You'll be the death of me.

[Blueberrypie]

[Ask, and you might find yourself pitted against me]
[Premise - I wronged you. How? Doesn't matter.]
[Deathmatch - alternative universe if you feel like it.]
[Info.]
​

The night air was thick and moist, shrouded with a chilling wind which had enveloped the nearby trees, ruffling their thick mane of leafs. It was such an ordinary, yet beautiful sight, enhanced even more so by the emanating sounds of the empty garden. Ah, yes; The calm, tranquil way the oaken trees swung back and forth, as if reaching toward the twinkling stars. The multitude of chirping birds and the brash animals was barking and howling at the moon. Such was the botanical gardens, and even the clicks and beeps of the nearby mechanics were nothing more than a part of the whole; a symphony of sights and sounds, woven together to create what life truly was, experience.

Jerac Threnn was waiting; standing tall in his full, augustic height. A gloved hand was resting atop of his vibroblade's pommel; his sleek fingers clenched around its butt. He was a patient man, and had no doubts that [you] would show. After all, this duel was nothing but just.

 

[Jake]

((OOC: I don't know if you're a roleplayer that cares much about length, but regardless, my posts will be shorter after this one. I like to explain the situation as fully as possible in my intros. The writing in this one is pretty mediocre, so excuse that, but I tried to make Tokur as believable as possible despite being a random throwaway character with a motive that is... questionable, at best. So consider this post me getting into his character since I didn't write a profile.))

---

The botanical gardens of Telos were a sight to behold; they were maintained almost exclusively by the Agricultural Corps, a group of individuals who possessed the elusive spark of Force-sensitivity that so many desired, but in them the embers of the Force could not be kindled into a true fire. Thus, they were turned away from the Jedi and left to smolder silently, existing on the interstice between the rest of the galaxy at large and the majestic paladins who as children they had looked up to. For many it was a tranquil fate, bringing with it its fair share of trivialities but also a long list of interesting opportunities that might unfold if only one had the proper mindset.

But for Tokur Vasilim, that fate was worse than death. As a child he had possessed no hatchmates and his parents languished on the lowest rung of the Barabels' societal ladder, damning him to a life of misery and despair because of burdens they should have carried on their shoulders alone. When the eye of a Jedi scouring his world for potential had fallen upon him, he had been elated beyond words, able to do naught but make his feeble sissing noises and thank the Jedi in heavily accented Basic.

When he had arrived to Tython they had been quick to turn him away; the midichlorians that flowed through him were few in number, only enough to give the illusion of fire where in truth there were only ashes and embers. They had relegated him to a low station in the Agricultural Corps on Telos, where he had suffered ever since. Every time he saw a human child playing with its crèchemates, waving ampohr branches as if they were lightsabers, he winced inwardly. He did not understand how his coworkers could so easily resign themselves to this fate; a life empty of bloodletting and conquest held no meaning to a Barabel.

When Jerac Threnn made his way to the botanical gardens, Tokur caught but a glimpse of him, of his rugged physique and shaggy mane of black hair, so fragile and so human. He paid him no need... at first. But something radiated from the man, a strange feeling of uneasiness that left Tokur in a sissing fit, much to the chagrin of his colleagues. But he could not shake the feeling that something was unmistakably wrong with the man. It had come as a sharp realization while he tended a patch of Felucian glasscaps: Jerac was Force-sensitive.

Years of pent-up fury at his destiny had done terrible things to Tokur's mind. They had twisted him, wrapping his heart in a shroud of shadow that constantly threatened to overwhelm him. At least on Barab I he would have suffered amongst others of his kind; on this planet, he could do little but observe the soft, fleshy humans go about their daily lives, never thinking of glory, never knowing valor in their complacent duraplast cubicles.

Tokur Vasilim would have freedom, be it in death or imprisonment or anything else fate had in store for him.

He scrawled a note in messy Aurebesh, calmly requested of one of his associates that they deliver it to Jerac. The woman had recoiled in fear, a sentiment shared by many who worked alongside Tokur, but he cared little about their feelings. Then he returned to his apartment block, rummaging through a closet that had gone long unopened, searching for the tools that would vindicate him from his life of laboring. A Barabel, tending a garden of flowers and saplings! Preposterous! Dishonorable!

He worked himself into a frenzy just looking for the sword, the damn sword, the custom grip he had received as an heirloom from his parents. The only thing of worth he'd ever gotten from them, the scum. But now it was his. It didn't matter anymore. He pushed all thoughts from his small, reptile mind, all memories of Barab I and of the place among the Jedi that had been denied him. He focused on one thing: revenge, and what it offered him.

He did not know Jerac's name, or his creed, or where he came from, or even that he was apprenticed to the Bogan menace that now threatened to consume the galaxy; truthfully, he did not even know of the Bogan's existence, so introverted had he steadily become since his exile to the Agricultural Corps. But none of those things mattered to him. He did not care if Jerac was the savior of a hundred planets or if he had a family waiting for him, because Jerac did not exist to him as a person, only as a catalyst for the redemption Tokur sought with such fervor.

So he hefted the blade above his head, removed it from the ancient leather shield that had bound it for so long. The unpolished durasteel had no shine to it, but when he thumbed the activator he could feel its vibrations, reverberating through his arm and into the very core of his being.

He found solace in the whirring sound his blade made... the blade that he knew would deliver him into glory or mete out the penance he so deserved.

...

The gardens were quiet. Tokur slipped his keycard and the door unlocked with an electric click; the extreme amounts of oxygen gave the air an almost intoxicating effect. With every new breath Tokur felt empowered, more prepared for his undertaking. Above the greenhouse the sky glistened with its coat of alien stars, and a few of the taller trees scratched against the glass rooftop.

Soon I will be out there, Tokur thought excitedly, a tremor of anticipation coursing up his spine.

If Jerac were listening attentively he might notice the raspy hissing noise that steadily replaced the hum of the airscrubbers. He might catch the tantalizing shadow of a tail movement or the beastly half-hewn silhouette that lurked just beyond view. After a few moments of assessing his prey, Tokur staggered forth out of the shadows, blade already drawn.

He took up a neutral stance just two and a half meters from his opponent, harrumphing every now and then as he mentally prepared himself. It had been many moons since these muscles had been flexed. Tokur only hoped his skill hadn't dulled too much with the passing of time, but he at least had faith in his instincts, for he knew that his kind tread far closer to the unconscious mind than any human could ever hope for, perhaps even a Jedi.

"This one knew you would come," Tokur chortled in a scratchy voice. "This one can tell when a man is honorable."

 

[Blueberrypie]

As an acolyte of Bogan, he'd been trained his whole life in the ways of the warrior. So when his violet eyes flickered hither and tither, he couldn't help but notice the lithe shadows that graced the corner of his sight. Tokur's figure snaked itself among the trees and nearby fauna; stalking Jerac like a predator. It made him feel mildly uncomfortable; especially when he came to see that the lizard was possessing an impressive control of his bodily functions - the fluid motions and light feet made him a soundless creature in the night.

It wasn't until the reptile revealed himself that Jerac actually saw him - so far he'd bared witness to nothing but fluttering leafs and tantalizing shadows. It was a relief to see the actual figure. Although intimidating, Jerac had dealt with bigger fish than this, but he wouldn't be so foolish as to underestimate his opponent."This one knew you would come." said the scaly creature with a harrowing voice. "This one can tell when a man is honorable."

Jerac's sleek fingers were gripped tightly around his vibroblade's hilt; holding it securely as he studied his opponent. Savage. was the first thought that crossed his mind. Yet, instead of aggrivating Tokur with petty words, he chose to bend his arched back in a flutter of cloth, bowing eloquently. As a fellow warrior, he deserved respect. As Jerac rose, he activated his vibroblade with a gloved thumb, to so stoically utter a single sentence. "I accept your challenge." Taking his stance, blade drawn; he awaited Tokur to make the first move.

[It has been around seven months since I last roleplayed. So when you see some incongruencies... Gimme a shout.]

 

[Jake]

Tokur did not care much for honor and he was not about to make the first move. He hadn't had time to practice for this duel; he would need to see his opponent's speed before he could decide whether a direct approach would be his best way to achieve victory.

Instead he strafed to the side, thrusting his left hand into an open-air flowerbed, retrieving a fist-sized stone that had been used as decoration for the garden. Round and flat, it was an excellent projectile. Bits of dirt and soil clung to Tokur's scaly fingers as he squeezed the stone, holding his sword out in front of his body. He thumbed the vibration control and suddenly the blade disappeared from sight, save for the faint blur and the incessant whir as it quivered. Just a glancing blow would tear flesh and bite deep into muscle and bone.

The Barabel's arm twitched in warning, but less than a second later was already in motion. The stone spiraled through the air, quick as a bullet, aimed at Jerac's torso. Tokur darted forward to follow up his attack, changing the grip on his sword so that he wielded it with both hands and inclining it just slightly so that, unless the Bogan moved, they would lock blades.

With his species' natural strength and instinct at play, Tokur had utmost confidence in his ability to win. Perhaps that be what killed him, eventually... but not today.