Log:Jedi Order: True Defense

Ban, Nora, and Aryn train to defend against their own kind.

OOC Date: May 4, 2022
Location: Deep Space
Participants: Nora Frayus, Ban Iskender, Aryn Cortess

The Echo is in hyperspace, carrying the nobles of Alderaan toward another mission of state. There's time between jumps, lending to the opportunity of training, one which all seem keen on. Aryn is seated upon a luxurious bench seat wrapped in a blanket and watching the large recreation area that's been cleared out to allow room for training. With her feet resting on an ottoman, legs crossed, and gaze affixed to the two, she speaks up to voice what's on the menu for today's training.

"Lady Nora, today you hold a true lightsaber and square off against Lord Ban in combat. This will be more than a demonstration of your prowess. A Jedi's strength flows with the Force, and to combat an opponent of equal skill and ability, your mind must be prepared to face the gauntlet of skills another Force sensitive may conjure. Here, you may use my weapon." Aryn offers the curved silver hilt for Nora to take."

Ban Iskender inclines his head to Aryn's declaration, ordering his thoughts for the chosen subject, and rising to his feet. The gentleman does not doff his half cape nor swordbelt, as he typically fights with such trappings worn. He detaches the elaborate swept hilt of his lightsabe from the counterbalancing scabbard, but does not ignite the weapon before Nora has had a moment to familiarize herself with the curved handle of Aryn's favored weapon.

Nora's done some soul searching. Getting angry at a no-name Alderaanian royal guard member for throwing water on her was a... humbling experience to say the least. There were valuable lessons in that. It's all the usual things of 'mind your temper' and 'be one with the force', sure, but the most potent meditation Lady Nora was left with was the meaning of failure.

Failure.

It's been a potent word since she was a child, and it's become a recurring motif around her biggest fears. Failure of her House. Failure as a daughter. Failure as a fighter. Failure as a Jedi. Failure as an Alderaanian. Failure as a person.

And so, when she's handed the curved hilt of a true lightsaber, Nora peers down at it with a moment of hesitation. It's more than a split second that she hesitates, but she reaches out to take that hilt soon enough. Her hands get acquainted with the weight of it and the feel of its various housings within her palm. Different than the grip of her family blade, but more similar than the blunt, awkward stunsaber she obtained for practice within the order.

She presses down on the button to spark that blade ablaze, pupils dilating and nostrils flaring. A little rush of thrill and a breath pulled in through her teeth.

Just like the stunsaber, that blade is weightless. Except, as she moves it about in her palm, it's with the understanding of the weight of weightlessness. She understands its lethality.

"A touch more thrilling than hitting one another with wooden sticks," she says towards Ban.

"Ban will test your defenses. Spend this time communing with the Force, much like you had when experiencing the Living force. Your settings around you ought to feel like an extension of yourself." Aryn says, relaxing back against the cushion to watch. Lightsabers come to life a moment later, and the idle humming and luminescence capture her gaze as she observes each.

After a few moments, Aryn nods to Ban, "I yield this class to you, Ban. Teach her what she must know."

More thrilling than sticks? "So it is, my lady," Ban agrees, igniting his own emerald blade and drawing it vertically, the metallic crossguard (useless for stopping a lightsaber, but useful in the gentleman's handling and maniuplation of leverage) just below eye level, before being swept toward the ground in the salute Ban offers every opponent, in earnest or in practice. Sword held in the left hand, his left foot is forward, in line with the heel of his back foot. It is a familiar courtly dueling stance. A dip of his head and shoulder is offered to Aryn, with green eyes still holding upon Nora. "Very well, Highness. My Lady," Nora, "Once you have centered yourself, I pray you take your favored stance."

Center yourself. Center yourself. Nora tips her head to the side, pink hair spilling around her soft cheeks and slender jaw. She can't escape the thrill of holding a weapon like this. But she also knows that great care must be exercised while wielding it. Ban might be a dour, stoic, grumpy(?) young man, but Nora's come to enjoy him. It would be rather tragic if she cut her best friend's betrothed's arm off, too. Because, of course, she isn't worried about herself.

Ego.

But she does center herself. Something about the crystal in the sword and the vibration and resonance through its lattice is... thrilling. She can feel it and, in some way, hear the song that is Aryn's soul sing in the back of her skull. Her blue eyes lift to Ban when he instructs her to take her favored stance, and so she does.

She begins to advance towards him, eyes wide, chin down. Her wrist at the outside of her thigh, palm slightly turned out with that humming blue blade pointed towards the floor. A touch of wickedness to her smile.

"Do be gentle with me, Ban. I am learning," she says, and draws her blade suddenly up and towards him though, perhaps, with a touch of hesitation. Pulling her punches.

Aryn has a moment where, for an instant, she recalls another memory of Ban training Chani in the art of swordsmanship. She sees the fundamentals he had spoken aloud demonstrated in his stance now, elegant form and and stance aligned with some unseen tight-rope he intended to walk. Nora, of course, mirrors this in a different way, testament of her own training beneath the Frayus household.

The melee begins and Aryn observes Lady Frayus' confident approach, much as she always was, with a spoken phrase of deception that may have lured her foes into believing she was anything but dangerous.

Bringing a steaming mug of broth to her mouth, Aryn sips loudly as the first electrical sounding collision of blades filled the chambers, displacing the ships thunderous humming ambiance.

Ban Iskender brings his green sword up into a one-handed duelist's guard, his second hand composed at the small of his back, and shoulders turned sideways to reduce his profile. When Nora teases and advances, pulling her punches with due caution, Ban deflects the blue saber with a small, sharp snap of his hips adding power intot he small motion that bats Nora's saber aside, off the center line, and leaving his own glowing sword leveled at the lady's chin. Go easy on her? "No."

Drawing a step back and resetting his stance. "Though they are weightless, lightsaber blades to not strike and slide as steel blades do. The stick and hold. Although the maneuver is weightless, you must put the strength of legs, hips and shoulders into each strike and parry." Her illustrates the motions and he describes the difference between swordsmanship in light and steel. "Until Her Highness bids us stop, you are to maintain your guard and defense. If this is understood, I pray you advance upon me once you are prepared."

Nora laughs with giddy anticipation when her lightsaber is batted away, turning her chin up when that saber is presented to her chin. It's strange -- it doesn't feel hot at all. She tips her head towards it, giving some chase as Ban withdraws the 'blade' before she straightens her posture and takes a few steps back to square her body. She listens with some interest when the man speaks to her, considering the blade in her hand and turning her wrist one way and then the other. It isn't until Ban mentions defense that Nora groans a response.

Indeed, Lady Frayus' form and style places a significant more weight on offense and attacking. Her movements and instincts are not to guard and riposte, but to simply end the fight with swift and lethal precision. Perhaps if this were a regular blade with regular weight... no. No excuses. Never excuses.

"If Her Highness does insist," Nora says, adapting a more traditional and defensive posture. Textbook stuff, you know. Boring.

And, after a moment, she advances.

Aryn remains quiet, still, watching the tone being set to the training. Ban's propensity for seriousness when the topic of soldiering is at hand is par for the course with him. He was raised to take every fight serious, and that is how Aryn has seen him react, even when sparring her. There was little she could teach him on this topic.

Nora's change in demeanor and adaptation of defense earns an approving nod from Aryn, then the fight progresses. The weightless blades move with precision, each intending harm to the other only to be intercepted and moved toward an altered course. At times, sword fights look choreographed, but then someone finds a defense hole and capitalizes on it, and the mortality of combat is suddenly emphasized. Lightsabers certainly exaggerated those consequences, but Jedi Knights were well known for their swordsmanship and finite brutality.

She sips her broth again and lowers the large mug, using both hands to hold it over her lap. "Stay with it." Aryn encourages Nora.

The second pass is much more competetive. Nora draws near to landing a hit, and the one time amid the flurry of strikes, parries, and evasions in which Ban could have landed a telling hit was a narrow thing, which Nora had nearly escaped, caught only by the dragoon's reach as he took a deep lunging step after her, before returning tot he defense, himself. "Apt," he observes simply. Perhaps sensing her disillusionment with precise and orthodox methods of dueling, he pauses a moment, sword still high. He draws a deep breath and holds Nora's clear eyes with him own. "My lady. *You may lower your guard*."

Nora's form, even in a more defensive and traditional stance, is technically sound. Like a pianist playing the work of another composure, her fingers glide along the keys, pressing notes and chords exactly as written. But it lacks the passion and grace and... penache of her usual fighting style. Elegant, but uninspired. "Quite," she says in agreement between blows, catching one of those strikes sent in her direction and narrowly twirling to avoid it. Doubtless it would have struck her, would Ban not have pulled up at just the right moment. She exhales and begins to press forward again, just in time to catch Ban's gentle motioning with his hand and the way he snaps towards and attempts to hold her gaze.

Her head tips and, for a moment, she feels something brush against the inside of her skull. His words do more than trickle in through the channels of her ears, but rather push into her mind. But Lady Frayus' presence of mind in the moment is clear, and her guard does not falter.

"Mmmmmh, I may... But I will not," she responds. She laughs, steps, and attacks again.

Ban allows a tight smile as Nora recognizes and resists his underhanded ploy, a small laugh stirring in his chest as he defends against Nora's lightsaber refusal. "Excellent. And here I had thought I was so persuasive." His expression settles back in a solemn neutrality, even as the duelist banters with Lady Frayus. As Nora begins putting more power into her strikes, at one point Ban is able to drop his sword level below hers, leading to a clean miss. In the instant before Nora recovers, he would have been able to take advantage of the over-comittment to land a touch, but his other cuts and thrusts are turned away. A small nod of approval. "Is moving as a highly skilled combatant, and defending herself with grace. Yet a Jedi can exceed such standards: I pray you, dwell wholly on striking at me with all thy alacrity. Strike faster."

"If you wish to lower my guard, perhaps try complimenting my appearance. I should have thought Her Highness would've," Nora starts to say, enduring Ban's onslaught of blows once more and giving a soft, old Alderaanian curse beneath her breath when she feels the rush of one of them. Another lethal hit, were it not for the swordsman's quick reflexes. There is a twinge of frustration, but one that is quelled the moment it bubbles to the surface. Failure. She has been meditating upon it, and yet, in the context of life and death, it feels somehow more difficult to swallow. A punishment most severe.

"I have seen the way the Jedi move in combat. Miss Ashkuri is... unnaturally quick. I learned a great deal of humility," she begins, and then steps towards Ban, concentrating on her movements and swings without concentrating -too- much. Natural. Effortless. "In hitting her with a wooden stick!"

"With a lightsaber in your hand, there is not but one soul in a thousand thousands who could give you pause, at your current skill," Ban notes evenly. "Yet it is for at last soul we must prepare." As his sharp, precise parries flow together in an elegant exchange of expertise, "I say this not because I think you ignorant of it, but to put the scope of thy challenge in perspective, Lady." As for complimenting appearance, he says nothing. Business-first-Ban, how boring. He draws a long step back after a further exchange of blows, and draws his sword upright. With his eyes kept still upon his opponent, he voices to Aryn, "If Her Highness is satisfied with the exercise thus far?"

"An adequate showing, yes.." Aryn intones, rotating herself from her seat to set bare feet to the warmed panels of the ship's decking. The blanket falls to one side revealing that Aryn is dressed in her Jedi's tunic, though missing components like its cape and boots. "You witnessed a few things used against you, but I daresay," Aryn's voice trails off and she has simply vanished, disappearing into the shadows of the room, only to suddenly appear beside Nora, "..it is not all you might experience."

Aryn manages a small smile, adding a moment after when she opened her tunic top to reveal much of her torso (minus what was concealed beneath her modesty coverings. A nasty scar marks her ribs, abdomen, and hip.. the mark clearly lightsaber in origin. "One does not come to appreciate the lethality of a lightsaber, or the mastery of the one wielding it, until they have been struck down. This weapon, these skills, and our purpose as Jedi are defined by how we use these things, but more importantly... all of it is meaningless if you cannot defend yourself. When you fight a Sith Lord, or a Knight of Ren, you are not fighting a conventional opponent."

"It is in these crucial moments of interaction that you are tested. Fear, doubt, ego, and frustration constitutes the shape of the battle to come. Never forget that you are something more."

Nora takes a step back and away from Ban when he turns to address Aryn. Her heart rate is up, adrenaline coursing through her skull, but she's able to turn off that kill instinct when the lesson has ended. She turns to look over her shoulder to Aryn when the woman speaks, eyes tracking her across the room as she moves towards the shadows. Nora's finger depresses that button on the lightsaber's cylinder, the blade retracting back within the hilt with a static -hissss- and snap. When Aryn appears beside her, Nora jumps, surprised at the sudden appearance and giving out an audible gasp that's followed by a little laugh.

Aryn startled her.

Still, it is not enough to prompt Nora to any sort of defensive action. Not in this place. She flips the lightsaber hilt around in her hand and offers it to Aryn when the woman speaks. Her eyes do wander across that newly-opened robe. She'd seen the scar before, and she remembers a time when Aryn would have hidden it away from her. Now, she sees it in a different sort of light.

"Mmmmh," Nora says, her sound one of agreement, though insecurity and uncertainty are written across her expression. She certainly doesn't feel like something more. Failure. But new perspectives aren't gained, nor old habits broken, in an instant. Working on the self takes time.

"I will do my best to remember your words. Thank you Aryn, and you Ban," she says, nodding towards Ban now. A small smile touches her face. "There is so much to learn, is there not? Ever forward."

Ban Iskender deactivates his saber and clicks the hilt back into the sheath belted at his side. As Aryn steps through space and shadow, his head turns to see the princess emerge beside Nora, and the startled laugh drawn. He adds nothing to the words spoken, dipping his head and shoulders to Nora at the offered thanks. "As you say: ever forward."

"You did well, my Lady, truly. When next we draw swords, you will do even better." Aryn accepts the hilt and clips it back to her belt. The ship suddenly vibrates, and a stifled alarm sounds from the helm, alerting the trio that they've arrived in system. The intercom conveys the incoming transmissions from planet declaring a challenge that they check in and share their purpose. So begins their other business. Aryn passes Nora by with a subtle pat and squeeze of her arm, then she's looking toward Ban with an appreciative nod! Closing her tunic, she quietly steps away to see to their approach.