Outside of Baaka's abode, overlooking the vast valley that lay beyond the
great city, was a circular, open veranda upon which Terr and Baaka often
practiced the art of sword-fighting. Baaka had a great passion for the
ancient weapon, and his technique was unmatched. Terr, although inferior to
his former-Jedi-Knight foster father in terms of skill, had been gradually
developing a worthy technique of his own.
"Alright, Terr. Raise your weapon. I want you to practice your offensive maneuvers," instructed Baaka.
Terr nodded, and raised the steel blade so that it was parallel to his body. Baaka, standing on the opposite side of the veranda, swung his sword to the side, then raised it over his head and into a defensive position.
When the old Bothan first began teaching his foster son to fight with a saber, Terr was very hesitant to strike at his caretaker. Soon, though, the young man's fears had subsided and gave way to an intense devotion to the classical art of fighting. Now Terr was perhaps the most skilled human swordsman on the planet; quite an accomplishment for a person of his age.
Baaka studied the intensity in Terr's eyes for a moment, and in an instant, he was being charged at. Baaka parried a slash at the legs, and swung his blade toward Terr's chest. Terr quickly blocked the attack. The metal blades shrilled against each other as the two fighters leaned in on the other. Baaka released his weight and jumped backwards, twirling his sword with sheer expertise.
Terr began circling Baaka, careful not to falter in his posture or move his body too much. He had a very adroit, classical form, but Baaka was experienced enough to know how to exploit every weakness of it. He quickly lunged to Terr's side, striking upward in an abrupt motion. Terr swiftly swung his sword around to catch Baaka's strike in mid-swing. Now at an arm's length, the old Bothan was surprised by his foster son's skillful maneuver, but quickly parried his horizontal blade away.
Terr examined Baaka's body motions for anything to indicate the Bothan's next move, but he was quite stoic in appearance. He studied the creature intently, slowly pacing his way closer to his opponent. Taking notice of this, Baaka quickly spun around to provide a forceful interception against Terr's strike. He brought his blade down swiftly, crouching to swipe at Terr's legs. Terr used all his agility to flip backwards, passing over the speedy swing.
In a desperate strike, Baaka lurched forward, thrusting at Terr. Terr landed on his feet and immediately recoiled, letting Baaka drop to the veranda floor. For a moment he became concerned that the old Bothan may have injured himself, but Baaka soon displayed his hardened skill by using his strong, agile legs to leap up. Coming down, he thrust his weapon at Terr, who parried the blade.
The two swordsmen were now locked in a fierce face-to-face battle. Shhhreeehk! Swweeessh! Their blades clashed in an incessant attempt to strike the other down. Terr twirled his saber furiously, trying to wear down Baaka's defenses. The old Bothan stood firm.
Baaka finally ended the stalemate by delivering a powerful, upward slash against Terr's blade. The weapon leaped from his hand, but it tilted in the air and fell into his other. Grasping the hilt firmly, Terr hopped backwards just in time to dodge a slash to the abdomen and retaliated with a forceful strike against Baaka's saber. Terr engaged his opponent in an offensive position, gradually forcing Baaka toward the edge of the veranda.
The Bothan, now breathing quite heavily, realized he was heading into a trap. Suddenly, as Terr was gaining force for another swing, Baaka quickly spiraled and forced his weight against Terr's, sending the human swordsman off balance and falling to the ground. Kicking his weight upward, Terr awkwardly slashed off an incoming strike, as Baaka remained static in an intense fight. Terr was now breathing heavily himself. His muscles were loosening and his parries succeeded at an increasingly slower pace.
Soon, the human found himself swinging away strikes while lying with his rear on the veranda floor. Baaka steadily struck downwards with amazing precision, wearing down Terr's defensive ability until he would be forced to get up.
"Come now, strike!" the old Bothan called out over the shrilling blades, his gray fur drenched with sweat.
Terr's eyes drifted away for a split second, leaving his motions to instinct. In that one lapse of focus, as Baaka peered deep into his foster son's dark eyes, he saw something far beyond the boundaries of the veranda. For that moment, the old creature had seen the realms of the universe in a young human's eyes, independent of time, space, and human destiny.
And just like that, Baaka took glimpse of an outstretched human hand, palm towards him, and in an instant he was sent flying backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. He lay there for a while, until Terr, picking himself up and regaining focus, rushed over to him.
"Baaka! Are you hurt?"
"No.no, I'm very well," the Bothan replied, studying the face of his foster son as if he had expected to see a perfect stranger, but instead saw none other than the familiar Terr. He was picked up to his feet. "Thank you."
The two swordsmen returned their weapons to a pair of ancient, obsidian sheaths located on their blaster belts. Terr led the old Bothan by his arm back towards the hut, pacing slowly before the milieu of the lush Bothawui valley. Baaka looked down at the veranda floor and held a solemn, contemplative silence. Terr, puzzled, stopped and looked down at his old caretaker.
"Is everything alright?"
Baaka raised his head, and stared into oblivion for a few moments before looking at Terr, his dark eyes shimmering with mysterious emotion. Baaka's haggard face showed something akin to the look a mother gives when her firstborn leaves home. It was a look of deep understanding and acceptance, a feeling that obviously moved the creature quite a bit.
"What is it?" Terr asked, curious.
"Oh.nothing," replied Baaka, dismissing his emotion with the shake of a head. Terr could sense that Baaka was still keeping a lot from him, but he felt he shouldn't push the old being too much. Baaka would tell more when he was ready. The two of them resumed their way toward the hut.
Terr shot a grin toward his foster father, and then looked downwards just in time to have his head forced completely upwards by a sudden, piercing noise. The siren was like the call of a distant predator, an indicator of death, but one's only instinctual source for survival. Baaka looked over the ridge, toward the rebel base. The alarm had sounded. Terr looked up at the sky, saw the black hawks of death, and stood firm on the cold veranda. His instinct gripped him.
"I've got to get to the hangar."
"Alright, Terr. Raise your weapon. I want you to practice your offensive maneuvers," instructed Baaka.
Terr nodded, and raised the steel blade so that it was parallel to his body. Baaka, standing on the opposite side of the veranda, swung his sword to the side, then raised it over his head and into a defensive position.
When the old Bothan first began teaching his foster son to fight with a saber, Terr was very hesitant to strike at his caretaker. Soon, though, the young man's fears had subsided and gave way to an intense devotion to the classical art of fighting. Now Terr was perhaps the most skilled human swordsman on the planet; quite an accomplishment for a person of his age.
Baaka studied the intensity in Terr's eyes for a moment, and in an instant, he was being charged at. Baaka parried a slash at the legs, and swung his blade toward Terr's chest. Terr quickly blocked the attack. The metal blades shrilled against each other as the two fighters leaned in on the other. Baaka released his weight and jumped backwards, twirling his sword with sheer expertise.
Terr began circling Baaka, careful not to falter in his posture or move his body too much. He had a very adroit, classical form, but Baaka was experienced enough to know how to exploit every weakness of it. He quickly lunged to Terr's side, striking upward in an abrupt motion. Terr swiftly swung his sword around to catch Baaka's strike in mid-swing. Now at an arm's length, the old Bothan was surprised by his foster son's skillful maneuver, but quickly parried his horizontal blade away.
Terr examined Baaka's body motions for anything to indicate the Bothan's next move, but he was quite stoic in appearance. He studied the creature intently, slowly pacing his way closer to his opponent. Taking notice of this, Baaka quickly spun around to provide a forceful interception against Terr's strike. He brought his blade down swiftly, crouching to swipe at Terr's legs. Terr used all his agility to flip backwards, passing over the speedy swing.
In a desperate strike, Baaka lurched forward, thrusting at Terr. Terr landed on his feet and immediately recoiled, letting Baaka drop to the veranda floor. For a moment he became concerned that the old Bothan may have injured himself, but Baaka soon displayed his hardened skill by using his strong, agile legs to leap up. Coming down, he thrust his weapon at Terr, who parried the blade.
The two swordsmen were now locked in a fierce face-to-face battle. Shhhreeehk! Swweeessh! Their blades clashed in an incessant attempt to strike the other down. Terr twirled his saber furiously, trying to wear down Baaka's defenses. The old Bothan stood firm.
Baaka finally ended the stalemate by delivering a powerful, upward slash against Terr's blade. The weapon leaped from his hand, but it tilted in the air and fell into his other. Grasping the hilt firmly, Terr hopped backwards just in time to dodge a slash to the abdomen and retaliated with a forceful strike against Baaka's saber. Terr engaged his opponent in an offensive position, gradually forcing Baaka toward the edge of the veranda.
The Bothan, now breathing quite heavily, realized he was heading into a trap. Suddenly, as Terr was gaining force for another swing, Baaka quickly spiraled and forced his weight against Terr's, sending the human swordsman off balance and falling to the ground. Kicking his weight upward, Terr awkwardly slashed off an incoming strike, as Baaka remained static in an intense fight. Terr was now breathing heavily himself. His muscles were loosening and his parries succeeded at an increasingly slower pace.
Soon, the human found himself swinging away strikes while lying with his rear on the veranda floor. Baaka steadily struck downwards with amazing precision, wearing down Terr's defensive ability until he would be forced to get up.
"Come now, strike!" the old Bothan called out over the shrilling blades, his gray fur drenched with sweat.
Terr's eyes drifted away for a split second, leaving his motions to instinct. In that one lapse of focus, as Baaka peered deep into his foster son's dark eyes, he saw something far beyond the boundaries of the veranda. For that moment, the old creature had seen the realms of the universe in a young human's eyes, independent of time, space, and human destiny.
And just like that, Baaka took glimpse of an outstretched human hand, palm towards him, and in an instant he was sent flying backwards, hitting the ground with a thud. He lay there for a while, until Terr, picking himself up and regaining focus, rushed over to him.
"Baaka! Are you hurt?"
"No.no, I'm very well," the Bothan replied, studying the face of his foster son as if he had expected to see a perfect stranger, but instead saw none other than the familiar Terr. He was picked up to his feet. "Thank you."
The two swordsmen returned their weapons to a pair of ancient, obsidian sheaths located on their blaster belts. Terr led the old Bothan by his arm back towards the hut, pacing slowly before the milieu of the lush Bothawui valley. Baaka looked down at the veranda floor and held a solemn, contemplative silence. Terr, puzzled, stopped and looked down at his old caretaker.
"Is everything alright?"
Baaka raised his head, and stared into oblivion for a few moments before looking at Terr, his dark eyes shimmering with mysterious emotion. Baaka's haggard face showed something akin to the look a mother gives when her firstborn leaves home. It was a look of deep understanding and acceptance, a feeling that obviously moved the creature quite a bit.
"What is it?" Terr asked, curious.
"Oh.nothing," replied Baaka, dismissing his emotion with the shake of a head. Terr could sense that Baaka was still keeping a lot from him, but he felt he shouldn't push the old being too much. Baaka would tell more when he was ready. The two of them resumed their way toward the hut.
Terr shot a grin toward his foster father, and then looked downwards just in time to have his head forced completely upwards by a sudden, piercing noise. The siren was like the call of a distant predator, an indicator of death, but one's only instinctual source for survival. Baaka looked over the ridge, toward the rebel base. The alarm had sounded. Terr looked up at the sky, saw the black hawks of death, and stood firm on the cold veranda. His instinct gripped him.
"I've got to get to the hangar."