Nar Shaddaa Showdown

[Jacques]

Pestilence had been travelling for several days now. The Acolyte had searched for somebody to duel at the Academy, but he made up his mind on who he wanted to take on. Somebody who he would have to track down to be able to challenge. It hadn't taken long for him to find out where the Crusader was. He had stolen a light freighter at the spaceport at Dreshdae. The old junker was incredibly close to falling apart, but it had made it to his destination.

As the man stepped off the rusted freighter that had served as his home, training area, etc., he tapped on his armor. The tink tink that followed it was a satisfying noise. His scarred face formed a crooked smile. Pestilence's right hand gripped his lightsaber, his mind racing over the powers he had just recently learned. They were basic, but he'd done nothing but practice them since he'd left. He hadn't mastered them, but they were good for an Acolyte.

Nar Shaddaa was murky, cloudy, foggy. It had rained on and off since the Acolyte had arrived. Standing on the roof top of a small building, Pestilence called out through the force for the Crusader Anima to meet him.

 

[Insanity]

The smell of anti-septic and bacta permeated in the tight confines of the run-down apartment, intermingled with the underlying scent of fresh blood. The bitter iron taste of that blood was on his lips as he worked, the sedated form of the refugee family's oldest child, a youth of fifteen Basic years.

He took no joy in his work, nor the whimpers of the rest of the small family that he'd employed oh so recently. They were all numbed to a degree, the pain and their bodies dulled without affecting their mental states: they were aware of everything, aware of their inability to interfere with the grisly work of this emotionless doll that claimed to be human. Already, the youth's facial skin had been delicately cut away to expose the nerve-tissue and muscle beneath, the air causing slight spasms from the rest of the body. The Force's assessment made it clear that the youth was already dying in those seconds, as the scalpel was set aside and Anima turned to the captive family. The eyes of the parents and siblings rested on the dying youth as he took his last breath, body going motionless as the shroud of death engulfed them.

Those gazes shifted to Anima as his emotionless voice, removed of all inflection or sense of humanity, came into play. "Twice, I've hired you and your family. And twice, you've failed to deliver that which I requested. The first time, it was your oldest daughter. The second," a motion towards the dead youth on the dirty mat beside him, "it was your oldest son. To be blunt, I wouldn't have gone this far if you hadn't tried to cross me. Fleeing here as you did, using the credits I provided... Very foolish, that."

Stepping closer to the refugees, Anima's military-cut boots seemed to click on the exposed durasteel flooring of the room. The excess bagginess of the suit-pants he wore swayed as he moved, his suit-jacket shifting as his hands moved to grasp the father's hair, the gloves he wore as dark as the rest of his garb. "Mister Aerivich, I was willing to give you a second chance and you chose to run... Generous as I am, I'll offer a last chance. Or... your last two children can follow in the footsteps of your other two..... Do I make myself quite clear?"

He didn't need to hear the answer.. not like the refugee could answer, his body numbed too much for him to speak legibly. The emotions that he gave off were enough of a confirmation. The man's wife gave off nothing but fear, hinted with defiance and pure hatred. She was far more willed than her husband. As for their twins, they each were nothing but a source of despair. Not fear, simply despair. Letting the father's hair go, he stepped back. "I'll contact you again soon, to be sure. By then, your only hope is to have something of use for me."

He started towards the apartment's door before halting, half-turning back in after-thought. "That drug I administered to each of you should wear off in two hours. The children will recover faster than that, I think. Maybe in one hour, rather than two. I wonder... what will they do then?" Resuming his pace to the door, he keyed it open and stepped out, letting it slide shut behind him before heading down the central corridor of the building. He had a shuttle waiting, things to take care of.

And then he heard it - a summons, of sorts. Insistent but far too undisciplined, too... easy to understand. He knew, though, that it was for him. An interesting thing, that, after he'd left Korriban and the Imperium in order to deal with personal business. Among other things.

His stride took him to the landing-pads and the waiting shuttle, the lone figure wearing Imperator armour standing at attention, blaster-rifle at the ready. A small motion put the figure at ease as the Sith and soldier boarded the craft. A terse command from the soldier was the cue the pilot was waiting for. The shuttle lifted off, Anima speaking in low tones to the soldier as the pilot changed course per the Sith's command.

It stopped only for a few moments as it hovered close to the roof where Pestilence waited, the boarding-ramp going down as the crusader stepped off onto the duracrete roof.

The figure that waited was, it seemed, armoured. "Well, I was called. I'd rather know why I was called and how I was tracked down." The one thing that clashed with the suit he wore was the satchel he had slung over his shoulder. His posture suggested something of a lean as his head tilted to the left, eyes assessing the acolyte in order to better identify them.

 

[Jacques]

Pestilence waited in complete silence, not thinking a word or making a sound, his breathing not even audible. It was either due to being able to cut it out or he was just a really quiet guy. All the better to sneak around he thought, finally breaking the mental silence, following up with a short chuckle to break the physical one too.

He waited for some time before the man finally arrived. When he was near, having come by way of shuttle, the Acolyte could feel the man's presence approaching nearer and nearer. The man would probably feel annoyed by his presence. A mere Acolyte challenging him to a fight? Or maybe just annoyed because of he idea that an Acolyte thought they could take him on? Either way, annoyed.

He turned to face the Crusader, Anima, who was now standing on the very same rooftop as he, lightsaber in hand and extended off to his side several inches, arm turned palm-side up, the hilt's emitter off toward some other random building's wall. "I have come to test my skill in a duel against you. Not a challenge to the death, but for simple training. You can come up with the terms, if you wish to have any. I realize you left for a bit due to personal issues, but while I doubt you wanted people following you certainly didn't make it as hard as you could have. And I've still traveled a long ways to find you. You reserve the right to deny my request, but I feel I've earned it."

 

[Insanity]

"Training brings you this far, in search of an outsider from the Order..." Anima's tone was still distant, untouched by any form of emotion aside from possible curiosity. His examination of the acolyte seemed to be complete as his eyes drifted to the clouds that were once again forming in Nar Shaddaa's atmosphere. Weather such as that was rare enough, but when it occured, it was a danger unto itself. Highly polluted as with most city-worlds, it ate away at duracrete, eroding it and bringing further decay to the deadened areas of such places. An apt comparison to simple power that raged unchecked.

Rather... an apt comparison to single-minded pursuit of that power: heading forward in an effort to obtain power, without further purpose. His gaze settled back on the acolyte before him. "Earning something and actually having it in your possession are different things. Only by earning and obtaining it alike do you see its true worth, its value. You're here seeking training, to expand upon what you've learned. But... my question, before I accept, is to what motivates you to go to such lengths?"

"Korriban, Ziost, Yavin. Each has masters and crusaders, acolytes and hopefuls. Easy to get close to - easy to learn from. So, what drives you?"

 

[Jacques]

"What drives me? An end to this. An end to the Jedi, an end to the Empire, an end to the Alliance, an end to the Mandalorians. Whatever there is, when I have enough power it will come to an end. If it must be that way, the Sith too should fall." Pestilence shifted his body away from the crusader, though still with his weapon drawn and at full alert. "I've been on both sides, Jedi and Sith. Both are alike in many ways, and both are littered with idiots and goons, as well as liars and ambitious pricks. The difference between the two are that the Sith are a little more open about it."

Several rain drops smashed against the ground, the tiniest chunks of durasteel ripping up from the rooftops and little bit of ground around the two. The sound pleased Pestilence. He smiled. "The Sith that surround me are ones who derive pleasure from pain. From disgusting deeds and pushing around their subordinates because their title isn't as great as their own. It disgusts me, seeing innocent people killed just out of the randomness of these so called "Siths" minds. But on every side, in every territory, of every faction, there are those suffering for no more reason other than the too powerful don't care enough to take care of them."

"Because totalitarianism and tyranny have always worked out so well in the past." The Acolyte scoffed. "I'll kill only those who deserve it, or those who stand in the way of my goal. Peace is my goal, and the only way to get that is to get rid of the politicians and the rich and powerful, and any force users that have to go."

Pestilence planted his feet firmly against the ground, and gripped his weapon with both hands.

"So now do you accept my challenge, Crusader Anima?"

 

[Insanity]

"The lives of many are always ended for the simplest of reasons. Destroying, removing, those with power and money won't change that." Pulling the hilt of a lightsaber from the satchel he wore, he set it down before igniting the blade. A blade of silver cut a swathe through the falling rain, the acid-rain hissing as it struck the super-heated weapon. "You're challenge is accepted." With that, he shifted into a simple Juyo pose, legs slightly spaced apart and body shifted so that his saber-wielding hand was out first, letting the acolyte start the battle.

 

[Jacques]

The oh-so-familiar snap-hiss of a lightsaber sounded from his side. Quickly pivoting around, he saw the crusader fall in to a simple stance. The Acolyte settled into an Ataru stance for several moments, igniting his lightsaber with another quick snap-hiss, the sanguine red blade intercepted a drop before it hit the rooftop the two Sith were standing on. "It's so simple to spout faux-philosophy, but do you believe your own words? The lives of many are taken by way of carelessness, or even lack of care. By the people who claim to be protecting them when all they're really doing is protecting themselves."

Pestilence didn't comment further. With the end of his statement he sprung up in the air, having built up the force once he dropped into his stance. It wasn't a high jump, it was more of a quick way of getting to his opponent faster. Reaching out with one hand, the Acolyte used the rest of the force he had gathered up by sending out a decently strong force push, bringing down his lightsaber with one hand after that, the blade arcing diagonally down from Anima's left shoulder to right hip.

 

[Insanity]

There in lay a difference between the acolyte and crusader: where Pestilence expelled the Force outwards, Anima concentrated inwards. It was a subtle thing, Anima's work - years of practice and lessons, of failures and success. The Force he gathered flowed into and through him, quickening his reactions and speed - brute strength had its own place and time. Now wasn't one.

The acolyte leapt, closing the distance even as he discharged a burst of Force energy. Anima let it hit him, the impact pushing him back as he added his own burts of energy to it, altering his course to the left and further back. The acolyte missed, though the crimson blade fell so close to him. As for Anima, he used his momentum and rolled as he gathered more of the Force to himself, the silver blade snapping off at the start of the roll and re-igniting as he stood again. But, this time he didn't wait for the acolyte.

This time, he closed the distance, erecting a Force barrier in front of himself as he moved forward. It was only as he reached the proper distance for his blade to make contact that he halted, the kinetic barrier hurtling forward still. And Anima waited, in a defensive pose, the blade held crossed in front of himself.

 

[Jacques]

His attack missed, but it didn't take long for the young Acolyte to regain his composure. By the time he had, the crusader was already closing in on him. Getting his blade ready, Pestilence began to swing in an attempt to catch his opponent off guard. It didn't work however, because Anima stopped his run short, the kinetic barrier shooting outwards. Instead he had expected for it to disappear quickly, while his opponent would made an attack.

Pestilence suffered the consequences, being thrown back a ways, the durasteel sending up small sparks and making an irritating scratching sound. Standing back up on his feet, the younger Sith regained his composure. Taking the time to rip off his robe, relieving himself of the extra baggage.

"It seems I've started off on the wrong foot," Pestilence spoke, holding his lightsaber out in front of him in a challenging manner. In his other hand the force gathered still, though the Acolyte doubted the attack would work, his intention was not to win but to practice his skills. If he could just hold out long enough, to show the crusader that he had potential, that would be a step forward in his book.

Charging forward, Pestilence geared back his lightsaber, still only in one hand, arm bent at the elbow, as if he were going to attack.

Instead of attacking with his lightsaber, the Acolyte sent out several strong bolts of force lightning from his non-dominant hand. From the main, original bolts of lightning, several weaker bolts arced off and around, making the attack look much better in the man's mind than just a single bolt of lightning ever did. But then wasn't the time to bother about looks.

Right before his few second long burst of lightning, Pestilence leaped in to the air once more, this time over the Crusader, coming up behind him. He took a moment to regain composure and then charged forward once more, ready to engage.

 

[Insanity]

It was a physical attack that Anima prepared for, even as he gathered up energy in order to prepare another barrier. The acolyte's words were of no concern to the crusader for now - for now, he had the concern of minimizing damage to himself while allowing this acolyte to wear himself down, a time-consuming decision. So it was that when the acolyte charged forward again, he almost erected the barrier to block the attack - only to hesitate as the acolyte unleashed the energy he'd gathered in a wholly different attack.

The lightning arced, indeed - the rain provided the perfect enviroment for it to be at its maximum potential, lancing through the air as it did. Where it neared Anima, the air heated up. And four of the arcs lanced towards him directly, smaller arcs lancing to more outward areas of his body. Two main arcs made contact with the silver lightsaber as one collided with his empty hand, the electricity crackling as it was forcibly coalesced into a singular orb. And the last... hit his blade-wielding arm, shocking it as smaller arcs took their pick elsewhere.

A few minor arcs made contact with his left knee as he turned to follow the acolyte's leap, bringing him down to a crouch as he hurled the collected energy back at the acolyte. A minor distraction, at most. A quick assessment assured Anima that the numbness and small pains were only temporary, at least. The silver blade crackled with the electricity it had gathered from the attack, further super-heating the air around the weapon as Anima thrust the blade towards the acolyte's own weapon-wielding arm.

 

[Jacques]

For a moment, the Acolyte thought about diving out of the way, rolling maybe, but there was no composure to regain at the moment. He was composed, ready for anything. He watched as the crusader absorbed his attack, and realized that it would be headed back his way any moment. Settling back into a different Ataru stance, Pestilence didn't have to wait long. The lightning shot back out at him, and he blocked it with his lightsaber. It was stronger than his original attack, expected from somebody stronger than him. As the last of it gathered into his weapon, another, this time physical, attack came.

A simple jab, aimed for Pestilence's dominant arm. Stepping to the left a little bit, the Acolyte leaned his body to the left and caught the crusader's blade from below, bringing his own down and then back up to do so. His positioning felt awkward, but instead of re-positioning himself, the younger Sith pushed harder, attempting to force the crusader into a blade lock, just hoping he was the more muscled of the two.

 

[Insanity]

It was funny, really. The crusader, calm and collected, with his hair on end from the closeness of the previous electricity the acolyte had discharged. It gave him something of a feral appearance, lacking only the hint of emotion that most beings would have felt in combat or out of it. Singed spots where the smaller arcs of lightning had made contact with cloth, holes burned through to show where it had made it to flesh. And then the arm extended out, the silver blade towards the acolyte.

The acolyte managed to compensate for his momentum, twisting to the left just so, crimson blade going down and then coming back up to collide with the silver one. Pressure from the acolyte's physical force exerted against it, forcing the silver blade back slightly. Both blades crackled with electricity, the air around them superheating to the point that each raindrop that fell near them became steam, an ammonia smell accompanying each one.

The light of both blades seemed to highlight Anima and Pestilence, darkening and brightening them alternately. For the moments in which the blade-lock lasted...

The Force Anima had gathered before the attack, when he'd had to convert it to performing Tutaminis, had never stopped building. He'd continued to hold the energy back, having re-directed the acolyte's attack to spare himself the expenditure of absorbing it. It was because of that energy that the blade-lock didn't last long. Instead, a barrage of telekinetic energy was simply unleashed at the acolyte with Anima's free hand, even as he used a smaller amount to push himself back and to his feet properly.

 

[Jacques]

Just as the blade of the crusader was starting to retreat, further and further back, due to the force of the acolyte's blade pushing against it, just as the armored man felt it was a good time to show he had been saving up some more force energy he'd been building up, built from unused bits of his last attempt and some new. To send a powerful force push in to his near-by opponent. He was beaten to the punch, as the crusader sent up a hand and let out telekinetic bursts of energy. Attempting to bring up a force barrier in time proved for naught, as the first couple shots slammed against his armor, knocking the wind out of him.

Just as Pestilence was sent flying back by the rest of the barrage, the acolyte mimicked the what the crusader had done to him earlier, turning the late-formed barrier into a projectile attack.

He was unable to look on whether or not his attack hit. It was enough trouble relearning how to breath, but then he crashed in to the ground. That hurt as well, and he could even feel the dents in his light armor with his rib cage. Salt in the wound, salt in the wound. He rolled once, twice, three times on the durasteel rooftop, coming closer to the edge than he would have liked. Leaving only a second for recovery, Pestilence got up from the ground once more. Nothing fractured, maybe close but not there yet, just enough for some damned good bruises and soreness later.

Pestilence hadn't lost grip of his lightsaber, that was the one thing he made sure of when he was done projecting the force barrier at Anima. Reigniting the sanguine red blade, the acolyte cracked his neck. He could still go a ways, he would make sure of that.

 

[Insanity]

The self-push back worked in Anima's favour as the acolyte copied his earlier trick with a Force-barrier, the impact of it knocking the crusader farther back along the roofas his footing slipped again. It was in his favour in the sense that it added distance, albeit at the cost of minor pain and discomfort as it dissipated and left him back on his feet, though getting a stable posture amidst the rain-slick duracrete and durasteel proved detrimental. The silver blade he wielded was gone, the hilt unlit in Anima's right hand as felt the realized how close he was to the edge, only four steps from it with rusted railing as the only thing separating the flater surface of the rooftop to the sloped edges.

The railing wasn't very tall, either.

The acolyte was by far more capable than Anima had assumed at the start, for sure. The fact that said acolyte still stood, near the opposite edge of the roof, was proof of that. A small twitch-movement with his free hand and the satchel he'd set aside before slid across the roof and to him, the strap placed back across his shoulder in its place. Igniting the silver blade once more, Anima took another defensive pose, the blade tilted down and across in front of him.

 

[Jacques]

Pestilence had distance on his side, that was for sure. He was close to the other edge of the roof that was true, but he was a little further away than his opponent Anima was. From the moment he had regathered himself from the recent blow he had been building up the force inside of him, thinking of all the hatred that had gone through his brain, and any form of anger, jealousy, annoyance, whatever. Breathing in and out, slowly, deep breaths, the Acolyte once more held his lightsaber above his head, as if he were a tribal warrior about to call out a challenge or taunt an opponent.

With his left hand, Pestilence sent out more lightning, a more powerful burst than last time. Feeding off the anger about his lackluster performance, combining it with whatever residual hatred and dislike for anything or anyone made him stronger. It gave him a burst of energy he knew he needed.

Four strong bolts of lightning flew from his hand, and even more smaller ones sprouting from the main bolts, crackling and dancing through the air, intercepting acid-filled drops of rain, growing hotter still. The rain intensified from a small mist to a strong downpour, drops of rain smacking and sizzling against the younger Sith's armor.

 

[Insanity]

Slow breaths, a self-set pace at which his lungs worked.

Anima's concentration was steeped in his other senses: feeling the shifts of the Force's currents, half-thoughts drifting from his opponent and those in the building below. Within him, the Force was gathered, flowing into each physical sense as he shifted his footing.

Where the acolyte continued to gather and pace himself, Anima observed it all and made sure to shift his weight. The silver blade dipped lower, right hand grasping the hilt harder as the air around his left began to distort, the moisture in the air near it gathering into an enlargening orb. And when the acolyte struck, releasing another flurry of lightning, he moved the silver blade aside and placed the flowing water in front of him, more rain gathering to it as the lightning arced and split, colliding with the gathered water...

... and flowing around it, seeming to be caught in its invisible currents. Even as the lightning crackled and the gathered rain sizzled into steam, that silver blade took the re-directed flow of electricity.

The impact of lightning against lightsaber forced Anima to adjust his footing again as he waited for the flow of it to slow. Maintaining such a power was costly, thus Anima needed only wait for the acolyte to realize that price. Of course, Pestilence could simply wear himself down before realizing that Anima wouldn't budge, despite the smaller arcs burning holes in his suit.

 

[Jacques]

The ineffectiveness of his lightning pissed him off. He wasn't very tired yet, but he knew if he continued such a barrage of lightning, or even intensify it, would make that situation change very quick. Realizing that he wasn't going to be in it much longer anyway, sure that Anima was better at swordplay than he, Pestilence decided that he would need to go all out as soon as possible. He slowly walked forward, the lightning becoming a wee bit shorter with each step but never losing its intensity.

Then the Acolyte fastened his pace, closing the gap more and more with each moment, lightsaber still arced above his head and ready for battle as his left hand continued to release lightning. He probably shouldn't have been using the force power for so long, and probably even shouldn't have been able to, but each moment his anger for the inevitable outcome of the battle flowed through him, allowing him to keep it going.

As he came just outside of striking distance from Anima, Pestilence quickly changed his attack. Using all of the energy that was left inside of him, gaining another quick burst of energy from the anger building up inside of his head, the Acolyte sent out his strongest force push yet.

 

[Insanity]

As the acolyte started to walk forward, Anima was forced to adjust his grip on his weapon. It was because of the distance the acolyte had between himself and Anima that the drain of the power would be costly. But as the acolyte closed that distance, it was liable to lessen... and hit against the crusader with stronger cohesion.

The stinging sensation of pain as the smaller arcs burnt holes through his suit and seared the skin beneath were taking their toll. He shifted his weight behind the silver blade as he adjusted the angle to draw just a few of the small arcs away from his body. The hilt of the lightsaber had started to heat up quickly, the rain drops that managed to hit it turning to steam on contact. The only thing keeping his hand from burning as well was the gloves he wore, though the material had started to become singed. The smell of it was just discernable over the obliterating effects of the rain against all scents. He drew upon the Force more, sending a stronger flow through his muscles.

The feeling of pain subsided under that, though he knew that the burns would need to be treated afterwards.

He had other concerns, though; the acolyte was getting closer, just outside of attack range with his own weapon. Then he stopped, as did that barrage of electricity. However, Anima didn't have time to adjust before the acolyte let loose another push with the Force - only much stronger. The impact of it threw him back, his footing pretty much gone as he collided with the rusted railing behind him. That impact of body against rusted metal knocked its bearings loose, the railing starting to fall back ominously.

The pain in his back was debilitating as he tried to push away from the rail, the rain-slick metal creaking louder and becoming more unhinged. He managed to take a few steps back just as it fell away, though he was still too close to edge. Looking to his weapon-hand, he moved the warm hilt to his other hand and examined the seared glove. Only then did he nod to the acolyte in concession. "It seems you've beaten me, then. You came prepared, where I didn't. And I seem to have underestimated you, just slightly."

 

[Jacques]

Pestilence held his weapon still, in his normal attacking and defending position, ready for a trick attack to come his way. It was common for Sith to do something like that, whether it be when they were fighting a Jedi or another Sith. He wasn't going to take chances, especially when the other hadn't yet switched off his own. Glad that what came from Anima's mouth sounded like a truthful, annoyed statement, he nodded. "I'm sure if you had been expecting a challenge you would have been able to defeat me. But you still gave me a better fight than any other Acolyte I could have challenged." He said, finally bringing his weapon to his side, still lit the whole time. His defenses weren't going to drop until the Crusader's had.

 

[Insanity]

((OOC: I know, I haven't posted and stuff. Deal with it!))

A quick flick of one finger and the silver blade was extinguished, the subtle hum of that energized blade of light gone. Only the acolyte's own weapon remained lit, with the rain louder in Anima's ears than it had been since the duel had started. "It's a simple observation but the high acid content of rain on worlds such as Nar Shaddaa and Coruscant, and their fellow cohorts such as Bastion, can be a source of sickness. It's why Coruscant and Bastion devoted resources to weather-manipulation technologies - a luxury the Hutts haven't graced Nar Shaddaa with. This being so, I'd suggest getting indoors before sickness becomes a likely outcome of this exposure."

The crusader motioned towards the door to the building's stairwell as he finished speaking, his hair already slick with rain and plastered to the sides of his face. Some of it was singed by the acolyte's earlier attacks, a barely noticeable fact. It was the suit he wore that had suffered the most - where the small arcs of electricity had made contact, cloth was burnt and frayed, the skin beneath either numb or extremely sore. The rest of his suit, though, was just as heavily soaked from the rain as his hair. A small mental notation to have a new suit made, preferably with rain-resistant and burn-resistant materials.