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Upon the Wastes; I4E vs Vexas
Topic Started: Aug 12 2007, 08:23 PM (143 Views)
I4E
Unregistered

[align=center]What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats
[/align]

He waited upon a barren plane, surrounded by the rocky wastes of Geonosis. No wind blew, and no shade appeared to grant relief from the beating rays of a golden sun overhead. Draped upon the saviour's body, a cloak of purest white remained undisturbed, hanging over his stalwart frame as the red moss and lichen upon the barren stone. Eyes od brilliant green looked on from behind a stoic obsidian mask, while strands of hair black as the night itself draped out over a lowered hood. His hands lay at his sides, as the figure stared toward the horizon unwaveringly. It seemed he wished to burn a hole in the noonday sky with his very gaze.

[align=center]And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock
[/align]

The air was hot and dry, and no cloud served to obscure the sky above the arid terrain. Heat rose in waves from the waste, obscuring the asperous mix of stone and mirage that made up the landscape. It was here he waited, expecting a new arrival, for he had issued a challenge to one of the fiercest warriors across the galaxy. Vexas Saix. He had provided coordinates and a time, which approached quickly, to the renowned assassin whom he'd not yet had the pleasure of locking blades with. He'd heard tales of the Echani's fearsome might and prowess in combat, but such claims were only fuel on the proverbial fire. Now his eyes scanned the horizon repeatedly, looking for any sign of the incoming adversary, and anticipation licked at him like well-fed flames.

[align=center]And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you
[/align]

A breeze came from the north, cold and swift with its eerie howl playing melodically throughout the wasteland. Nature herself reeled at the magnitude of the fight to come, adding her cries to those of battle which would soon follow. Dust billowed in great clouds from the earth, and lichens were peeled mercilessly from their rocky places of peaceful rest. Death could be smelled upon the cruel wind, and felt in the very core of the place. Somewhere in the distance, a raven squawked its omen and urged any sane man to flee, before the reaper's bloody scythe fell. A nagging unease settled over the terrain; a great foreboding for what lay certainly ahead. And still he waited.

[align=center]I will show you fear in a handful of dust.[/align]
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Vexas
Unregistered

The crunch of grit and dust beneath well worn boots was like a gunshot amidst the windswept quiet. The harsh glare of the sun, coupled with the stinging bite wind thrown sand on the few exposed areas of his body. Truly his opponent had the better sense, for those voluminous robes of shining white were certainly cooler than the black hakama and kimono that the Echani now wore. In keeping with the honor of the challenge, he wore no fearsome armor, only the loose clothing of his people. On his belt hung his trademark saber, its polished electrum hilt gleaming in the sun. Behind him, locked in place in the small of his back lay the second saber, so recently liberated from the dust filled crypts of Yavin IV. Both were elegant weapons, their two handed hilts hiding the surprise of their double bladed existence, yet that would be revealed later.

However, his mind was focused, the mental preparations ticking back and forth like the hands of a clock. Every step was a revelation, a constant series of checks on both physical and mental condition. Not that it mattered, he was still in perfect health, and had already taken the liberty of arriving early, so that he might stretch and take a moment of meditation to focus and prepare. He existed in a state of perpetual readiness, though against this mysterious savior no precaution was too much. With most of the Jedi, it was a simple matter of reading the accumulated data on a target, becoming familiar with their character and mannerisms, and then crippling them systematically. Yet this opponent would be unlike the others, aside from the fact that the mysterious Saviour had appeared in the wastes of Tatooine, at the head of a local militia their was next to nothing known. Yet he had locked blades with the likes of Seth of the Spartans. Perhaps this one would be the challenge he had hoped to find in all the others, a hope that had until this battle proven bitterly dissapointment at the end of each of these minor scuffles.

He could see the opponent, standing shrouded in the billowing cloak of white, standing out in relief against the sands around them. A solitary change of the otherwise endless stretch of sandy dune. Vexas continued his measured pace, ignoring the almost inperceptable change in his heart beat, as though his body sought to express the sudden swell of hope at the thought of worthy battle. Yet the assassin was far too well trained for that, he had long ago sought nothing less than the epitome of control, so as quickly as his heart would flutter, he was back in rigid control. Stopping some few yards away, he brought both hands forward, laying the bottom of his right fist upon the open palm of his left hand and giving a slight bow. The traditional greeting between two warriors in the Echani culture, though whether or not this one would know this was a moot point.

"Greetings, I hope my arrival has not strayed from the appointed time."

He said, his voice naturally quiet and possessing an undertone that was every bit as cold as the deepest arctic recesses of Hoth. He locked his strange, miss-matched eyes on the masked figure. One a normal silverly blue, the other a strange golden iris set in a sea of black.
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I4E
Unregistered

The hunter approached. In his simple and traditional garments he looked rather benign, perhaps even docile, but One knew beyond the facade lied a man who dealt death as calmly as a deck of cards. He noticed the mismatched eyes as the man approached, the cornea of one disturbingly dark against the Echani's silver hair. He carried only lightsabers, which served as a relief on the saviour's mind. Tales of Vexas' terrific array of weaponry, stopped at no ends; some rather ignorant soldiers even claimed that, like a magician, he held every blade blaster and bludgeon ever crafted up his sleeves, to be called on the slightest whim.

The man's voice was soft, though it carried a bite as strong as the wind's veiled beneath the fragile words. He was not aware of the origins of the salute that preceded his words, but returned it with the staunch military salute of the Tatooine militia. It was a symbol of his honour; the fight would be a fair one, uninterrupted by either of the combatant's military forces.

"You're fashionably early, in fact. I thank you for accepting my call, and arriving with such punctuality. Now, unless we have matters to further discuss, might the contest of mettle begin? May your blade be keen, Vexas Saix."

The masked man's own voice was deep and firm, affixed with an air of authority stemming from several years of serving as the Supreme Commander of the closest thing Tatooine had to a military. He drew neither of his twin crimson blades, giving the challenged the courtesy of bearing the first blade.
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Vexas
Unregistered

Vexas allowed himself a brief moment of surprise, before returning to calm complacity. The Sith aligned Assassin studied the gesture, obviously a salute of some kind, and noted the fact that The Saviour now seemed to wait, as though he would cordially give Vexas the honor of first draw.

"You honor me with such a comment, though that might not have been your intention. However, I agree to the terms, and wish that your blade would prove the opportunity for me to truly know your heart."

He said, as he dropped his hand to his belt, drawing one of his sabers. This man knew no fear, that much was evident from his stance and the tone of his voice. A single mistake, would likely be fatal. However Vexas fancied himself a man who did not make such mistakes. Even now, his breathing was calm, his heartbeat even and slow. It was a state that he suspected this man shared, when one was in total control of the body's reactions, aware of the source of danger, yet ever remaining in control.

"My people believe that the only way to know another, is through combat. Though this is partly because of my race's tendency to produce identical offspring. Learning to read every part of another's physical movements was essential to determining the identity of whom you faced. However, beyond even that their is a purity in battle that reveals what hours of conversation would never even gloss upon. As a person's technique becomes a sense of poetry in motion, revealing even what they might hold secret from themselves. In that regard, it will be my pleasure to learn to know you."

He said, as he held the saber hit forward, parallel to the ground, as though offering the gleaming electrum hilt for inspection. With the weapon held directly in front of him, fully extended, he triggered the power control. Twin lances of pure energy boiled forth, with that oh so distinctive snap hiss of an igniting energy blade. They flashed outward, hissing and crackling in shifting loops that began and ended at the two flux apertures on either end of the device. Vexas was particularly proud of the blade, as he had eschewed the generic red blade of the Sith, in favor of this unique color. A kaleidescope of shifting oranges surrounding a brilliant white core, the blades of the saber seemed as though magma in constant motion, or the heart of a brilliant fire.

Any Jedi or even well trained non force user might wield the single bladed lightsaber, might even master it to a profound degree. Yet Vexas had come to believe that only a true master might effectively wield this particular weapon, The double bladed lightsaber had first been created millennia ago by the legendary Dark Lord Exar Kun. That particular first of its kind, also hung on Vexas' belt. Though now was not the time to draw that particular weapon. Even when wielding what was viewd as a "normal" double blade, with its overlong handle, one would have to carefully maintain a state of constant balance and total atunement, or risk injury to oneself. However, the distinct and somewhat unique hilt that lay in Vexas' hand was only about half the length of the commenly used variant of the double blade. This particular saber, had been built in the tradition of Exar Kun's original creation, and required far more concentration, almost to the point where anything less than wielding the blade as an extension of oneself would be fatal.

Having drawn his weapon, Vexas now paused, waiting patiently for his white clad opponent to do the same. This was not an assassination, their would be nothing less than total dictation to the customs of an honorable duel on the Echani's part.
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