The Iron Body

[Resolute\\.ZEN]

The bag of durasteel ball bearings crashed to the ground between the adolescents feet. His body, although young, looked impressively strong for one of his age, and showed no signs of bruising from the three hundred strokes it had just taken from the mercilessly heavy bag of little balls. Ze'kyre dared not wince. He would be a man soon, and he could not start showing any sign of his pain or fear, not like the Jedi had done in their fleeing of Coruscant. The young echani had been trained to be a guardian from a young age, taught to wield a fierce warrior's sword when he had but a little child's hands, but he had never been gifted with the opportunity to express himself in a true battle, where life was on the line and every instant was crucial. It was a feeling he longed to experience, perhaps it was true what they said about his people only being able to truly express themselves through combat. It was a possibility that many of the more conservative Jedi deemed dangerous, and why would they not be scared of such a prospect? Ze'kyre now saw them for what they truly were.

Cowards. It was a harsh thought, and he knew he should refrain from thinking in such a pattern. Still his displeasure with the Jedi's decision was great, fuelled in part by the scent of the stale air which filled his lungs deeply and slowly. He felt calmer as he exhaled, his heart rate slowing down to its normal - yet unusually low - pace as his anger left him. Instead he took a moment to reflect on how much his body ached. The tightly chiselled muscles that built the warrior-child all screamed furiously, yet it was a chorus he had been raised to relish. When he was little more than a toddler his Qi would be massaged in a hot spring, his bones tempered like steel and trained to be malleable while he watched the older kids strike each other with their hands, bamboo sticks, boards, bags of stone. He had been told it would make the body unbreakable. Needless to say, he had seen several of their bones break in his day - maybe broken one or two himself - but not without great effort. This was not even to mention all of the older monks who would break spears by defending with the soft of their neck, or smash duracrete without so much as scratching their skin.

The reclusive monks of the Eshan order possessed an astounding repertoire of feats, most of which Ze'kyre was set upon mastering, and all of which were committed to memory - even those that had been lost in time, and were only spoken of in historical tomes. Since coming to the Jedi and learning more about the Force, he began to see how It resided in all beings, and how even the non-Force sensitive monks of Eshan had developed control over this essence and learned to control the flow of it within themselves. It was really a miraculous thing, the Force, or the Great Dragon, as his fellow monks had called it. He had decided he would master it like none other; a master of both the Eshan and Jedi arts. He would embody the Great Dragon itself in all of its glory, and behind his blade the Jedi would never have to run again. It was not just a matter of becoming the greatest swordsman, Ze'kyre had found in the Sith the whole antithesis of his existence, for what was a warrior without a worthy adversary?

The enemy was fierce and vast, but it was just as despicable, and Ze'kyre saw nothing but reason to fight the Sith Imperium's wicked rule. The evil Empire that had beaten the Republic into submission had grown considerably slick, but their vile tactics were still very plain to see - even in the shrouding mist of propaganda that was springing up all over the holo-net, which proved to be about as refreshing and recycled as the air he now breathed in. Slowly.... deeply.

His stance widened, and his muscles tensed, their sudden definition seemed to make him appear somewhat cat-like as he took a low, fluid stance. His left foot slid forward with his hands held high, fingers extended like claws. Red hot pain was distributed evenly amongst his muscle groupings, but Ze'kyre could only grin. It was this pain that made him different from the fleshy padawans onboard the ship. The bag he had used to strengthen his Iron Shirt was a step-up in weight from the one he had used almost daily last year, Ze'kyre knew most of his young peers would not have the strength to even swing it about, let alone perform kata and strike their bodies with the makeshift weapon. It was one of many gruelling practices that the young warrior dedicated himself to, all designed to reconstruct the body with inhuman sturdiness. Fingers, toes, the skull, every part of your body is your primary weapon, and one could not claim mastery over the entirety of Eshan Art until forging themselves into a weapon of legendary proportion.

In the early hours while most were still asleep, Ze'kyre had begun his exercise, the lights dimmed to set an atmosphere of calm. He enjoyed having the training facility to himself, since relating to others within the order had proven rather tedious for the young echani. They all spoke too much; and not only with their words, but with their eyes, and the hands are always floating around, dancing to the speech. It was actually quite artistic, but a little overbearing for Ze'kyre, who was raised communicating near entirely through movement. Back at the monastery, few words were ever spoken, in fact most days passed without the presence of a single one. Eshanese has a very basic and direct vocabulary, especially small when compared to this guttural Galactic Basic. More than a couple times had Ze'kyre blatantly failed to recognize social cues, and even he was aware of the awkwardness that sometimes accompanied his presence. But he had no time to worry about matters of popularity. They all knew he was strange, but he would make sure that they also knew why.

With a ferocious howl, he kicked the heavy bag of ball bearings into the air. Now came the hard part. His left hand shot forward, and he caught the bag on the back of his fingers, holding the position long enough for the burn to set in before throwing it back in the air. Off one knee, the other, a foot, then he caught it on the back of his other hand. The process of keeping the bag off the ground was one that trained his dexterity and agility, as well as strengthening the structure of his feet and knees through the same virtues of his Iron Shirt practice. He kicked the ball bearings about as if it were an overgrown hackie-sack, the process becoming more and more laboured through the minutes before it landed with a thick thud against the matted floor. Ze'kyre did not allow his lungs to give up, doing his best to maintain a slow breath as the muscles in his legs begged him to take a seat. But they would have to wait, just a little longer.

With his shoulders still burning, he sprung forward onto his hands, and kicked his feet up in the air. The handstand faltered for a split second, but he caught himself and extended his legs fully. He arched his back so that his chest faced the ground. The focused young warrior did not look at the floor as he found his balance, but instead at a wall and began to wonder what the space outside looked like. It was not quite as beautiful as it had always seemed from a planet, Thyrsus or Coruscant. In fact he found life in space a bit bleak and rather depressing. Limited sunshine and maybe two breaths of fresh air a day was not the way he ever thought he would be living, and it was an atmosphere he somewhat lamented. He took a deep, upside-down breath, and slowly lowered his feet back to the ground. Hunger began to set in, his gut reminding him to break his fast, but he decided he would rather sit down with his legs crossed. A short meditation after his morning workout and before his meal was an essential part of the routine, it cooled his mind and made him more productive. He had awoken rather worked up about Coruscant, but he did not want to go through dealing with the other Jedi while harbouring a bad mood. After all, maybe this would be the day he made a new friend.

 

[Resolute\\.ZEN]

A black, sleeveless Gi was what Ze'kyre wore back into the training facility, representative of what a new disciple of the Eshan Order would wear as they began their pursuit of new knowledge. The young warrior had brought it with him from the Monastery as a sign of his own search. A deactivated was lightstaff in his left hand. The training saber had been inquired upon several times by the young Echani, but it had been suggested that he get a basic grasp on the seven forms first.

He enjoyed the study of them all, especially towards the end, and took the time to become fundamentally proficient with them each since he joined the Jedi. The following three forms that have been created for use of the ancient Order since he studied for the sake of knowing, but decided against practicing them, simply for the sake of simplicity. They all had their merits, and they all had their shortcomings, as any style would. Niman and Juyo were Ze'kyre's favourite of the former, one possessing great variety, and the other a warrior's passion. The average lightsaber is a devastatingly powerful weapon, but it would be too common amongst his enemy. Ze'kyre knew that if he was going to aid in the defeat the Sith, he would need some sort of edge. Yes, he possessed more martial prowess than most combatants, even at his young age, and he intended to become only better as he grew, but it would not be enough against the growing waves of dark power he could feel from the Core worlds.

The blades ignited, their light washing over the dimly lit room. It was just like fighting with a bo staff, he resolved to himself. Just keep it simple. And with that thought, he broke into a flourish of attacks upon shadowy opponents. Don't go for reach, as you would with a traditional staff. The strength of this weapon lies in its confusion; something he must be careful not to fall to himself. His sequence was Juyo derived as the double-bladed saber traditionally called for, and it was limited.

Ze'kyre often found himself having to weave his body around the defending blade, so he began to incorporate some Ataru movements, his natural acrobatics, agility, and flexibility unaided by the Force as he vaulted about the training room, dual sabres flourishing about as Ze'kyre began to nurture an affinity with the weapon. For near a minute he continued with a great vigor, keeping his heart rate as low as possible with deep full breaths. Control did not begin with the Force, or perhaps it did, for the Great Dragon whispered life into all form, a concept that the Eshan monks had come to understand. This knowledge allowed even those unbathed in the breath of the Force the ability to perform superhuman feats, proving true mastery over the body and mind. The young monk began jumping higher from his Ataru stances, his body and his blades twisting through the air before landing, defeating many more shadowy adversaries with the passionate swings of his Juyo style. Then he went onto the defensive.

Forced to rely on his delicate footwork against his own imagination, the weapon seemed as though he would never dodge a straight on attack. Such maneuvers had to be parried early, but when done so, tended to leave the attacker open to the second blade. He doubted this would be a problem against all but the most skilled opponents. Still, solving the issue altogether would prove wisest. If the hilt is lightsaber resistant the lightstaff becomes far more applicable defensively, allowing one to save their sidesteps for counter attacks or other enemies.

Still, it seemed rather restricting as a weapon. He could not see himself ever defeating his own sword with the Steel Heart dance, especially as the dual blades became easier and eaiser to track. The young warrior had to wonder how he could change that; how he could tap into more potential than any other warrior, or with any other weapon. The lightsaber had so much potential, but it was common. The lightstaff had even more offensive potential, but it was restricting to Juyo and Ataru, with some blend of the two proving to be the most effective, yet still being dangerous to the practitioner.

He could perform with more variety and balance with a single blade. Maybe two lightsabers was the way to go. The lighttonfas were also an interesting idea, and would allow him to incorporate what he already knew, being familiar with traditional tonfas. He had heard of Nunchaku, another familiar instrument, being fitted with lightsaber technology, but he imagined that would be quite limiting defensively, despite a great efficiency in close quarters.. The whip was out of the question. No monk of the Eshan would carry a whip. But still, he knew someday he should learn to use it, if just to better know how to fight such a weapon.

He stopped in the center of the room, and took the time to meditate on it. It was an impressive piece of weaponry, and Ze'kyre understood why it was so dangerous. But it is that understanding that would aid him to defeat such a weapon. In order to become the best, he would have to redesign such a weapon. Unfortunately the construction of lightsabers was something still outside of his grasp, but in time he knew he would have what he truly needed out of lightsaber combat. Something that the Jedi could stand behind, something that they could rely on for their most desperate of attacks. Something that would be proficient at putting an end to Sith. He enjoyed using his sword, and the heavy cortosis weave the monks had implemented into his sheath had already proven very proficient at disarming unsuspecting lightsaber duelists, but a lightsaber of any type will prove easier to hide on his person, and when he finally figures it out, the hum of his lightsaber may become as beautiful as the song of his sword.