The screeching of the blades was as loud as the tension within the chamber. The durasteel of the walls reflected the crimson of the lightsabers' plasma, flickering every time the two sprung in action in irregular intervals. When they did, the blades bound, producing fiery sparks to protest their clash, before both were pulled far apart again, with the dueling fighters once again entering a choreography of creeping steps, vulturing in circles around one another. The hulking figure of the Dark Lord towering over his opponent, though her steps much faster, equalling his' in deliberation and intent.
"The Empire was weak." he intoned. A declaration made in growling voice, not disturbing the tense silence that defined the duel.
"They knew war. They knew battle. But they latched to their corrupt ways, no longer driven by the zeal it once defined the Sith..."
The plasma of his blade black, with red tendrils of lightning disturbing the unstable shape of the lightblade. The crystal wept, broken and corrupt enough to bare no memory of its old self; A perfect reflection of the Dark Lord who called himself its master...
"The cure to plague is fire. Wrathful and unyielding, like the Sith once were."
His grip low, keeping the blade by his side while his free hand mimicked the gesture, exposing his chest to the foe in an invitation befitting the Makashi stance adopted. In perfect alignment to the Dark Crusade's zealous nature, the Dark Lord befell his opponent in waves, like ocean crashing upon the bulwark. He attacked, then defended. When the opponent pushed hard enough, he attacked again. Tides of malice, brought to bare by a single swipe of his foul weapon.
"The war I sparked brought many before this most obvious a truth, up to now ignored out of cowardice or convenience..." his steps orbiting the opponent, each bringing him yet a little bit closer. A creeping tempest, making its way over the city to the sound of lightning.
"No longer..."
In a swift act, he thrusted his blade against her. To spar with him was a trial in and of itself. He did not accept the use of "stun", though many a lightsaber was capable of providing. It was his belief, that one could not simulate the thrill of combat unless exposed to it. The Sith were bound by mortality, meant to break their chains through their pledging to the Dark Side. To lose a duel, was to be weak. To be weak, meant he would no longer serve his purpose, as a Dark Lord.
Unimpressed by use of means that secured his position, Darth Eosfor chose to expose himself frequently in the trials of his dark horde, either through participating in the battles himself, leading from the thickest of frontiers, or by challenging rivals or enemy champions alike, in single combat.
His blade came thrusting, aimed to her chest, while the Dark Lord took a step closer to her, contesting her own control zone, followed up by a sarlacc sweep, meant to clash with any resistance presented for the air separating the two.
"The Empire was weak." he intoned. A declaration made in growling voice, not disturbing the tense silence that defined the duel.
"They knew war. They knew battle. But they latched to their corrupt ways, no longer driven by the zeal it once defined the Sith..."
The plasma of his blade black, with red tendrils of lightning disturbing the unstable shape of the lightblade. The crystal wept, broken and corrupt enough to bare no memory of its old self; A perfect reflection of the Dark Lord who called himself its master...
"The cure to plague is fire. Wrathful and unyielding, like the Sith once were."
His grip low, keeping the blade by his side while his free hand mimicked the gesture, exposing his chest to the foe in an invitation befitting the Makashi stance adopted. In perfect alignment to the Dark Crusade's zealous nature, the Dark Lord befell his opponent in waves, like ocean crashing upon the bulwark. He attacked, then defended. When the opponent pushed hard enough, he attacked again. Tides of malice, brought to bare by a single swipe of his foul weapon.
"The war I sparked brought many before this most obvious a truth, up to now ignored out of cowardice or convenience..." his steps orbiting the opponent, each bringing him yet a little bit closer. A creeping tempest, making its way over the city to the sound of lightning.
"No longer..."
In a swift act, he thrusted his blade against her. To spar with him was a trial in and of itself. He did not accept the use of "stun", though many a lightsaber was capable of providing. It was his belief, that one could not simulate the thrill of combat unless exposed to it. The Sith were bound by mortality, meant to break their chains through their pledging to the Dark Side. To lose a duel, was to be weak. To be weak, meant he would no longer serve his purpose, as a Dark Lord.
Unimpressed by use of means that secured his position, Darth Eosfor chose to expose himself frequently in the trials of his dark horde, either through participating in the battles himself, leading from the thickest of frontiers, or by challenging rivals or enemy champions alike, in single combat.
His blade came thrusting, aimed to her chest, while the Dark Lord took a step closer to her, contesting her own control zone, followed up by a sarlacc sweep, meant to clash with any resistance presented for the air separating the two.
