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idontneedluckIt wasn't required to attend mastery challenges. With so many living in the temple, that sort of rule would cause unsustainable delays in daily life. The Elders came, of course, they always did to ensure the trials were both vigorous enough to hold the standard but not unnecessarily cruel.
As Chirrut kneels, waiting, on one of the larger sparring mats, he realizes that a good majority of the temple is coming to see this one. He ignores them all, staying where he is, knees pressed to the mat, his staff laid out neatly in front of him.
He has to bite the inside of his lip to stop a smile when he hears the rustle of bodies as she pushes her way through, the soft padding of her footsteps as she walks, alone, onto the mat.
The silence that falls is almost a palpable thing as she kneels, facing him.
"I, Eiko Mesoth, do challenge Guardian Imwe to a mastery duel." Her voice rings out, strong and unafraid, true to her signature in the Force. Chirrut can't help himself - he grins as he bounced to his feet.
"Accepted."
The fight starts slowly. They almost always do - a slow build showcasing the learner's skill, highlighting their proficiency. He can sense her tension, and tries to encourage her without risking the wrath of the Elders for being too easy on her. He couldn't do that - it would be a dishonor for them both, and do her no favors in the long run.
Step by step their dance becomes more complicated, the risks of missing a block more dire. The staves rattle and snap against each other, each crash a roar of sound. They whirl like falling flowers in the Jedhan wind, staves whistling with the wind of their speed. A particularly hard block sends them both circling out of each other's orbit - Chirrut can hear the murmur of the crowd, the hiss of those who have already gained mastery at the force of the blow. He spins his staff to stretch abused muscles, can hear her doing the same.
The respite only lasts a moment.
They charge - all showmanship abandoned, they fight as if standing at the world's end. She lands the first blow inside his guard - a spinning kick that drives the air out of his lungs and lances fire up his side. He dives away from her following blow, back on guard. The injuries pile up from there - shoulders, ribs, knees, hips - he taught her to fight to win, to survive, and he doesn't shame her by giving less than everything he has. Soon they are both spitting blood with heaving breaths and running on the ragged edge of exhaustion.
Crack
Fire rages across his chest once, then twice - her momentum carried her through the follow-up blow he can no longer block, and Eiko neatly breaks both collar bones for him.
He drops his staff.
Then drops to his knees.
He's pretty sure the roar he hears is the crowd, not just the blood in his ears.
(OOC note: liberal inspiration taken from here. Enjoy!)
As Chirrut kneels, waiting, on one of the larger sparring mats, he realizes that a good majority of the temple is coming to see this one. He ignores them all, staying where he is, knees pressed to the mat, his staff laid out neatly in front of him.
He has to bite the inside of his lip to stop a smile when he hears the rustle of bodies as she pushes her way through, the soft padding of her footsteps as she walks, alone, onto the mat.
The silence that falls is almost a palpable thing as she kneels, facing him.
"I, Eiko Mesoth, do challenge Guardian Imwe to a mastery duel." Her voice rings out, strong and unafraid, true to her signature in the Force. Chirrut can't help himself - he grins as he bounced to his feet.
"Accepted."
The fight starts slowly. They almost always do - a slow build showcasing the learner's skill, highlighting their proficiency. He can sense her tension, and tries to encourage her without risking the wrath of the Elders for being too easy on her. He couldn't do that - it would be a dishonor for them both, and do her no favors in the long run.
Step by step their dance becomes more complicated, the risks of missing a block more dire. The staves rattle and snap against each other, each crash a roar of sound. They whirl like falling flowers in the Jedhan wind, staves whistling with the wind of their speed. A particularly hard block sends them both circling out of each other's orbit - Chirrut can hear the murmur of the crowd, the hiss of those who have already gained mastery at the force of the blow. He spins his staff to stretch abused muscles, can hear her doing the same.
The respite only lasts a moment.
They charge - all showmanship abandoned, they fight as if standing at the world's end. She lands the first blow inside his guard - a spinning kick that drives the air out of his lungs and lances fire up his side. He dives away from her following blow, back on guard. The injuries pile up from there - shoulders, ribs, knees, hips - he taught her to fight to win, to survive, and he doesn't shame her by giving less than everything he has. Soon they are both spitting blood with heaving breaths and running on the ragged edge of exhaustion.
Crack
Fire rages across his chest once, then twice - her momentum carried her through the follow-up blow he can no longer block, and Eiko neatly breaks both collar bones for him.
He drops his staff.
Then drops to his knees.
He's pretty sure the roar he hears is the crowd, not just the blood in his ears.
(OOC note: liberal inspiration taken from here. Enjoy!)
