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Your exposed torso shines from the sheen of sweat coating your chest under the twin suns half veiled by the translucent wall of blue water held above the courtyard. Each breath you take comes from lungs that burn from exhaustion, pleading for you to drop to the floor and stop exerting your body. But of course, you do not stop; how could you after all this, when you are so close? Padawans surround you on all sides, each firmly grasping their own personalised Lightsaber in both hands. They are in all different kinds of styles, from rustic wooden handles which appear more like a branch one would pick from a forest floor to ones with ultramodern grips covered in an array of countless buttons illuminated with lights housed within the nobs and dials. Similarly, you grip both your dark grey Araksteel, a metal native to your homeworld of Achlys, Lightsabers in each hand.
A bald-headed young human, two years your senior, watches you with intense focus from pale blue eyes that never stray from your hands. He, like the others, is brandishing his weapon. An Ithorian breaks the momentary pause and then swipes at you with a wild, tired, and uncontrolled blow from your rear. You do not see it, of course, at least not with your eyes, but you know it is coming. In fact, you knew it before the alien Padawan even did. Catching two blades with a sweep of your Shoto, one a deep purple birthed from a large handle that demands both hands and the other a blue bar of plasma from a Lightsaber much like your own, you guide them away from you into a third attacker. They both strike at the Padawan advancing towards you and is about to unleash a flurry of stabs directed your way. Your main blade clinches with the bald human in front of you, Scion, and then you pivot away; the force behind his blade no longer stopped by your resistance. Scion tumbles forward as he stumbles to where you were a second ago.
Scion and the Ithorian strike each other with their Lightsabers and then collide in a heap on the floor. Hisses escape their lips from the light pain caused by the sting of the Lightsabers on the training setting. The pair is eliminated, leaving only four Padawans left in the royal rumble; the rules are simple, leave the square or get hit by a humming Lightsaber blade, and you are disqualified, and the last man wins. You are, of course, one of the remaining Padawans, and the other three, which were five an instant ago, are all teaming up against you. For this whole bout, you’ve been using your Soresu proficiency to withstand the cavalcade of attacks launched at you, with the occasional Makashi counterattack tossed in. Knowledge of your skills has permeated the temple due to the regular sparring sessions you have had with Scion, making you an obvious target for a concentrated group attack.
