Faction Acolyte Boot Camp [TSC]

[Emissary of Strife]

This thread is open to Sith acolytes of any affiliation! Check out our LFG!
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DESEVRO

Several kilometers from the Sith Academy grounds on Desevro, a battle rages inside a quarantined section of urban ruins. The city had fallen long before the current fighting began, with the scars of ancient war hidden beneath its rubble. Those fighting now were brought in recently - captured soldiers, spacers... civilians... thrown into the fray, with limited supplies. Many of them fight each other over scraps of food, spare powerpacks, and coveted bacta.

Just outside of the quarantine zone, a small camp has gathered. Acolytes have arrived to train in what has only been described as a 'live combat exercise.' If they pressed for more details, they were likely met with sneers, smirks, and dismissal instead of answers. They were being funneled through trenches until they arrived at a location fittingly called The Pit, an ancient mass driver crater, with a clump of dense metal still at its center.

"Listen up!" Shouted a masked instructor. "If you don't have a lightsaber, you do now!"

A few other Sith handed them out; weapons taken from fallen Jedi on Kattada and other raids - hues of blue, green, yellow, and the occasional oddity mixed within. Many were battered, most of average craftsmanship, suggesting that the bulk were taken from Jedi learners.

At the center of The Pit was where the four instructors were asked to gather.

Among them was Kasir Dorran , a Sith Assassin whispered to be the Phantom of Death, and a blood-curdling Sangnir at that.

Then there was Lirka Ka , who had stood on Covenant soil during the First Conclave. Her reputation as a feared Kainite and Slavemaster may have been known by some, but more likely, the acolytes would fear in ignorance her strong and immovable form.

Next was Darth Amaymon , known throughout the last century as Kezeroth the Hateful, a veteran Sith Lord of many conflicts, and by many accounts... dead.

And last, Arris Windrun , the Dark Horse of Ruusan, who had clawed from the gutters to become one of the galaxy's most capable fighters and a rising technopath.

The instructors were tasked to train, guide, and challenge the acolytes present - both in The Pit and the battlefield beyond. Acolytes who stood out would be tasked to lead the others, captains among their own kind, but only if they survived the trials and tribulations. The enemies on the battlefield were worn and broken, but it only made them dangerous. The acolytes would need more than just a lightsaber and the Force if they meant to succeed.

Arris Windrun Kasir Dorran Lirka Ka Darth Amaymon Anet Raine Reev Marr Calyx Sundrift Varin Mortifer Neriah Calven Irina Jesart Kirie

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris sat on the hunk of metal in The Pit as the acolytes poured in. She eyed their faces, revolver in hand, and spun the cylinder as if it were a nervous tic.

Her cybernetics were quite visible, and she wore only the tattered and patched-up jacket belonging to one Allyson Locke. The garment was starting to grow on her, but here on Desevro, it was all for show, doing very little to protect her from the elements. Thankfully, synthflesh and implants could handle the cold.

The cyborg fighter was used to the glamor and noise of underworld hotspots, not the cold, brutal atmosphere of this urban tomb. Icy winds carried an eerie presence, like the hands of long-dead souls pleading for remembrance.

For the acolytes, she was likely the most 'normal' person there, which may've been a comfort given the brooding presences of the other instructors. Hell, some of them may recognize her if they watched the Galactic Kaggath. She sure hoped so, anyway, shallow and attention-seeking as ever.

Kasir Dorran Lirka Ka Darth Amaymon Reev Marr Calyx Sundrift Varin Mortifer Neriah Calven Irina Jesart Kirie

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: Arris Windrun Kasir Dorran Lirka Ka Darth Amaymon Reev Marr Calyx Sundrift Varin Mortifer Irina Jesart Kirie

I'm all alone. I'm alone. AloneAloneAloneAloneAlone.

The Ex-Padawan kept a tight grip around her lightsaber, as if it was some kind of lifeline for her as she was forced along with the rest of the Acolytes towards the pits. Her gaze darting all over the surroundings, as if she was trying to find some way to escape. Some way to get out of this living hell.

But who would accept you? You're a killer.
No! No! I haven't killed anyone.
You know that's a lie.

A small, pitiful whimper was Neriah's response to her own thoughts. They had been growing darker the longer she spent on this hell. She needed to get out of here before it became too much for her. Yet it was already becoming far too much for her to handle. Neriah was breaking. Slowly but surely. She could feel it in her blood. The way she could feel the fear bubbling beneath the surface. Infecting her every thought. Her every action. Neriah was no longer acting to save the Galaxy. Nor was her thought dedicated to learning about the histories of ancient civilisations. No. It was all for her own survival.

She did her best to keep her head down. Do her best to hide in with the rest of the Acolytes. It would be harder for her of course, being a member of the "herd" as opposed to standing out...but it was easier for her in a way. Neriah was not competent in combat. Lightsabers. Blasters. All of the little details were lost on her. All she had access to was the Force...and even that felt different to her. Darker. It was hard for her to find her balance. To focus on her inner peace. Just...keep her head down. Don't look at any of the instructors. Don't look them in the eyes...

Instead her gaze fell upon the lightsabers being handed out, before the colour drained from her face at the sight of It. His Lightsaber. They had it. It was being handed out like some kind of Trophy. Spoils of war. No. It wasn't right. It was meant to be buried with him. Had he even be buried? Cremated? Did they leave her master to rot? Fear, anxiety, panic. It all started to grow within her. But there was another emotion growing inside of her. That only intensified as she watched an Acolyte wrap their hand around her Master's lightsaber.

Anger. Wrath. Rage.

​

 

[Reev Marr]

Wearing: Acolyte Armor + Vambraces
Tag: Arris Windrun Neriah Calven | OPEN

The air here was crisp.

Reev exhaled it in a deep, skyward plume.

It wasn't fear exactly, Tae'l Vizsla had prepared the girl for this moment her entire life; first blood. First sentient blood, anyway. This was about discipline, the calm before the storm. Gods willing, she planned to be that storm.

A lightsaber was shoved into her hand by the other Sith, leather-clad fingers wrapping perhaps too tightly around the cold hilt. It's blade shone a brilliant gold for a moment, Reev couldn't help herself, finally holding the weapon she'd been destined to since the moment her mother and father brought her into this world.

She held it in both hands, closed to her chest, and dipped her masked-head to mutter something in ceremony.

"Zkasaiwa Maiw iw ri Tsis, nuri ki tutsatsa..."

It was the only High Sith she knew.

​

 

[Ghruna]

GHRUNA

Ghruna’s boots landed in soft mud with each through the trench, the city-ruins of Desevro sprawling ahead like a carcass long dead.

She did not pause for instruction. There were no soft voices telling her to form lines or tidy her posture. Only the echoes of violent outbursts from the city, the hiss of the wind through fractured towers, and the promise of combat.

She carried her weapon at her side, braided red hair brushing her horns. The other acolytes started to cluster in the pit.

She was handed a lightsaber. Ghruna didn't own one. The maldrani could own make the occasional volatile artificial crystals that made unstable lightsabers.

It had seen better days, but she held a real and functional lightsaber in her hand. Ghruna clipped it to her belt. She had an axe slung across her back and a blaster pistol on her other hip.

She grinned at the thought of the challenge ahead. She was a young maldrani, lanky and slender, but still over seven feet tall and bred for conflict.

 

[Kirie]

Location: Desevro
Tag: OPEN

Kirie's boots kicked up red dust as she shuffled nervously towards the hunk of slag at the pit's centre.

Somehow, she had ended up near the front of this grim precession. Once more into a bloodbath, into violence and death. Only this time, there would be no princesses to save her, no pitying lordlings watching her back. Did she know enough to protect herself? She didn't know.

She doubted it.

One of the Instructors was working their way up the line of acolytes, pressing sabers into the students' waiting palms. She studied them as she waited for the Instructor to reach her. How many would turn on her when they got a chance? How many would try and kill her? The only safe thing was to assume they all would.

Kirie recieved her saber, a finely constructed instrument, with a leather grip worn from years of use, and a distinct stain on the hilt. Dried blood. Kirie thought. From whoever this had belonged to. The thought of having to use such a weapon filled her with sadness, not even buoyed by the thought it might keep her alive. She knew she couldn't use it. She'd rather die than use it.

Would she?

She caught a strange glance from one of the Acolytes, Neriah Calven , and quickly turned her head away. Why did she seem so angry at her?

Shame bubbled up from within, and Kirie slunk to the back of the group, her hair falling in front of her face. From beneath the strands, she surveyed the pit and the ruined labyrinth that surrounding it, searching for exits, escape paths.

If she was to live, she would need to be fast, she would need to be clever, she would need supplies, and she would need allies.

But who? Around her there were only enemies.

 

[Anet Raine]

Anet had only recently returned to Desevro, with bruised hands beneath white bandages, still healing from when she ineffectively punched Darth Anathemous in a fit of rage.

The weather and climate were both refreshing, even though she had long acclimated to more comfortable worlds. It was the blood of her arkanian and pantoran halves, longing for the distant memory of worlds she seldom visited and knew little of.

An instructor shoved a lightsaber into her hand, the second time she had held such a thing, and the first she held one that worked correctly - though she did not confirm that suspicion just yet. The scholar felt the weight of the weapon in her hand, studied its make. There were scorch marks, scratches, and weathering along the parts made of lesser materials. She knew immediately from her studies that this was not an expert's make, but likely that of a student, perhaps even their first blade.

She held it in her hand, kept low at her side, and looked around to the others.

Ghruna , she recognized immediately. Tall and lanky. Fiery as ever by the body language on display. If there was a frontrunner so far, it was her, or so Anet thought. There was also Neriah Calven , whom the nearhuman had only briefly encountered on the same day. Anet was behind her and caught the girl's expression at the sight of a specific weapon. A weapon she noticed Kirie - most familiar among all - grabbed shortly after.

The other, she did not recognize, but did catch the bit of High Sith.

Educated, are we? She mused with a subtle smirk.

The scholar shuffled behind the crowd, within earshot of Kirie, but thus far avoided her.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Theme​

Towering over most of the students and most of the staff, Varin stood at the very back of the crowd. He wanted to make sure everyone saw what sort of horrors would lie before them, though this was but the very tip of the iceberg. Gently his hand reached down and unclasped the bone rosary upon his belt. Thumbing his fingers over each individual bead. Through the days of his skirmishes and trials even battles, he always added a bead, each bead signifying a thank you to Bogan for allowing him to suffer through another battle in His name. Quietly he mumbled to himself in High Sith. Those who would hear him would hear it as a prayer. A request for him to be given the opportunity to show his worthiness of battle and bloodshed. For it was what he was bred and born for. War, conquest and ruling. It was his calling.

As he concentrated on his prayers his body heat began to radiate as smoke spewed from his back wrapping around him like a cloak, almost like arms of a loving mother wrapping their child or a protective father shielding his young. The smoke and fire within him spoke for itself, but at his whim as well.

Smell that boy?

Ignati hissed in his mind as he watched its invisible presence slither between each acolyte and apprentice. Scenting each one, lingering just a bit longer on those who displayed fear or submission. Eventually he slithered his way back to Varin giving off a not so satisfied sigh.

Some here are quite nervous and anxious.

His dark chuckle echoed through his mind.

Perhaps you would have us feed upon them at some point? Rejuvenate us?

Ignati's tongue raked against his teeth as he gazed around Varin.

One comes our direction. So afraid…so delectable…let’s put her out of her misery now.

Varin’s eyes shot open as he felt the individual bump into him. Slowly his gaze ran downward to the small being in front of him. His eyes burned like coals full of hatred and anger. But slowly the coals died down to their dark brown color. Slowly he tilted his head keeping eye contact as his neck cracked, sending the sound downward towards the other acolytes and attendees.

Shut it.

Was all the words that he responded towards the infernal being bound to his mind and body. His brow furrowed as he finally spoke to the woman.

“Do not lower your gaze when people stare at you. You reveal your submission. Chest high, and chin higher. Face your foes and die a worthy death. Not as something that hides.”

He noticed his body temperature rising a bit more as he could smell the cloth on his tunic as it heated up. The air around him gave a slight haze as the cold air came in contact with the stark contrast of temperature.

“And above all, leave no quarter.”

His tone was deep and dark in his voice. Almost as if that was advice he was giving himself instead of her. His way of trying to give a pep talk. His crossguard saber hung heavily on his belt, the handle almost resembling a menacing mace. Until one would realise the legitimate mace slung on his back. Enchanted to be lighter for those of epicanthix blood. Heavier for those who weren’t.

Finally his gaze slowly lifted back to all the acolytes and apprentices ahead of him, noticing that some that had slowly huddled his way for warmth, slowly started to disperse away from him after his simple few words.

Tags: Kirie | Open​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag(s): Open!

Winds cut low through the pit as sabers were handed out. Lysander stood there in silence, letting the sounds wash over him, the steady hum of the Force beneath it all. Fear, anger, anticipation, there was a buffet of emotions riding the wave. But what clung to the blonde was clairty. Not the calm of peace, not the calm of life. A darker calm, steady, the type that left no room for doubt to gnaw at the edges of his mind.

His own curved hilt rested in his palm, the same one Corazona von Ascania helped him forge back on Coruscant, the same one he’d bled on Korriban. And through all the changes since leaving the Mid Rim last year, this weapon had been one of the few constants.

He glanced about slowly, eyes moving from face to face. Varin Mortifer was easy to recognize.. holodramas, red sand, training sessions. Familiarity that bred no threat.

His gaze shifted again, and this time he paused. Kirie . That was a surprise, but not entirely. Jutrand surfaced in his mind’s eye: Sadow district, fishing, no sithspawn caught. The next gesture came easy: a small, easy smirk tugging at his mouth, two fingers lifted in a salute, the kind of thing he’d usually sling at a bro after drills.

Other faces stirred memories too.. some from the holocron hunt, shared history woven into the crowd.

Maintaining a relaxed posture, shoulders were rolled back, and weight shifted effortlessly to one leg. Lysander’s ease was almost too fitting for the grim surroundings.. but it was not born of arrogance.

Training was where he thrived, and this was training.

A new academy. A new chapter. Another master - Darth Anathemous .

Whatever this was, it was just another step forward.

​

 

[Lirka Ka]

TAGS - OPEN

It was always a quaint little venture to leave the Blackwall. Lirka Ka always prided herself on her ability to get around, knowledge was power after all. And her careful calculus did not much care for unknown variables - it had been much the reason had come to the first gathering of this little conclave in the first place. Pick from the carrion, and figure out where they would fall.

Now? She got to appraise the next generation. She was an odd one out, as she always was. A bizarre beast - the force did not flow through her veins, no quite the contrary. Only foulblood did. Her presence a void in the force - a stark contrast of the average Sith. And Lirka would always boastfully call herself as Sith as the best of them. In her own way at least. She intended to gift these fledglings the drippings of her psychotic enlightenment - perhaps some would find the truth in it, many more would likely not. If nothing else they would learn to scuttle and scrap like true scum.

Clawed hands clasped behind her back, Lirka’s form was a thing of emotionless metal. This Pit made for a good chance to get the Sithlings arrayed - she surveyed them just as she did another shipment of slaves. In many ways, they were no different. She was certain some would rise to great heights in time, many more would die and be forgotten. Some would merely fall through the cracks, and exist within the scuttling halls of rogue Sith that littered the Galaxy. Familiar faces, a myriad of unfamiliar ones. The Once-Sephi couldn’t help but grin beneath her helm. This would be fun.

Of course, those emotionless slit lenses fell upon one in particular. For all her attempts to hide, Lirka Ka had a hunter’s gaze. Kirie was an amusing sight, it had been some time since she had marred the girl and tore away at her. How people changed. She seemed to always stare at the Acolyte, though it was impossible to tell. Was she wordlessly challenging one of the gathered already?

Time would tell

For now, she would be the silent observer. Let the rabble slowly make their way into the pit, and let Lirka get a good look at what other sort of monsters were gonna show up to “teach”.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective // Witness //
// Focus // // Arris Windrun // Kasir Dorran // Lirka Ka // Darth Amaymon // Neriah Calven // Kirie // Lysander von Ascania // Anet Raine // Reev Marr // Calyx Sundrift // Varin Mortifer // Irina Jesart //

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Against the edges of the Pit that gathered all the acolytes and instructors into one group of Sith hopefuls sat another figure, content watching from a distance. While it was possible she could have been an instructor, the truth was that she hardly understood her new abilities enough to teach them.

The girl was simply here to observe; to get a grasp on the new generations of Sith learning since she had been cut down in a previous life. It was hardly a time in her life she had missed, the knights were fond of abusing acolytes back then.

She was curious exactly how this education had changed as her eyes fell along the instructors; first was Kasir Dorran , a Sangnir who's presence existed as a chill in the force, next was Lirka Ka a name she recognised though not quite as menacing as she had been now. Darth Amaymon was the only one familiar to her, having fought alongside him once before. Nostalgia traced along her skin as she remembered. And finally her amber eyes fell along the final figure, one she recognised from Nar Shadaa.

Arris Windrun , a cyborg of some make that had caught her gaze even back then. Perhaps a time would come to familiarise herself with the woman more closely, a soft intrigue lying in her thoughts as she recalled hearing of the woman's exploits in the Galactic Kaggath.

Finally her legs crossed one another as she looked with more ambition at the acolytes that were to be tested today, wondering quietly if they any of them would fall in battle today. If so, then perhaps they could be repurposed in her labs, though it was a waste of the potential they carried.

The first to catch her attention was Neriah Calven and the rushing of blood that surged through her. A nervousness or anxiety perhaps? If wielded correctly it could be used to build a beautiful pyre on which she could fuel her strength.

Next, an amber gaze fell on her fellow Handmaiden to the Princess of Eshan, the silent maid of the estate. A loneliness emanated from Kirie , delicious in its own way. And yet the Echani couldn't deny that she was cheering for her fellow, wondering just how capable the girl was.

I'll be watching you.

The words caressed the bottom of the handmaiden's ear from just outside her peripherals, the tone intimate and suspicious all at once. As much as she was pulling for the girl to succeed, she was also curious if she could. They hadn't been the closest since Jorryn joined Quinn Varanin's retinue, but hoped that the girl would prove capable enough, even under the Echani's scrutiny.

The rest were all unfamiliar to her, aside from a vague recognition of the blonde hair sitting atop Lysander von Ascania 's head. A finger brushing her jaw as she failed to recall who he resembled.

Yet each face would be memorised as a cold embrace brushed across their chins, rebuffed if they wanted. She wasn't here to discomfort or threaten, only to observe and record.

 

[Darth Anathemous]

Wearing: Armor
Tag: Kirie Lysander von Ascania | OPEN

Her Lordship's boots bit deep into frigid ground.

Ice cracked, mud crumbled, there was no hiding the weight of her presence, not among her own.

Darth Anathemous did not stand with the instructors but she did watch from the edge of the pit, standing high above the fresh meat with a Bird of Prey's eye on all of them, clawed fingers threaded behind her back, golden curls billowing in the icy winds. Her masked gaze turned first to Lysander von Ascania , the newest of her apprentices, yet one of the most experienced. The fallen Jedi's efforts had caught her eye even before he carried her banner.

Even if she could instruct today, his performance would help her understand his training needs.

The crimson visor turned to Anet Raine next of course, the pantoran's smirk was a curious thing. What interested her so?

Finally, Lirka Ka .

She squeezed her hands more tightly at the sight of her.

Anathemous had her reservations of course, but Ka was crafty and a butcher worthy of begrudging respect. She followed the Kainite's gaze until...

The Dark Lord jerked forward instinctively, flecks of gravel tumbling into the pit where her armored boot teased the edge. Who the hell brought Kirie to a warzone?!

She turned on her heel, pulling up communications with Lysander to be whispered into her vambrace.

<<"Apprentice, the brunette with markings on her throat.">>

<<"Her survival is paramount.">>



Her message ended then and there.

​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tag(s): Reev Marr | Open

For a time, Kasir stood next to the slagged hulk at the heart of the pit. The wind clawed at his raven hair, strands flicking like black banners of Desevro’s night, but he did not stir. The eternal hollow of his orbs, bottomless as the pit of despair, swept across the gathering. Those who dared meet them would understand the weight of absence, the cold of a heart that had long ago ceased to beat.

The Sangnir heard everything. The shuffle of boots in mud, the rasp of breath, and even the faint whimper of a girl already breaking beneath her own thoughts. The sound came first, veins whispering. To him, the camp was not a place, but a choir of heartbeats, each one a note in a hymn.

Starting with those closest, he began to observe. There was the one of flesh and machine, Arris Windrun , the fighter who recently made a name for herself at the Galactic Kaggath. This one bared her ruin instead of burying it. That was the more honest path, if nothing else.

There was Darth Anathemous . He felt nothing for her, no care, no hatred; that alone allotted her a higher rank among so many. He had stood witness the day she cast off her false doctrine, when alongside Darth Strosius, they were heavily numbered. A debt remained now, unsettled, like a festering wound. In time, he knew, it would be paid.

In blood.

From there, he marked Lirka Ka , a familiar presence that had crossed paths with him at one time or another. But this was not a glance; it was a fixation, as if the abyss itself had just chosen its next target. What stirred in him was older than the doctrine he despised, an animalistic loathing that was raw. The pulsating through his being was so easily capable of consuming his thoughts. Slowly, his head tilted, a challenge emanating.

With duty heavy upon him, he recalled why he had come, a purpose reaching past this first lesson, down into darker depths.

Further away from that position, he noticed the maldrani, Ghruna , who seemed all too eager for what lay ahead. Aside from the issued lightsaber, she had come prepared with an axe across her back, a blaster at the hip.

Then to Varin Mortifer , who stood out clearly, the apprentice of his sister in faith, Revna Marr . Perhaps, for that reason alone, bound by the same family, he would keep an eye on this one.

Kasir moved then, silently, impossibly so. Steps left no sound, no imprint, as though the ground itself recoiled from acknowledgement. The assassin drifted between the acolytes like a phantom officiant at a funeral, a reminder that death was not a visitor here.. but a host.

Pale hands were folded behind his back, shoulders drawn in a way that was neither slouched nor rigid, but ritualistic..

His shadow fell across the masked girl as she whispered her High Sith. And he did not interrupt; he let the words hang, tasting them as incense.

Once finished, his murmur crawled through the air. “You hold the blade as a chalice. Spill it, and the void will drink with you.”

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris continued to fidget with her revolver as the others arrived. In truth, it was a meditative act that helped center her thoughts and distract her from all the waiting. Two of the other instructors - Lirka Ka and Kasir Dorran had arrived - the first was nigh unreadable, uncannily so, while the latter began to move in a way she found creepy.

Her brow narrowed at that one, but it wasn't her call who had been invited. The third had yet to arrive, unless he was hidden amongst the crowd, or (chaos forbid) lurking somewhere nearby.

As her artificial eyes scanned the crowd, she sensed something...

She turned on her heel, pulling up communications with Lysander to be whispered into her vambrace.

It was too precise, too strong to be background noise. The technopath honed in on the signal immediately, and turned her head to stare directly up at where Darth Anathemous watched alongside the likes of Jorryn Fordyce - whom she did not recognize. While her co-processor made sense of the information, she craned her head along its path towards the others.

Lysander von Ascania did stand within her view, but unfortunately, the Talusian was not yet talented enough to discern that it was he who received it.

Of other candidates, Kirie and Varin Mortifer were near enough to earn her suspicion. She hadn't adjusted her gaze when the message played back inside her skull.

<<"Apprentice, the brunette with markings on her throat.">>

<<"Her survival is paramount.">>

Brunette? Varin was a brunette... he didn't give the impression of a 'her' though Arris didn't want to assume. But he also didn't have a--

Marking! She caught it barely, visible along Kirie's neck.

The cyborg felt a twinge of anger and slid off the hunk of expended ammunition. In a swift act, the gunslinger raised her revolver and fired. The shot cracked with deafening volume as an armor-weave beanbag flew towards Kirie's chest.

If Kaila meant for this one to receive special treatment, then special treatment she would receive. In truth, it wasn't merely an act of kneejerk cruelty. Arris was a street rat; she knew what happened to those who stood out in a crowd like this. Though it was only after the shot was fired that something clicked beneath that metal skull of hers.

This was the woman who hid behind her at the Conclave, Quinn's companion.

Hmm... She wasn't sure what to make of that yet.

Reev Marr | Calyx Sundrift | Neriah Calven | Irina Jesart | Ghruna

 

[Kirie]

Location: Desevro
Acolytes: Neriah Calven | Reev Marr | Ghruna | Anet Raine | Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania
Instructors: Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Kasir Dorran | Darth Amaymon
Observers: Darth Anathemous | Jorryn Fordyce

The first thing Kirie noticed as the group assembled around her, was that many of them she knew. Of the Acolytes, there was Anet, with whom she'd studied, and Lysander. She'd shared a moment of quiet with him fishing on Jutrand. Kirie smiled shyly at his salute despite her fraught nerves, and gave a little wave in return. She knew Darth Anathemous well, who watching from the edge of the pit, and among the Instructors- There was the Sith who had shot Quinn, who she'd seen at the Conclave and-

Kirie's blood turned to slush for a moment when she saw the hulking form of Lirka Ka . It was a strange dissonance, because she was really rather fond of the brute, as she had taken it upon herself to save Kirie and bring her home. So why did the sight of her make her gut twist in terror, what were the snippets of memory that always seemed to sit beyond her reach? Kirie dismissed the feeling. Lirka was an intimidating woman, it was probably just that. Today she should count herself lucky to have a friendly face amongst her instructors.

Kirie bumped into someone behind her, shaking her from her ruminations. Had she been backing up in fear? Kirie spun around and instinctively lowered her torso in a deferential bow, taking a moment to examine the intimidating figure towering above her.

"Chest high, and chin higher. Face your foes and die a worthy death. Not as something that hides.”

Kirie nodded, noting the heat rising from the unknown man. He wore his power obviously, emanating from him in waves. He seemed to mean no current harm though. The opposite, actually. He offered good advice. Advice she needed to hear.

'Thank you.' Kirie said, straightening up and setting her shoulders as advised, making a show of looking around at the assembled acolytes, trying to project confidence she did not feel. 'I will.'

In a swift act, the gunslinger raised her revolver and fired. The shot cracked with deafening volume as an armor-weave beanbag flew towards Kirie's chest.

Kirie was just turning back to face her instructors when she felt a sudden twinge of nerves and her stomach flipped horribly. She knew that feeling, and she reacted instinctively, locking eyes with the blonde, smug Sith just as she raised her blaster-

Kirie opened her mouth to scream, but of course no sound came out. The projectile struck her in the chest, hard, driving all higher thought from her brain and leaving only lizard instinct. She didn't know how hard she had been hit, didn't know how badly she'd been injured, only that it hurt.

In the same instant as the impact, Kirie's palm snapped against the air, guided only by fear and intuition, a gesture that silently signaled 'STOP' and carried with it her desperation and frenzy. A wave of energy followed the motion, sweeping towards the Sith woman as Kirie fell to her knees, winded, with pain blooming all over her body.

 

[Jorryn Fordyce]

// Lady Jorryn Fordyce //
// Objective // Witness //
// Focus // // Arris Windrun // Kasir Dorran // Lirka Ka // Darth Amaymon // Neriah Calven // Kirie // Lysander von Ascania // Anet Raine // Reev Marr // Calyx Sundrift // Varin Mortifer // Irina Jesart // Darth Anathemous //

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The wind carried the words of Darth Anathemous as her newfound senses barely picked up the words. It was a surprise to see the blonde Sith here, though she supposed curiosity was a characteristic they shared. What she didn't as much care for was the fact that the Echani presumed Kaila was seeking to interrupt the lesson in some way.

She made no move to intervene yet, instead choosing for the right moment to prevent the interference later in the lesson.

Another had picked up on the words and acted on them far sooner as one of the instructors lifted a weapon and aimed it towards Kirie. Her body moved before her mind; even if Jorryn had hardly known one another, they were fellow handmaidens and she wouldn't watch the girl be gunned down.

"Hey!"

Her composure broke as she saw the shot connect with Kirie, eyes igniting on behalf of Quinn as the girl doubled over in pain. Dust kicked behind her dark boots as Jorryn lifted herself and marched forward. She slid down a part of the crater before catching herself, realising that it had not been a kill shot.

Whatever cruel lesson was being distributed bothered the Echani, unhappy that her companion had been the target. Amber eyes looked irritated in the direction of Darth Anathemous as she blamed the woman at least partially for the interaction.

The former Lord Inquisitor had been intending to simply sit on the sidelines and watch the prospectives from afar, but if attacking the students was part of it, she decided to draw closer lest she feel Quinn's ire at the treatment of her closest companion.

Her presence in the force would be felt more clearly by those present, allowing the heat to caress the skin of those closest. If they hadn't noticed her before, they might now. The feeling could come as a warning, or perhaps a goal to overcome for some of those gathered.

The Echani wasn't the strongest present, but perhaps she was the most upset.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

TAG: Kasir Dorran | Open

The Pit

Calyx walked dully among the acolytes, hopefuls, and prisoners through the narrow tunnels - barely the width of his shoulders - that led down into the pit. The air stank of fear and violence, and their group was a churn of misery, dread, bloodlust, and craving. He could feel it through the Force as naturally as breathing.

He’d glanced at their faces and recognized none. Not even among the captured. The Jedi looked hollowed out, their disbelief still etched into their broken expressions.

He’d seen that look before, back on Kessel. The ones who never shook it off never made it to the end of the season.

That memory cut deep. This place mirrored Kessel in every way. The fight to survive, the powerlessness, the quiet surrender to fate, and the lawlessness that followed.

He had sworn never to live like that again. To carve his own path, to taste every kind of freedom life could offer. Yet here he was, striding into the pit with his chin held high, eyes full of hate for the being who had thrown him into this prison and haunted his dreams. But out here, in the harsh light of the pit, the pale figure seemed smaller. Less godlike.

They all did.

The Sith, those whose names and deeds were whispered in fear, were always less imposing up close.

The acolytes clustered together in tight knots, like schools of fish hoping safety came in numbers. A few drifted at the edges, waiting uncertainly. Calyx stayed where he was, a mask of calm over a storm that churned beneath. His gaze never left the fanged horror. Not when they handed him a lightsaber caked in grime. Not when he thumbed the activator to test the blade’s weight and hue.

Green. Balanced for a two-handed grip.

May you find rest in the Force.

Calyx shut the blade off as quickly as he’d lit it, keeping the weapon in hand instead of clipping it to his belt.

Because these were Sith.

There was no telling when the violence would start.

 

[Neriah Calven]

Tag: Arris Windrun Kasir Dorran Lirka Ka Darth Amaymon Reev Marr Calyx Sundrift Varin Mortifer Irina Jesart Kirie

There was a sick sense of enjoyment that spread through Neriah's core at the sight of the one taking her master's lightsaber being blasted with a solid projectile. It took all the energy she had not to muster up a grin at the sight of the pain. It felt good. Very good.

Not Very Jedi-Like
What? I-I...Mean...It's good for Sith to be hurt.
So being an Acolyte makes you a Sith now? What does that say about you?
Shut up.
You know you're telling yourself to shut up right?
Shut. Up.

The thoughts raging inside of Neriah's mind swiftly ripped the enjoyment from her as Neriah's gaze flickered between all of the other Acolytes. The people watching them. What did she do? DId she continue to relish in the pain? The anger she was feeling?...No. No. She wasn't meant to be a Sith. Neriah waited for a moment, watching as the Thief threw her hand up, before Neriah moved over towards Kirie , trying to shove the disgust and anger she felt deep below the surface.

"Let me help. I-I...I can heal."

Kark. Kark. What was she doing? Not only was she making herself stand out, she was making herself seem like some kind of bleeding heart. Someone who was willing to help. And she was helping the person who had stole her master's lightsaber. No. That wasn't what she should dwell on. Hatred. Anger. It was everything her master had tried to push her away from. Steady...Breathe.

"Where...does it hurt?...Stupid question. You got hit in the chest...Stupid, stupid."

Well. She might be able to push back the anger, but the self-loathing was still there, as Neriah held her hand out. Go through the basics of healing that she knew. It wasn't much. If anything, she'd be able to numb the pain but anything broken would be far beyond her capabilities. She could do this. Come on. Being a Jedi didn't mean being perfect...It...it just meant...choosing good. Again and again. And so...that's what she was choosing. Dreading the repercussions of her actions.

​

 

[Darth Amaymon]

Acolyte Boot Camp
LOCATION: DESEVRO
LOCATION: THE PIT

Oddly enough, no one directly saw the Red Titan enter the pit.

Of all the instructors, you would think that Kezeroth the Hateful's presence would be obvious, but it was anything but in this case. The Titan of Wrath brooded near the center of the pit, just observing. His presence in the force was like tremors that never settled in the earth below. He was there, and in the flesh, despite what all accounts had said about him. According to the archives and scholars of the Sith, the lord had perished roughly around 850 ABY. Yet, something strange in the force resonated from his entire being. The icy gales and zephyrs blew, dividing in half past him. Surely, he was there!

But was he?

As the Gen'dai Sith Lord looked over the new acolyte and recruits, his face was as stone. An event horizon in a conceptual sense, There was no expression escaping from it. Not one trace of it. A sterile void, but his eyes burned like supernovas, scrutinizing every single last individual. None were spared and none would be spared after what he planned for the future of the sith.

For Fifty years, Kezeroth was gone from the galactic scene entirely and left little trace of his existence. Subjected to endure the agony of his own sithsword, trapped along with the countless victims and foes of his wrath. Meanwhile the legacy of his relentless strength and eternal rage was seemingly co-opted and immortalized amongst new generations of the Sith Order. He was an unholy saint of their religion and he was not the only one. Many of the sith lords and ladies that he fought beside and with also had the same mythic status. According to the Tsûkda Maiaiyita of the Sith Order, some being the most devote and zealous of his followers, other Lords and Ladies ascended as well. Such as Darth Carnifex as the Butcher King and Iron Tyrant, Darth Moridin as the Conqueror, Darth Arcis as the Emperor of Battle, Darth Arcanix, in the pantheon of their worship as the Mother and Kezeroth as the Lord of Rage. A few dark gods and saints midst a pantheon of other archetypes and symbols. And there were countless more.

He was practically a god walking amongst mere mortals. But thats not my legacy. The brief thought flickered in his psyche like lightning. They made him part of the foundation of the very system he despised.

But here on Desevro, He could carve out a new legacy, One donning the moniker of Darth Amaymon.

​

Acolytes: Neriah Calven | Reev Marr | Ghruna | Anet Raine | Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania | Calyx Sundrift
Instructors: Arris Windrun | Lirka Ka | Kasir Dorran |
Observers: Darth Anathemous | Jorryn Fordyce

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris had just holstered her weapon and believed her job here was done, albeit with a bit of nerve running through her.

The whole situation made her feel uneasy, and she unwittingly directed her emotions through the Force at Anathemous.

Why would you --

Her thought was cut off as soon as a small tidal wave ripped across the air and frozen soil, striking the Talusian hard. That familiar instinct shot up her spine, maybe half a second before. The cyborg's hydraulic legs locked into place, as did the reinforcements along her core and spine. Still, the telekinetic strike managed to jerk her where she stood and stretched what fleshy tendons remained in her back.

It wasn't just the energy she felt, but the catalyst, too. Kirie was afraid. Should Arris have been surprised? Because she was. It was a familiar fear to her, a fear that echoed back to Arris's first taste of the Force, back on Ruusan...

She relaxed her cybernetics and began to move towards the handmaiden, just as Neriah Calven had offered her guilty assistance, and entirely unaware of how Jorryn Fordyce felt about it (even as the Echani's aura touched Arris's psyche).

"Where...does it hurt?...Stupid question. You got hit in the chest...Stupid, stupid."

"Leave her be," Arris interjected low and cold.

She had to spin this somehow. The cyborg looked around the acolytes. She popped open the cylinder and removed the empty shell, holding it up for all to see.

"If you can't handle a fucking riot shot, then you will die out there." She dropped the shell in the dirt and pointed towards the sound of distant fighting.

"So get your head in the game, yeah?!" She snapped, her words directed at Kirie most of all.

Then, she felt the primal presence behind her... when Arris looked over her own shoulder, she saw Darth Amaymon , and felt the Dark Side drip off him as if he were an overflowing font.

So this is him.

Reev Marr | Ghruna | Varin Mortifer | Lysander von Ascania | Calyx Sundrift | Lirka Ka | Kasir Dorran | Darth Anathemous | Irina Jesart