg for your salvation before his golden throne."

    The blade was pulled from the sheath and pointed directly at her face, slowly twisting in place as he imagined carving her pretty face from her skull. The empty scabbard remained in his off hand.

    "No Leh'ben child will ever have to fear your savagery ever again. I will finish what Balog Vrashn started. Solfar's Light is my shield and my weapon."

    Taking a step back he assumed his form, a classic duelist stance with legs apart and one hand held wide for counter balance and reserve. The sabre was held out, ready for the quick strikes and flicks that the weapon was designed for.

    As Slate's eyes focused upon his enemy, the blade began to glow a faint, ghostly blue. Like ethereal energy radiating from the steel.

    "Prepare yourself."

  7. #27
    <"Balog was a weakling,"> she spat, her eye finally straying from the blade to the eyes of the man that held it.

    <"A hopeless revolutionary,"> the pale violet of her saber flared to life, held slightly to her side as her feet shifted, affording her a half-step back from the extended blade of the Guardian.

    She watched him, watched his reactions. Did she feel as strongly as her words made her seem? Not... exactly. She needed to gauge him. Needed to understand him. If she could goad him or elicit some response, she could know more.

    A slight pivot, and she brought her saber up to swat aside his own weapon.

    <"There are no gods to pray to, A'kha'ru; surely you are not so foolish as to believe such false tales of existential hope. There are neither deities upon glittering thrones, nor saints to send missives to. Only the dead and rotting hear your praises, and they care little - if at all - for what the living do.">

  8. #28
    The moment their blades connected the battle was on. The attack was pressed in measured strikes never intended to do more than to force his opponent to respond by parrying each flick and when he was satisfied he halted, their blade tips touching.

    "An uncivil beast such as yourself could never know the significance of Balog and Solfar. Your kind has no heroes. Only butchers. No Gods. Only demons. Solfar's light powers me, powers my blade."

    To emphasize he dragged the blade's edge across that of her's. He was well aware of the existence of the Lightsabre, and how it would otherwise melt through the metallic body of his blade if not for the Light of Solfar that was channeled through his body and into the weapon.

    "It is by Solfar's will that your kind has withered, childless and barren, to the point of extinction. You have no place in his Light."

  9. #29
    Their brief spar was a testing ground of sorts, a way for each to gain an initial understanding of the other. He was skilled, his motions and technique swift and precise, and for the briefest of moments she had to admire his talent.

    As they came apart, she gave an almost lazy twirl of her amethyst blade, her chest rising and falling.

    <"What you call Solfar's light... "> her body moved as a fluid wave, twisting around in languid fashion. She felt fresh and renewed, invigorated by the sort of duel that she'd only ever read about. To experience though! It was freeing! Every bit of prose she'd devoured on the subject only fueled the lust for more.

    <"... it is the Force, you fool.">

    And as if to punctuate her words, her free arm came around, palm up as she called to the Force. It answered in the way that it always did, bending to her desires eagerly, as the loose soil and small stones around Slate's feet swirl up to engulf his legs in a small storm of detritus.

    <"If you still believe in your old gods, then the fate of your people is far more tragic than mine.">

  10. #30
    "And yet it is my people who bask in the sunlight, and yours nears it's twilight."

    Even as the ground shifted beneath him, as stone and soil latched to his body, he was already swinging the silver-bladed sabre downward, raking the blade through the dirt at the tips of his shoes. A blast of energy released from the blade and sent the gathering detritus flying. The battle was declared. The klaxon struck. The time for talk was over, and he intended on ending this fight immediately. Spinning with the swing of his blade, Slate let the motion spin him around completely, further dislodging himself from her lackluster trap.

    As he finished his pirouette, he struck. Driving forward, his sabre held aggressively forward as he shuffle stepped, his off hand held behind his back. True to it's form, the sabre was used to slash, and even then he knew all he had to land was the top of the blade to release the devastating energy channeled through the blade. He made no motion to drive deep with the blade, but attacked at maximum range instead.

  11. #31
    She gave ground, backing away from his advance with a feral glint in her eye and a wolfish grin touching her lips. She was mindful of his saber, shoulders hunching as she allowed her own amethyst blade to rest in a loose grip, out to her side.

    He was relentless, and she surrendered her footing with calculated, measured steps. The surety in his movements was admirable, the fire in his own eyes telling her that he fully intended upon ending her this day.

    It was something that she would endeavor to deny him.

    Heels suddenly digging into the earth, the Lupine surge ahead, her body twisting in a fluid motion to travel past the length of his weapon. Her elbow shifted as she invaded his immediate space, and s'Il made contact just below his ribcage, driving in.

    In the same motion, she viciously brought her saber around, intending to connect the pommel of her hilt to his temple.

  12. #32
    He had not expected such aggression from the cowardly creature. Then again, all the beasts knew how to do was destroy. A miscalculated risk on his part, and it would hardly be the last. Pain echoed between his ribs as her elbow connected and as he looked sideways at her he could see her weapon coming for him. He had a choice and he chose the high risk, high reward path once more by turning his head and allowing the cylinder of metal to impact and drag along his skull.

    Even as he felt his flesh tearing and his senses dulling, he pulled his sabre hand back. She was so close now. Reversing his grip on the blade he plunged it diagonally toward her retreating body hoping to score even the slightest cut to offset the cost and even this trade.

    It was all about cost, and he was willing to pay any price to see her dead.

  13. #33
    There was a moment of clarity that seemed to descend upon her, as she disengaged. Her feet moved in a staccato beat to bring her fully out of range. This one, he was calculating and taking risks. Men who did that were dangerous. They were relentless, and they were deadly. The look in his eyes was a match to his actions, and though she still drank up the conflict between them as though she was a parched wanderer at an oasis, the notes of caution played in her ears.

    High above, a front of stormclouds scudded across the sky on an inexorable path. The sun still shone, but for how long? Already a stiff, cool breeze whipped through the tall grasses, sending the whisper-thin stalks to slap against shins.

    Her saber crossed to the side, swatting at his own blade to drive it away and out. Her free hand came up call at the earth. A handful of pebbles zipped up, dancing around each other above her palm and the slender fingers that directed their seemingly impossible movements.

    <"You're no fool,"> she kept her distance constant, her eye watching him as a redrazor hawkbird would watch its prey, <"... You see what I'm doing... you know what it is.">

  14. #34
    "What I see..."

    His hand leisurely traced the length of his skull, attempting to wipe whatever blood had no doubt spilled from his injury.

    "...is a heretic profaning the light. If you think for even a moment that your ability to manipulate Solfar's light absolves you of your sin, than you are more lost than I could ever imagine."

    His hand drifted before his sight. Blood on his gloves. The sight filled him with rage. Her blood should be the one spilt. Not his. Blood so valuable had no place upon the ground. He could spill all the blood in her body and it would not equal a drop of his own. She and everything she is was worthless. Trash. Garbage to be incinerated.

    It filled him with holy rage.

    "Your manipulation of the Light causes all of nature to cry out in anguish. Can you not hear it? No. I doubt so simple a beast could ever understand the impact of what you do. How could you? Your people have always been destroyers. TAKING what you want. BREAKING what you CAN'T! The galaxy has suffered for their existence. They have not left even a SINGLE. THING. OF VALUE in their wake. You are a disease. I am the cure."

    His impeccable stance broke; taking his sabre in both hands as he darted forward and swinging the blade in a upward strike from below, intent on forcing her to block, intent on knocking her blade upward and away with the power of the strike, and then he would have her. A spin and a flick and she would be gutted.

  15. #35
    His reaction was a bit more ferocious than she'd expected, and s'Il backtracked as he came in. The blood he wore matched the expression he held, and the Lupine lifted her saber up to deflect the strike. He moved like a madman, with the force of a small army at his back and yet the driving need to meet her alone. It was honorable and proper, and in a split second she felt a spark of respect flair up. As close as she herself still held the old ways, so too did he.

    The realization caused her to blink, and as he blade was swatted up and away, it also made her pause.

    Only at the last moment did she react, and as he spun about, his blade came around. She saw it, as though in slow motion... the tracking arc as it neared.

    The edge cut into her BDU top, the thick, canvas-like material splitting to allow the weapon's tip access to the lighter undershirt beneath; and under that, skin.

    She gasped, feeling that burning, razor's edge slice across her ribcage to leave a blackened stripe in its wake.

  16. #36
    In this moment, in this small victory, he allowed himself a moment to smile. A tiny, cruel thing that tugged at the corner of his lip. A strike, any strike, was an injury that would slow her down. If he had to he would wear her down one injury at a time until she could not go on until she was bloody and exhausted; begging for a swift end that he would not give her if he had any say in it.

    People get treated with civility. Animals do not.

    It was time to end this. Pressing forward he abandoned all safety, hedging everything on her being too shaken by her injury to keep up. He would give her no quarter as he rushed with another attack. No stab or nick would suffice. He could not deny the call for theatrics as he threw his arms up to bring his blade crashing down; the steel glowing blue as he channeled all of Solfar's Light into this strike.

    Fly true. Fly deep. My enemies defeat.

  17. #37
    He was expecting for her to stand against his crashing blow, to offer some manner of block that would no doubt end in his blade cutting her down. She could see it in his eyes, and in that moment her entire body fell into old habits and exercises. She felt transported back to Pakuuni, reliving those countless sparring lessons with Zem and the constant spars that usually ended with her either on the ground or bested in some fashion.

    The Guardian's blade continued to come down, and the Lupine felt her body brace for only a fraction of a second before shifting at the last second. Her stance slid easily to one side, and the blade passed harmlessly through the air that she had once occupied. Her own saber, with its brilliant amethyst blade, extinguished as she darted forward. With his balance momentarily dislodged, she gripped the hilt tightly, bringing it up and around like a warclub on a vicious trajectory that would send the silent emitter into contact with his brow.

  18. #38
    The gambit foiled, the risk taken. There was nowhere to go. No way to pull the heavy blade in any other direction. She stepped away from it like all of his speed and power meant nothing, and as his blade crashed into the earth and kicked up rocks and dirt, he was forced to look up into her descending weapon. He did not give her the satisfaction of a look of surprise or defeat, instead he looked it face on and accepted his fate. He was ready to die. He had always been ready to die. Ready to return to Solfar, to become one of the brightest rays in his heavenly tapestry. There was no shame in that end, in a life lived pure and dedicated.

    And then the metal struck him across his forehead, and the force of the blow sent him twisting away. Whipping around he brought his sabre with him, insulted that she had not taken the killing blow. Now she was not just an animal, but a barbarian too. There was an honor to a duel, and she had spat on all the decorum that separated them from the uncivilized masses. She continued to prove her animal nature, and he hated himself for thinking that he could elevate her by his presence alone.

    His forehead throbbed, he could feel the blood beginning to drop down his face. He was already on his back foot, stumbling backward in the loose mud as he tried to regain his footing and his stance, his weapon loose in his hands. He needed just a moment, the merest fraction of reprieve to find his place again. Then, yes then he would dispose of this beast. If he was not the better person he would spear her to death right here and now. She deserved no better.

  19. #39
    She allowed no quarter, rushing him in the beat that followed her sabrehilt connecting with his forehead. She barreled into him, checking his chest with a leading shoulder and sending him further back. It was a trick that she'd learned from the commandos; never let the other guy come back for a breath. Go in, keep going in. Dont. Stop.

    And for all that she was worth, she did not stop. Her legs drove her against him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as her entire body crashed into his. She was like a violent wave of determination.

    Their noses were nearly touching, and the Lupine hitched herself up further to wrap her legs around his midsection in a jarring collision that sent the both of them down to the ground.

  20. #40
    The blow had jarred his focus more than he would ever admit, and before he knew it he was hit again, pushed back, and then thrown violently to the floor. He had no defense against it. Neither the Templar nor the Hunters trained much in the art of fisticuffs unless choosing to specialize as such. They always preferred a weapon of any kind. There was no way to defeated a beast with less. Their technology and weapons had always been their advantage against the savage, strong beasts. Whatever sorcery she had pulled had sent him to earth, and his only thought as he rolled over was that she had been so close, had touched him so many times to do so. He felt tainted. Dirty. A foulness that no wash would ever clean. Should his eternal soul be tarnished for it, there was no wrath he would visit upon her head, and that of her kin.

    The fiery rage built in his belly as he rolled toward instead of away from his target, intent on grappling her on the ground. A foolish idea perhaps but he wanted the personal satisfaction of dominating her upon the ground, to look her in the eye, and then kill her. His blade was lost in the mud somewhere, his hands would have to do. First he would need to restrain her arm so to stop her attack, and then choke her to death with his other hand.

    Solfar give me strength, that I might purge this monster in your name.

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