Log:Rebellion: Hold the Line Pt. 3: Garden Ship
Two Jedi and two Sith battle for the final victory in the war for Ithor's freedom.
OOC Date: January 20, 2025
Location: Garden Ship, Ithor, Ottega system
Participants: Alys Zapal (as Darth Dominace), Darth Kalus (as Acolyte Tara), Juria Nexum, and Zalon Bo
It's rare that a group of Jedi and a group of Sith are dispatched to the same place with less than violent intent. Such is the singular case of the Garden Ship Re'tal'tu where the deligates from the Ithorian people are bringing both parties for talks on how Ithor will move forward during the war. This is.. unusual, to say the least. Tables are arranged, Ithorian leadership is present, as is Juria Nexum sent to represent the Jedi on behalf of the Rebellion, with Zalon Bo to accompany her.
Conversation has gone back and forth over the last several hours, with both sides offering the intent for Ithor. Juria strongly supporting the Ithorian's beliefs that no being who goes to the planet surface shall be allowed to leave, but stressing the need, under these unique times, that any remaining forces from the Empire be offered a single amnesty to depart the surface.
What neither side is aware of, however, is the growing discontents amongst the Ithorians on the point of people on the planet surface. Namely, the Imperial garrison AS WELL AS Colonel Jessika Pava. How this information was leaked is unknown, but it has soured a fraction of the Ithorian underground into action against 'both' sides. With assistance from Imperial spies who have funneled weapons to this antagonistic fringe group. With promises from the Empire that the guilty parties will be captured and returned for judgement under the new leadership structure established once the existing body is killed.
"We understand your position, Speaker, and it was never our intention to disrupt the traditions of your world." Says Juria, in her prismal white robes, platinum blonde hair hanging in loose curls on pale cheeks. "We si-" The tingle in the force is the only indication that something is amiss before the engines begin exploding, destroying large sections of the lower hull. The assembly chamber erupts into chaos, with Juria only barely keeping her feet when the hall begins to shake.
Instinctively, her hand goes to her lightsaber.
Just as a mix of Stormtroopers and Ithorian Empire Loyalists breach the inner wall.
Zalon Bo, Padawan of the Jedi Order stands a few paces and aside Jedi Knight Juria Nexum throughout the negotations. For his part he's remained quiet throughout the proceedings on account of a wiser Jedi than himself being present to lead the negotiations on behalf of the New Rebellion. While in such circumstances a more junior diplomat may shift about uncomfortably, speak out of turn, or otherwise provide some potential for embarrassment of their superior: Zalon Bo does not. While tempers may flare around him and accusations are lobbed in his midst, the Lasat remains stoic and at ease. Despite the baleful stares and withering glances that may be thrown his way, Zalon does not shrink from them. He watches his surroundings. He feels his surroundings. He exists within them and immerses himself in the ebb and flow of them. He does not quell from a situation that is to say the least a source of great anxiety.
The first hint that he's caught a sense of the impending trap comes a split second before the detonation. The detonations along some of the engines rocks the garden ship and the padawan shifts, his robe swinging aside even as his hand moves to retrieve his lightsaber from his side. His other hand lifts a table up, utilizing it to shield both himself and Juria from shrapnel and debris spraying across the chamber from the explosions that send rends through the floors and walls.
A moment later and the table drops, while each of Zalon's massive hands move to ready himself as they surround the elongated hilt of his lightsaber and he whirls about to face the pair of Sith as though he's expecting to find one of them launching themselves at him as he swings about to meet them with the prominent green blade up and at the ready.
"Are you hurt?" he calls out loudly to Juria, both taking stock of the knight he's been attached to as well as assess their status.
Emerging from the charred portion of the bulkhead is a scrappy young woman adorned in the black tunic, or a variant of it, that leave her arms bare save for bracers. Black hair shape the former slave's face, and her expression is both a mixture of pride and defiance.
A cursory glance is paid her master, the architect of her torture, of her training, and this moment where she might finally break the chains that have bound Tara her entire life. The excitement at this notion has her shoulders heavily lifting and falling, and the pair of lightsabers in each hand coming to life a second after. "I have been looking forward to this.."
Anticipation and adrenaline fill her system, making her gleeful and eager for the combat to transpire. She chooses the Lasat Jedi for her target believing he a suitable sacrifice for her freedom. She points a crimson blade toward them, the hue of the red energy cast upon her grinning face as she closed the distance to strike with both blades!
Dominace is a tall, rangy Human male with a long reach and deceptive strength of arms. Bald and leathery, he comes off as a guy who spends a great deal of time outside in harsh environments. Though the pallor of his skin says he is very sick or only does these things at night.
Locally, he's on Ithor to craft it. To change it. To convert the beacon of life and Light into a void of Darkness. To, if he is lucky and good, turn it into a dark verge in the Force. A place that sucks in life and outputs the power of death. This is his life's work.
And he will not suffer the hated Jedi or the foolish Rebellion to stop him.
The Ithorian rebels along with Stormtroopers burst in, the two factions beginning to sling blaster fire at each other as the guards try to usher the Speaker and council out to escape the explosions and the violence. As the troopers file in to do their dirty work, Darth Dominace enters, his black robes seeming not to move as he does, hanging down like a shroud on a corpse.
"Of course," he says, his voice like the crumbling of rotted leather. "Jedi." His attention swings between the two Jedi, red-yellow eyes seeming to glow under his hood. "Apprentice," he says. "That one is yours." He gestures at Zalon, but he doesn't have to. He feels a little pride in her initiative.
He looks Juria up and down as he reaches up, grabbing the edge of his cloak. He tosses it away, the black cloth fluttering through the air as a pair of lightsaber hilts slap into his hands. "Hm. Are you a worthy opponent, lady Jedi? Show me your motivation!"
The crimson blades burst to life in a hiss of static, and with a roar, he hurls himself at Juria, seeking to alpha strike her, driving both blades downwards in a brutally efficient vertical slash.
The sudden attack was jarring, but Juria rights herself quickly thanks to Zalon's timely intervention with the flipped table. Despite the distopian nature of the sudden shift of preceeding, however, the 'Elder' Jedi smiles softly to the Apprentice sent to assist her in these dealings. "I'm fine, thank you." She's quiet, not just in this moments, but in all of them leading up to it. A laissez faire, almost innocence about the mousy Corellian Jedi Knight.
With the arrival of Stormtroopers and Ithorian discontents, the humming cyan blade extends from the beaded hilt of her lightsaber and moves in intricate patterns to deflect away blaster fire aimed towards the deligation. Both that of the Ithorian Council AND the Imperials. As if her sense of preservation of life has no lines drawn in the sand.
Which hardly seems to sway the soldiers of the enemy, who rush towards the white robed Jedi Knight and finds themselves, not cut done, but thrown away with an outward flick of her hand. Tumbling tables, chairs, and sections of the smoking bulkhead around them to form a cage of furniture that keeps them placated where they are harmless, but alive.
An alabaster eye of a storm of streaks of red.
Juria moves like smoke.
Where her blade needs to, it is. A blaster bolt deflects away and hits a section of the wall that's not load barring. So as not to create more structural damage to fuel the chaos. "Deligate Tobogi." Her gloved hand reaches down for the Ithorian, huddled over. She helps him stand then passes him to one of the Rebellion soldiers and Ithorian guards to help lead them to safety.
Just as the black robed figures of the Sith imerge behind the wall of stormtroopers.
A calmness comes over her.
With a deep breath, brilliant green eyes look upwards to the glass ceiling of the Garden Ship. Staring out at the stars in a moment of reflection. While her blade works of it's own volition in deflecting away attacks fired at her from Imperial weapons.
When she looks to Darth Dominace, it's with the softest of smiles. Genuine. "Probably not." A worthy opponent. She's not afraid. Though a single tear runs down a pale cheek where it hangs from her jaw. "But I don't have to be. I may be your enemy, but you're not mine." Her blade, held in both hands, stands erect before her. "It's not too late for you."
"Don't do this," Where some might retreat or give ground at the onslaught presented by the acolyte of the Sith in the form of Tara, Zalon Bo seems to refuse. In this moment he chooses to be unbending and unyielding before the threat of darkness. Nearly two decades ago he took on the responsibility of standing against the growing tide of darkness and tyranny. Today, he has found two that wear the faces of that darkness. Surprisingly the towering alien plants his feet in preparation of receiving the advance of the acolyte and his lightsaber crackles as it begins to shift as the padawan begins to release himself to the Force. His movements are precise and remarkably fast, owing both to training and physical prowess. The lightsabers clash and Zalon finally begins to move, giving ground while luring the acolyte to pursue Zalon away from Juria's own position to provide both of the duels their ample space.
"You can choose your path," Zalon offers calmly amid the crash of lightsabers connecting and rebounding from one another. Zalon's own moves with defense in mind. It isn't raw strength that he brings to bear at present, but sheer speed to prevent the pair of lightsabers wielded by Tara from cleaving parts from him. He stays on the move, even displaying surprising agility as his acrobatics send him flipping backward and away onto a piece of rent hull that has curled inward as a result of the explosions. It's hot as flames lick at his robes, but he thankfully does not catch fire. The smoke works to obscure not only his attacker's vision, but his own. It's the Force that he reaches into, calling upon it to guide the flow of his ripostes and parries when his vision fails him amid the smoke as he continues his bid to draw the two duels farther apart.
In some moments he finds the need and time to deflect an errant blaster bolt from his vicinity, yet he noticeably never attempts to redirect those stray blasts toward his opponent. He finally makes his first purposeful offensive strike with he uses his sheer size to attempt batting aside of the Acolyte's lightsabers and one massive, prehensile toed foot is sent kicking straight at her midsection in a bid to send her tumbling back and away.
"My path IS what I make it!" Tara spits back, not yet enraged, but eager to pursue. Her lightsabers move in constant flurry, striking to harm but each attempt is redirected or blocked outright. When Zalon uses the smoke for concealment, she follows.
It is not clear what happens inside, only the result saw the shorter Acolyte launched from the smoke and thrown far into the air from a solid kick. When she hit the deck floor, she slid across it until the bulkhead stopped her, knocking the wind from her lungs and leaving her stunned.
It was maddening that she had not landed a blow yet, and that every flurry was met with a stalwart and calm defense. She felt her emotions surge, the need to feel in control, to direct her rage, her instincts, her everything into this moment.
"I will be free. My chains will be broken.. I must win!"
Tara hoists herself back up and charges at Zalon Bo with all the rage and power she can muster.
Domanace lands his brutal slash on some poor Ithorian who got in his way. Smoking hunks of meat that were once a person fall away as the tall Sith Lord approaches Juria with no fear in his deep set yellow eyes.
"Hm. Wou wield that with some level of competence," he says. "But you are not a warrior. Then again, few Jedi are anymore. Your kind lack the Will to be such."
The lightsabers seem to resonate, both his pair and Juria's, the kyber inside pulsing and reacting to each other. Fury warring against peace. One lightsaber flickers towards Juria, the tongue of an adder testing the air. Just as quickly, the second saber lashes out, and then the first again. The blades hum with almost tangible anger.
"What is this? Too late for me? Redemption?" His laugh is like the crawling of a snake in dead leaves. "I spit on your forgiveness. I -loathe- your redemption!"
His eyes seem to glow in the baleful light of his lightsabers as he locks his gaze with Juria. It's terrible, the Dark Side boils within Dominace, almost seeming to dim the light around him.
"To reach a hand down to somebody, they need to be beneath you! And I am beneath noone!"
In direct counter to Darth Domanace's aggression is Juria's timid deflection of each blow. At least it appears timid, but that's by design. She is a lichen katydid, an insect native to the wilds of Corellian that takes on the appearance to lure bigger predators into brabble bushes by camoflaging itself amongst the thorns. She deliberately over compensates her deflective downward strokes with elaborate, exagerated, swipes of her glowing blade. Sending them harmlessly through furnitures rather than flesh.
Always with that calm projection despite the outward appearance of desperation of her movements. She's never been a very good liar. She doesn't have to be, however. Because she's small and moves with a precognative lilt that lets the amber hued double blades of the Sith's sabers pass inches from her body as if he's getting the upper hand on her.
Stirring them on back pedaling feet.
Away from the Councilors fleeing from a side entrance.
Sparks as their blades collid, once, twice, three times.
Spider-webs of glass above as the hull adjusts, auibly rending due to the explosion, and shifts the weight of the Garden Ship enough to twist the frames. The glass rains down around them, leaving them protected only by the shields of the ship from being drawn out into the void of space. Truly beneath the stars, as close as they safely can be.
Under a canopy of darkness when lights flicker. Leaving the four combatants illuminated only by the glow of their weapons. "Which is why you are not my enemy. You owe me no apology and I offer you no forgiveness. Redemption is not mine to give you..." There clash of blades is shadowed by the Darkness boiling from Darth Dominace where it meets the Serenity and light radiating off of Juria.
"It's still not too late for you."
While Tara is hurled from the billowing smoke, Zalon pursues. He springs from the smoke and upon landing his lightsaber shifts from one hand to the other, taking the opportunity to properly array himself for battle. The shift of his lightsaber from one large hand to the other permits him to shrug from his robes. The humble traveler's garb that he wears beneath in their earthen tones don't cast the Lasat as an intimidating figure, but for some the sheer size of the alien's enough to widen eyes and cause second thoughts. Yet there are no battle roars or other bestial calls to signal his ferocity. Instead the padawan shifts one foot ahead of the other, presents his lightsaber before himself, and prepares for a renewal of the Sith's assault.
It's telling just how ferocious that the acolyte's bristling fury becomes that as she charges forward with all of her rage fueling her presence within the Force, that he doesn't just give ground or attempt to block her blows, but actively attempts to slip aside them. A close call singes a sleeve of his tunic, sending the reeking scent of burnt fibers and perhaps even scorched Lasat hair to join with the acrid scent of smoke as a result of the explosions.
"You break your chains by turning from those who shackled you!" he calls back over the sound of blaster fire, the whirling growl of lightsabers, and the scorching hiss of their blades connecting. Zalon spins away from one of Tara's blows, only to find her second lightsaber slashing it at another angle to eviscerate him. His arm twists, extending his blade downward in a last second effort to block her strike and attempt to redirect it up and away so that he may set himself in a position to, hopefully, catching the third strike that will surely follow from her opposite hand. While Zalon hasn't quite fallen into acts of desperation to protect himself, it's clear that the violent onslaught of his opponent and her two blades is rapidly becoming a matter of concern as the padawan's defenses are constantly tested by her brutality and rage-fueled swiftness. The ground that he gives now isn't by some grand duelist's strategy, but instead by the storm that he's subjected.
He stumbles slightly as he takes a step back, attempting to create distance between himself and his attacker. A smoking piece of debris could have spelled his doom as he steps back and onto it. Where many may have fallen to their back through the influence of an aggressive attacker and an unfortunately placed obstacle, Zalon's presence within the Force practically ripples from him as he turns what very well could have been a stumble into a remarkably nimble sideways flip as his lightsaber flashes up between his own legs to prevent another of the acolyte's blows that could have bisected the Lasat from a most unfortunate and tragic angle.
Tara is beyond words at that point, and the only noise coming from her are those of utter frustration, desperation, and rage. She wouldn't admit it, but the padawan was her greatest foe yet, and the source of this realization came when she realized her fights to this point had never laid her life on the line. She had been a student, but now she stood in the forging fire and used what techniques she could to hammer out a result.
Unfortunately, the only yield that emerged from the flames triggered more disappointment. She could swing and swing and swing, but he was getting the better of her be it through skill, patience, training, or just sheer size. Feeling herself tire, she allowed a moment between them as he deflected her last. Sweat glistened her face, even dripped from her chin. She deactivated one lightsaber, hooking it back to her belt and held the other now with both hands. Exhaustion found its way into her muscles and had her sucking for air, shoulders heaving. "If I die.. " She shares, "..my entire life would have been for nothing."
"I must do this. There are no alternatives."
She stepped toward him poised to strike.
Part of Darth Dominace wonders if this woman is being insufferably kind on purpose to frustrate him, or if that's just how she is. Either way, it is making the Sith Lord incredibly frustrated. As she parries his blows with seeming clumsiness, part of him knows he's being played, at least on some level. Her blocks are to lull him into a false sense of superiority so she can take advantage of his ego driven missteps.
And he walks right into it.
He's still fast and ferocious, but now he's gotten sloppier. Going for bigger, more brutal swings that are easier to defend against, leave him open for a counterattack, but are lethal strikes if they strike home.
"There is but one path. Power. The galaxy in our grip. Nothing else. Your weakness will be removed from the galaxy. We will come for you. You know it to be true."
He's flush with the Dark Side. Almost drunk with it. Full of power and wrath.
Likewise, Juria is aware that he's playing into her ploy trying to draw out some semblance of real confrontation from the elsewhile defensive, clumsy, Jedi Knight. It's only once the majority of the security has ushered the Council out of the chamber that he gets what he wants, but not in the way that he likely wants it.
Now her deflective blows are purposeful and crisp. She is not a warrior by any stretch of the imagination and he is leaps and bounds more skilled with a lightsaber than she is. Her advantage comes in her patience, in her confidence. Perhaps in some grim acceptance. As if she knows how the story ends while everyone else is still reading the book.
It doesn't end yet.
So she takes chances that defy logic.
No skilled combatant would brush INTO the guard of a stronger opponent. Not one wielding twin blades to her singular saber. But she does so smoothly, just under one of his more aggresive overhead swings. Right beneath his left elbow. Fluid as water in a jar, she tilts her body forward and walks beneath his arm, like someone crossing the street.
She's got him on the cusp of his frustration.
And she keeps fueling the fire of his power by overtly mocking him with her actions.
With her easy, calm, smile.
"There are always branching paths and the future is never so certain." She lacks the acrobatics of Zalon, the ruthlessness of Tara, or the brute strength of Darth Dominace, but her existance in the Force is a shimmering radiance. The glow of her cyan blade on her white robes as she again looks up to the stars through the shimmering blue glow of shields. "Empress of the Void."
Her smile flickers... her eyes close for a moment, then open to stare at him.
"It's almost too late for you."
"Do what you must and so will I," Zalon answers with a shallow bow of his head toward Tara. He speaks it like the forging of a pact while they take their moment to catch their breath. Zalon does not advance while his opponent makes herself ready, but he does take a moment to close his eyes and center his own mind. His own breathing slows and he seems to center himself, spiritually and physically. He is prepared and judging by the Lasat's golden eyes settling upon Tara when they reopen, he's determined. He is ready. The Force is with him.
He begins to advance on her then with his lightsaber now mirroring her own grip, held between two hands. He attacks high in a bid to draw her guard up and he speaks as their lightsabers clash with a bone-shaking impact as the Lasat's raw physical strength comes crashing down, "You uncertain of yourself, but I have faith in you," he says as his lightsaber rebounds from Tara's and whirls about, slashing in from the side in another attempt to draw her guard away from her center.
There is no rage that rolls from him. While her may breathe heavier than before, there is no urgency to his movements. He has forsaken an erratic strategy for precision. His training fuels his movements and his natural physiology lends strength to them alongside the Force. Their lightsabers clash as Zalon's own speed is directed at the Sith acolyte as he seeks to overwhelm her defenses, her senses, and her sheer ability to resist his own counterattacks as he begins to press his own advantage with deliberate and calculated intent.
For a moment in time and space, all distractions around them disappear. Tara sees Zalon and vice versa, and the pair perform a deadly dance using the lightsaber as an extension of their will. They are encased by its glow, the sweeping green and red as each reaches for the other only to collide at different intervals.
Two opposing forces both appear to feel it in that moment. The Force, it flows through them, sweeping them up like a current, each pull and push characterized by a will that may or may not have been their own.
Tara finds peace in the moment, at the height of their battle, the connection with the Force, with Zalon Bo, with purpose. Unfortunately, all stories have an end.
When the blow came it was a surprise for her. Robbed her of her breath, and confused her all at once. The burning had not even set in yet, or perhaps it was the location of the strike that did her in, ending the feeling in her nerves so she might be spared her last moments of pain.
Strength failed her, the very air failed her, and all she felt in the moment was a longing for purpose again. To feel the ebb and flow of the force one more time...
It came after she fell from her knees and landed on her side. Her eyes never closed as the final breath exited her mouth, and her vision faded, and her conscience was carried some place else. She found what she sought all along; it was over.
Free at last.
Does he catch her shift in movement? Her change in her precision and poise? It's hard to tell. He's falling into the trap that many Sith do. His anger rises, so his power rises, and he just relies on that. Fundamentals and basics fly out the airlock, replaced with raw brutality and strength.
When she moves into his guard and just walks under his elbow, he has a flicker vision of his own death. When it doesn't come, he doesn't feel relieved. He doesn't feel amazed.
He's -offended-.
"You had a -strike-!" The Sith Lord roars, kicking down on the deckplate and sliding backwards, boots scraping. "You -insult- me so!?" He shifts the grip on both of his lightsabers, making ready to resume his attack when he feels it, his gaze snapping over to his now fallen apprentice.
Somewhere deep in his mind, he is saddened by this. Her potential was great, and her skills with the Force were growing rapidly. It's gone now. On the surface, he just sneers. "So. She was weaker than I thought. Still. She was my apprentice," he says, attention fixing onto Zalon. "And you have stolen her from me."
He twirls his right handed saber, and lunges for the Padawan. His form seems to blur, his speed suddenly superhuman. He leads with his right hand in a vicious thrust for center-left in his torso. A strike for the heart.
Fair is fair, after all.
It's unfortunate really.
Juria opens her mouth to say something to the Dark Lord when he insists that she has insulted him, but he's gone before she can do so. He's gone towards the fallen Apprentice laying beneath the blade of the Padawan that had accompanied her. Time slows down in the moment, as time often does, when multiple paths suddenly become one. Juria smiles.. It's no longer the calm and easy expression, but one of sadness. Eyes go down at the glow of her cyan blade as it glitters in the multiple beads dangling from the hilt of her saber. Casting off the furious red of duel blades rushing towards Zalon.
Darth Dominace leans all of his fury into his attack, attempting to strike down a young Jedi in some semblance of vengence that shall not be met. Because Juria feels the sudden freedom young Tara must have felt in that last moment as her presence in the force disappeared.
Moving with a feline's grace, white robes shift past the black clad Dark Lord to present herself betwixt him and Zalon. No glow of cyan, only the angry red against her white robes radiating back at him. The sum of his anger meeting the totality of her peaceful acceptance.
Except for her eyes.
Emerald green. Staring at him.
With a hand coming up to rest upon the leathery flesh of his face.
"I forgive you."
Blood oozes over her pale pink lip, mixes with the single tear rolling down her eye. Then gravity grabs her shoulders and pulls her backwards off the blade stabbed through her heart.
The back-and-forth between Sith acolyte and Jedi padawan is nearly at a blur as the beams of red and green clash with one another. Each time a new angle of attack and defense is called upon within fractions of a second, with every avenue explored for an opening. An elbow lashes out and on account of his considerably height, that means that jarring little nudge connects with the female human's chin. It's enough to set her off-balance and with a rapid shift of Zalon's feet, the green-bladed lightsaber slashes first across her thigh before a twist of his arm at the elbow and a flick of his wrist sends the blade's point into the chest of the his opponent. He does not posture or offer her some witty remark at her sudden defeat, but he does disengage his lightsaber as one hand flashes forward to catch her by the front of her tunic and hold her by it for a moment.
The green beam disengages and the hilt greedily draws the energy back into itself with a hissing inhale. He doesn't permit Tara to crumple to the deck, but instead lowers her stoically to it. He does not offer any parting words for the moment, but the gesture is one of respect at least. Even if his opponent had moments ago been seeking to defeat and slay him, she had fought well. It was a fair and just end, but one that is treated with respect in the end.
The acolyte overcome, Zalon's attention turns to regard the brutal figure that is Darth Dominace and the stern expression that Zalon sends back mingles with surprise when he seems to break away from his opponent and rush toward himself. Again Zalon's lightsaber ignites in defiance of the Sith's advance and Zalon's expression grows all the more focused as he begins to step forward. The sudden shift of white that intercedes, stepping between himself and the enraged Sith results in Zalon taking a half-step back as he finds the tip of red glowing from the back of the Jedi Knight before him.
There is a flicker of shock as Zalon's eyes flicker from the point of red and the one who stands opposite himself in relation to Juria.
No emotion, there is peace.
No passion, there is serenity.
No death, there is the Force.
Zalon's golden eyes turn from Dominace to Juria as the Jedi Knight falls away from the deadly red beam. He does not shout, roar, or snarl. As he had told the acolyte: there are paths to choose. It seems that it isn't the path of the dark side that Zalon Bo, Padawan of the Jedi Order, chooses today. He takes to action. It isn't fury that drives him, but the desire to liberate the people of Ithor from the shackles of tyranny. It isn't rage that fuels him, but the desire to defeat a monster who staunchly refused to turn away from their path of evil.
Zalon surges forward with his own form of strength and vigor. The Force flows through him and guides his arm, sending the green lightsaber's blade in a rapid staccato of testing strikes as they slash and swipe across the presence of Darth Dominace.
"You dragged her here in chains," he speaks sternly and without passion as his own heavy blows begin to rain down upon the Sith and the Lasat presses his own natural advantages of height and reach even as he continues to speak of his fellow warrior's shortcomings, "you taught her to embrace her rage," he says between their exchange of blows, "and she was defeated," he continues his point even as the sound of their battle hisses and growls with the meeting of their lightsabers, "just as her, your rage will be your undoing".
Through him the Force flows and somewhere within it he knows that it has gained the strength and wisdom of a Jedi Knight.
Surprise is the expression that blooms on the face of Darth Dominace. The body impaled upon the red blade of one of his lightsabers is not the one he expected. Instead of the Padawan, he instead slays the Knight.
And in her last seconds, she once again forgives him.
It seemingly starts to shake him, his Sith eyes fluttering in shock as first her hand touched his leathery face, and that single tear falls down her cheek. He starts to slip, but once more his ego and the Dark Side's whispers turn her final act of sacrifice and compassion into something disgusting.
He steps back, drawing his weapon free of her now lifeless body, showing poor Juria none of the respect Zalon showed his apprentice. Still, he seems to be trying to fully process her sacrifice, and it leaves him on the back foot for Zalon's relentless assault.
Lightsabers clash, the Sith Lord using his reach and mastery of the weapon to keep the searing green blade from his flesh. "Chains," he spits. "She was only chained by weakness. Victory shatters all chains. The Force frees us from them, boy."
The harsh clash and hiss echo through the now expty chamber, the flash of the plasma blades impacting burning like sheet lightning through the darkness. "I can feel your anger at her death. Your hate for me. You reject them," he says, his leather crumbling voice turning towards something more enticing. "If you use them, you could strike me down."
Dominace plants his feet and sweeps both lightsabers out, throwing a telekinetic shockwave at Zalon to buy him a little space.
The exchange of blows culminates in the Sith Lord's words being punctuated by a wave of telekinetic energy that sends Zalon stumbling and sprawling backward onto the same table that he'd previously used to prevent the barrage of debris from striking himself and Juria. It had helped to defend the pair of Jedi in a moment of need and again it provides for the padawan in a time of urgent need. The debris that it rests atop keeps it propped up and as a result prevents Zalon being fully knocked to his back. He pushes from the slanted table and the debris beneath it shifts, causing the shattered tabletop to settle to the floor amid ashes and charred durasteel.
Again Zalon returns for the Sith Lord. Still without passion. Still without rage. There is sadness to be found within him, but it is tempered by resolve. Cold, hard determination. The planet Ithor is rich with life. All around him he can feel life through the unseen threads that connect everything to the Force. The Lasat's brow furrows even as he feels himself and his opponent, surrounded by the entirety of the planetary backdrop teeming with life. There is hope, there is life. He does not draw upon it, but basks within it. It fuels him and energizes him against the darkness. His breathing slows and his movements seem to become rote, falling into the motions of the sevinte cadences. He deflects and a blow answers the strikes of Darth Dominace, while Zalon's own blade lashes out at the left arm of his opponent. When his strike fails and he shifts his own blade in answer to the first counterattack and second of his opponent, Zalon's own takes the opportunity to redirect his own blade from his opponent's toward the Sith Lord's leg leg in a bid to sweep it across to his adversary's right leg. While he remains unpredictable in his movements and strokes, Zalon Bo relies upon his training in confronting the dark side's vessel in the force of Darth Dominace.
Then comes the unconventional.
The touch-and-go deflections cease in one telling moment. No words are exchanged. There are no proclamations or triumphs declared.
Zalon Bo's head dips forward and the thick forehead of the alien smashes into the face of Dominace and as he begins to stumble back and away from the blow. Large feet shuffle and the menacing growl of a lightsaber heralds the coming of justice as the padawan's blade slashes from above and the right in a bid to deliver a devastating blow to the unrelenting and remorseless Sith Lord.
The thrill of combat, the rush of pure violence, fuels Darth Dominace. The tinge of terror from dancing along the knife's edge. The fury of plans ruined and an apprentice lost. The sick joy of murdering a Jedi. All of these loop through the Sith Lord and make him powerful. The thing about power is that you can absolutely be drunk in it. You revel in it, grow arrogant and make mistakes.
The terrible crash and hiss of lightsabers impacting on each other resounds through the chamber again and again. Dominace moves like an adder, striking like lightning with one saber, using the other for defense. As the exchange continues, the Sith Lord gets sloppy. He takes shots that he shouldn't. His parries are strong but not technical. It's not so much that he's tiring, it's that he's growing arrogant and unintentionally self destructive with the Dark Side.
Zalon comes in with a no nonsense, by the book strike. Dominace sneers. This -boy- thinks to challenge him? To ... To strike him down with such basic bladework? "Fool," he growls. He spins his left handed saber into a reverse grip, bringing the right one up in a flourish. He catches the blade, pushing against Zalon's strong and steady pulse of life. He tries to swing the left in an attack, but he signed his own death warrant.
The reverse grip interferes, the tip of his left handed blade striking his blocking right handed blade, knocking it away. His eyes widen in surprise as the green blade pushes through, carving him from right shoulder to left hip in a hiss of burning flesh. Two lightsabers drop to the floor, winking out.
The Sith Lord, eyes burning with hatred, lifts his now free hands. Sparks of electricity start to dance across his knuckles as he summons everything he has left to hurl electricity at the boy.
Instead, he slumps to the ground, nothing more than smoking meat, and not understanding why.
The sound of flames and sparks seem to leap to the forefront of the background noise. The blaster fire had moved elsewhere as the battle became a game of advance and retreat for the combatants. It left the Jedi and Sith alone in the chamber and when the telling blow fell upon Darth Dominace, there were none to witness the downfall of the Dark Lord. None save for a Padawan. Zalon Bo's shoulders rise and fall with each of his breaths, steady but heavy. The exertion was prolonged and taxing, but the battle wasn't truly over yet. Even as the last tendrils of electrical energy begins to dissipate from the hand of the Sith Lord, Zalon's lightsaber is swiftly brought up before himself. He may feel the life of the Sith beginning to fade away, but he maintains his defense. It is only when he's certain of his opponents defeat that the padawan's lightsaber disengages and he turns, rushing toward the fallen Jedi Knight in the form Juria. Already a hand slips to the utility belt that he wears, seeking out the medpac that the doctor keeps there. He knows she's gone. He knows that there's nothing that a little bacta spray or wound sealant can do to bring her back.
Despite that his steps slow as his attention turns to the Jedi Knight in white. He drops to a knee alongside her with a medpac in one hand and a lightsaber hilt in the other as his chin lowers, then Zalon's voice issues from Padawan to Knight, stern as it so often is, yet with the warm that he so often exudes, "Master," he seems both surprised and taken aback as uncertainty seems to pour from his voice, "I," his voice hitches for a moment before he asks, "how can I help you?"
Juria slumps backwards and catches herself, but the fight is over for her. She can feel life bleeding away, running down pale skin to drip onto white robes above the smoldering hole in the center left of her chest. She doesn't look down at it because she doesn't have to. Not to know what it means. She's known since the blast that there was a path that led to this moment.
Zalon rushes at the Dark Lord and part of her is proud, though she only barely knew the Padawan. She's proud that he did not give himself over to anger at seeing a Jedi Knight struck down. She's proud because of what it means for the Order that she's given her entire adult life to.
Freedom in the face of tyranny always comes with sacrifice, but Juria doesn't look at herself as a martyr. This was not an act of heroism or bravado, but the Will of the Force guiding her down the correct path. So as Zalon's blade clashes against Darth Dominace's, Jedi Knight Juria nexum lowers herself down to her knees and settles to stare up at the stars.
There's a kindling of sadness in the serenity because even Jedi feel emotions. It's the deligence of not letting those emotions dictate action that makes them Jedi. To wield the Force and act within the Will of it's designs that truly defines them.
Her eyes glitter as she calls upon the Force to disassemble her lightsaber. Just as the Force takes away, it gives life. If only fleeting moments to appreciate the tapestry of the design in all the true splendor. Her blade comes apart and she slips the cyan blue kybar crystal out. She unweaves the beads from the hilt. Then she puts the blade back together. A lowly Y-Wing control yolk sitting down on the ground at her knees.
She knows the way the battle ends because she always knew. She doesn't need to see it.
She only looks away from the stars when Zalon approaches her. "Just a flesh wound."
How she manages that joke is beyond anyone's guess, but she was always an odd duck.
They both know it's far worse than that. With her bloody smile, hand extending to take his wrist and set the small cyan crystal in his palm. "I'm glad you asked... I need you to take this, find Evie Kora and gives this to her. Tell her that I'll be waiting for her in the void. That I'll always love her. That she shouldn't be sad or angry. Tell her to tell our daughter that her mother is always there now. To watch her. Watch her grow.. watch her successes and failures and all that life brings for her." She closes his hand around the crystal.
Then wraps the beads around his wrist. "These are for you know.." Her voice is distant, hollow, as life fades. "They are a memory for every time I've ever wield my lightsaber against the Darkness. Never forget." She pats his hand.
Then looks up at the glass, shimmering shields causing an atmospheric like quality to the stars. "I'm just going to rest here for a while." A distant smile, she's already gone.
"Empress of the void."
The words are her last. Head slowly drooping forward as the Force slips away what remains of the fallen Jedi Knight. A silhouette of white, kneeling beneath the stars.
