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[Zandra Ruus]

Kor'ethyr Academy was a sacred training site of the Sith, where acolytes from all across the galaxy congregated in profane worship. This worship was centered around honing one's attunement to the Dark Side. The force was palpable around the dark, rune-etched landscape of the desolate planet of Korriban. Zandra didn't hold the world as any sort of sacred ground, she saw it as a chance to complete a contract she'd undertaken. Her objective was simple, find a Sith Acolyte, bag 'em, and manage to get offworld with her skin intact. The latter was what worried her. It wasn't just acolytes that populated The Academy, there were knights and Darths a plenty on the world. Last thing she wanted was to get boiled inside her own beskar.

Instead of a frontal assault on the school, Zandra decided to spend time on the outskirts. She lied in wait like a serpent waiting to strike, stalking the housing districts for days. Markets were a hub that she wished to leverage as well. The biggest challenge? She couldn't walk the streets bedecked in full armor! To be caught on Korriban with a full suit of beskar was suicide, especially one as easy to spot as hers.

So, the night would be her cloak. By day she would gather intel, sticking to areas away from Sith holdings, and at night she would stalk the grounds, awaiting her chance. One night, some five days into her hunt, Zandra found an opportune moment to strike. She jumped from building to building, cloaked in shadow that blended with her black armor. Walking the streets were several acolytes walking in a group. Only one caught her eye. He was Naamino Zuukamano , a promising young man who managed his way into a Student Officer position.

Under the cover of her helm, Zandra smirked. She would zoom her visor in to scan the young man, confirming his identity versus collected intel. "You picked the wrong night to go for a walk golden boy... Don't you worry, I'll make this quick..."

It was then that she her legs readied for a jump, one not assisted by any jump pack. She pounced like a nexu, plunging through the dry night air down to the ground. Her opening move would be to try and fire a few darts from her wrist mounted launcher. The Electro Darts would have enough voltage to stun anyone hit, without totally frying them.

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit:
Rakghoul Robes
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Well Worn Boots, Pelko training saber

​

In almost any other circumstance, Naamino Zuukamano would not have been caught out and about without his actual sabers. However, the zabrak had recently been acting as a Teacher's Aid to Darth Thaliax for his beginner level combat courses. Naami found he quite enjoyed teaching, particularly martial skills, and it was a good way for him to gain favor with Kor'ethyr Academy's esteemed Battle Master.

The Iridonian teen was walking with a couple of the first year students he'd just been helping to instruct, when a warning zing ran along the middle crest of his horns. Naami turned, hand flying to the pelko blade even as he raised his off-hand to fire a fore blast in the direction of an unknown threat. The shot went wide, dark energy crackling into the night as the zabrak instinctively took a defensive stance.

Batting away the darts with fluid Djem So movements, one still snagged the hem of his robe as it whizzed by and another dropped a first year where they stood. Two of the zabrak's remaining peers were frozen in place but the third yelled an angry challenge at the threatening figure of Zandra Ruus . Naami barked at them all in turn.

"Go, alert the nearest professor! I'll handle this."

The Sith student promptly leapt into the offensive with an upward slash at his attacker.

 

[Zandra Ruus]

Quick moves, those of a studied combatant, Zandra would expect nothing less from a star pupil of the Sith. As the darts were cast aside, Zandra put one hand behind her back, grabbing for one of her beskad. She was, to her shock, a bit too slow on the draw after her rather showy landing. She had to dip back to try and avoid the toxic edge of the pelko blade. Even if it wasn't a lightsaber, she didn't want to get touched by that thing. Just one cut could mimic the pain and burns of a lightsaber strike, that was on top of the paralysis that came from a single touch.

With the slash of the training blade narrowly avoided, Zandra drew her weapon. The black-bladed sword twirling in her right hand as the chaos of the market swept by her. People ran about, brushing past the two, giving her just a moment to think. There was an argument for drawing her blaster, but that could go bad quick. Doing any damage to the kid's body would probably get her chewed out by the contractor.

With a grunt she pushed someone aside, stepping forward with her beskad in hand. "Last chance to give up! I'm supposed to take you in alive, but you'll be surprised what you can live through!"

Zandra knew there was no chance of a Sith of any type coming quietly, but it just felt like it was worth a shot. She didn't wanna break the legs of a kid, even if it was for money. On that same token, she didn't exactly want to end up in whatever the Sith version of a stockade was! Which would be the best outcome of getting caught.

Tag: Naamino Zuukamano

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Naamino Zuukamano Zandra Ruus Varin Mortifer Leshanna Dromar ​

Lysander tore through one of the narrow streets on the Dune Striker; a guttural growl echoed off the stone walls. Twisting the throttle, the two-wheeled machine released another roar and kicked up clouds of red dust. Soon, he slid to a halt near the market district and pushed the kickstand down with a leather boot. It was meant to be a quick handoff in a place so crowded that even the cautious could disappear into all the noise. With his helmet still strapped on, the acolyte moved forward. The chaos served as the perfect veil for this discreet exchange. As he approached a landspeeder parked near the curb, he spotted the familiar students from House Tu'kata.

The whispers of the Force were delicate as they swirled in the air around him. He felt safe. Approaching the driver's side, Lysander extended a hand for a casual handshake; but beneath that gesture, it was a transfer of credit chips for products of A'Mia's greenhouse.

Thanks to the sleemo lizard lady, Elmindra Xitaar , and her web of spies, he'd have to rethink his approach soon, especially with sales climbing month by month.

But as he turned back to the Dune Striker, the atmosphere suddenly shifted. A wave of raw emotion cut through the air, hotter than Korriban's unforgiving heat. Naameh's Force signature was unmistakable; between the weekly training sessions at the gym and the late night lyric writing in the Badawan's warehouse, he should've sensed it sooner. A tug of guilt pulled at him.

As he took in the chaotic scene, he could tell it was far from a simple sparring match or academy lesson.

Under the visor of his matte black helmet, a smirk crept onto his face.

Of course, that big dumb Zabrak bastard is trying to impress the professors, Lysander thought.

He didn't need to know the full story; all he cared about was the outcome of this situation. Reaching within his jacket, he drew an EC-17 Hold-Out Blaster, one he'd procured weeks ago after another student tried robbing him. Its aesthetic alone kept the transactions running smooth.

Peering through the scope, he locked onto the armored figure. If a single bolt landed, it might be enough to give his friend the edge.

Honor was a fool's game.

He braced, squeezed the side grip, and the blaster spat two bright bolts of energy toward his target.