Always the Same

[Darth Veles]

Hardly a surprise, Isla’s question – undoubtedly asked by many Ren, maybe even the Supreme Leader himself. There was little reason to worry about the fishy Sith though. Veles was always quite honest about his reasons and saw no valid excuse to stop now. Only small specks of hesitation held his tongue, soon dissolved by the man’s smooth, deep voice, eye contact with his red-haired student preserved and maintained.

“Although my appearance may suggest otherwise, I am an Imperial. Therefore, I walk with the First Order because its vision is similar to my own.”

Very true. Veles admired their goals and pragmatic views, unsure if Isla, too, saw the stark beauty that hid behind their actions. Unlike most, the First Order understood why. Many unpleasant things had to be done, yet all served a greater purpose; all for the greater good, a galaxy united in spirit and under one flag had any chance to prevail throughout the ages and become a successful civilisation to last thousands of years. Of course, all the undesired elements would have to go – but Veles preferred not to get too far ahead, not until the entire galaxy felt the empire’s iron grip around its throat and had no other alternative than to embrace eternal peace.

A silent pause filled the space between the duo, ending the Sith Lord’s heavily accented flow of words and letting the sounds born only in bustling cities reach the balcony, using the wind as their carrier. Before the red-haired woman opened her mouth to speak, Veles’ webbed hand rose up in a gesture to stop her from speaking just yet.

“It is necessary for me to admit there is another reason though – the lack of incompetent vermin, demented children who have been given too much power.” He stated, stone cold expression carved into his face.

Breaking the sight locking their eyes together and dodging the woman’s emerald gaze, the amphibious man let his burning amber set the city on fire in a glare filled with hatred. Even Veles’ aura darkened, similarly to when he had used the draining and evil technique against Isla. He did not explain further at first – thinking she would not understand how insulting it was for Veles to know others used and abused the prestigious Sith name, never even knowing what being a Sith truly meant. Weaklings and fools poisoning the strongest with their counter-productive, vain and wasteful antics.

“Primitive fools who lack vision, control, who do not understand how the galaxy works and are driven solely by bloodlust, even if it actively ruins the ultimate goal. How would you feel if those people were your fellow knights and you found every single one of them a liability to what you want to achieve?” The Banite asked, ripping his eyes from the beautiful panorama and turning his head to the woman in search of an answer.



[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

An imperial –a follower of the empire of old. Isla had to admit, based on appearances alone, she would never have guessed. Her head canted to the side slightly, the vision of the empire and the First Order were well worth lending to – all of it for the greater good of the galaxy. Though she knew that some knights remained skeptical of the Mon Cal’s presence among them, Isla was glad that had he had chosen to walk with them.

A momentary lull in conversation, Isla turned her gaze out towards the skyline of Avalonia etched along the sky. There was part of her that would always long for the wilderness of Skye, but she was growing to love this place in the city. She shifted slightly to look at [member="Darth Veles"] again, his webbed hand up to motion that he still had more to say.

And so, Isla’s lips pressed together, remaining silent for the time being.

She watched as the Mon Cal’s expression turned cold, his eyes looked away, and the darkness grew around him. Isla crossed her arms, eyeing the Sith Lord out of the corner of her gaze now. A brow rose slightly when he posed a question, and Isla considered it thoughtfully. How would it be if chaos reigned supreme? Well, it would certainly put an end to any productivity and progress, to say the least.

“It seems like it would be a frustrating experience,” She nodded, knowing that the word ‘frustrating’ probably did not come close to touching the true experience. “It is a comfort to know that we Ren are working towards the same goal, all of our efforts moving in the same direction.”

 

[Darth Veles]

Frustrating. Definitely one of many words Veles would use to describe it. Or at least attempt to, as nothing could possibly deliver the raging storm of feelings burning throughout Veles’ entire being when his thoughts shifted towards his ‘colleagues’. So ironic, it made him want to smile as well; all the rage, so easily accessible, thanks to them, his hated enemies and competitors in the deadly Sith game. Until the walking insults to Sith stopped to walk the galaxy, the Mon Calamari possessed an excellent source of power. And since the fools reproduced with lightspeed, Veles had no fear of running out anytime soon, if ever.

Isla did not have to worry about that for now, but Veles knew all could change without warning. Still, the Dark Lord of the Sith admired their pursue after collectivism, the ability to stand as one. A powerful thing that helped out the weak to keep up and slowed down the strong. Not the most popular thing among the ancient order born on Korriban, undoubtedly an advantage for fresh and new cults trying to find their place in the galaxy. Obviously, the amphibian standing next to Isla had opted to sever any and all chains binding him to those who dragged him back. Definitely the best option for a pragmatic Sith Lord who passionately despised the One Sith and all other pseudo-Sith cults.

Unwilling to share too much about the dark arts of the Force and powers belonging only to those with Sith heritage, the Mon Calamari had decided to move the training towards lightsaber combat. After all, he did not know any Sith-specific techniques accessed through one’s lightsaber, thus giving him much greater freedom in training. He did not have to withhold knowledge anymore. A jovial smile graced his lips.

“What do you know about lightsaber combat?” asked the assassin, eyeing the red-headed woman’s cylinder, “Is there a specific form you study? It is good to learn the basics of all, then focus on one.”

A firm grasp over her lightsaber, feeling the hilt’s weight and unfamiliar shape, and Veles pressed the ignition button, casting red on the two sentients and their closest surroundings. It felt weird to hold a lightsaber that was not his own. Such a strange thing, crude and unrefined for the Makashi practitioner and master used to the curved shape typically associated with the second form of lightsaber combat.

A few swings hummed through empty air and the amphibious man returned the weapon to its rightful owner.


[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

Isla watched as a pleasant smile formed on the Mon Cal’s face, and listened as the subject changed to lightsaber combat. The new Knight had already found herself in a number of situations where her saber had proven to be a useful and effective weapon against her opponents. However, most of these times had been spent fighting against non-force users. Her red blade had worked quickly to deflect blaster bolts, and cut down her foes with a relative amount of ease. Not that it was always easy; there were a number of them that had been strong fighters – but in the end, their strength had not been enough.

To date, the flame-haired Ren had only found herself in a duel with a fellow force-user on one occasion.

She still remembered that day on the sandy surface of Tatooine. It had been the first time that she had ever come face to face with a Jedi, and it had been a test of her wits, nerves, and skill. Back then, Isla had been relatively new to the ways of fighting, and had been bested by the other woman. Her right arm still carried the memory of being broken. It had been humiliating to suffer defeat at the hands of such a light sided Jedi, a feeling that still lingered with her.

The familiar sound broke the silence, the sound of her saber springing to life in the unfamiliar hand of [member="Darth Veles"]. Her emerald gaze watched as the blade cut through the air a few times, and then was returned to her own pale hand.

“I understand the basics,” She answered with a nod, “But I lack experience dueling.”

Isla let the crimson blade move swiftly through the empty space, a few practice swings.

“At this time, I have not reached higher than form four.” She said, “I favor Ataru.”

She had found a form that seemed to suit her, and had not even begun to touch on anything more advanced at this point. It was a weakness, to be sure, but she would get there someday.

“And you?” She asked curiously, “What form do you prefer?”

 

[Darth Veles]

A surprised and somewhat questioning glare went the woman’s way, almost if unwilling to believe the truth presented in her words. Cold shards had stabbed him right in the heart when she uttered that name, easily the last one he would have expected to hear from the knight. Such a shame, so much potential wasted on the most useless of forms! Dark thoughts of own superiority stole into his mind, quickly suppressed before the Mon Cal showed a sign of scorn, although the disappointment clearly shined in his large eyes. Hopefully the woman did not interpret the sudden silence in a wrong way, but the damage’s been already done and the only option was to follow through.

“Ah, I’d recommend against Ataru,” discreetly suggested Veles, “Acrobatics and lightsabers don’t go together very well.”

Truly. At least the Darth had found it incredibly easy to defeat Ataru practitioners, always abusing the uncompromising power of gravity when they soared through the air in a fashion similar to birds, only to come crashing down like rocks. Very sad to see most of the times, hopes and dreams pulled from the clouds and shattered by reality. Whatever charm Ataru held over its devotees was destined to remain eternally hidden from the Mon Cal’s eyes. All in all, Veles preferred his feet on the ground, never robbing himself of the chance to dodge. Perhaps Isla’s poor decision originated from within her inexperience – it definitely appeared to be the deciding factor here.

“Makashi is my sole focus. The dueling form, superior in many ways. Even my weapons accommodate that – they fit better into the palm, granting better blade control.”

Veles’ strange relationship with his lightsabers could be compared to painters wielding a brush as their most precious tool. A joy to handle, resembling a dance. Elegant, purposeful, deadly. Many had fallen prey to the charm the second form presented, slaves to Makashi ever after. In a move that that did not happed happen often, the Mon Cal Sith retrieved his own weapon from his belt in a single smooth move and offered the curved hilt to Isla.

“Try it.”

This introduction to Makashi promised a chance to change the young Ren's mind.

Unclipping the other hild adorning his hip, the amphibian marched back a few meters and created some space between them. Only one hand held the saber when it sprang to life after Veles' thumb lovingly pressed the ignition button, a move that smoothly and seamlessly transitioned into bringing the weapon vertically in front of his face and fluently bringing the blade down in an elegant flourish. A typical Makashi salute.


[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

Isla caught the glare that [member="Darth Veles"] sent her way, and her own eyes narrowed slightly, more out of curiosity than anything. It was as though he strongly disapproved of her, and the knight shifted her weight to the side, inching away. She raised a brow as the Mon Cal spoke again; voicing his opinion that Ataru was inferior. It was true that she believed that everyone should have their own way, and use whatever form or means worked best for that individual. However, there was a sting in her chest that came with his words. Perhaps there was part of Isla that sought the Sith’s approval, if not as a master, then maybe as a comrade.

“I will admit,” She said softly, “That I am inexperienced.”

Isla turned her gaze away for the moment, feeling just a brief pang of self-consciousness. But she turned back towards the Sith Lord as he elaborated on his own chosen form, Makashi. Yes, she had heard of the second form, and had even tried it before. However, her dueling skills, or lack thereof, had not added up to a victory.

Emerald eyes grew slightly wider at the sight of Veles presenting her with his saber.

Her pale hand rose to retrieve it, the curved hilt felt odd in her palm. Perhaps it was just that she had yet to wield a saber that was not her own, especially one so specially made to accommodate a specific form.

Isla ignited the saber and drew a few graceful strikes into the air. Her wrist twirled the blade a time or two, helping her to get a feel for the weapon. The striking pattern of this form seemed to be focused directing in front of the user, with sweeping motions to utilize on the defensive or offensive.

“It is... different.” She said after a moment.

She watched as the Mon Cal brandished his second blade, and she returned the salute. Isla was unsure if he meant to duel her now, but she remained alert and ready... just in case.

 

[Darth Veles]

Lightsaber still safely angled towards the beautiful garden, mere inches separating the superheated crimson beam of pure plasma from the freshly green, meticulously catered blades of grass – just like the few meters remained between Veles and his lovely partner, a sharp artistic instrument of death against a newborn weapon that still awaited further refinement. Without producing a single sound, the amphibious assassin swiftly advanced forward. It almost resembled a dance to a slow waltz, smooth and elegant, yet purposeful and certain, bringing him closer to the red-haired woman. His involuntary dance partner; inexperienced, yet paired with a skilled veteran. Watching his moves closely, mimicking them and learning on the go seemed to be the only training option the Sith Lord offered.

In the next moment, the elegant man had transformed into an animal, circling the prey with predatory hunger screaming from his large orbs. One step followed another, and although no move indicating an attack has been made yet, there was no doubt about what had to follow sooner or later. Veles realized that – purposely keeping the woman waiting, each time he planted his foot forward and seemingly intended to go through, he soon retreated back, displaying an impressive footwork despite obviously devoting little to no thought to it. Even the man’s expression spoke of treachery, occasionally granting the woman a roguish smile to clearly state he took pride in torturing her with the insufferable waiting for an attack and testing her readiness. The rest of his body resembled a solid statue, back straight, arms motionless.

Like a viper, the entire right arm suddenly lunged forward without bothering to give its target a warning sign. Two successive jabs followed going for her heart, neither connected, the woman’s torso lied too far away. Three swift and precise steps back positively brought the Mon Calamari back and removed his extended hand from the reach of Isla’s lightsaber, further emphasizing on it by flicking his hand downwards and pointing the blade down again. Veles’ bulbous eyes worked like mirrors, revealing it to be his intention – just to see the woman’s reaction, put more pressure on her.

“It is all about footwork and keeping your opponent in sight at all times. And - of course - making your opponent see and think what you want them to.” Veles shared and proceeded to demonstrate, closing the distance again – long and powerful strides delivered him even closer than before, a slight crouch happening in his knees and the weapon in his right hand arched up in a vertical fashion, apparently seeking to kiss Isla’s shoulder in a light cut. This time, the Mon Cal's legs stayed stationary, though he did act with haste and retracted the weapon arm a bit before it could deliver its promise to the Ren's shoulder, revealing itself to be just a feint.

Then came a push forward, bringing his arm down slightly and turning the motion into a downwards stab instead - going for her thigh. Even though serious now, the move sought no permanent or serious harm, just a reminder. Pain was always an excellent way to memorize certain things – now he wanted Isla to remember to not trust what her opponents said and did.


[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

Isla stood tall, fiery-red strands floated about her face, set free by the breeze. For a moment, the two dark siders looked upon each other from a short distance. Her gloved hand pushed the sleeves of her robe and tunic unceremoniously up her arm and out of the way. Emerald eyes were locked on the figure of the Mon Cal, watching as he stood silently. But a second later there was movement, it was swift and smooth, bringing [member="Darth Veles"] closer with each careful step. Isla stepped to the side, her saber out to the side, ready to spring to action. This was perhaps the closest she had ever come to dancing.

The graceful dance did not last long, for the Sith Lord suddenly stood before her, almost appearing like a different man completely. There was a feral gleam in his large eyes, a look that Isla recognized quite well. She knew this look and the feelings that came with it.

Her hand gripped the saber hilt firmly, her fingers closed around it tightly, but not too tight. Isla kept her senses alert, feeling the movements of her opponent, as well as seeing them. Each step forward seemed to be followed by impressive footwork, but each time saw him moving back out of her reach. It was a learning experience, to be certain – as interesting as it was frustrating. Isla narrowed her eyes slightly, she was being toyed with.

As Veles’ hand suddenly shot out, Isla felt her body turning to the side, moving in direct response to her sharp senses. She had to trust her instincts. Both jabs had just missed, but she had a feeling that the Mon Cal had meant that to happen. Two sharp steps brought her forward, her own saber now moving in a small arc towards his webbed hand. A simple flick of the wrist, but her attack only cut through the empty air.

Her attention shifted as he spoke, and she was suddenly very aware of her own feet.

A tiny gasp of breath escaped her lips, her gaze catching sight of the Mon Cal rushing forward. His saber swinging down towards her shoulder. Isla brought her saber up to block the blow, the blade forming a diagonal line of defense in front of her. However, her opponent’s blade did not end up where she had thought it would. In a movement so swift, she saw Veles’ blade now moving towards her leg.

She faltered.

Caught off guard, she felt the saber burn into the side of her thigh. Yes, pain would be a tribute.

 

[Darth Veles]

Feeling no difference between this and cutting through empty air, the amphibious man promptly withdrew his blade and quickly retreated to safe distance after the weapon’s tip sunk into the woman’s thigh, vaporizing fabric, skin and flesh. One eye stayed focused on the burn mark gracing Isla’s thigh, a sorrowful glinting in the large bulbous orb. Maybe she could have avoided it, maybe not; the deed’s been done and Isla had no other option than to emerge stronger, more knowledgeable and wiser. Veles offered an apologetic smile, followed by a slight bow to convey he meant no ill against the Ren and the black dot burned into her leg was a manifestation of bare necessity to make a point.

“My deepest apologies.”

Hopefully his words did not come across like an insult; being a cripple and all that, yet displaying flawless footwork where the healthy woman’s skills had proven inferior. Naturally, such thing could easily be explained by how automated the Darth’s movements had become, truly an inseparable part of his very being – did that satisfy the knight of Ren though? More discreet footsteps put additional distance between the two and the Mon Cal’s whiskers wriggled once again when additional information parted from his lips.

“Pain can also be used as a weapon,” softly and in gentle voice advised the Sith Lord, “A desperate measure for sure, yet it still has its undeniable use. You only need to know how to convert it to power.”

Now it was her turn to overcome the painful weakness and utilize her what little he had laid in front of her to strike. To further emphasize on that, the crimson red blade continued to hum its melancholic song while lowered, its owner stationary and waiting for Isla’s advance. Only his free hand moved in brutal efficiency and uncovered something beneath the Sith Lord's cloak - a medpac for the red-head's eyes to feast upon. Taking it meant ending the training immediately, as warriors had to endure hardships before being allowed their rest.

"There's always the option to stop if the training is too much for you." Veles informed her, voice calm and neutral, thus denying to reveal whether the message carried salty drops of mockery to bring more hurt to Isla's wounds or not.


[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

Isla stood there like a wounded fawn, her green eyes focused on [member="Darth Veles"]. There was pain, but it was often found that wounded animals were still quite dangerous. This seemed especially true when backed into a corner, when it was necessary to keep fighting or die trying. The Knight of Ren lacked that urgency today, knowing deep down at the Mon Cal did not desire to end her life.
But that did not mean she would give in so easily.

Indeed, pain could prove to be very a useful ally. Isla stood up straight again, putting weight back onto her injured leg. Her eyes twitched, but she made her face remain stony, she did not want to display any signs of weakness. The Sith Lord stood back, patiently waiting for her next move. Isla had caught sight of the medpac beneath the fold of his cloak, a hidden way out. She narrowed her eyes and stared definitely at the Mon Cal. Taking the medpac would simply be giving in to failure.

Isla raised her red blade up, and then brought it graceful down in a salute – a signal that she would continue. Her athletic form prepared for her next attack, her muscles tensed slightly but not enough to compromise her sense of grace. The flame-haired Ren’s boots moved, feet light upon the ground as she focused on making her footwork precise. Her saber was singing, and she jumped forward just so, the tip of her blade coming close to the Sith Lord’s wrists. And then, her arm extended swiftly, thrusting the saber towards the chest.
She knew that he would not be an easy target.

The Knight of Ren fully expected him to counter her, and she would be ready to evade any strikes that came her way. At least, she hoped that she would be ready...

 

[Darth Veles]

Neither of the bulbous eyes ever left the woman, spying on how she held the weapon and analysing the angle while also paying close attention to her delicate footwork. Everything worked as a subtle indicator of her next move, giving the Mon Cal the valuable extra second to make a decision when it came to defence. Her blade’s flaming kiss clearly aimed towards one particular side, given it intended to hit his wrist, yet the arm was not fully extended either and strongly indicated the possibility of a powerful stab hidden behind the feint; a sidestep and another carried him to safety and robbed Isla of success. The plasma beam remained uncomfortably close to him still, very capable of sweeping horizontally to cut through his chest – unwilling to allow that, the amphibious man’s arm rose, his blade meeting the woman’s in a saber lock.

Keeping its access to his body blocked by his red beam of pure plasma, Veles was free to demonstrate another move. One decisive step brought him close enough for his right foot to part from the ground and deliver a kick into the woman’s injury, followed by the cybernetic hand clenching into a fist, destined to bring a blow to her face. For reasons concerning her training as Ren, Veles suspected this to be one of the harsher lessons. Not that it stopped him – and once his physical attacks have been unleashed upon the woman, the Sith Lord paced back again to avoid similar retaliation, withdrawing his blade from the lock once far enough.

“Do make sure your opponent’s lightsaber cannot injure you before doing something like this, Isla. And keep in mind that once you rob Makashi practitioners of their footwork, they are an easy target.”

Giving her the info she needed to defeat him was hardly an act of kindness, for she needed to utilize it properly and earn her victory.


[member="Isla Ashen"]

 

[Isla Ashen]

The black shroud of [member="Darth Veles"] shifted easily to the side, just out of harm’s way, but not outside of her saber’s reach. However, the Sith Lord’s own blade came to meet hers, the two locking together momentarily with a hiss. Emerald eyes darted, but did not see the Mon Cal’s foot rising from the ground, not until it was much too late. She felt his boot slam into her wound, and she gritted her teeth, a growl-like sound escaping from between them. But, she remained alert enough to see his free hand forming a fist, and she stepped to the side.

Isla blinked as his fist went through the air, sailing just past her face. The air moved in front of her, his sleeve flew dangerously close to the tip of her nose.

And just like that, he had withdrawn once more. Isla crouched slightly, turning again to face the Sith Lord, listening quietly as he spoke. Her gaze narrowed slightly, taking a moment to contemplate her options. She needed a weakness to exploit. Isla had seen all manner of the Mon Cal’s strengths, and she searched his figure in an attempt to find a place to deliver her next attack. Isla’s gloved hand tightened around the saber hilt, and a tiny bead of sweat slid down her temple.

After a moment more, Isla finally pushed off the ground. Her saber took a wide horizontal swing, the blade sweeping level with the Mon Cal’s knees. And back it went in the opposite direction, this time cutting towards his ankles. Isla hoped that she could momentarily interrupt his chances for utilizing that quick footwork of his to dance too far away. She jumped back for a split second, bringing her saber up to block any incoming attacks. At the same time, her long leg shot out, aiming a kick just under Veles’ arm and into his ribs.

 

[Darth Veles]

Proving herself to be a fast learner, the knight of Ren obviously took the amphibious Sith’s words to heart Attacked in this manner, Veles was promptly forced to defend himself; bring his lightsaber downwards in a clockwise arch and block the incoming blow seeking to disrupt his footwork, so integral to dodging. Unfortunately for the Mon Cal, he had picked the wrong attack to address – while making the right move to block the feint aimed for his knees, the sudden change in direction went undisturbed for long enough. Barely saving his ankles from tasting Isla’s wrath, Veles had moved the entire arm to quickly bring forth the weapon’s block in a desperate motion. His large eyes studied the lock resulting in an awkward position that left him with no other option than receiving a solid kick from the woman. Definitely the preferred choice over feeling her lightsaber’s crimson tongue.

Feeling his wind knocked out of the powerful lungs, Veles gasped for air and realized his balance now threatened to shatter and fall like a house of cards. Already strangely positioned and crippled on one leg, the kick really just served as one last push to throw him off and cause the inevitable collapse. Silent like a mute, the Mon Cal positively lost his footing, displaying a seemingly uncoordinated stumble in a final struggle for control. In truth, most of his senses focused on keeping Isla’s blades at bay still – he could recover from a simple fall, no matter how embarrassing it were. The same did not go for receiving a sweet kiss from superheated plasma, thus the Sith allowed his body to fall back, no longer bound by sheer will, and gracefully rolled back in a surprisingly elegant and smooth manner. Within moments, he stood back on his feet, lightsaber arching through the air with a menacing hiss to keep Isla from bringing his life to an end.

“Excellent, my friend.” Darth Veles’s praise finally left his mouth and reached the woman’s ears like a soothing balm in appreciation of the woman’s maneuverer, still keeping his calm attitude in spite of what one expected from a Sith Lord. She had displayed her ability to learn quickly and overcome pain – what more to ask for?

“Here; claim this reward and treat your wounds. The First Order needs you strong.”

She had earned it through success.

With that, the medpac had found its way from his webbed hand to the red-haired woman in a quick and quiet soar through the air, although the tip of Veles' blade never stopped pointing in her direction.


[member="Isla Ashen"]