Sashar glanced around the newly created Arcona Arena, a swell of pride threatening to spill out into a smile over his features before he regained composure and turned to the two combatants, both standing before him, the tension veritably bubbling forth from them in the force.
“Juda, you have brought a lightsaber. Maaks, you have brought two Flechette Pistols and a KD-30 Slugthrower Pistol. Remember, no fatalities. Go!” The Consul ordered, stepping back, giving the two Arconans room to move, and to fight.
Juda’s downtrodden expression slanted as the Consul read off the combatant’s weapon list, his lightsaber being his only weapon of choice against Maaks’ detrimental arsenal was a dire choice. “Osik.” he mumbled as Sashar took to his viewing booth.
The Mandalorian stepped into a strong Dulon stance, pulling his dark leather hood over his skull and digging his feet into the loose gravel as the adolescent Miraluka flashed a grin from across the way, striking his chest with a closed fist in mark of respect to his friend before pulling out his dual flechette pistols and striding into a charge, his arms outstretched, fingers brushing the triggers with anticipation.
Juda braced himself, inhaling a sharp intake of musty arena air as he surrendered to the Force, allowing it to guide his actions over the following moments [PCG]. Maaks squeezed the two triggers almost instantaneously, sending two elongated bullets towards the assassin, emitting a drawl whine as they soared through the air. Juda stepped forward, thrusting his hand towards oncoming death and willed the Force to return the favour [PSH]. The bullet repelled against the telekinetic nudge, and returned to the Guardian Kraith who arched his back with superior dexterity, allowing the counter to whiz overhead.
A trace of sweat developed along Juda’s brow as he swiftly dropped to his knees with a thud and physically threw his arms up, using a second telekinetic method to launch the second round high into the air [TRW]. The bullet screeched diagonally upwards and impacted with the hard transparisteel view-screen of the Consul’s booth, the crowd grew deathly silent as the Consul shot a glare towards his old apprentice from behind the reinforced booth.
Juda raised a quick hand in sign of apology as his heartbeat throbbed in his chest, the agile Miraluka gaining closer to the Templar as another two rounds clicked into the chambers of his pistols. The Mandalorian was being pushed to his limits as he broke into a sweat, willing the Force to manipulate the currents of air that surrounded his Guardian comrade until Maaks’ leg was rapidly took from under him. Juda gritted his teeth as he rotated his hands in a circle, still knelt on the harsh sand, forming a whirlwind that raised Maaks off of the ground completely, briskly gyrating the Guardian in it’s torrent until it finally spat him out across the arena [WWD].
Juda crouched forward, his arms propping him up as he caught his breath while Maaks landed awkwardly in the distance with a crack, his two pistols now laying innocently between the Templar and Guardian.
Judge note: 48 hour extension requested by Maaks due to PC trouble. Judge + opponent agree.
Juda: 12 points