Master Tash Yvonne was a master of the Force, manipulating it to a molecular level of efficiency. Over forty years of serving the Jedi Order to her credit, there was little in the galaxy that could contest with her. She had been known as a ruthless killer when the need called for it, and had no remorse for murdering people who were deemed evil. To some, she was a guardian to the Jedi and to the galaxy's people. To others, however, she was the epitome of hypocrisy, a scion of evil that had to be wiped out. And that was the mentality her threat had in mind. She was fighting toe-to-toe, head-to-head with a mysterious man who clearly knew the Jedi arts and wielded an orange lightsaber with extreme power and grace, and even negated Tash's offensive powers. The aging blond was unused to being forced on the defensive.


Yellow and orange beams cascaded together in a flash of brilliant color, a deadly rainbow of energy arguing with itself as it wound around the two figures on either end, locked in a lethal dance of death. The two artists moved their competition up the hill, neither capable of gaining the upper hand against the other. The woman, her staunch body flexing her blade like a whip that deflected the auburn bar, turned quickly and grabbed the foe's wrist and contorted it, tossing the man away and down the knoll as easily as one would toss a bag of beans. She retreated up the rise, seeking a better place to fight from, but found that her options were limited as the enemy ran up to her place, the fall not even scratching him. She whirled around to confront the assailant once more, again unsatisfied with her performance.


For the first time in years, Tash was feeling the tingle of fear on her spine. Helplessness was a most demeaning sensation when you were born to be a controller, and defeat was insulting to a longtime hunter. And yet now, as the Echanti figurine danced to her fight song, she refused to surrender, let alone die. No, she would fight to win as a Jedi or die as an uncelebrated and faceless victim to a mass murderer.


Blades met and parted again and again, bright white and yellow sparks bursting from whence they collided. It was entrancing; a beautiful sight. As the woman soared backwards to evade a blow, her soft curly locks of golden weave flowed like long grass in the gentle breeze. Her buttery blade added to he luxury as they fought their way to the summit of the hill, the setting sun casting a ginger glow on the participants, an aura of death. The dancers ebbed back and forth, seeking advantage yet not finding it, until finally they settled on an equal portion, standing like stone figures holding flickering torches, their carved faces staring at one another in an eonic debate of life. It was almost as if the world roared in cheer for their gladiator as the warriors resumed their fight, and as if all of nature stood in unified horror as their hero's sacred head fell to the ground, crimson washing into the red that the dust reflected from the celestial form. The victor gave a great yell of victory into the dusk.

"Hear ye, all you peoples! Behold, all beings that can see, your new leader! All life shall bow to it's new emperor, for I shall prevail!" To himself, he spoke, "Finally, the Jedi, and the galaxy, will be mine."





~EW~