Faction Acolyte Boot Camp [TSC]

[Reev Marr]

Wearing: Acolyte Armor + Vambraces
Tag: Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer

Reev stopped as they crested the hill, gaze gently sweeping the city.

"Something out there already has its eyes on us. Keep the line loose. I don't feel like dying in someone else's shadow."

"I... feel it too, I think?" she said in reply.

"It's like nothing I've felt before. It feels... wrong-"

Neriah hit the ground before she even registered the flash. It would have left her stunned if not for the Mandalorian instinct drilled into her these past few years. Shield up, wrist blaster forward, she began firing in the direction the enemy had shot from before shouting over her shoulder;

"AMBUSH!"


A few rounds whistled past her ear, forcing the girl to take a knee while she honed in on the shooter's position. While Varin Mortifer marched past to cut down the oncoming soldiers, Reev put suppressing fire on a second floor balcony from which return fire was becoming sparse and sloppy.

"Frak!" she shouted, as the wrist blaster sputtered and died.

"I thought these guys were Acolytes, why the hell are we fighting at range?!"

Unless...

Reev stood up, flinching at every round which struck her shield. But in between each, she was looking for something.

"There!" she pointed at an unfinished building.

"Rooftop, above the scaffolding!"

She was of course speaking about a robed, armored figure not unlike herself, speaking into a commlink.

"I think he's leading them!"

​

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

As I watch from my perch, I note that the group seems to be funneling into a chokepoint. They're right in the heart of the action now, starting to organize themselves efficiently despite the rivalry and the deadly nature of this trial.

Some are on the front lines, others hang back yet the one who once refused help now finds herself offering it. We all have a share of choice and responsibility; every action carries its consequences. That's even truer on the battlefield.

I continue to follow them through Akacron on Desevro. The enemy leader appears to be on the rooftop, soldiers are firing from every direction, and the group is slowly beginning to fragment. If their formation collapses, I doubt they'll last long once the rest of the examiners arrive. The extraction point looks within reach or maybe not.

This thought makes me fly a little lower. I land on an empty balcony, my feet dangling over the edge, my broom resting against the railing. Ready to grab it again if needed it has a little trick to it, but I'll keep that in reserve for now.

"What will happen now that the masks are falling, and everyone begins to reveal their true role? Who will be able to transcend their fate… or be consumed by it? Does the Sith Code not tell us to reject the rules of the game, to break our chains, and claim victory?"

The words are mostly for myself; they can't hear me from where I am anyway, and the sound of blaster fire drowns out my voice. I rest my hand beneath my chin, thinking quietly, lost in my own thoughts.

 

[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 // Lyssara Thrynn //

---

---

A raised eyebrow and curious smirk would be the immediate answer to Arris' statement, a playful wondering tickling the Echani's mind. Why had the woman accepted educating these students if she was no Sith herself?

There was value in lessons outside of the Sith doctrine, that Jorryn couldn't argue. She herself had many tutors in the arts of finery as well as combat, though much of it didn't stay in her mind.

But these were Sith here to train Sith were they not?

A hand brushed the flowing robes away from the ledge as the Echani took a seat beside her fellow observer, before lithe fingers accepted the cigarette. She wasn't typically one to smoke, yet she also didn't have any values against it.

The dark clouds filled her lungs, taking the smoky taste of it as her lips dragged out a shorter breath. A cloud parted soon after, drifting away with the wind as she thought what to say.

"Abuse was common tutelage for the acolytes when I was learning, both mental and physical. It has its values, I will not deny, but it also broke so many promising gems before their time." Amber eyes looked past the scenery towards the wounded figure of Neriah Calven being dragged carefully away by her fellow handmaiden. Jorryn wondered if Kirie regret her earlier actions, and prayed either decision wouldn't weaken her. "I prefer a more positive approach, broken things are ever so receptive to a delicate touch."

Another puff of the cigarette released a small grey cloud before handing the cigarette back to Arris Windrun , a delicate smirk remaining on her dark lips.

"Though try not to break them too much before they come my way, love."

Memories traced along the back of her mind as she remembered her youth in the Sith, knowing little of another life. She had been raised in a desolate ship by a cruel master, yet it forged her to the woman she was today.

A hint of regret and curiosity was quickly snuffed.

"Sith lessons being taught in violence are often the easy way, though not necessarily the best. Base instincts being beaten into us during our education, taught to strive towards death and seduction in order to weave the galaxy around their fingers." The witch's feet softly swayed in the air, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. "Not that I don't implement them myself, but there is a certain beauty in the discipline the Jedi incorporate."

An amber gaze tossed backwards through the trusses of her white hair as she looked down upon the acolytes now engaging in battle, watching as Varin Mortifer caved in the chest of some poor soldier, a mist of blood answering his strike. That one would be one to choose death as their obsession, she surmised.

Another, Reev Marr , played the game more cautiously. A defence being thrown against the waves of incoming troopers and using the time to observe and find the enemies' leaders. She was one to watch as well.

"I suppose we shall wait and see which of these paths our lovely acolytes pick..."

As the blood of the berserker Varin raced, so too would a lithe hand raise up in the air. The soldiers were weak, starved, and ravenous, but ultimately scared. Scared of dying in some forgotten place.

The Echani would help them forget that fear, pulling at the vessels in their veins to bring forth their own rage. To forget all else that wasn't simply to kill.

She wondered how the acolytes would manage with more ferocious enemies.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer Kirie Reev Marr Neriah Calven

When the time came to depart, Calyx - rare as it was - kept to himself. He lingered at the edge of one of the acolyte groups, led by the woman who’d drawn the instructor’s ire earlier. All of them were strangers, and he hadn’t bothered learning their names. There was still a gap between accepting the Dark Side and embracing the path of the Sith. Though he’d been pushed down it, whether he liked it or not.

The ruins of the old city waited just beyond the cliffs, a short, unremarkable hike away. Idle chatter filled the air. Something about the latest season of a holoseries he’d never heard of.

An unremarkable hike, until it wasn’t.

Calyx spun just as the blaster bolt zipped past, slamming into the girl at the rear. His breath caught, the shock crackling through him like live current.

Ambush.

A storm of blasterfire followed. Instinct took over. Calyx reached for the Force, feeling its familiar chill wash through him as he seized the Dark Side. His lightsaber hissed to life, green light cutting through the smoke and dust of the stirring group. Rough and unsteady reflexes surfaced, but it would be instinct that kept him alive.

Their leader, the same woman who'd headed the group, rushed to the fallen girl. Other sabers flared into existence, red and yellow mingling with his green. Calyx fell in beside Varin Mortifer, their blades weaving a perimeter of light and fury. He grimaced at his uneven rhythm, cursing how long it had been since he’d fought like this.

"Energetic lads, I’ll give ’em that," he called over the noise as another wave surged forward without fear, armed with the most ridiculous collection of improvised weapons he’d ever seen. He’d planned to break away from the group earlier, but that option was gone.

A curse rang out behind him as Varin advanced on the attackers. Calyx slowed, setting himself as a second line of defense.

"I thought these guys were Acolytes, why the hell are we fighting at range?!"

"S’pose not everyone likes it up close and personal on the first encounter," he quipped, a grin tugging at his lips as his bladework started to find its rhythm.

"There!" she pointed at an unfinished building.

"Rooftop, above the scaffolding!"

Another shout from the woman drew his eyes upward. Movement, a figure on the rooftop, robes catching the wind. "Anyone?" Calyx barked, following her gaze. "I’ll give you a lift!" He reached out through the Force, ready to throw his strength behind whoever dared to take the leap.

 

[Darth Amaymon]

Acolyte Boot Camp
LOCATION: DESEVRO
LOCATION: THE PIT > The Ruined City

The next couple of moments proceeded to extend through Sith Lord's perception, like ash raining down. His crimson gaze swept through the pit, analyzing the scene of acolytes being humiliated, punished, scoffed at and all manner of social detriment. As was tradition. Kezeroth knew these proceedings, they carved flesh, bone and broke illusions, illusions of one's perceptions. And where he had witnessed these rites and rituals over a millennium, perceiving it all again was...predictable.

The Sith Lord turned his head with the guidance of what his ears were picking up from the observers and instructors around him. A echani that had a vague familiarity about her spoke of possession with another instructor, while another previously spoke of belief, having a sharp tongue of weaponizing and instrumentalizing these acolytes. It was no different than the comment before, or after, depending on your perception. There was a vested interest by lords and ladies in the certain prospects that were the acolytes here today, and it disgusted him. This was not raising a next generation of Sith. It was possession. The shackling of chains onto oneself, not the breaking of them. It was just turning those around into copies of the same foul stench that mistaked survival for power.

Taught how to mimic power, but not actually wield it.

It was the folly of all Sith, and even to the Sith Lord's own detriment, a pathway that he had followed for a great time before his more recent reflections in death. But knowledge was power, and now that Kezeroth had this knowledge, he would wield it like a tool, a weapon. And in the same way that the Sith carved their pickings of acolytes, Kezeroth would do the same, the only difference being he would teach them how to shed their own character defects in exchange for greater perception. But in order to do this, it could not be done by word or a simple teaching. No, he would have to break them. He would have to break them in every way possible. And then, only then, if they were strong enough, if they wanted it badly, if they truly embraced themselves, they would thrive. But this was a process that all Sith had to undergo, and it never ended. Much to the misgivings of what modern Sith Lords might think, this process was forever. As long as the force held influence, there was a process of undergoing and forging one's character into refinement. A paradox.

Located just adjacent to the epicenter of the Mass Driver Crater, also called the PIT, Kesaroth's gaze tilted slightly upward to inspect the horizon of the crater, its edge, and from this angle it seemed to appear as a steep incline, or even a mountain to some. Deliberately taking a couple steps back, he stopped and felt a surge of dark side energy hasten throughout his body. More and more it collected and gathered, as if sucking all of the conflict, violence, and despair from the atmosphere before priming it and locking it into engagement with his muscular body. Pausing he held the metaphysical tension and growled. A sound that implied agitation and shot a look toward the Echani Jorryn Fordyce and the other instructor Arris Windrun . Displaying his teeth he flashed a grin, or maybe that was a scowl. His presence and visage made it hard to discern which.

The first couple of movements were just to build momentum, quick steps that quickly propelled him into a motion that looked as if he was testing the ground beneath him. His feet were light at first, and then progressively became heavier over time, as each step created a rebound effect. Then suddenly he blitzed into motion, sprinting for a short distance until he lowered his center of gravity and jumped, the takeoff itself creating a light tremor in the ground and fissures where he once stood, and then after that he was gone, ascending toward the edge of the crater, or the edge of the wall, per se. He landed with a rebounding slam before picking up momentum again and following up with the same motion. Only this time he cleared the crater's edge and went airborne toward the battlefield. There was a blur of red that came down, hurtling toward the ruined city. The ground below suddenly rose up to greet him and in that blur, the Sith Lord impacted like a falling star. Colliding with what remained of a ruined building of Duracrete and Durasteel, with an impact that sent it all shattering to the ground. A medium shockwave erupted, introducing a new chaotic element to the battlefield, a wave of dust and debris, obscuring vision and polluting lungs.

​

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

​

 

[Lyssara Thrynn]

Who dares? The vibration of the shockwave tears a section of the wall beside my balcony loose, shaking the whole structure. I almost lose my balance, barely catching my broom mid-fall. Dust covers me from head to toe as everything around me quivers with rare intensity. Whoever that was, he's definitely not here for subtlety.

I puff out a cheek, standing on the cracked railing with my broom in hand. I squint to get a better look a man, muscular, very muscular, with an undeniably dark aura. I'll give him that much. Is this part of the test? If so, I don't give the other apprentices much of a chance. I doubt they'll make it to the nearest shelter now; that plan seems compromised.

I sit back down and dust off my jacket, running a hand through my hair to shake off the gray residue. There back to my usual look and my calm from before the impact. Great. Now it's raining Sith. That's new. I shrug and decide to use levitation instead no need for the broom to fly. I move smoothly through the air to find a better vantage point, closer to the scene, keeping a direct line of sight.

The fact that I don't need my broom to do this says a lot.

I land softly on another building's edge and lean against a broken window, whistling softly while sipping my coffee. I hesitate to intervene. I'm not sure they can handle that monster of power… but then again, you need a challenge to transcend yourself. Maybe one of them will reach mastery before dying.

Counting on my fingers, I make a few private bets.

"I'm betting on her. Go on."

I raise my thermos and take another sip. Even though that thing down there is a walking disaster, I don't seem particularly worried. The show promises to be entertaining. Still, sacrificing promising apprentices feels like a bit of a waste to me. But hey, I'm not the one running this test. I might step in… if someone begs me to.

 

[Anet Raine]

The ambush caught them all off guard, and Anet felt entirely lost. She quickly ducked behind the cover of some debris as others tended to whoever had been shot. It was all a blur, and the scholar hadn't seen much of anything from her blind spot behind Ghruna 's back.

She could hear someone shouting in surprise as one acolyte spotted someone from a rooftop. She went to peek, mostly out of adrenaline-rushed curiosity and not knowing any better, when...

A medium shockwave erupted, introducing a new chaotic element to the battlefield, a wave of dust and debris, obscuring vision and polluting lungs.

The sudden rush of dust and other particles ripped across the wind, causing her eyes to sting and shut quickly.

"Gah!" She groaned in pain.

Her heart began to pound rapidly from overwhelming fear, and instinctively, the acolyte ignited her lightsaber. The brilliant blue blade exposed her like a beacon in the smog. Little did she know, the opposing acolytes had coerced some of the prisoners into fighting for them. No doubt hollow promises of liberation - or at least survival - were offered in exchange. Desperation was a powerful weapon indeed.

The armed soldiers and spacers began to circle them like prey, while an enemy acolyte popped out of a well-hidden foxhole in the ground and rushed Varin Mortifer in an attempt to flank him.

Anet, meanwhile, would feel the side of her leg suddenly burn hot as a blaster shot cut deep across her flesh. It failed to go deep, but the pain and damage badly immobilized her leg. The near-human doubled over in pain and dropped her weapon. She did her best to keep her mouth shut, gritting her teeth to avoid screaming.

Neriah Calven | Kirie | Lysander von Ascania | Calyx Sundrift | Lirka Ka | Lyssara Thrynn

 

[Arris Windrun]

Training may've amused some, but Arris felt little at the sight of struggling acolytes. There was honestly a drop in her stomach when she saw Neriah Calven get hit.

Is she? Arris wondered.

Morbid curiosity denied when Kirie managed to drag the girl along. She doubted anyone would do that for a dead body in these conditions. A small bit of relief replaced the melancholic churn. However, Arris did not wear her feelings openly - her expression looked distracted more than anything.

She grabbed the smoke when it was returned and took another long drag. A secret the cyborg never revealed was how little such substances affected her, and how necessary it all was... After all, her finely tuned implants regulated her hormones quite well and filtered out toxins before she could overdose. So why did she do it?

Another long drag.

Jorrny's explanations reminded Arris of something she was once told.

"It is customary for masters of the Dark Side to torture their protégés. This stokes a spectrum of emotional responses that are conducive to tapping into the Dark Side." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I have found that this is not so conducive to the long-term survival of the master, which happens to be one of my personal success metrics."

Seems he wasn't the only one who thought that way, or so she believed to read between the lines of what the Echani said.

"Though try not to break them too much before they come my way, love."

Arris mustered the greatest amount of visible suspicion she could offer. Narrowed eyes, raised brow, and a tight jaw.

Then she laughed. "Sorry, do you have plans that I don't know about? I don't even know you."

The Talusian proceeded to elaborate her own thoughts on the matter.

"I was asked to make soldiers out of them, not prospects. If they can kill Jedi, if they can survive battle, then they are useful to us... If not..."

Her eyes peered high only to watch Darth Amaymon crash down like a mass driver round that got lost for a few millennia.