[ Light flashes through the air with each spin of his saber, a beautiful display of the macabre, of great and terrible power misused. Pushed back by the force, Rey lands flat in the mud and swings her lightsaber immediately overhead to cut against his downward slash, which demonstrates the polish on his abilities as he slices more than hacks downward. She whips up onto her feet by knocking him back with a thrust of her lightsaber.
This time, she doesn't run for high ground.
In stark contrast to Kylo Ren's boastful posturing, Rey keeps her movements reserved and tightly focused, and when he comes blazing in with another arcing swing, she side-steps it and gracefully avoids the slash with short-steps to take advantage of his charges before she tries to catch his open flank with a powerful upswing of her own. ]
Surety is not always arrogant, though I can see how you might confuse the two. [ Her tone leans on "you" to deflect his accusation as expertly as she deflects his attacks, bearing all of Luke's patience in the same breath that she weighs all of Obi Wan's smug assurance and her own staunchly aggressive spark.
She waits for him to come at her again and whirls her blade in a defense, locking it in the joint of his quillons and using her own brute strength and the will of the Force to press his blade back towards him, ready to burn into his chest.
With his studying of the old ways, he would recognize the form, known and practiced now only to the line of Obi Wan's teachings, for any others who practiced it consistently were cut down with the Council. Though she lacks the stringent learning to name it, Djem So smoothes Rey's rough edges and focuses her fiery spirit into a singular weapon that rebuffs and evades to turn him on himself, just as she had done in his own interrogation room, just as she would do with the run-off of his own lightsaber pouring out the quillons given half a chance.
And she is certain, unerringly so, never letting the question of whether he might win this into her mind. And yet, as she forces his quillons back towards his body, she presses it towards his right shoulder—a move designed to disarm (perhaps literally, given the way her eyes burn with a grudge buried in a shallow grave), but not kill. Even now, in outright war, she does not come unhinged and cry for blood; she instead insults him with the belief that she can bring him out of this alive. It worsens as she takes advantage of being up close and person to reach out to him with a plea for ceasefire, a reminder. ] You have the power to end this, Ben.
looks up lightsaber forms and gets so many feelings about so many fight scenes i need jesus
This time, she doesn't run for high ground.
In stark contrast to Kylo Ren's boastful posturing, Rey keeps her movements reserved and tightly focused, and when he comes blazing in with another arcing swing, she side-steps it and gracefully avoids the slash with short-steps to take advantage of his charges before she tries to catch his open flank with a powerful upswing of her own. ]
Surety is not always arrogant, though I can see how you might confuse the two. [ Her tone leans on "you" to deflect his accusation as expertly as she deflects his attacks, bearing all of Luke's patience in the same breath that she weighs all of Obi Wan's smug assurance and her own staunchly aggressive spark.
She waits for him to come at her again and whirls her blade in a defense, locking it in the joint of his quillons and using her own brute strength and the will of the Force to press his blade back towards him, ready to burn into his chest.
With his studying of the old ways, he would recognize the form, known and practiced now only to the line of Obi Wan's teachings, for any others who practiced it consistently were cut down with the Council. Though she lacks the stringent learning to name it, Djem So smoothes Rey's rough edges and focuses her fiery spirit into a singular weapon that rebuffs and evades to turn him on himself, just as she had done in his own interrogation room, just as she would do with the run-off of his own lightsaber pouring out the quillons given half a chance.
And she is certain, unerringly so, never letting the question of whether he might win this into her mind. And yet, as she forces his quillons back towards his body, she presses it towards his right shoulder—a move designed to disarm (perhaps literally, given the way her eyes burn with a grudge buried in a shallow grave), but not kill. Even now, in outright war, she does not come unhinged and cry for blood; she instead insults him with the belief that she can bring him out of this alive. It worsens as she takes advantage of being up close and person to reach out to him with a plea for ceasefire, a reminder. ] You have the power to end this, Ben.