It's an old familiar dance, though it's been a few months since he last had time for anything as innocuous as a sparring duel. No, the last time he'd raised saber against saber it was far more serious indeed -- only a little over a month ago now he and his squad faced off against one of the most legendary Force-users in the galaxy, and somehow came out alive.
There'd been no room for error there. Not against that one singular man, so powerful in the Force that he'd faced down an entire team of Sith and Jedi by himself and still nearly lived to tell the tale -- Eleven is no Revan, and for all that he somehow won the day through superior numbers and strategy, neither is Archeval. He's vaguely grateful for these facts when they trade a few opening blows, sword sliding against sword, and he feels his footwork about to fumble slightly before he corrects himself. He's grateful for the opportunity to relax a little, to enjoy himself, to get things wrong. A little misstep like that would've been the death of him behind the stone walls of the Temple of Sacrifice, back there in that sweltering jungle.
Strange to find himself suddenly dwelling on it now, but -- this is the first real duel he's had in weeks, after all, and he'd barely come down from the high of managing not to die yet another time before he'd been whisked away here. Maybe it's only natural.
He twists away from Eleven after they've traded another couple of glancing, testing blows, circling the other man with an intent expression on his face, feeling him out a little in the Force -- it seems to him that El is going to go there and he should go here and he takes his own turn leaping inward now, trying to come in under the other's guard--
Hopefully Eleven doesn't mind shedding some blood in training, because with live steel in his hand it doesn't look like Arche plans to pull any blows.
no subject
There'd been no room for error there. Not against that one singular man, so powerful in the Force that he'd faced down an entire team of Sith and Jedi by himself and still nearly lived to tell the tale -- Eleven is no Revan, and for all that he somehow won the day through superior numbers and strategy, neither is Archeval. He's vaguely grateful for these facts when they trade a few opening blows, sword sliding against sword, and he feels his footwork about to fumble slightly before he corrects himself. He's grateful for the opportunity to relax a little, to enjoy himself, to get things wrong. A little misstep like that would've been the death of him behind the stone walls of the Temple of Sacrifice, back there in that sweltering jungle.
Strange to find himself suddenly dwelling on it now, but -- this is the first real duel he's had in weeks, after all, and he'd barely come down from the high of managing not to die yet another time before he'd been whisked away here. Maybe it's only natural.
He twists away from Eleven after they've traded another couple of glancing, testing blows, circling the other man with an intent expression on his face, feeling him out a little in the Force -- it seems to him that El is going to go there and he should go here and he takes his own turn leaping inward now, trying to come in under the other's guard--
Hopefully Eleven doesn't mind shedding some blood in training, because with live steel in his hand it doesn't look like Arche plans to pull any blows.