The Admiral's eyes fixed themselves on one of his more promising students reigning down fire upon a helpless foe. He snapped his eyes to the victim's, watching with interest as a few beads of sweat collected as he furrowed his brow and tapped faster. The student's expression morphed into one of satisfaction as his smaller fleet began to pummel through the massive fighter and bomber screen that threatened to dismantle their opponent's entire fleet. Dranok smiled, the seemingly defenseless fleet utilized stutter-fire options on his Quad laser cannons. They would decrease the power rate, barely strong enough to damage shields. Then, as the attack craft neared, the virtual gunners shifted their settings to maximum and began to knock out craft with single blasts.
Once again, the underdog reigned supreme by using his brain.
Dranok was a man of the mind. He was nothing without his legions of soldiers or thousands of crewmen that stood behind him to support him all the way. Individually, he was a Jack of all Trades, a Master of none. He liked to be balanced like a good battleship, able to dish out and take blows. Fortitude, charisma, and intelligence were his weapons. His Force abilities rivaled that of Sith Lords of olden days, delving into the minds of others and bending them to his will or breaking their stature. As for saber combat, Dranok was a superior practitioner of the defensive art of Soresu. His two specialties worked in tandem during combat, hence his major successes on and off the battlefield.
His small grin disappeared as he turned away from the battle, both participants seemingly relaxed. The two drew closer and compared tactics and technical readouts, good. Those two would surely serve the Fringe well in times to come. This new generation of leaders and thinkers were part of Lussk's legacy. He wanted to mold these cadets into junior officers and only the exceptional would strive even further than officers and become great political or senior military leaders. This was where the galaxy would be changed from, this single academy on some forsaken world of the fringe.
Garbed in his pristine white Admiral's uniform, his boots clomped against the cold durasteel floor as he paced about the room. Hands clasped behind the small of his back, he turned to another sound of similar footsteps. Approaching was a man Dranok knew by sight. The Emperor's Champion, Darth Kryptus, privately known as Master Jacen Cavill. By the looks of it, he was wearing his signature ironweave armor, skintight to boast muscles and stature. Its intention was doing a good job as the large man strode forward to plant himself before Dranok, greeting and extending a friendly gesture. The white-clad Admiral shot out his own hand, just a little smaller than Kryptus' and shook it firmly. "Master Cavill, it's a pleasure." He paused to refer to an earlier statement, "Yes, I vividly remember Voractios. He was weak."