Faction Acolyte Boot Camp [TSC]

[Anet Raine]

Anet decided to move from the crowd as soon as one of the instructors decided to pick on Kirie. It wasn't personal, but the scholar would rather not stand out amongst her or the lost padawan.

So instead, she shuffled towards Ghruna , Irina Jesart , and Reev Marr ...

She looked down at her lightsaber before speaking up. "Do either of you know what is going on?"

Anet was wary of admitting her ignorance of the situation. When the acolytes were summoned out here, she was told very little at all, just to arrive and be prepared for training. But the distant sound of blaster shots and explosions made her deeply nervous. Were they expected to participate in that?!

She scooted closer to the lanky Maldrani.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tag(s): Open

A glance caught his attention, being the gaze of an Echani, and leaving him no choice but to meet her stare, a brow arching on its own. Not a challenge, not a smirk, just a wordless what the feth? It wasn't the pit he was puzzled about now; it was Jorryn Fordyce . Why was she here, and why was she looking at him like that?

The moment stretched but a second longer, before a faint buzz against his wrist drew his focus away. Tilting his head slightly, he caught the familiar voice through an earpiece.

<<"Her survival is paramount.">>

Orders came sooner than his heart foresaw, and something curled behind a clenched jaw. Drawing in a slow breath, he responded.

<<Understood. She’s in my sight.>>

The target was easy; he already knew her. Kirie . He had just been looking in that direction, but that recognition only made the order weigh heavier on his conscience.

The stagnant air shattered with the crack of a firearm, luring him in just in time to witness a projectile slam mercilessly into her. Lysander’s stomach plummeted in empathy, and the timing of it all mocked him, only seconds after the command had been issued. Unbeknownst to him, he already leaned forward, the thud of his boot sinking into muck below, as the sting of failure cracked his facade, revealing the tension ripping through him

A hand lingered just above the gracefully curved hilt, the weapon aching to be released. An alien warmth pressed against his skin, another signature, as two figures bent to aid her. With Varin Mortifer present as well, and knowing his old roommate as he did, a third was surely nearby.

It too dawned on him how dangerously at peace he had been, lulled by a false comfort.

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

Finally, Lysander set himself in motion. Black tunic and leggings, worn boots scuffed from too many paths, nothing about him stood out.. seemingly no different than what he wore in a dozen other places these days.

Perhaps, this was only orientation by fire, a proving ground, a place to rattle nerves before they were driven elsewhere. One lesson had already been made plain: no coddling. And too many already faltered in that regard, himself among them.

But orders were orders; for now, he kept his distance, a shadow at the edge.

A gold blade cut against the gloom. He offered only a small nod in passing to Reev Marr , a wordless acknowledgment of discipline both seen and noted. Beyond, he marked Anet Raine 's presence, and the Maldrani Ghruna who had already challenged him once.

At length, his gaze flicked to Darth Amaymon , a colossus of stone, his silence louder than any command.

Stillness had been his armor; now it slipped away, leaving only the stray of one who could no longer stand still.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He watched her turn around. Satisfied with the advice he gave her in hopes she’d use it for her survival. That was up to her. The next split second would show why she needed to take this lesson to heart.

A loud crack as a projectile flew her way, Varin watched it travel and then slam right into her chest. Watched her double over in pain then saw something familiar come out of her. While others pitied her Varin saw her fight, her drive to survive and he smirked, not from the cruelty, but to the fact that she was a fighter in the end. His gaze shot to Lysander as he saw him move and Varin’s brow furrowed.

An interesting reaction from him. Was she important? Why? He looked dead at him, a look in his eyes as if to say remain calm. These things needed to play out for the betterment of everybody. Another acolyte came by to check on her, offering to heal. Varin glared down at her.

“You are drawing unwanted attention to yourselves. Pain is the perfect teacher. Let her feel. Let it fuel. I suggest you learn this too.”

He spoke to both acolytes before him as Arris made her way over yelling at the acolytes and apprentices.

He looked at Arris as she dropped the shell, the hollow sound clinking into the air, his brow furrowed as he watched. Then the heavy feeling of dark side energy flooded over him. So much power radiating the air felt heavier. He could feel the rage coming from it, and it was enticing.

Varin shook his head to clear his thoughts before pressing further into the emotion.

Kirie | Lysander von Ascania | Neriah Calven | Arris Windrun | Darth Amaymon​

 

[Lirka Ka]

TAGS - Neriah Calven Reev Marr Ghruna Anet Raine Varin Mortifer Lysander von Ascania Calyx Sundrift Arris Windrun Kasir Dorran Darth Amaymon Darth Anathemous Jorryn Fordyce

Ah. Now things had gotten interesting. The first blow had been struck like the ringing of the metaphorical gong. Many of the gathered Lords and Ladies (and whatever horrid thing one might describe Lirka Ka as) had stood as silent sentinels - save for Arris Windrun whom Lirka had quickly gleamed to expect some modicum of rowdiness from. Though admittedly…she’d have just used a real slug. It was good to let a little blood. Even if she wasn’t entirely certain Kirie would do all too well being shot.

She noticed whatever hungry hate Kasir Dorran threw her way - she was used to it, really. Her enemies were a list sprawling through decades, most of them she paid little heed. In moments of weakness, perhaps the endless judging eyes of phantoms and specters grated at her rather…fragile…sanity. But not today. It was more motivating than anything.

With clawed hands still clasped, Lirka finally spoke. There was an icy metallic chill to her words, unnaturally amplified by the helmet that hid the wretched face beneath.

“Wisdom already flows this day, it would seem. It is true, do not fear pain. Do not balk in its wake - pain is a gift, a reminder of life. A reminder of the endless struggle of our existence. In time - those of you who survive - will learn to welcome pain as if it were an old lover.”

She began to pace back and forth now, that predator’s gait she so often had. She did not address any of the acolytes directly - not yet at least. They’d know who they were. The mother’s guiding hand did not discriminate, it merely needed to show these miserable whelps where the Dark Path began.

“Look around you now, fledglings! Around you are your brothers, your sisters. All of you, links in the same cosmic chain…”

Her tone changed, a malice entered her words. Venomous and sharp.

“…but they are not your friends. They may be, for a time, your allies. But do not let the weakness of kindness into your heart. If you are to be Sith, you will take a knife between your kin’s ribs when the time comes!”

Lirka Ka was a believer. A zealot. She had formed religion and faith around her own madness, the perspective of the universe shaped by her time on distant Rhand and trapped away in Wild Space. Some Sith measured power in tangible things, warships, lightsabers, lightning bolts, and mystic powers. Lirka did too, at times. But she knew the ultimate power: belief.

“But what does it mean to be Sith, hm? What has driven you lot to huddle in this desolate place, with plundered weapons in hand? Those bold enough to lay your belief bare, speak!”

And of course, Lirka coveted belief like some sort of twisted collector. Chronicling all that she could for the many murderous faces she had met during her travels.

 

[Emissary of Strife]

​

There was much commotion within the camp, and so soon after all had arrived. Acolytes sized each other up, some postured, and one stood out enough to be harassed by an instructor. Good. The life of a Sith was a cruel thing, but it was cruelty born of necessity, not a mindless thing for wanton violence and other psychotic acts. The stock would be honed, the weak culled, and those left chiseled down until true Sith stood in their place.

"Enough!" Interrupted a robed figure who appeared along the Pit's edge and looked down upon them, face obscured by shadow.

It was subtle, but the winds began to change direction, now gently blowing past the figure and towards the looming battlefield.

"Beyond the Pit is Akacron, a fortress city constructed by one of Xim's generals in the years following his demise. As you can hear..."

His words paused so they might discern the occasional crack of blaster fire.

"... There are soldiers within, fighting for their survival... fighting the first wave of acolytes. You will join them, but be warned, only one group will be allowed to return to the academy - to the last life."

Perhaps his manner of speech was unclear, but the air chilled as if his words were an omen. He spoke of a simple brutality: The acolytes before him were one group, and those already within Akacron were a second group. Only one group would be allowed to return.

"You have until nightfall... Fail to kill the other group, and all of you will be exterminated by orbital fire."

For the Covenant, acolytes weren't merely students. They were soldiers, too. Cohesion mattered just as much as competition if they were expected to charge headlong into battle with the Jedi and those nations sustained by their sick teachings.

The robed figure gestured towards Lirka Ka , who had spoken a moment earlier.

"This one speaks true," and echoed the words. "If you are to be Sith, you must indeed wear your motives as if they are your very soul!

"Enter Akacron - find the other acolytes - and do what must be done. As for the prisoners, their fate matters not, only yours."

An icy mist consumed the horizon upon which the robed figure stood, removing his presence from their perceptions. When the mist cleared, a path was revealed that hadn't been there before. A trench that led to the ruined city. To their test. If the acolytes meant to be students at the academy, they would have to earn it.

"Oh..." The echoes of his final words. "The most promising among you will be rewarded with a relic of Xim's fallen empire."

To whet their appetites, if the promise of blood did not.

 

[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

Kirie did her best to straighten up, struggling for breath, pain constricting the edge of her vision like her head and chest were being squeezed in a vice. She was aware of her flurry of activity around her. Of concern and alarm, but her eyes were fixed on the blonde Sith. A name swam out of the pained haze. Arris. Arris Windrun. She would remember it. Whether she could do anything about the cruel master or not, she would remember.

She did her best to hold her head level, meeting the eyes of Jorryn Fordyce , who looked for a moment like she would intervene. She prayed she wouldn't. All that would bring was worse trouble.

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

She heard dull and distorted words beside her and became aware of Neriah Calven at her elbow. She blinked at the girl uncomprehendingly. She was the one who had been staring at her with loathing, so why now was she-?

"Leave her be."

Arris again. Kirie dragged her gaze back to her, trying to keep her face neutral, managing to struggle to a standing position beside Neriah. Her mind was filled with images of being shot again for whatever unknowable infraction she had committed. Kirie could only guess it was for being too passive, for undermining whatever sick lesson was being taught in this death pit. Unfortunately, that also meant she knew what to do.

Kirie's eyes slid to Neriah, her offer for assistance answered by Arris instead of Kirie. The choice had been made for her. Kirie gave her a pained looked and mouthed a silent apology.

'Sorry.'

Then she pushed Neriah, hard. Hard enough to send the unsuspecting girl into the dirt. She could not be the weakest, could not be the victim again. She glanced around, at the man who had offered advice, Varin Mortifer , trying to guide her again, and Lysander von Ascania , who paced about the pit, looking spooked.

Without her really meaning it to, Kirie's adopted saber ignited, casting a flickering light that accentuated the hollows of her eyes and the sharp angles of her jaw. She moved it around slowly, to force everyone away from her, to give her room to catch her breath.

Lirka Ka 's lecture echoed in Kirie's ears, and she heeded the beast's warning. These were not her friends, not now, and certainly not after they heard what was coming, for surely there was something coming.

"Enter Akacron - find the other acolytes - and do what must be done. As for the prisoners, their fate matters not, only yours."

There it was, the promise of destruction, and of reward. There was nobody to trust now, not after they had been given tacit permission to murder each other, not with the fear of a culling hanging over their heads. She understood it now, that if she resisted, she would be punished, and eventually they would either break her, or they would kill her.

May as well get on with it.

Kirie, for her part, did not even wait until the dread figure in the robes had finished speaking. She merely turned away from the instructors and started walking towards the sloping tunnel leading out of the pit and towards the ruined city, saber still ignited, its tip trailing just above the ground. The pain of the shot had mostly faded now, replaced by a sort of numb, apathetic lightness. She wondered if Neriah would get up and try to put her back in her place. She doubted it.

Hopeless. She thought to herself. It's all hopeless.

 

[Neriah Calven]

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

What was the point? What was the point in her existing? In surviving? No-one cared for her. That was what was going in her mind. Neriah hadn't even seen it coming. Nor had she seen the silent apology. She had been too focused on trying to heal the Acolyte who had been harmed. Too busy focusing on the...filth.

If she's filth, what does that make you?
Trash. A waste of air. A Fool.
...Well. Now you're even making yourself feel sorry for you.
I don't care.

They were all filth. Scum. Neriah wasn't like them. But that was because she was worse. She had tried to help. No-one helped filth to live. To grow. No. Instead they crushed it. They cleaned it from the Galaxy. It's what she should have done. Flashes of what she should have done came to her mind as she laid on the ground. She should have taken her lightsaber and scrubbed that filth from the Galaxy whilst she was in pain. Whilst she was vulnerable. Now Neriah was the laughing stock. The joke. There was nothing good about being kind. Her master had been wrong.

Shame. Regret. Anger. It was all flooding through her mind. Yet at the same time, her face was void of...anything. There was no point showing any of her emotions. Far better to keep it in. It was only a matter of time before she was more than likely wiped off the face of the Galaxy herself. Cleaned from the Universe. It was far better without a fool like herself.

One of the Instructors, nor that Neriah cared to remember their names, had said that if they were to be Sith, they'd have to put a knife between their "kin's" ribs. That wasn't what she would do.

Why? Because you aren't one of them...or because you'd rather press a Lightsaber against their heart?

That thought didn't receive an answer. The only response to it was Neriah's fingers tightly clutching her lightsaber. The anger only surging through her as the Thief pushed on forward. Pushed on with the stolen Lightsaber. The one she had tainted. Corrupted already. It would be used to kill. Used in anger. Everything her master hadn't wanted for Neriah herself.

Why care about what an old man wanted? If you cared about what he thought, you'd have gotten help. Why help a Sith when you didn't help him?

Once again, there was no answer. Instead she made her way off towards the trench, dragging her feet along. It reminded her of her venture into the Academy. When she had isolated herself from the group. When she had begged not to be left alone. But in reality, that's all she was. A scared girl who was alone. Who had no-one in her corner. Not even herself. She could only pray that some soldier or Acolyte would put her out of her misery when she wasn't looking.

Giving up, are we? I thought better of you.
No you didn't. You're me. I've never had a single good opinion about myself.
...Well. You're right there.

Her thoughts had lost all emotion to them. All tone. Her gaze just dull and focused ahead of herself. Whatever happened...happened.

​