Author Note:
Here's another chapter of the backstory, a little bit longer, and introduces a couple more characters. At least of them I've decided will be important later on, which is odd, since I only made that decision after the fact. Ah well, onto the story then!
Unorthodox Methods
-28 BBY-
The Jedi Temple on Coruscant once again hosted its annual Apprentice Exhibition Tournament, a competition that gave the young initiates a chance demonstrate their skills to a potential master. Indeed, the temple was far busier now than it typically was, with knights and masters who had been away on assignment returning to see the progress made by the now not-so-younglings as they grow up, and their training continued. Many of the initiates spend most to all of their time preparing for this specific tournament as it approached, hoping to impress the returning Jedi so to be chosen to become one of their Padawans.
The tournament was held in the combat training center, a dojo of sorts. The individual contests took place in a central ring, one young initiate against another. The rules were simple: three saber strikes, from the low-powered training saber the initiates uses, determined the victor, stepping out of the ring counted as a "strike" against the initiate.
One pair of worn-out initiates stepped out of the ring, panting, sweating and battered from the exertion. It wasn't clear who was the winner as neither seemed elated in victory nor shamed in defeat; mostly they seemed tired.
The gathered knights and masters looked on as another pair of initiates stepped into the ring. One was a Bothan girl, Mashir, who'd taken after her father's khaki fur and flame-red mane. She walked into the ring with confidence, if somewhat forced. It's hard not to feel a little nervous at that point, when so many far more experienced Jedi are watching your every move, judging your every action.
Mashir was joined in the ring by a slightly older human boy with neatly cropped blonde hair; his name was Wenton Baskalar, Chandrilan. He'd spent a great amount of effort practicing and perfecting his lightsaber technique for this tournament, and it showed.
Baskalar took the training saber in his hands and activated the shining, humming blue blade. He brought the blade up in front of his face, and then flourished it down to his side in the traditional salute of the Makashi lightsaber form. His movements were precise, in control, and flowed easily into the next.
"Are you ready?"
Mashir hefted her own training lightsaber in her hand, getting used to having it there, but did not activate it. She simply looked back up to Wenton and gave him a nod as she answered, "Yes."
Wenton looked a little confused at first, but then thought better of it. Clearly she was trying, and perhaps succeeding, to throw off Baskalar with an unorthodox approach. The gathered Jedi likewise showed some measure of interest in this choice.
One of these was Jedi Knight Kai Hudorra, "What's she doing?" he asked to those around him, "Her lightsaber isn't even on."
"Watch and see, Kai." Master Fy-Tor-Ana answered. She was a human woman who, if not for the lightsaber at her side, didn't even look like a Jedi in her formfitting outfit and short-cropped black hair.
Back in the dueling ring, Mashir had just started walking straight toward Wenton, very casually, but with a certain keenness in her eye that did not go unnoticed by him. He stepped back, cautiously, not entirely sure what to make of it, but she kept right on advancing.
Wenton was soon backed to the edge of the dueling ring, and had do something else to remain in. He sidestepped with a quick slash meant to keep her at bay, but Mashir had ducked beneath it, coming dangerously close, and with startling quickness. Baskalar came down with another retreating strike, but found that Mashir had taken hold of his wrist.
He moved to break the hold, an easy enough maneuver, but Mashir's opposing lightsaber blade had just materialized beneath his chin. There was nothing for it, the round was hers.
Wenton and Mashir stepped away from each other and took positions at either side of the ring once again. He hesitated too much that last round, his indecisiveness had allowed her to close the distance and step inside his strikes, something he should never have allowed to happen. No doubt he'd get an earful from the saber instructor about it afterward. There was still time to make up for it though; she'd only won the first round.
The Bothan deactivated her lightsaber and looked him in the eye across the ring, "Ready?"
Baskalar again performed the Makashi salute, sharper, and crisper, as he would need to be from now on, "I am."
Wenton stepped forward this time, not directly at her, but around her, watching for her next move. He needed to find the weaknesses of her defense to take advantage of, but in her 'unprepared' stance, she didn't preset a defense at all. That was her stratagem, and she must've known it'd drive him to distraction the way it has. Perhaps a more direct approach was necessary: don't hesitate, don't overthink the situation.
With that mindset, Wenton advanced with a quick thrust, easily dodged as he'd expected. He followed-up with a fluid slash, which Mahsir had activated her lightsaber to catch. Yet as soon as their blades made contact, she shut her blade off again, causing him to stagger off balance a bit. That was enough of an opening for Mashir to duck under his blade and get inside his strikes again. He would not be fooled by these deceptions again.
Her blade had rematerialized at his neck again, but Baskalar's blade had found its place across her back: a draw. Two for her, one for him.
The draw had come at much too high a cost. What was he thinking? Advance? Charge straight into her like an angry bantha? That's not how the Makashi form works. She's throwing him of balance, pushing him out of what he'd been practicing. Stick with what you know, remember the form, that's how you'll come out on top.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Master Fy-Tor-Ana said to Hudorra as they watched on.
"Yes, but I don't think I recognize that form." Kai replied.
"It's not exactly a "lightsaber" form per-se."
"What do you mean?"
"Mashir's been doing agility training and practicing martial arts with me for months: Echani, Teräs Käsi, K'tara and others. That didn't have to be a lightsaber in her hands, you know. A blaster, vibroblade, or even her bare fist would've worked. The only reason she has the saber at all is because of the tournament rules."
"You put her up to this." Kai deduced
"I may have said something about the best way to confuse someone in a lightsaber duel was to put away the lightsaber." Fy-Tor-Ana responded with a sly shrug, "And besides, it's a potent statement: a Jedi ought not have any business holding a weapon like a lightsaber, not unless they have complete control of themselves first. Mashir's performance here should solidify that statement."
"You aren't thinking of taking an apprentice, are you?" Hudorra asked the eccentric Jedi Master, half joking.
"Ha! Never have, never will." she scoffed back.
Everyone in the order knew Master Fy-Tor-Ana wouldn't ever take a Padawan. She preferred to remain at the temple as an instructor, training others in the ways of dexterity and agility she was known for.
Baskalar and Mashir took their respective positions on either side of the ring once again, and simply gave each other a nod to begin the next round.
Watch her lightsaber, be aware of where it is and what it's doing, even if it's not on, that's the only thing she can use to score. He was a fool to underestimate her, to be thrown off by something so simple; she wouldn't have made those choices if she didn't know what she was doing, and clearly, she knew.
Wenton came on the aggressive again, this time with a rapid flurry. This was not blind aggression however, he was simply forcing Mashir to up a defense, to give Baskalar something he could read and then exploit. As he expected, she simply dodged most of the 'attacks' with her lightsaber inactive, pressing in for the surprise.
He was ready for it this time.
Mashir activated her lghtsaber blade once more, but Wenton received it on his own blade. He parried and twisted their sabers around, stepping out to a comfortable distance as he levered the tip of his shining blade at her neck. The round was his, and the elegant precision of the Makashi form once again proves its superiority in lightsaber-on-lightsaber duels. That makes two strikes each, and one final round to determine the victor.
Baskalar and Ivei'lya took up opposing positions in the ring one last time for the final round. There, Wenton performed the Makashi salute as he stared down the Bothan girl across from her, and she stared back. They didn't need words anymore, they knew they were ready. He was focused, aware, in control, precise; everything the Makashi form exemplified. Mashir may have been crafty and inventive, but there was nothing she could do that could escape Baskalar's awareness anymore, not since she'd lost that crucial element of surprise.
Mashir's lightsaber screamed to life as she leapt at Wenton, slashing at him in an impressive sequence of maneuver. Ivei'lya had taken a different approach now: aggressive, flashy, meant to distract. Baskalar recognized these swift acrobatics as apart of Lightsaber Form IV: Ataru. The duel continued on for some time, with rather conventional saber-on-saber action. Mashir definetly had the movement and momentum capacity to use Ataru effectively, but it would not work here, not against the Makashi form. The inventive techniques she used before had caught Wenton off-guard, bringing the match to this point, but she'd abandoned those techniques now in favor of the established Ataru form once he'd caught on to the shenanigans.
Naturally, it wasn't long before Wenton landed a disarming strike on Mashir, sending her training saber out of her hands and clattering out of the ring. Baskalar however did not go for the finishing strike. He simply stepped forward, saber toward the Bothan, and spoke to her.
"You've fought well, Mashir, but it's over." Baskalar told her at the point of his saber, " The round, and the match, are now mine. Out of respect, I now give you the chance to forfeit."
The combat training center, and everyone who was watching, went quiet, waiting for the next move. Technically, the match wasn't over just yet: Wenton had not gone in for a decisive strike. Yet with no weapon in her hands, Mashir had little choice but to forfeit, or take the strike from Baskalar with no defenses.
Even so, she looked back at Wenton, and just shook her head, "No thanks."
"So be it."
Baskalar went in with a thrust, but something odd happened: his lightsaber had switched off. Instead of striking his opponent with a final decisive blow, his hand just went harmlessly toward her with a metal cylinder clenched in it. Mashir's hands went for his, wrenching the inactive saber from his hand before he could recover from the surprise and get a better grip. With the saber in her hand, all she had to do now was–
"No!" Wenton growled.
He channeled the Force in a moment of rage, feeling a wash of power flow through him he hadn't before, and used it to shove Mashir back away from him and avoid the imminent slash. This time, she was the one caught off guard, and tumbled back away from Baskalar's push. When Mashir rolled back to her feet again, she found she was outside the ring.
"The match goes to Wenton Baskalar." the presiding master announced. The attending Jedi replied with a respectful round of applause for the two initiates.
Wenton was standing there in the center of the ring, tired, and winded. He'd touched the dark side of the Force without realizing it, and it left him startled, shaken. He may have won the match, but he could feel the scrutiny and cautious judgment being passed upon him in that moment, for allowing his emotions, his desire to win, to influence his actions.
"Wait!" one of the Jedi called out, "I have an announcement."
Knight Kai Hudorra stepped forward into the ring toward Wenton Baskalar, "I shall take on a Padawan learner." he said as he looked around the combat training center, with all the other Jedi looking back in anticipation.
"Mashir Ivei'lya."
