Open challenge to one Sith. Spectators are free to join but not to interfere if possible. [OOC thread]
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REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE
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REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE
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There was a dueling chamber at a Korriban temple complex steeped in holy history.
Thousands of years of blood had been spilled there, so that the entire space was absurdly heavy in the dark side, as if the spirits of the dead were an anchor. It was a place where legends had been made and broken, warriors forged in the crucible of battle or their brittle bones cracked and cast aside for the roaming dogs of Korriban to gnaw into nothing.
It was not the first time Qû’jara Jinyeva had been there.
Duels to the death were typically reserved for occasions where one had been gravely offended, in such a way that demanded the most ancient form of retribution. Qû had no such quarrel with her Sith brethren, and it was not mortal combat she sought. These moods befell the colossal Nautolan at times, some function of instinct and inspiration, for to Qû’jara Jinyeva battle was the greatest way she had found to express herself. Perhaps the only way.
The dueling chamber was a thirty-seven by thirty-seven meter room, these measurements chosen for the sacred quality of prime numbers. A warm red light suffused the room from glowing hieroglyphics, every square centimeter of surface on every wall engraved with the lore and mythology of the Sith, so that the history of the dark side itself surrounded them. Above the room multiple balconies emerged so that an audience could gather to watch particularly vicious skirmishes.
There was a single entrance to the chamber through a long pyramidal corridor, itself heavily engraved with the tales of the Sith that came before in intricate patterns that could describe microcircuitry or the Moraband creation myth depending on one's perspective.
The center of the dueling chamber was a circle of sand, eleven meters in circumference. Qû’jara was at one extreme, an electroblade lying in the sand beside her, another situated perfectly symmetrically on the other side of the sand circle should her opponent choose to use it as their weapon. Often Qû’jara's opponents preferred their fists, and she broke them with hers.
She sat in perfect repose, radiating her presence in the Force. There could be no clearer invitation.
Thousands of years of blood had been spilled there, so that the entire space was absurdly heavy in the dark side, as if the spirits of the dead were an anchor. It was a place where legends had been made and broken, warriors forged in the crucible of battle or their brittle bones cracked and cast aside for the roaming dogs of Korriban to gnaw into nothing.
It was not the first time Qû’jara Jinyeva had been there.
Duels to the death were typically reserved for occasions where one had been gravely offended, in such a way that demanded the most ancient form of retribution. Qû had no such quarrel with her Sith brethren, and it was not mortal combat she sought. These moods befell the colossal Nautolan at times, some function of instinct and inspiration, for to Qû’jara Jinyeva battle was the greatest way she had found to express herself. Perhaps the only way.
The dueling chamber was a thirty-seven by thirty-seven meter room, these measurements chosen for the sacred quality of prime numbers. A warm red light suffused the room from glowing hieroglyphics, every square centimeter of surface on every wall engraved with the lore and mythology of the Sith, so that the history of the dark side itself surrounded them. Above the room multiple balconies emerged so that an audience could gather to watch particularly vicious skirmishes.
There was a single entrance to the chamber through a long pyramidal corridor, itself heavily engraved with the tales of the Sith that came before in intricate patterns that could describe microcircuitry or the Moraband creation myth depending on one's perspective.
The center of the dueling chamber was a circle of sand, eleven meters in circumference. Qû’jara was at one extreme, an electroblade lying in the sand beside her, another situated perfectly symmetrically on the other side of the sand circle should her opponent choose to use it as their weapon. Often Qû’jara's opponents preferred their fists, and she broke them with hers.
She sat in perfect repose, radiating her presence in the Force. There could be no clearer invitation.
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