Almost Unwanted Gift.

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Jedi Center.

They emerged from shadows, cloaked figures stretching out in the dim lighting. What was left of the Jedi from Coruscant's temple grounds. Admittedly, did feel safer here. Here, at what had replaced the temples on Tython and Coruscant. Kashyyyk styled and carved into the face of a large body of rock, set aglow with torches and vines. A council which had spread itself into the galaxy after defeat on Coruscant, now manifested in smaller seeds around the Republic worlds. Masters of worthy title acted as a smaller council, under the 'grandmaster' of that particular seed. Nejaa's curious eyes couldn't believe it, were they all hiding? Had fear taken them by the throat too, or would they justify this as some kind of rational behavior.

"Welcome, Master Niynx," a hooded Gran male said in a low grumble.
Nejaa winced, then nodded.

Another Knight, though not one Nejaa had met before. His speaking in standard basic was terrible, yet he bore on with it. From what he understood, the council had been expecting him for awhile now. A still, lingering fear took hold of his gut and strangled whatever voice had told him to come back here. "Yes, well, it's been awhile," he offered, smiled, and walked in pointed direction. A hallway wherein lay only one door. The council chambers. Without wasting time, he made his way through torch lit stone walls until the door and keypad lay before him. Four digits, and the mechanical door slid open. A familiar, circular room lay ahead.

Scratching the anxiety from his complexion and forcing himself to take the first step, he entered. Made his way to the center, and bowed to the man he knew to be the acting master-of-the-council. A thick Togorian named Mieer, who's glance held one thousand soft judgements, and a million more riddled answers. With a quick glance, Nejaa recognized more than a few of the Jedi, though a good portion he had never laid eyes on.

"Your return to Kashyyyk iss mosst welcome, Nejaa Niynxss," Mieer spoke first.
Nejaa bowed his head, "and I can assure you it's good to be back."
"You have good newss, then?"
He kept his head bowed, "Well, on the contrary, Master Mieer..."

"Bad newth then?" spoke another male Sullustan, behind him.
"The mission was a success, though I lost both wingmen in the process."
"Ah, a victory not worth celebrating then, hmm?" A female Nautolan.

Nejaa took to the floor, then Mieer, "though I encountered something far more disturbing than this... bounty hunter I was tasked with finding." It was clear enough that he had thought the mission a waste of his time, though it was only a continuation of the same pout he had given them upon receiving it about three months earlier. "In my time along the Perlemian Trade Route, I was surrounded by darkness-- disturbances, which approached me." The room was quiet, each looking to form their words well before asking some kind of jaded question.

"You're sspeaking of... ssith? Near thosse borderss?" Mieer asked calmly.
"Yes, of considerable enough power, I was only able to escape on each account."
"... And thiss iss what cosst you your men?"
"N-No, that was a rather separate issue." He stumbled, verbally.
"Thiss iss mosst dissturbing," and everyone else nodded.

Nejaa frowned. "There was no distress call from your craft, nor did you check in during your time away, Nejaa," a female with a burly voice spoke from behind him. He knew her voice without seeing her horrid face, a Zabrak woman with faded, blank, red skin. Grey hair pulled apart by sharp horns. She often challenged the young Knight, so he didn't turn to face her. "Perhaps I have been unclear when I tell you that numerous sith lurk directly outside of our borders, preying on those who pass by. Especially those with the force. And while that is a lot already, there could easily be more." A hand was waved, and he was silenced. "We will dispatch necessary forces to deal with this," the human man sitting next to Mieer said with some reassurance. "If what you say is true, we're talking about a threat which must be looked into." Another agreed, female, "the sith must be backed with confidence if they've come so close to our space." Nejaa stood in silence, awaiting some place to interject. Some further conversation occurred, in which another master was assigned to solving the issue. Permission to do what he must.

"Iss that all then, Niynxss?"
Nejaa nodded.
"What is it you'll do then, Knight?" spoke the Sullustan again.
"Will you stay on Kashyyyk until you've recovered?" a strange, new voice.
"N-No, I don't think so, I am in no need of recovery."

It was like he had given a cue...
The energy of the room changed a bit...

"Wonderful news, then your next move?"
"To seek the sith you spoke of before?"
Nejaa shook his head.

"I have no plans of returning there, no."
"Though, you're the most familiar with these sith you speak of."

Nejaa eyed the surrounding council members with a look of skepticism and huffed out an exhale, working his way back into the middle of the room. If they had wanted him to stay there, they could have merely asked. "My familiarity with these men will do me nothing but invoke a rage the likes of which I'd rather not combat," Nejaa challenged with careful words. "Do you fear an... outcome, Nejaa?" He wanted to glare at the Zabrak woman, but judged against it. "I see no point in covering grounds we've just assigned another master, master Guzan." His tone was restrained, to say the least.

"Perhapss another tassk iss what you sseek?"
"You have one to suggest?" He hated the sound of those words.
"Ssomething different than what you're ussed to, Knight."
"Different?"
"A padawan, Niynxss."

Nejaa didn't speak, only stared forward. And remained like this while they awaited his response. "I-- you find me worthy of teaching another-- I, I must admit, I don't understand, master Mieer." The cat smiled gracefully, white teeth showing. "But the taking of a padawan iss sso much more than jusst teaching, Niynxss." Nejaa frowned, beginning to clue into their meaning. "I still don't understand, why choose me to act as a mentor? I--" the Zabrak cut his sentence in half, "do you think yourself unworthy, Niynx?" Everything was rigged, and trapped with them. Words which carved mazes and a hive mind which spun webs he could not escape. His apology was meager.

"Forgive me, masters. It would be an honor to take a padawan."
"Good, it iss ssettled then."
"Torin Varik, an Ace from Coruscant."

"... An Ace?" Nejaa questioned.
"And a fine one at that."

"... So where is he now?"
"Currently? Returning from Cato Neimoidia. He'll be here by nightfall."

He'd have to wait until then...

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

It was a rather obnoxious hour of the morning when Torin's own vessel flew in. Nejaa had expected a transport craft, carrying more than one Jedi; though he recalled that this padawan was an Ace, and already enrolled in the Republic star-fleet. Rain had, for hours, pounded down on the trees and sandy beaches of this primitive world. It had stormed heavily over the past few days, according to the holo-net, so today's rain was of no real surprise. Nejaa stood, relaxed, against the rain. Under an overhanging of wood, he was yet dry enough, though the moisture had overtime made him moist. The quiet eyes of a human face in wait. He had actually met this Torin before, though memory granted him only a small portion of real tangibility. A scowl, hidden under shadow, began to surface at the Clawcraft, for some reason more memorable than the pilot who drove it. He would let the padawan speak first in their meeting, not wanting to appear overbearing. A bout of frustration baking inside of him.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

It was a such a wonderful sound - silence. There was nothing quite as peaceful as being in space. He shifted, leaning further back in the well worn seat. A long sigh pushed through stale air. The planet before him was familiar but still felt too foreign to call home. Home. Fresh memories, like re-opened wounds, stung and prodded him. He pushed them from his mind again. He must not fall victim to pains of the past. As if it were easier than breathing, Torin's hands danced across the control panel, prepping the ship for the impending landing.
"Torin Varik requesting permission to land." His calm, smooth voice broke the silence.
A response muffled by static, "Landing permissions and registration code, please."
"Reporting to the Jedi Center. Registation code 49470-8."
"Permission to land. Proceed to landing bay."
Next, the Jedi Council. A faded digital projection of a Jedi of the order glitched to life before Torin. "Torin Varik reporting from Kashyyyk air space. I have returned from Cato Neimoidia. Nearing the landing bay as we speak."
"Welcome back, Torin. We will be expecting you." With that the projection disappeared.
Rain whipped against the ship as it lined up for a landing. When most would rely on automated programing, Torin gripped the controls of his own ship with confidence. He was the programing. He knew every inch of this ship. He knew exactly how it was to move, given the demand. It was effortless to him - more like a reflex than anything. It wasn't long before the Clawcraft was on the ground. A peculiar ship for an Ace from Coruscant. It wasn't very large, didn't have very many guns or computers. However, Torin knew what it was capable of and that's what mattered.

He climbed out of the cockpit and onto the landing bay. He pulled his helmet from his head as he approached the terminal. A top his usual dark green flight suit and black belt, Torin wore a black pilot coat - unzipped. His light saber and blaster were strapped to either side of his hip, jostling with each long stride. Tucking the helmet beneath his arm he cringed beneath the pelting water. He lightly jogged to shelter beneath the wooden overhanging. He shook the moister from his dark brown hair and wiped it from his face. He nodded to the flight assistance crews and fellow pilots with a charming smile and a gracious presence. He knew many of them by name. Nearly all of them made an effort to gladly respond with a smile or a wave. He scanned the area. He was expecting someone. According to the order, the reason he had been withdrawn from Cato Neimoidia was to train under his new master - Nejaa Ninyx. A Jedi Knight of the republic with a respected reputation. From what Torin remembered of the boy, he was very talented. His skills with the force and with a light saber were not to be taken lightly. That's when he noticed the familiar cloaked figure. His memory pieced together who it was as he got closer. A smile of recognition lit up his face. He didn't speak until he was closer to him. "Master Nejaa. It's great to see you again." He wore the same neutral but content expression one would find on most jedi. He peeled the damp gloves from his hands. "How long has it been since that mission in Alderon?" He tucked the gloves in one of the many pockets that littered the pilot suit.

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

He could feel his confidence fading from the first moments Torin climbed from his craft. In its place, a thick, crimson red wave of hatred washed through his veins. One lip raised in a snarl, bearing teeth, dropping when Torin neared. The council must have known this, must have known who this man was to Nejaa. Mieer himself had issued the order, a master Nejaa had confided in many times. He could almost feel the wood cracking under his adamant grip. For a second, he saw their images, strangled and floored. All of them, the entire council, some of them still red hot with smoking lightsaber wounds. No blood, everything was cauterized. But a fowl smell. Their lies were so cleverly concealed that even he had not seen through any of it. This was not meant as a compliment, or an act of recognition. This was probation, and torture.

Torin was everything he wished he was...

"Three years and two months ago, just about. And it's Alderaan," Nejaa corrected.

Nejaa bowed his head only for a fraction of a second, nodding as he messaged the rage from his mind. "It's of course a pleasure to accept you back here, on Kashyyyk." Before he was even done speaking, Nejaa spun around, cloak whirling around him, and begun walking back from wence he came. Expecting Torin to follow. "It is to my understanding you've served from here since our defeat on Coruscant." He was commenting more than asking, and let little room for an answer. With his back to Torin, he was free to emote as he wished, the snarl returning to his words, though the tone alone barely showing its signs. He had no intention of sugar coding anything, nor hiding the way he felt. If the council wished to pin him with a learner, he would show them what exactly he was dealing with. Who exactly he had met, and how powerful they were. Perhaps the gift of a padawan was the gift of a breathing shield.

He changed his mind, they would hunt the sith.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Torin watched the boy's expression. He certainly didn't reciprocate the same greeting Torin gave. Nejaa's snippy response caused him to perk an eye brow. Still as bold as ever. He recalled the way the boy spoke to the Jedi Masters that accompanied them on their mission to Alderaan. A short nod, more small talk. With that he spun around and took off. Torin hesitated in silence, temporarily shocked, before he jogged a few steps to catch up to his side. In an attempt to avoid the awkwardness of the situation, Torin played along. He tried to carry the same enthusiasm he began with. "Yeah. Well, it's good to be back." Almost cutting him off, Nejaa spoke again.

Our defeat on Coruscant. He spoke of it with such little attachment. Torin's eyes hit the floor for a moment. "That's right. I have been here for a year or so. Been stationed in Cato Neimoidia for a while now, though. But I'm sure you already knew that." He glanced down at the boy with an almost playful smirk. "It is to my understanding that you have completed another successful mission yourself, Master Nejaa." He played off the boy's own short sharp statement while maintaining a respectful and charismatic tone. This is how he chose to play this game. He had thought it strange that he was assigned to a master that has such an opposite skill set and method of wielding the force. Based on his attitude, Nejaa had not chosen this fate either. So what was the explanation for this?

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

Nejaa's eyes fell into a squint when Torin spoke again. The snarl dropped, and he realized the spite present in his words. Allowing the breath he had previously sucked down to flow smoothly from his lungs, the young Knight tried to calm himself. His anger, though, was not so easily vanquished, and he continued forth with the speedy walk. "Mm, depends on what you'd call a victory," he avoided Torin's name, unsure of what to refer to him as. When a master spoke to a padawan, it was normally out of a place of superiority. Nejaa hardly felt like he had anything to teach. Torin was better at everything Nejaa tried hardest to be already. Even his age was higher, better, more. 'Young padawan' or 'young one' was not even a proper dismissal as it always had been for him.

Flying out of the covering, and into the rain, the two walked through a series of hanging bridges. Thin boards connected by ropes, slowly gurgling as you walked upon them. Nejaa moved across them as if he were gliding, light steps almost countering the natural swing of the bridge. On the other end was an oddly shaped building. Primitive, and build around the trunk of a massive tree, a small enclave had been hollowed out and established. For the most part, it was a barren room, though there were no walls. Someone could easily, sort of, fall of. And it would be a fatal fall, to be sure. Rain spat atop the roofed surface and seemed to only have its noise amplified in the room below. As Nejaa entered, his hand would raise and the metal of his hilt would flip through the air to meet it. An emerald blade hissed into life, screaming at the last drop to touch its surface. A subtle movement of the thumb clicked the blade to stun, a setting he could manipulate manually; a feature that was uncommon on most lightsabers.

It was of no matter, as another unlit blade flipped through the air and a cyclone. Nejaa took another few steps forward, entering the central chamber of the room, and swung around. There were certain traditions which called for such immediate testing among Jedi history, though it was certainly a rare event. It violated one of the first lines of the Jedi code, and called for violence. Because of the speed, Torin would have no choice but to catch the handle, "use that," he'd say. "The Council has asked that we track down a particular sith. A sith by the name of Asterion, currently involved in a smaller faction by the name of Empire of the Hand-- something to that effect." As he spoke, he walked in large circles, his glare falling upon Torin with full intent of intimidation. "If you're to aid me, and the Council has requested with... insistence, I'll need to know exactly where you stand on the field of combat." Brandishing the weapon towards the unpleasantly attractive human and waving it in a small command, "attack me, Torin."

This was, however, a very common sith initiation...
Though it was doubtful Torin would know such a thing...
A good thing too, because this was Nejaa's approach...

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Every word that surfaced from the boy's mouth, every decision or move he made was unexpected and absolute. Chaotic. Yes, that was a good word for him. It hadn't really sunk in until the light saber hit the palm of his hand. He meant to test him. Why not allow him to use his own? A look of puzzlement followed by an amused smirk. "You're just one surprise after the other." He removed the black coat and place the helmet on the ground beside him. He stood tall, broad shoulders falling into place. The borrowed light saber buzzed to life. The hilt was familiar, basic. He was ready to prove himself. He hoped Nejaa was too. The boy circled him like a hawk, his own saber ablaze. He hesitated. Only for a moment. Observing his opponent. Predicting the moment in each step of optimum vulnerability. "As you wish, Master." Neon color whizzed through the air with an energetic buzz. He curled it around his body only once as he propelled forward, preparing for a vicious horizontal swing. His offensive form pushed forward with another swift but heavy strike from the other side. Precise footwork pushed another attack - an abrasive spin-and-swipe maneuver. The closer he pushed the more effective the result. Torin possessed a certain finesse when it came to the light saber. His movements were fast and dangerous but fluid and precise. Perhaps he would not be as easy an opponent as Nejaa predicted.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

Torin caught the weapon and brought it to his side, speaking in turn. It was good, he didn't seem thrown off by Nejaa's methods, and responded well. His attack was aggressive, an obvious style as it was unlike the others. They had fought side by side once before, though it was impossible to judge a padawan's skill when placed against a sith. His approach was steady, and it was clear that he was an experienced fighter. But the form was common enough and he had fought against it once before. A cautious side step of retreat, Nejaa's own blade whipping about to parry Torin's first and second strikes. He made no attempt to attack, even in moments where he might have, and Torin's final strike fell against a well risen defense. Nejaa's second hand twirled and shot forward, sending a large push of kinetic energy to fly forth at the young Ace, enough power to send him staggering backwards, though not enough to really harm him.

In the next moment, Nejaa was on the attack, and for a second he managed to conjure every inch of his power, whirling a specific attack at Torin's blade, slipping it into a loop motion and severing it at the base. Torin's blade would putter out, Nejaa's own having torn through the metal plating, and frying the central gearing.

"That was a stun blade, like those of the academy. A precaution. It's unneeded, you wouldn't last a minute against a sith."

Nejaa raised his emerald weapon back up, pointing at the padawan. "Draw your own blade, Torin. When you strike, you're to strike in preparation of ending the fight. You need to make each attack the last attack." His voice was short, and impatient.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Each and every attack Torin tried to throw seemed effortlessly deflected. Nejaa didn't retaliate at first, only dodged. The rods of light bounced against each other in a dance of battle. Then a shove. The force pushed Torin back away from his new master. He cringed and stumbled. No time to react before Nejaa thrust an unexpected attack. He whipped his blade around Torin's own before severing the metal base effectively disarming him. It all happened so fast. It was not a style Torin had ever seen before. A stun blade. He knew it felt familiar. Apparently he had failed the test. Nejaa was quick to jump to criticism, accusing Torin of not taking his attack serious enough. It was true, he had not taken it seriously. He was being asked to attack his own master, not some enemy. Nejaa was asking, no, telling his padawan to attack his own master like he would a Sith. This was most certainly an abnormal request. He didn't reach for his own light saber.
"You ask me to attack you like I would a Sith when you are a friend. I assure you, Master, I will be able to hold my own against the enemy. There's no need for such violence to prove that." His words held depth but remained light. He did not intend to disrespect but rather suggest that he would rather not one of them end up hurt.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

"Have you faced a sith before, Torin? Have you the slightest clue of the power they wield?"

Nejaa paced to the right, continuing his predatory circle around the padawan learner. He was no stranger to odd teachings, and he understood that this was a desperately odd training method. One steeped in Jedi tradition and lore of old, rather than the formal design of the Republic's fleet. "You mistake your place, padawan," Nejaa cut cleanly. His blade lowered, a diagonal towards the floor, veering from him and casting its light on the wood below.

"The Council has asked that I teach you what I know, Torin. You must drop the narrow minded view of the code you've adopted so well, and learn to look at it from further back. Violence is nothing a Jedi strives for, though a Jedi seeks power in no different a way than a sith; the difference is their use of such power. My orders are not a matter of debate. Attack me."

This was an establishment of superiority.
He was the master, and Torin was the student.
Soon, he would learn his place.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

You know that I do...

Torin's eyes narrowed as he watched the boy struggle to prove he was the man. There was nothing he needed to prove. So why did he act this way? Although, if this was really the way of Nejaa's teachings, there must have been something valuable to glean from it. Perhaps he had mistaken his place. Perhaps he should not have argued against Nejaa's request - no - demand. However, everything his master said and did suggested something almost tabu. Nothing, necessarily, that stepped outside the Jedi Code of conduct. It just surfed the edges on thin ice.

It was true, though. Jedi and Sith did seek power similarly. But in that one similarity is an ocean of differences. Torin furrowed his brows in contemplation. An incomplete thought followed by another demand. He would give him what he wanted. Not because he agreed with it. Because he wanted Nejaa to understand his loyalties. There was a moment of silence.

"Perhaps you are right about me, Master." He drew his own light saber slowly. "I have mistaken my place as your padawan. I suppose I'm still warming up to the idea." His own neon light activated. "However, I'm having a hard time understanding your apparently 'open minded' view." He spoke truth but a small part of him enjoyed poking at the boy's boundaries with subtle sarcasms. Nejaa's circling had brought him behind Torin. Now approaching his left. He felt a pulse from Nejaa's presence, blindly pin pointing his approximate location. He lunged again. This time to the side and faster, much faster. And followed by a heavy back-handed swing across his body, meant to come down hard. Harder than last time. Much more vigor and little more power. He danced into another attack. The light saber whizzed above him and then down onto Nejaa with another heavy strike.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

Nejaa's blade rose and flipped about his body in lazy twirls as Torin began to repent. First, admittance, a Jedi's way of agreeing to disagree. It was clear enough that Torin had his reservations, unspoken thoughts and feelings, though over time he would kill those and follow through blind subjugation. Nejaa was his master now, and as Nejaa had followed his master, Torin would learn to follow him. If force was required to prove their difference, force would be given. Torin's words ended, and Nejaa's own answered. All the while, their bodies stepped closer and closer, weaving about in a suspenseful dance of war.

"The Jedi teach a narrow minded and strict aspect of the force, instead of capturing the whole picture. It would be impossible. Instead, for centuries, Jedi branch off as masters and are charged with exploring a different path of the force. Perhaps the path of their master, perhaps another path entirely..."

Torin neared, and began his onslaught of attacks. Nejaa's defensive style of lightsaber combat provided a clean defense, stepping to the side and redirecting the attack through his center point. A weave of blade and Nejaa was on the retreat; though none the worse for it. In a quick counter he lunged back forward, his style completely changed and full of chaotic body ripples. Swiping with a much more passive aggression, the emerald of Nejaa's blade slammed into the azure of Torin's. An odd lighting, mostly white, erupted from the blades. They were locked in place, screeching and hissing like enraged snakes.

"They've spotted a potential in you which even allows the bypass of ancient traditions. That being the master's choice of their padawan, in this case, a rule which was ignored completely. In time, we will both understand I'm sure. Until then, we must only trust in the force to guide our direction."

Spinning backwards, and then leaping into another attack, Nejaa's body movements almost looked uneconomical, jumps and narrow, barbed attacks, one after another, putting forth a mind numbing speed brought on by Juyo's technique. Each came from a different angle, and each seemed to be entirely inconvenient. His skill advantage would push him to speak, urging the padawan. As he spoke, he broke away from his attack, hopping backwards and skidding to a stop, guard up and in the ready for Torin's aggressive sweeps to continue.

"My master's path was one which walked close to darkness. Embraced whatever power could be gathered from a place of darkness without being consumed by it completely. He taught a resistance to the lures of emotion, to the lures of the dark side. An essential part of becoming a Knight, Torin, is the design of your own, unique moral code. What you have memorized is something the Academy has made up, something meant more as a push in the right direction. From now on, you'll be forced to drop your immediate code, the one made for you, and learn to create your own. One made by you."

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Another cut at "The Order". How their approach was so limited, so infantile. Compared to what? A question that could not be answered by himself but by his master. But he wouldn't dare ask it. Not yet at least. This boy was his fate, whether it be the fault of the Jedi Order or not, and he would rather get along than not. He chose not to speak, just listen. Try to understand what this abrasive teaching tactic meant. His defense was incredible - bobbing, dipping, and re-directing. No doubt, he was quite skilled in defense. They shifted around the room. Fancy footwork and trained movement danced across the wood floor. Torin pushed forward, lunging into each attack. He was trying but his attacks were getting shrugged off like they were nothing.

Then, there it was. The confirmation he expected. This odd pairing was in fact the work of the order, not the choice of Nejaa. Breaking away from their attacks, they shared a moment to breathe. He held Nejaa words in his mind, letting them marinate. Although, it was a lot to take in. All of it. He paused before gripping the hilt of his light saber and resettling into position.

"I wish to learn what you have to teach me, Nejaa. Regardless of wether the Order was behind this or not." He paused gathering his words. "But forgive me if I'm having trouble understanding."
"You ask me to forget all that I have learned and rebuild my code. Yet, you tell me no alternative to agree with." A genuine, gentle tone in his voice. He meant only to further understand, not question in spite.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

"Well that's good, because you have just about no say in the matter."

​Nejaa's fast parry, both verbal and with the lightsabers sent the two backwards, light feet skipping over a wooden surface and finally to a stop. They were warriors of the sword, both of them, though each with their own additional expertise. Together, the two could more or less be the jack of all trades. And at the same time, two sides of the same coin, as he would be saturated in whatever the boy wished. Whatever he wished to test, or as a free life, a bargaining chip-- there was nothing bad about this. The thought came up, but Nejaa realized where his mind was going, and quickly shook himself back, shaken-- if Torin did act out, Nejaa would be able to put him down and he had determined that by this skirmish alone.

"An alternative...?"

Nejaa spoke as if the idea annoyed him, or more, and the emotions were written clearly upon his face. It was unorthodox, completely benign for such wild feelings to display themselves on a Jedi. Taking a quick step to Torin's left side, his lip confessed a small snarl. "The alternative? You remain confined in the mind set given to you, and remain a product. A nameless Jedi unable to explore the force as it relates to you specifically-- there is no alternative--!" He swung a curved-sweeping step forward and whipped three consecutive attacks at lightening speed; his attacks were this time serious. Powerful, and precise, with every bit of accuracy. A sword style, most anyway, was never designed to attack the opponent's weapon. Even in lightsaber combat, attacks were not meant to hit the blade, they were meant to strike the target itself; of course, deflections and blocks meant weapon contact regardless. But these attacks, Nejaa's, they were aimed for the weapon, slapping it back and forth in each direction so as to shake the guard.

"A Jedi seeks knowledge, a concept written into every code of the Jedi. Though knowledge is but half of the equation. Knowledge opens the doors, and power takes what's inside. The relationship is symbiotic, without one you cannot have the other. After one acquires knowledge, they develop it, allow it to change them, and over time--"

Nejaa didn't finish, instead finishing his attack with a flippant barrage of sweeping attacks, moving in circles around Torin. It was his right leg, it still ached and caused a bit of a limp. Currently, it was the reason Nejaa's attacks still remained at such a low power, relatively. Regardless of whether Torin was successful in deflecting each of the stunned attacks, Nejaa would hold off from attacking, skipping a step back and raising his blade towards Torin.

"In time, you'll develop a code which separates you entirely from other Jedi, Torin. The council has chosen you to walk a road far different than most Jedi, and I will ask you to do things-- tell you to do things that seem dangerous, strange, or otherwise completely uncomfortable. And I'll expect you to do them. I will have little time for refusal, and the same can be said for you. If you're not up to this, I highly suggest you turn back now... and I mean that..."

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Vicious yet passive
Chaotic yet intricate
Bold yet reserved
He was indeed a mystery. A mystery yet to be solved...

Again, Torin chose to listen. Nejaa attacked now. A tangent of unpredictable movement erupted onto the padawan. Torin's hazel eyes danced about, barely evading Nejaa's swift attacks, tossing in his own when he could. The boy spat at Torin's remark. Making it obvious that he was the one on charge. He would be calling the shots, making the rules. And, most importantly, there was no room for debate. Why did he assume that such claims needed to be established? It was all information Torin had already accepted. More than accepted. Regardless of who his master was, it was an honor to train under one as a padawan. Especially one so skilled at harnessing the power of the force as well as weilding a light saber. But there was great wisdom pieced into his words. Lessons that Torin made sure to note.

As Nejaa paused so did Torin.
"If you're not up to this, I highly suggest you turn back now... And I mean that."
Torin's fighting posture slowly faded to a nuetral stance. Intense hazel eyes stared into Nejaa's own. He retracted his blade, but remained still until he knelt on one knee, bowing his head.
"[member="Nejaa Niynx"], as your padawan I promise to follow you. No matter how dangerous, strange, or uncomfortable the request. I promise that, although I may question your methods, I only mean to learn." He raised his head, his eyes once again meeting his master's. "Your skill far surpasses my own, as does your knowledge. I only wish to aspire to your level." Not one word was submissive or passive. Every word was genuine, clear, and certain. He stood, tall, handsome, confident. "How you chose to train me is up to you." The neon blue of his saber burst to life once again. "But I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not." With that he lunged at his master once again. This time with even more vigor. Like he meant it. Not because he was aiming to kill but because he knew Nejaa could take it.

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

His padawan's response had been of longer wind than he expected. Without showing it on his face, his mind growled a bit, withering against the older man's relentless confidence and charm. For some reason being better wasn't enough, no, in fact it made it worse. Carnivorous eyes consumed the padawan, and when he attacked Nejaa fell into a more natural retreat. With each load of strikes, Torin's approach became more and more reputable. Each onslaught of oppressive offense had become more invigorated, more passionate. Sent as a test, his first strike had been swept to the side as if Torin's approach hadn't noticed it. Their second blade contact was not formed from two attacks, instead that of Nejaa's quick guard against a gaping axe-slash, sliding it out of his way and continuing his backwards stance. He had always struggled with the aggressive style of Ataru, at least when it was used against him. Even defenses seemed harder to put up against the powerful assaults, each one before the other, and each powered with focus and intent.

"Good."

He spoke simply through the hum and clash of energetic blades. His foot planted, and he stepped back up against the attack, his own blade slamming against Torin's. A maneuver of his own style, another Ataru attack. Well, more of a shove, tossing aside an enemy's sword in order to made a quick-there-after-strike. Though the strike itself fell back into Juyo, the chaotic transfer from power to precision and speed whipping his downward slash to the shoulder with full intent of hitting his padawan.

"You're focusing too much, watching me. Instead, open your mind to the force and let it tell you how to move."

His slashes came again, this time a hard step forward with his good leg and three consecutive swipes taken directly from Torin's previous attack; the same form chain, an effective series of strikes he knew well enough. When he needed to block, or deflect, his form would change again, stealing from the defensive footwork of Soresu to provide the ultimate expression of defense.

"Allow your intent to move your muscles. The will to survive, and the will to live. To be victorious. When you focus your mind, release the rest. Soften your vision of this physical world and instead look through the eyes of the force. Destroy my guard, tear me away with your blade."

The force which surrounded Nejaa would swell with something of a frenzy, and his approach to the duel would also resemble something more dark. His own attacks now snaked through defensive lines, as if he were taking this seriously, and having fun. Having bated his time he waited for the Ataru's opening and struck when he saw it, throwing Torin's position as aggressor to the wind and instead began an entourage of weeping whirrs and slender slip of green blades.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

The boy shifted between forms as easily as he breathed. It was incredible. It seemed effortless to him. However, Torin had noted Nejaa's hesitation in using his right leg. And when he did, it couldn't sustain as much agility as needed for the complex flips and whirs of Juyo. He jumped to no conclusions. Just simply noted.

Nejaa seemed to have liked Torin's approach to his demands. He relaxed a little. It worked.

Torin pushed forward, maintaining his focus. This was how he "blocked" - by shoving and sweeping away Nejaa's chaotic attacks. But this tactic was not working as well as he had hoped. Nejaa was finding his way through Torin's defenses. Like a student, he subconsciously adjusted to focus on correcting the flaws Nejaa pinpointed. Destroy. Tear me away.

"Quite the choice of words, master." He took a deep breath. His visioned softened, expanding his focus. Victorious. Instead of trying to focus on combatting each individual situation, he looked at the battle as a whole and projected his victory. With a powerful shove Torin began sweeping Nejaa's attacks away with slightly more ease. Slowly, gradually, more easily able to keep up and even push a few sharp attacks, powered by powerful intent. Intent that remained pure and focused.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

Nejaa could feel his padawan's force presence begin to seethe into reality. Forcing its own body into existence all around the both of them. Though it was subtle, unlike that of Nejaa's overwhelming and chaotic energies, more like a cologne; instead of a whirlwind's gale. His deflections and blocks assumed a more synchronistic manor, though it was a negligible difference over all. Even so, the oncoming assaults of the Ataru remained an issue, and Nejaa's weakened body stepped backwards in further deflection, a slender grin on his lips.

"With each strike, the Ataru commands destruction. Even in deflecting, the passive art of combat, it is reaching with an attack," Nejaa almost corrected.

With a whiplash of a bent attack, made with a sideways slap of the green blade in an almost drunken motion, Nejaa spun around and dropped to the ground, still spinning on sheer momentum and following through with a low, crippling maneuver. As the turn died, he leapt up into the air and spun like a cloaked rag doll. In landing it was clear that one of his legs was weaker and he limped backwards a few teetering, shaken steps. It was light and made almost no noise, but his eyes looked up with an almost frantic need for defense, the blade standing straight and pointed at the padawan. One hand held his side when he slumped a bit, annoyance clear on the scowl.

"You lack the spirit in your fighting, Torin. When two pictures are held by one another, the same pictures, and one is made bright-- over exposed, and without shadow, it would be considered unrealistic, without balance. While the other is untouched, shadowed in areas and thus given reality. Existence. Our path-- your path will be one of painting shadow back onto the canvas. Balance, padawan, is what we must strive for with the same effort we would knowledge. In fact, Jedi seek knowledge so as to further their balance, as will you."

Waving the lit blade in a small circle before Torin, he gestured as if to bring Torin forth once more. Though, he looked crippled now, clearly fatigued and perhaps unable to continue the berating form of combat he would be forced to defend against. "Your blades are lit, Torin," though such was obvious, Nejaa was referring to their potentially lethal capabilities. "When you strike me next, do so without your normal restraint. Command your attack and channel the aggression which lurks just behind each attack."

"You will try and strike me down, now, and fail."

It was an order.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

Like any good Jedi, Torin tried his best to listen, absorb, and act. He took the words of his masters and made them into reality to the best of his ability. Why? Because he believed that those words were nothing but truth. He believed that the Jedi Order was nothing but just. They were the "peace keepers", selfless and in service to those in need. They utilized their ability to understand the force to protect and serve, not just the Republic, but all beings in the galaxy. How could this be as narrow minded as Nejaa claimed? What more was there than to better the galaxy and promote peace and balance? What way of the force could be better than one that is devoted to protecting and helping others? Torin's mind struggled as he pulled it in too many directions. He tried to stay focused on the battle at hand but questions began swirling in his head. And in the shadows of those questions were emotions. Emotions that should not have been there and therefore didn't show themselves in the light. Opposing teachings, like water and oil, refused to make sense.

And so the grain of sand within the shell could be felt...

Even after Torin's obvious improvement, Nejaa poked and prodded at his technic. As if nothing Torin did was right. As if every move that the padawan made to prove himself to the boy was only irritating him. He continued to criticize and critique him. Even his own light saber form - a skill that Torin had spent much of his life perfecting. There apparent difference in age whispered judgement from its place in the shadows. As if the boy could see right through him, Nejaa touched on everything Torin was trying so desperately to suppress in the moment. Shadow. Balance. Knowledge. Restraint. Agression.

It was obvious now. The boy was definitely injured. Yet he kept demanding Torin to attack him with more force. What was he trying to prove?

"You will try and strike me down, now, and fail."

Strike him down? The grain of sand continued to rub against his thoughts, irritating them, driving them in unwanted directions. He stared at the boy, on the verge of a glare. Both hands were fastened tightly around his blade. "My existence is not defined by my shadows, Master Nejaa." His voice didn't sound like his own. It almost surprised him. He stayed true, now with more intensity backing his words. "Neither is my Jedi code defined by striking down my allies." He moved closer to his master. "And, most importantly, my spirit is not defined by my aggression." He remained outwardly composed. His words were strong but not aggressive. But his eyes revealed more than he would have liked. "However, my loyalty is defined by my word so I will keep it. I will attack you, Master, without restraint as you wish. But only because I trust that you're right." He of course was referring to Nejaa's claim that Torin's attempt will fail.

No matter how dangerous, strange, or uncomfortable the request. Wise choice of words, Torin thought sarcastically. He took a deep breath. Swift and determined, Torin made one last effort to satisfy his master's demands. With powerful swipe after swipe he shoved Nejaa's blade out of the way, doing his best to tear down whatever defenses the injured boy had left. However this time, instead of aiming to strike his opponents blade, he aimed to strike his body.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]

 

[Darth Caedes]

Mid Rim;
Mytaranor Sector;
Kashyyyk;
Landing Pads.

There was certainly a smile there. Not anything villain or terrifying either, a real smile. His blade stopped moving in its dance of small circles and held straight forward at a steady hummmmm. When Torin spoke, no, before that even-- it was so evident. Perhaps it took one to know one, but the look of anguish and convulsing questions was so clear on his padawan's face. These were things he'd never been asked to do, things he had never wanted to do, or expected to do. An act of breaking someone's expectations, testing their response to the unknown and completely unavoidable. And Torin's words were broken, coming in appetizer sized servings. But he didn't-- couldn't avoid it.

Even so, you'll have to change...
You'll have to change, the force whispered...
This isn't working, change...

Torin's foot came down heavy over the flooring, and he began his assault. His dopey expression, one eye brow raised over the other in a bit of a questioning look, all fell at once. Lips clenched, and he prepared for another all out attack. Whipping into a more diagonal protrusion, the blade advanced, fell, and then swiped forward to meet Torin's own attack-- ha!

He really is going at it...
That's going at it, the force whispered...
He trusts you, he trusts you...

Though, in truth, Nejaa's defense didn't keep up for long. Even with his skill, lightsaber form typing still took sway over the battle field. An aggressive, oncoming pledge of damage from Torin would of course force the younger, smaller male into retreat. I could turn into a girl-- he thought, no, that was ridiculous. Think, Nejaa, think. And go.

He took another attack, and another still before he stepped back too hard. A sharp pain from his hip, and he shivered. A powerful beam of a slash the oncoming 'opponent' took the metal handle from his weakened grip, blade regressing from wince it came and scuttling back onto the wooden floors. It had been quick, and almost last minute, right before another attack from the padawan.

Nejaa would allow him to fail on his own; wherever that brought the padawan's blade. And even if it meant allowing the blade to come close. This boy was no disturbance in the force, he would not strike down his fried-- his master. His teacher, and another Jedi of the order. There was no way he had it in him, and he had given juuuuust enough time to rethink a strike, even for a padawan.

[member="Torin Varik"]

 

[Torin Varik]

For the first time since they had reunited, silence was all Nejaa could manage. For the first time since the beginning of the fight, the boy was forced to focus on the battle at hand. The tall pilot could feel the force around him, within him, powering each swing as the neon blue blade violently beat down on the weakened defenses of the opposing green. Skipping forward with swift and skillful foot work, Torin forced his aggressive attack style onto his injured master. In the form of a feeling, a trusted knowing, the force hinted at victory just around the corner. It was aware of everything - the pain, the potential, the intent. Torin didn't want to hurt him. But he had already committed to his decision. He needed to see it through. He needed Nejaa to trust him. He tried to blur his focus, as Nejaa said, and just listen, feel. Trust in the force. And so he played his next move accordingly.

His master had asked for this, and so he would receive it. He moved closer, closer. With a heavy step on his left foot and a round swing from his right, Torin slammed the blade from Nejaa's hand. He took another step forward, even closer, as if to attack once again but stopped abruptly instead. His saber was now completely still - the only thing separating the two of them. His lungs beat rhythmically, hazel eyes never wavering from the boy's. He was close, perhaps close enough for Nejaa to feel his heavy breath. His height and shoulder width stretched just beyond Nejaa's own. Statuesque features set in an intense moment on his expression. He did not retract his blade. He just stayed there, waiting for Nejaa to break the sudden stagnancy that enveloped the moment.

"Are you satisfied, Master?" There was too little infliction in his words to reveal any obvious emotion - a skill he had adopted as a human in a Jedi world - but just enough to lend curiosity to someone looking for it.

[member="Nejaa Niynx"]