Private A Dark Horse

[Ilaria Morvayne]

TAG: Oryn Selvar

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It was perfect.

Truly, Ilaria could not have asked for a better opportunity to begin making inroads into this new Order. A young, promising Padawan already well-regarded by those around him, skilled enough to earn respect yet seemingly grounded firmly within Jedi principles? The duel ahead promised to be... enlightening.

The only remaining question was which version of herself she intended to unleash upon the poor Padawan. Makashi risked revealing too much refinement. Soresu, while safer, lacked the elegance she wished to project. In truth, lightsaber duelling had never been her preferred method of combat. If she was to engage in melee, she much preferred polearms—if not claws.

The former was what she had been trained in for most of her life. Polearms controlled distance beautifully. They dictated tempo, spacing, fear. They allowed one to dominate the battlefield without ever truly surrendering control of it. Claws, meanwhile, were different.

Claws were intimate. Very, very intimate.

No matter. Those were not emotions or thoughts Ilaria should entertain. She buried them quickly beneath the calm discipline expected of a Jedi Padawan. She would trust in her training, trust in experience, and avoid becoming overly concerned with victory itself.

Makashi it was, then.

The room she had selected rested deep within the lower levels of the temple. The lighting had been manually dimmed, casting long shadows across polished stone and reducing the harsh glare that brighter chambers often carried. No windows allowed outside light to intrude upon the space. The architecture itself belonged to another age entirely, older than most of the temple above.

Ilaria had chosen it precisely because nobody came here without reason, also because the darkness suited her.

The Padawan would be arriving soon enough. It might be wise to let him win. A carefully measured loss could make her appear more approachable, perhaps even endearing. Though perhaps he was the sort who preferred honest defeat over hollow victory, or perhaps she was simply overthinking everything again.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, toward her old Order. Long hours spent duelling training droids in silence. Knight Wright standing across from her again and again.

Wright had shaped far more of her worldview than she cared to admit.

She remembered the satisfaction she once took in slipping past his guard, forcing him to question himself, leading conversations exactly where she wished them to go. The subtle manipulations. The careful provocations. The quiet enjoyment of attention earned through precision and affection.

Wrong person, Ilaria.

The thought came quickly, sharp and corrective. Still... they had been good times. Simpler times. Before everything drowned in darkness. Coruscant was no longer the world she remembered. It had been overrun by anarchists and Sith alike, its order shattered beneath endless conflict. The Jedi had been forced to Naboo like refugees clinging to the remains of a dying age.

And here she was, in it's shadow once more.

​

 

[Oryn Selvar]

​

The call for a spar couldn't have come at a better time. It was the perfect chance for Oryn to lose himself in lightsaber sequences and escape the busy cage of his mind after the past few weeks.

Or had that changed? No. Not that. The bliss of a training spar could not be taken from him. He still had that. The image of him spinning a lightsaber out in the field might be shattered, but that was it. Wasn't it?

The young Nautolan walked down the steps toward their agreed meeting place. The path carried him deep underground; he hadn't known there was this much of the temple beneath the surface. It was dim down here as well. No matter. They were meant to be the Light they wanted to see in others, or something, right? The echoes of his chuckles followed him down the last steps.

The trip to Dantooine had been enlightening, and it promised to be more of the same. Up top, he had stood out more clearly, his muted white robes with golden trim contrasting with the dark browns and beiges of everyone around him. Down here? Well, there wasn't anyone else down here.

Oryn scanned his surroundings, taking in the training grounds as much as he searched for Ilaria.

Ilaria Morvayne​

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Oryn Selvar
​

It did not take long for Ilaria to reveal herself, nor was she truly attempting to hide.

Step by measured step, she emerged from the shadowed edge of the chamber into the solitary pool of light at the center of the duelling floor. A warm smile rested upon her lips, subtle but genuine enough to soften the otherwise severe lines of her posture. She appeared sincerely pleased to see the young Padawan arrive.

Around them, the darkness of the old chamber lingered in quiet anticipation. The silence stretched taut across the room like a drawn wire waiting to snap. The atmosphere was almost theatrical in a way, though perhaps that suited the strange little operation unfolding here.

Her smile widened slightly as she spoke.

"Oryn, I am glad you could make it. These sections of the temple offer more practical conditions for combat, provided you can survive the absolutely atrocious walk to get here."

A small laugh escaped her lips. It was a strange sound coming from her—lighter than before, less restrained. Whether this was genuine familiarity beginning to form, or merely the effect the secluded chamber had upon her demeanor, was difficult to say.

Oryn certainly looked prepared. Fit. Focused. Ready for whatever trials awaited him. Good.

"I spent most of my life training within an exterior enclave. Our methods differed greatly from many of the Jedi you have likely encountered here. As such, you may need to afford me a little flexibility in how we begin."

Slowly, she reached one hand back into the darkness behind her. When it emerged again, it carried a large black military-grade case. It looked less like something belonging to a Jedi and more like equipment issued to a professional soldier or special operative. The casing itself was immaculate, every corner maintained with near obsessive care.

She carried it effortlessly in one hand before kneeling near the edge of the duelling boundary and placing it down with exact precision. Even the movement carried discipline.

Then she looked back toward him.

"So," she asked calmly, "how has your day been?"

An innocuous enough question, but the second followed immediately after, carrying far more intent beneath it.

"And what exactly are you hoping to learn from this?"

Her eyes lingered on him carefully after that, studying not merely his stance or posture, but the spaces between reactions. The sort of observation that felt natural for a disciplined duelist—yet perhaps just a little too attentive for an ordinary Padawan.

​

​

 

[Oryn Selvar]

Ilaria Morvayne ​

Oryn returned her warm smile with one of his own. It came effortlessly.

"Quite the gloomy spot you picked," he said, followed by a light laugh. "My knees aren't all that bad. I'm sure you'll do worse to me than these stairs."

The Nautolan strolled up toward Ilaria, his head-tresses reading the emotional currents in the air more easily now. What he tasted seemed to match the warmth of their smiles, and his mood stayed elevated in turn.

"Nice," he said. "I haven't really moved around a lot, so getting some different impressions would be helpful. It's part of why I signed on to the excursion to Dantooine. You know, to see how it's done in other parts of the galaxy." He'd thought Jedi were Jedi, no matter where they were based, but it was dawning on him how far from the truth that was.


"What is that?" he asked with genuine curiosity as he moved closer to watch her take it out and work the casing. "Oh, well. Good, I'd say." He crouched beside her so he wouldn't be standing over her. "I've thought a lot about what you and Braze said." He had a lot of self-reflection to do, that was for sure.

And what exactly are you hoping to learn from this?

She had called herself Padawan, yet carried herself as something more. She'd be promoted to Knight soon, he imagined. The ideal person to learn from. His confidence had taken a hit recently. In many ways, he was hoping to restore it.

"I don't know. I always enjoyed sparring. It helped me clear my head." Focusing on what he was good at, forgetting everything else. Only recently had thoughts of failure begun creeping in to disrupt that focus.

"And you seem to know your stuff. I was hoping some of that would rub off on me," he said with a light laugh. "What about you? Oh, and" he gestured toward the big chest she was working on. "Need any help with that?"

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Oryn Selvar
​

Quite gloomy?

The Padawan's response earned a small chuckle from Ilaria. Unless he had intended it as humour, it was almost painfully naïve compared to what true battlefields in this galaxy actually looked like. A battlefield of course, was not dim lighting and old stone halls.

A battlefield was commanding elite mercenaries at the gates of a Sith fortress world while Sithspawn crawled from the very cracks in the earth torn open by orbital bombardment. It was smoke, screams, collapsing structures, and the constant awareness that somewhere nearby, a Jedi Shadow stalked you with bow and arrow in hand.

That was a battlefield.

Too bad all she had now were a few thousand-year-old archive chips discreetly taken from Coruscant. Who knew what forgotten wars and dead worlds they contained?

"I don't need help," she said calmly, undoing the clasps of the case, "but the offer is appreciated."

As she worked, she continued the conversation with practiced ease. Better to keep the atmosphere light, at least somewhat. Still, the mention of Dantooine caught her attention. Ancient history had always interested her more than modern politics ever had.

"I cannot imagine what you expect to find on Dantooine besides old farmers and older Jedi. Unless," she added with a faint lift of her brow, "you are about to tell me you are just as interested in ancient Rakatan technology as I am. In which case, I would be pleasantly surprised."

She rolled her eyes slightly at the thought.

"After him and his little circle finished with the planet, it was me who arrived thousands of years later and stripped away everything important that was not nailed down. Unless you mean to tell me someone discovered another Kyber cave or forgotten ruin..."

A quiet sigh escaped her.

"You would have better luck searching for an oasis on Tatooine."

Then came the sharp mechanical click as the case fully opened. What unfolded inside was deeply at odds with the image of a Jedi Padawan.

Panels expanded outward in careful mechanical sequence, supported by reinforced steel braces. The interior contained an array of weapons, tactical gear, armor plating, and lightsabers of wildly different designs and eras. Flashbangs. Kinetic rifles. Grenades. Even a pair of thermal detonators carefully secured within foam compartments.

It looked less like a duelist's kit and more like equipment intended to arm a professional special operations unit.

And yet nestled among all of it were lightsabers. Many of them.

"Do not worry," she said, glancing back toward him. "I enjoy sparring just as much as you do. I will make certain some of my training proves useful."

A brief pause followed.

"I assume you already possess a weapon, unless you intend to steal one of mine."

Her tone dipped strangely for a moment—smooth, almost sultry in a way that felt oddly practiced, like someone slipping briefly into another persona before catching themselves.

Then the deadpan seriousness returned immediately.

"I do not bite."

The statement was delivered without even the slightest hint of humour.

Walking calmly toward the edge of the chamber, she retrieved a small interface driver and inserted it into a concealed slot near the wall. Instantly, the room around them vanished. Dark stone and shadow dissolved into a featureless field of brilliant white. The case and weapons remained, but the chamber itself now looked artificial, sterile—a simulation space waiting to be reshaped.

"Computer," she said evenly, "simulate setting forty-two B."

A mechanical voice echoed around the chamber.

"Authorization code required."

Ilaria answered immediately.

"Code: 23AR6."

A short pause.

"Code denied. Reason: Locked by Jedi Council authorization."

Her expression barely shifted.

"Initiate override procedure: Tyrant."

The response came almost instantly this time.

"Override accepted. Welcome, Serina Calis."

For the briefest moment, silence settled over the room. Then Ilaria simply rolled her eyes as though nothing unusual had occurred.

"Old NJO security protocols tied to these archive drivers," she explained casually. "That Padawan we discussed earlier with Braze? She shared a universal override with several of us in case we ever needed access ourselves. After the fall of the Order, and with nobody having the time or patience to crack old security systems manually..."

She shrugged lightly.

"The code became useful."

Walking back toward the weapons case, she selected a standard lightsaber and tested its balance in her hand with small, precise movements. Then her eyes shifted back toward Oryn.

"What lesson does that teach us, Oryn?"

​

 

[Oryn Selvar]

Ilaria Morvayne
​

Oryn smiled, and slowly stood as she didn't need his help. His curiosity kept him looking though.

"I can't claim to know much about the Rakatan" he laughed. "No, it was mostly the chance to visit another Jedi Enclave. See how things were done here. That philosophy class with Knight Braze was very insightful. You two know each other well?" he said, keeping up the casual conversation. The note on arriving thousands of years later and stripping away important leftovers was lost on him.

"Never been to Tatooine" he started, then added with a laugh "I'm sure I would hate it" but then the chest finally opened. He leaned to peek, his curiosity was only fed further by what was revealed. "Different methods indeed" he said with a whistle.

"You sure have a lot of lightsabers. Are you carrying for the rest of your enclave?" a question about as innocent as it was naive.

He smiled, and started walking back, to give her some space. Not far, just enough that he wasn't all up in her business as she was getting ready.

"Just a training saber. I've yet to make my first lightsaber. But with the crystal from Braze, I reckon I can get started soon as I get back to Naboo. You have plenty of options though" his laugh was friendly and inviting. "How do you choose? Mood of the day?"

Oryn watched as she prepped their little arena. "We have something similar on Naboo." he said casually, letting her work. "We're not really supposed to use it for personal use. But I sometimes do. Just to train under a little harsher conditions." And it seemed like this was the case here too. Their Jedi Council had even put in block unless you had the appropriate authorization code. Oh well, it was a fun idea, but they could still manage with…

Welcome, Serina Callis

Oryn froze. His heart skipped a beat. It lasted but a second, before he collected himself. He… He had heard that right, hadn't he? He recalled the story Ilaria had shared. The Padawan set upon by a Jedi strike team at the Temple. Who escaped to Korriban.

"She is now a rogue Sith Lord responsible for the deaths of millions."

Oh feth.

"Oh yeah? That's very useful" he said, trying to keep his chuckle light, his voice as even as it had been before. "Earlier you asked me and Braze why we became Jedi. You never said why you did." he asked casually. It seemed an appropriate question to ask. There were many other questions on his mind, but well, those had a distinctly higher probabilty of having him end up dead.

To think his greatest worry used to be being shipped off to the AgriCorps.

What lesson does that teach us, Oryn?

Never follow strangers into basements. Don't complain about the hardships in your life, it can always get worse. Only spar in arenas where someone can hear you scream. Do spend that extra hour honing your lightsaber skills, even though you're tired and would rather go to bed. There were many lessons he was learning. He could only hope he'd be around to learn some more.

"That it's important to change your password every once in a while?" Aaahaha feth. He was so dead. Kark. Feth. Sithspit.

 

[Ilaria Morvayne]

Oryn Selvar
​

Ilaria did not immediately answer his questions. She seemed too occupied preparing the simulation and ensuring the ancient Alliance systems still functioned correctly. Several environments flickered briefly across the blank chamber before one designation caught her eye:

GEONOSIS — GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC DEPLOYMENT SIMULATION

An interesting choice for a first engagement.

The room transformed instantly. Brilliant white vanished beneath a storm of heat, sand, and chaos. Vast Geonosian plains stretched around them as far as the eye could see, littered with burning wreckage and trenches torn open by artillery fire. Ancient battle droids marched in endless formations while clone troopers fought desperately across the dunes. Explosions thundered in the distance, flashes of blasterfire illuminating the haze of smoke and dust.

Despite the simulated battle raging around them, a wide circular section of terrain remained untouched, deliberately reserved for combat exercises.

The soundscape alone was overwhelming, for a moment, Ilaria simply breathed it in.

"I did not have a choice."

Her voice came quietly at first. Then she turned to face Oryn, lightsaber hilt already resting comfortably within her hand.

"It was not my password. I never had access to the simulation chambers on Coruscant. Those systems were restricted; many believed the simulations capable of producing realities some children could not psychologically endure."

A faint amusement crossed her features.

"Serina, meanwhile, was constantly breaking into them for combat exercises. I simply learned to follow her example."

Her eyes drifted briefly across the simulated battlefield again. Burning gunships. Screaming artillery. Thousands dying in a war long turned to dust and myth.

"What a sight."

There was something strange in the way she said it—not horror, nor admiration exactly, but appreciation. As though violence on this scale carried a terrible beauty to it.

Then she inhaled slowly and ignited her weapon. An aqua blade burst into existence with a sharp hiss, its glow reflecting cleanly across the blowing sands. Immediately she settled into a classic Makashi stance: elegant and precise, a one-handed grip coupled with a narrow profile.

A duelist's stance.

"No rules duel," she stated calmly. "Victory condition is simple: first to submit."

She adjusted her footing slightly, blade angled toward him with almost surgical exactness.

"I will hold position and allow you the initiative."

Then came the faintest smirk.

"Good luck, Padawan Oryn."

Notably, she offered no traditional Jedi bow before the duel began.

​