Session export: Sword & Spear
Estle City Orphanage 44 ABY
The orphanage had really come into its own the last year. The new renovations were welcome, and it was clear the efforts were paying off. Sadly, some would age out, and need to figure out their next steps.
That held true for the two tribal Selenians that were approaching their 18th birthday. That meant their time at the orphanage was soon coming to an end. Oderyn had mixed feelings about it. While he was glad to have had a stable place to stay and grow for once since everything had gone wrong…there was a part of him that knew that he would need to move on to grow stronger.
His fist flexed open and closed as he leaned casually back against the tree just outside the orphanage school grounds. It was a wide courtyard, designed for activity, self defense training, and meditation, depending on who was around. His power spear was reseting on the tree beside him as he kept his fingers locked behind his head.
The wind blew against his parted, messy bangs as he slowly opened his eyes to see his favorite person to tease approaching.
“Hey tadpole, nice of you to make it for the test,” Oderyn grinned at the approaching Soryn Volkova.
Soryn rolled her eyes and tossed her friend an apple. “Beats sitting around the dorm all day.” She gave a big stretch and yawned. “I’ve been meaning to take Caelrix down a peg after that stunt he pulled last week with the new kid.”
Oderyn’s smile remained, but a flicker of concern moved across his dark eyes. “You know you can knock him down a peg without actually taking out his knees, right?”
He caught the apple swiftly and took a small bite. Savored it. It was strange, to think that there was fruit freely available in the mess hall for them to take. Whenever they wanted. Strange, but wonderful.
He started to extend the apple back towards Soryn but was cut off before he could ask if she wanted some as an approaching figure called out. Their voice was not loud, mind you, but knew how to carry clearly to its intended target.
“Unfortunately, it would seem that young Caelrix is already on latrine scrubbing duty for the rest of the week as a result of his actions,” the man spoke as he drew closer. He was not tall or imposing and wore simple attire: a white long-sleeved shirt tucked into black pants and matching black boots. Black wrist-wraps and black sash belt with a grey cloak thrown around his shoulders with the hood down. His bearded visage showed little signs of aging, but his iridescently blue eyes showed a depth and weight that made him seem ancient.
On his shoulder rode a small backpack droid that tittered in seeming excitement.
Oderyn felt himself tense not from caution, but from worry at his own resolve and restraint over his own excitement. It still did not feel real to be talked to by the Grey Fang himself. Ever since Lord Marick and his wife had taken them in to the Estle City Orphange, life had seemed like a dream he did not deserve.
He knew Soryn had her own reservations and thoughts about the arrangement, but his had not faltered.
“Thank you, sir,” Oderyn offered a swift bow.
Marick Tyris Arconae came to a stop a healthy few strides from the two Selenians and held up a single hand as if waving off the sentiment. “Instead, your test today will be against me. I see you both have your weapons, do you have any objections or need more time?”
There was no mocking or teasing in the mans tone. He spoke simply, matter of factly, as if he were just detailing the weather or how a thermometer worked.
His eyes moved from Oderyn to Soryn, studying her. His face remained a stoic mask.
Soryn tried her best not to glare at Marick as he approached. She liked him—most days. Their rescuer had been sincere enough when he had found them and brought them to the orphanage, but a part of her would always be wary of the man. Where heroes dared to tread, trouble followed, and she had seen enough of death to risk putting her faith into the hands of others so quickly. She knew all too well what happened when trouble arrived first; when no one answered the call until the slaughter had already begun and screams echoed through the night, drowning out all thoughts and sound.
Oderyn never seemed to have the same struggles as she did. He worshiped Marick and all the others who had come to their aid. His faith in humanity was always stronger than her own, and it was for his sake that she shrugged her shoulders and stepped forward.
“As soon as airhead over here stops drooling, I think we can get started.”
Oderyn stammered for words as he fumbled with the apple and his spear, ultimately electing to let the apple to be sacrificed to the ground bellow. He would have usually taken proper time to mourn the loss, but saving face was more important.
“I wasn’t-I mean, sir, I mean, the tadpole here is just-”
Marick’s face remained as expressive as a gargoyle, but wether it was a trick of Dajorra’s light or something else, the corners of his eyes crinkled and he might have smiled ever so slightly.
Oderyn recovered, the flustered moment passing as he calmed his breathing and tightened the grip on his spear. “We eagerly accept the challenge, sir,” he finally said.
Marick offered a polite bow of his head to both. Then he took out a long length of red ribbon. It looked fancy and probably ceremonial, but really it was left over from his daughters latest arts and crafts project. He tied it around his midsection like a second belt, the color stark against his grayscale attire.
“The objective, today, will be simple. You are to take this ribbon from my person. You can use any maneuvers or means to achieve this. I want to see how you think, and act, and react. Do not hold back or worry about harming me.”
Again. There was no pride or arrogance in his tone. He was simply reading off from a mental checklist of information and hard facts.
Marick lowered himself into an unarmed stance, angling hide body sideways while keeping his feet close, balance centered, and extended both hands in front of him, palms open but poised like knives.
“Begin.”
Soryn rolled her shoulders and sighed. “Why are we doing this again?” She stretched her neck from side to side and studied Marick’s form, searching for a weakness in his stance.
They had done this type of exercise dozens of times during their time on the streets. It was the fastest way of putting food in their bellies, and the first thing they learned from the other forgotten children to survive.
She waited for Oderyn to answer, using her bored tone as a signal that she was ready to go in for the feint and attack. She was usually the first to step into a fight, using herself as a diversion for him to make the grab.
Oderyn was always the better pickpocket, but Soryn wasn’t sure if their old thieves’ tricks would work on someone like Marick. It had been years since they needed to rely on them, but that need was becoming more apparent as the doors to the orphanage began to close behind them, pushing them back out into the world she wasn’t quite sure they were prepared for.
Oderyn just smirked at her question, and without looking back at her, fell into step as they both dashed forward at separate but converging angles towards the gray cloaked man. One went left, the other right, but then just before they closed the distance, they crossed, seamlessly switching positions.
Soryn lashed out first, jabbing twice with her sword, quick as a bird flapping its wing. Marick wove through each stab, but Valkova feinted, pivoted, and spun into a high kick that should have caused Marick to duck. When he dipped low, he would be perfectly in position for Oderyn to yoink-
Marick did not duck. He simply moved with the fluid grace of the wind itself and stepped back and away from the kick.
Oderyn’s hand stretched out, grasping towards the ribbon, perhaps a bit too confidently. His fingertips almost brushed the trailing end of the fabric, but Marick’s other hand scythed downward to chop at his wrist.
“Gah!” Oderyn growled as he quickly retracted his hand and lashed out with the tip of his spear. Marick again danced in and around each thrust.
Soryn, meanwhile, had not backed off in the slightest and reached out for the sash. No hesitation, no fear, no mercy.
Marick felt her fingers grab the edge of the ribbon. He blinked.
They already work so seamlessly as a tandem, he thought, actually impressed while being perhaps a bit amused that he thought he could underestimate the orphaned Selenians. He had spent years training Inquisitors and operatives a like who had never quite unlocked the level of trust needed when fighting in pairs.
A whisper of warning from the Force and a surge of speed allowed Marick to recover in the blink of an eye. He forced her grip to loosen on the ribbon with a lightning-quick chop to her wrist as he retreated backwards to safety a few strides back.
Oderyn’s chest rose and fell from the effort, but the laid back confidence and warmth of his eyes had gone colder and a bit more feral as adrenaline coursed through him. He traded a glance with Soryn, smiled, nodded, and then charged forward again to be the distraction this time.
.
.
Soryn grinned at the sight of her friend’s determination. He was playing to win, and so would she. Her eyes narrowed as she shifted her stance and stepped behind him, using his body as cover. Together they charged forward, feet working in tandem with every step.
As Oderyn thrust out his spear, Soryn darted left and dove under the pole, brushing her hand along the dirt as her leg scraped along their training ground. She threw her hand up into the air, sending a cloud of dust into Marick’s face as the other lunged to grasp the bottom of the sash.
Marick slid backwards and threw a hand in front of his face to protect his eyes from the dust attack. He shifted his hips, anticipating her attempt to grasp at the sash, but was forced instead to slap aside Oderyn’s follow up spear strike with a reflexive counter.
The orphans were so in time and sync that even the Elder’s reflexes were at the mercy of simple physics. The sash found purchase in Soryn’s hand as she ripped it free and rolled away.
Oderny also went rolling off to the side, but not of his own voliation. Marick’s counter struck him in the shoulder at just the right angle to off-balance him and send him flying away. The boy landed with an oof, but quickly sprung back to his feet and lifted a hand triumphantly. “Hah!” he exclaimed, looking past their mentor and to where Soryn had landed, clutching the red sash.
Soryn wiped her brow and grinned, leaving a line of dirt behind. “What’s next old man?” she panted, trying to catch her breath as her heart raced. She looked over at Oderyn and tossed him the sash, letting him taste their victory for himself.
Marick actually flashed a small smile at being called old.
“Actions speak louder than words, and you’ve both more than shown you’re ready. Not just from this simple trial, though. You have both worked hard to hone your focus. I fear that our time is short, and I doubt I’ll be able to keep either of you back from diving right into the fold.”
He dusted himself off as his BD-1 droid skittered over and returned to his shoulder, beeping excitedly. “Yes, they are ready.”
Oderyn studied the sash with a sense of pride. His eyes moved from Marick to Soryn, and found himself wondering how, even with dirt smeared across her face, he still enjoyed looking at her. Especially after getting something she wanted.
He then padded over to Soryn and offered her a nerf-wool towel from his belt in case she wanted it.
“Thanks,” Soryn mumbled. She grabbed the outstretched towel and wiped her face. A peculiar fluttering rose up from the depths of her stomach as she pulled the towel off her face and stared back at the last member of the wind tribe.
She thought she had seen every aspect, every expression his eyes did and didn’t say, but this one was new to her. This was different, but she couldn’t place her finger on what it was exactly or why it suddenly fell so foreign.
Was he keeping something from her? Was he trying to tell her something that he didn’t want Marick to hear? Did she have something else on her face?
Soryn shook her head and stared at the discarded and dusty apple on the ground, trying to clear her head. She must not have eaten enough for breakfast – that’s what this was – the airhead was always scolding her about eating enough.
Unable to withstand the weight of his gaze, she threw the towel at his face and started to jog towards the orphanage. She waited until she was a few paces away before turning back and smiling, “Race ya!”