Faction Common Room Philosophy (Sith Academy of Korriban)

[Madrona A’Mia]

The Academy of Korriban, whose official name would be announced in a few short weeks at the Opening Ceremony, had gradually grown busier over the past few months. Industry across the world was booming and Korriban's cities teemed with new life the way pelko bugs swarmed to Force rich things. Nearly ninety percent of the Academy proper was rebuilt, it was at least seventy percent staffed, and new students were arriving daily.

The sun was sinking toward the dusty horizon but supper would not be ready for a few hours yet. The vast dining hall showed now signs of preparation for any war games either so students could feel somewhat at ease taking a bit of downtime this late afternoon. One of the Academy’s three common rooms was particularly busy, with a few students playing holochess, more poured over their studies at tables or curled up on couches, and even the stoic Professor of Tactics and Strategy, who sat reading beside a great window that looked out across one of the many valleys of Korriban.

Other things of note within the room include: a very old fashioned looking masterwork globe detailing Korriban's general topography, a second holochess table, as well as many beautiful rock and metal motifs. Though these quarters are lavish, there is still something very military about them, including a metal armament stand tucked discreetly in one corner. It is clear that no expense had been sparred on the furnishings nor on the masterwork architecture which gave the impression that this stately building is merely an extension of the natural environment of Korriban.

Art generated with MidJourney by Darth Caedes​

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: @ Madrona A’Mia

Malak, with his wings and hair dyed an inky black to mask his true identity, walked purposefully through the buzzing corridors of the Academy. His simple dark leather gambeson and breeches allowed him to blend in, yet he felt more explicitly as an observer from another world, quietly absorbing the atmosphere that thrummed around him.

He entered one of the common rooms, the undercurrents of ambition palpable even here. He could very well imagine the sight of students hunched over tables, flicking through holographic texts on Sith lore or engaged in a tense game of holochess. A figure was absorbed in his reading beside a grand window that offered a sweeping view of Korriban's craggy valleys. Malak would offer a bow of his head should he draw attention from the man. He took all of this in as he worked on getting his bearing of the place.

Malak's eyes were drawn to the exquisite detail of the room: a masterwork globe depicting Korriban's geological nuances, intricate metal, and stone motifs adorning the walls, and the tactful placement of a metal armament stand in one corner. There was an elegance to the room, the architecture seamlessly woven into the very fabric of the planet’s unforgiving landscape.

It struck Malak that the opulence and military severity coexisted in a fine balance here. For a moment, he let himself appreciate the careful crafting of the room before moving on, keen to explore further and gather his bearings. He walked languidly through the common room looking over the various works of artistic value and decor.

There was much to learn and uncover in this hive of Sith knowledge and ambition. His footsteps were light, his senses keen, as he continued his exploration, ever vigilant for the hidden currents that flowed beneath the surface of Sith civility. Quiet observation was his goal and he would carry it out through a veneer of submissive etiquette and respectful deportment.

 

[Mazrith Drihl]

Madrona A’Mia | Matthew of Valendale

Mazrith could again be found reading, sitting in a chair near the center of one of the common rooms in the new Sith Academy. He wore simple sark robes, as well as his usual mask. He did not usually sit here, but his favorite spot in the library had been unfortunately under some last minute improvements. Mazrith was in the presence of a decent sized number of fellow acolytes, something that was uncommon in his stay at the academy so far.

Mazrith did not mean to act in seclusion, quite the opposite, but his past history with independent studies was carrying over to this new place of education. It seemed that some things never changed.

He looked up from his datapad in hand and surveyed the room. A few other acolytes sat comfortably nearby on couches, while many more were scattered about. The room itself was handsome and elegant, with many fine features and a pleasant environment. It was far better than any place in which Mazrith had stayed during his years in the nomadic lifestyle. He was very satisfied to have a place to call home, even if only for a short time.

Mazrith watched as someone new entered the room, they too observed their surrounding intently. A small curiosity spring up in Mazrith, for he was most fascinated about the stories of newcomers to the temple. Some came from outside of Sith, as many had been scattered in the aftermath of the crusades that had struck Sith Space. In the meantime, he returned to his reading.

 

[Rayth]

Rayth was sat alone, his back to the wall out of habit. After two months in the Academy, Darth Reprimar had permitted him into the common areas of the academy.

For two months he had been confined to a cell in the lowest levels of the academy. His only company had been the slow drip of water as stalagtites were formed around him. With little to measure the passing of time but Reprimar's visits, it had started to feel as if he would see those stoney fingers stretch towards the floor of his cell.

There had been lessons in the Force, captives brought to him for sustenance and beatings if he did not show the proper respect. The worst part was that Rayth hardly felt a spark of resentment towards the Sith Lord for his treatment. At least the constant hunger had been abated. At least every few days someone would speak his name. The context didn't matter.

Rayth had two books perched on his knees. One hidden inside the other. The outer cover displayed a 1,278 BBY text: corruption of the essence. The inner book was his shame. A storybook aimed at those of Rayth's reading age, which was approximately ten years.

Reprimar had expressed disgust at Rayth's lack of education. Rayth was forced to play audio books in his room in an evening, and use the daylight to try and catch up on his basic knowledge.

The young man sat in silence, his gaze roaming everywhere but the book on his lap. Now that he was free, he had another assignment. He was to understand the social hierarchy of the students. He was to ensure he neither showed weakness nor became a threat to those who had climbed the ladder.

In the academy, a knife between the shoulder blades was only a crime if it was carried out in such a careless manner that the perpetrator could be named.

If the victim was not the apprentice of a powerful lord, if the act was carried out artfully then no questions would be asked.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

A'Mia entered the main foyer of the Academy building, her wooden feet clicking faintly against the beautiful stone flooring as her eyes swept up and around this place she now regarded as home. Though devoid of an emotional understanding of what home meant to most people, she did understand loyalty and hers was fierce. The neti had been away for a time, practicing under her Master of Alchemy, and now returned with someone new at her side.

Aramea Bel was being both sheltered and firmly guided under one of the neti's long arms. The willful little creature was not necessarily thrilled at the prospect of learning, her interests for the time being were more focused on bloodthirsty matters. Nevertheless, A'Mia wanted to begin her creation's education early and she also had her own responsibilities to tend to. She could not yet trust the impulsive and hungry sithspawn to behave herself in the campus greenhouse. There were far too many deadly or valuable plants there for A'Mia to risk.

The pair made their way through artistically severe architecture and past art which highlighted Sith culture of all kinds. Newly finished statues and stone busts carved right from the stone of this holy world, as well as paintings which depicted great battles throughout history lined the stately hallways.

"It's time for you to speak with people… your age, Aramea. I know you'll do well."

The tall woman faintly squeezed the back of the girl's neck, it was at once a command and reassurance that she must do well. They turned the corner and entered the general common room. A'Mia scanned it quickly and made note of its inhabitants with cold calculation, smiling brightly in a way that did not reach her eyes. The Neti wore her officer's uniform today and had the confident bearing of someone in charge.

"Ah! Mazrith Drihl , good to see you again. I’m glad you've found your way to this fine establishment."

She wiggled her fingers in a small wave at the Professor near the window who responded only with a small nod and returned to his book, ever aware of his surroundings but choosing to remain aloof. Her eyes then alighted on the pale student curled up reading, and she noted the somewhat out of place winged man. She released Aramea and nudged her forward. The girl had been provided a datapad and in the case of crisis could use her commlink to call to her creator.

"Wouldn't you like to introduce yourself?" She asked expectantly.

 

[Aramea Bel]

Spoiler

Mother's arms wrapped around Aramea's form, long, spindly. An unearthly embrace meant to protect. But protect whom? Or what? Aramea? The students? The precious green things around them? Aramea did not know, nor did she think to ask. Instead she stared ahead, too-wide eyes flitting about in rapturous fervor. So many thing. So so so so so so many things. Aramea wondered how many of these things were edible. Which were tasty. Which tasted like barren soil. Would Mother allow her the pleasure?

"It's time for you to speak with people… your age, Aramea. I know you'll do well." Aramea looked up at Mother with unnatural blue eyes. Blue like the lips of the drowned. Mother had spoken, and so it was. Aramea would do well, she had no doubt.

They turned a corner, and Aramea's eye lit up. Unlike Mother's her eyes practically glowed with an unhealthy fervor. Eyes shot from one tasty morsel to another, and he chest rose in fell, faster and faster as her breath quickened. It was only the sensation of Mother's fingers firmly around Aramea's neck that kept her in check.

Mother addressed someone, and a moment passed where Aramea thought that perhaps Mother would not mind if Aramea had a little snack. Mother's fingers even slipped away from Aramea's neck, assenting. She'd been about to step towards a tasty looking creature, jaw already hinging open when she felt mother push her a forward, and her voice cut through the fog of gluttony.

"Not...food then?" Aramea pouted. But she was so hungry...but if Mother insisted, then it was so. Given that the other creatures were not tasty morsels as Aramea hoped, and Mother's will had been made known, Aramea approached the pale creature and the winged one, and stared at them both. Blue eyes too wide sat sunk within a tilted head, watching. Appraising.

"Good morning," a sweet voice said. Too sweet for present company, and too calm. "My name is Aramea Bel." Aramea placed a foot behind the other, bending at the knees, bowing, lifting her skirt in a curtsy. She did not know where she learned to do this. But some forgotten part in her root-riddled brain told her it was proper. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Madrona A’Mia | Matthew of Valendale | Rayth

 

[Alina Tremiru]

"You will listen to what the professors here tell you and you will not kill those you disagree with." With getting caught, of course. That was always the trick when it came to playing the dangerous game of politics with the Sith. Alina glanced down towards Bronwyn, smiling ever so faintly. There was a lot for Bronwyn to learn, and Alina still had her own business to attend to. Best to have her at least learn the basics here. And, perhaps, keep an eye on Alina's fellow Sith who ran this academy.

"Unless, of course, they're trying to get you killed. Then you're free to do what you must."

She halted near the gathering, raising a brow. And then smiled further. "Why don't you go make friends?"

Madrona A’Mia | Mazrith Drihl | Rayth | Aramea Bel | Bronwyn Rees

 

[Tarus Undara]

Korriban
Sith Academy

​

For the first day in weeks, Tarus felt at ease.

Sleep had finally graced him at a decent hour the night before, and while he’d stirred rather early this morning, he still felt refreshed. The buzz from the students was a welcome change of pace as well, and he wondered if he wasn't even more pleased than they were that the day’s war games were absent.

Tarus considered what his passive afternoon would consist of as he headed for the common rooms. A pair of students passed him, nodding their respect as they went. Tarus returned their sentiments with a smile, then rounded the corner into the chamber. His eye was immediately drawn to an ancient globe depicting Korriban, and his inner astronomer couldn’t resist taking a closer look.

He eyed the globe thoughtfully, examining the topography with interest. He took notes of the landmarks he recognized and explored those he did not with the tip of his fingers, tracing their dimensions like a furtive child handling a small treasure. Tarus’ thoughts began to wander as he idly spun the sphere, teetering on the line between mindfulness and daydreaming.

With his role becoming more prominent, his face more familiar, Tarus knew he ought to make connections and establish himself among the others. But for now, he chose to enjoy the little things.

- Open -​

 

[Annika Starfire]

Location: Korriban Academy
Objective: settle in
Tags: Rayth Tarus Undara Alina Tremiru Mazrith Drihl Madrona A’Mia Matthew of Valendale Aramea Bel
Wearing: top & short bedtime combo

Ever keen, Annika had already arrived and bad unpacked entirely a couple of days prior and was already beginning to feel settled. The sixteen year old's master Darth Nwul had given her several pointers and warnings about this place, it would not be her primary learning, like many of the apprentices here, but he was keen she learned as much as possible.

She had been in her room for the last hour, adding several new personal locks to the door and installing a safe, high end stuff she had picked up on her recent trip to Denon. She didn't trust anyone here, not even the teachers, so entry to her dorm would be strictly limited to the people she wanted to be in there. She grinned at Rayth as she walked past him, sharing a smile as if she had moments before thinking about him. She felt a friendship forming there, it would likely last as long at took him to realise where exactly to stick the knife in her back, but it was fun for now, and useful to have an ally.

She adjusted the short cotton pants of her pjamas as she walked across the common room, picking up snacks and joining Tarus Undara at the globe. "Know where we are on this globe?" she asked curiously while looking away to watch the sightly over elegant introduction of Aramea Bel at the doorway. She liked her hair. "Someone told me this planet is actually called Moraband, but the locals get tetchy if you use that name, think that's true?" she asked.

​

 

[Bronwyn Rees]

Alina Tremiru Tarus Undara Aramea Bel Madrona A’Mia Rayth Mazrith Drihl

Since the travel time from Dantooine nothing had really changed. Even when in a state of assumed calm, beneath the surface was a boiling sea of fury aching to be released once more. Bronwyn had become accustomed to her outbursts, and at home within her rage. Where others saw clumsy weakness, she saw brute strength and brutal toughness, and that had a quality all of its own. If the sithspawn on Coruscant could not kill her, what chance did these others have of taking her down? Her cybernetic body was testament enough to her tenacity to cling to life in spite of the agony she had felt to reach this point. She had no time to die, as there were many that she still had to ensure went before she.

Bronwyn did not care for Korriban. As far as deserts went there were likely worse, but this one had the additional bonus of being scourged by the Dark Side over many millenia. Life itself was warped here, some noticably, some much more subtly, but warped nonetheless. She had heard Alina's warnings, and looked back to the woman with that same on-edge voice, "If they wish for death, there are faster and easier methods than trying to kill me." she spat with a venomous tone so potent that it would kill were it capable. Even now, in mere conversation she continued to seethe with a fury that radiated from her.

It was not lost on her that the level of cybernetic augmentation she had undergone would cause her to stand out. She was told that those who were altered thus were weaker in the Force, but she did not truly believe that. Bronwyn had been able to destroy a Jedi on Dantooine without any formal training beyond that which her time in the GADF had given her. Alina had suggested that it was due to her preturnatural connection to the Dark Side that she was as capable as she had been. It was through proper guidance and training that it could be honed though. She was raw, but with potential that screamed out to those who sought to guide a power such as hers towards a greater purpose.

With a mind for war, Bronwyn waited for Alina to depart her, and looked for the facilities that gave the prospects and students the space to become greater warriors. There, she would find those who were more her kind. She had been a soldier before, and she was going to keep pursuing what she was already naturally inclined towards. Unfortuantely the new training here was radically different than the GADF's regimens. Soldiers typically did not have the Force as she did. In this, she knew not where to begin. Simply put, this was where she found herself at an impasse and waited for someone to pick her up for this kind of education.

 

[Firrerreo]

"The book you are reading looks incredibly boring."

The soft voice came from beside Rayth as yet another joined the common room. Firrerreo sat down in another chair, his gaze similarly watching the others within the room. Some came with a master. Some did not. That alone was the obvious division. It was the first lesson most Sith learned in the academy. Sith with a master were already in a higher tier than those without. The protection that came with it, the fear of making an enemy of a Sith Lord, it often allowed those acolytes to be more.. Crass.

It's why he sat where he did. Allies were going to be needed to survive.

"What is it about?"

Rayth

 

[Rayth]

Rayth's eyes slowly turned to Firrerreo . He had not realised that he was part of Annika Starfire 's slowly expanding network of allies, but his gaze had lingered as she had passed.

"It is dry..." Rayth offered.

He closed both books and briefly studied the particularly tall acolyte. Rayth didn't know him. He struck Rayth as stern and competent, but he couldn't tell if that was simply a reflection of his size and shaved head.

"It sets out that a soul is like.."

He couldn't quite remember the long words in the audio book, so he reached for the analogy.

"...like a ball on the top of a hill. It's always hard to keep it there. Remove a few of those things working to keep it held up and it will fall. Basically, the smallest nudge can corrupt."

 

[Mazrith Drihl]

Open to any others

Mazrith watched patiently as the room filled even more, with new faces being quickly memorized and small conversations springing up. He nodded at Madrona A’Mia and gave a quick, "It is good to see you as well."

He looked at who A'mia had brought with, what appeared to be a small girl was standing there. While the introduction seemed normal enough, perhaps a bit too formal, Mazrith had a feeling of dread and discomfort from the girl's nature. He decided to try and distract himself elsewhere. A conversation was being struck between a red skinned and pale boy in the corner, he briefly overheard something about books.

Mazrith sighed a little before picking up his datapad and turning it off. He stood and walked past a pair of Acolytes surveying a spherical map of Korriban. Mazrith approached Rayth and Firrerreo who sat in chairs near to each other, he stopped and stood so that he was facing them.

Mazrith gave a small bow of his head and spoke, "I hope I am not interrupting, but I thought I should introduce myself. I am Drihl, Mazrith Drihl at your service." And with that he gave another small bow of his head.

He has decided to come across as humble as possible, in hopes to not appear as any sort of threat in the eyes of the many power hungry acolytes. Mazrith had established that their were certain people in the academy, even in the lowest ranks, who did hold some influence in their various spheres. He decided it better to try and stay in a positive light of such students.

He cleared his throat, making a matallic sound through his helmet, "If you do not mind, may I ask you a few questions?" Directing the request to both acolytes.

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Alina Tremiru Rayth Tarus Undara Madrona A’Mia Mazrith Drihl Firrerreo Bronwyn Rees Annika Starfire Aramea Bel

Malak watched as activity blossomed in the common room, visually taking in each of the unique faces and senses of force signatures carefully studying each of them and observing them making mental notes. He had been briefly acquainted with two familiar faces the previous evening giving them fleeting glances. He was briefly startled by the small being that introduced her self to him, Matthew's brows furrowing momentarily as his soft blue gaze settled on the being, uncertain what to make of . . . her?

"Hello there little one. " he just about purred in a somber soft tone of voice speaking how he would normally speak to a child adding a touch of warm inflection. "It's nice to meet you as well. I am known as Malak Thorn." He greeted her in return seemingly more than well aware of what manners were and how to use them going so far as to offer her a cordial bow in return preformed with ritualistic precision.

Malak's keen senses detected the undercurrents of growing paranoia that seemed to saturate the Force within the common room of the Sith Academy. It was an unsettling realization, one that prompted him to consider the reasons behind such thick tension among his supposed 'fellows'.

Choosing a seat at one of the gaming tables, he gracefully swung his long, inky black braid over his shoulder. His fingers deftly adjusted a vibrant red silk ribbon, straightening the bow that secured the end of his braid. The action was performed with a touch of elegance, but also with a purpose—to blend in, yet not attract undue attention.

Surveying the bustling activity around him, he then produced a small parchment book from an inner pocket of his cloak. Extracting an archaic writing implement, he began to pen a few observations in his native script, his handwriting as meticulous as his thoughts. Each stroke served dual purposes: documenting his experiences and reinforcing his cover. After all, in a den of vipers, even a moment's lapse could prove fatal.

With his notes briefly set, he returned the book and writing implement to their hiding place, his eyes once again scanning the room.

 

[Alina Tremiru]

"Isn't that quite the truth."

She chuckled before turning to step away. Smiled ever still before again turning to regard Bronwyn. "Take all they have to offer, Bronwyn. I'll be checking in on your progress and I hope to hear good things. As I promised, we can slowly rebuild that lost body, but only when you've learned enough." Alina once again brightened her smile before looking back to where she was walking. Bronwyn would do well here. Or she wouldn't, and she'd be discarded just as Alina promised.

There was only one way forward, now.

Bronwyn Rees

 

[Firrerreo]

"Accurate, I suppose. But it does certainly sound dry." Firrerreo nodded once, though his gaze was pulled towards the one who had approached. Drihl. The man couldn't help but smile. A soft, subtle smile. But for him, for his species, names were power. Sith were all so keen on giving away their names as if it was going to get them respect. All they were doing was giving him power over them.

So why not entertain them?

"Of course, Mazrith. I am not opposed to answering questions."

Mazrith Drihl | Rayth

 

[Rayth]

He cleared his throat, making a matallic sound through his helmet, "If you do not mind, may I ask you a few questions?" Directing the request to both acolytes.

"Of course, Mazrith. I am not opposed to answering questions."

Rayth looked between the two who had approached his quiet reading corner. There was something stlted and overly formal about the way the question was asked.

Was that a defence mechanism here?

Stick to the formalities and titles and reduce the risk of causing office?

Rayth tucked that thought away to consider later. Annika would probably know the answer.

"Ask away," Rayth said, though his expression was less open than his reply.

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

​

A'Mia watched as the doll like girl stepped forward to introduce herself, well enough assured that Aramea Bel could be somewhat trusted to follow her implicit commands. The tall woman made to turn away and caught sight of a woman who was strangely familiar but still unknown to her. Where had she seen that face before?

She inclined her head briefly toward Alina Tremiru , bright curious eyes scanning her with recognition at a glance that she was far and above more potent in the Force than a mere student or basic acolyte. Duty called her onward though and despite keen curiosity she strode back out of the room to make her way to the greenhouse.

 

[Bronwyn Rees]

There was such a striking level of depth to the Academy that Bronwyn had not expected when she was told that it was her destination. She had reservations about being around people for very good reason. Her entire life she had spent being either pushed off, betrayed, or lied to. Now she was surrounded by people who were prospective Sith. It was, at least to her cursory understanding from the outside, in the nature of the Sith to sow the seeds of distrust and betrayal.

While she had become accustomed to feeling the Dark Side, she held many thoughts regarding the operation of the Sith. What use was it to create a society that was unable to keep itself together on a coherent fashion if everyone was afraid of being stabbed in the back? Bronwyn had hardened herself for that though, through the expectation that she should never take anything said to her at face value.

While the others had strayed into the commisary, she remained in the sparring chamber and stood amidst the various weaponry with her arms crossed and her eyes closed. For the time being she was simply allowing herself to feel the Force. Small snippets and short lessons were all she'd had and one of the basic ones was just letting herself try to perceive the world around her without her eyes. Granted, her cybernetic eyes were quite useful considering they could see across the entire light spectrum, but the Force could see and feel things that basic perceptions could not. That was how it was explained to her at least, and so she had to go with it.

When she explained her battle on Dantooine with the Jedi, it was expressed that her ability in perception may well be quite powerful if tuned properly. Bronwyn expressed through her telling of the fight how it felt to see the opening she needed to hit on the Jedi to strike him down. It was a Shatterpoint, or a manifestation in the Force that displayed weaknesses to be exploited. It was capable of revealing much more than openings in one-on-one fights though, but she had only ever experienced it in the height of her emotional turmoils and never on purpose. If what was mentioned about that ability was true then it was something that she wanted to harness with direct intent.

"A cyborg? What are you doing here?" a voice said, arrogance lacing the words. Bronwyn opened her steel-colored eyes and looked at the human across the room from her. He looked disgusted with her. "That many cybernetic parts, you must be pathetic."

He seemed to be trying to provoke her. Bronwyn remembered at least something of her short time spent with Alina. Control of her fury was the key to her power. She might well be unhinged, but she could at least work to channel it more constructively toward her own goals rather than going feral as she had in the past. His words meant nothing to her anyways. These cybernetic parts represented something that he did not gather himself. She was tough enough to survive this many replacement parts. Most people would have died going through what she experienced, but she hung onto life. It was only later that she learned her grasp on life was fueled by her hate for the Krayt Squadron members in the GADF that left her to die in the Coruscant undercity. Mauled by a Sithspawn and not even an attempt to bring her home. Now she had a new home, and one she was going to use to gather more power so she could strike out at the GADF in more meaningful ways than simply mauling hapless soldiers at random.

"Are you ignoring me?" the voice asked, becoming more irritated. The man approached her and stood an entire head taller than she. Bronwyn had closed her eyes again, having not been impressed with what she saw before her. He was lean, but looked like someone who had been spoiled his whole life. Someone told that he was powerful and would do great things likely. Her appraisal wasn't always correct, but he had the air about him of someone that grew up with tremendous privilege and was used to being deferred to by what he considered lessers.

He slapped her across the face. Bronwyn let it slide this time, turning herself back to face him and opening her eyes once more. The steel-grey had shifted a bit toward the yellow-orange spectrum as the slap had an enraging effect on her. She breathed deeply, and pushed that fury deeper down. A reservoir, that she could tap into later, rather than allowing herself to overflow. Another slap though, and she bristled with the Dark Side and emitted a pushed through the Force. Not a directed one, but a push in an area around herself to separate him from her. "You common little wretch. How dare you ignore me!"

That was when things tipped. Bronwyn felt the strike coming for her, a punch, and with shocking speed she ducked beneath it and stood behind him. He was clumsy, slow, and now she was sure he was the kind of person who believed themselves to be the most important being in any room. She did not even uncross her arms, leaving him even more furious. She had said no words to him, shown him no deference, and given him no attention. That seemed to be enough to set him off on this course of action.

Fortunately, they were in the sparring chambers, and a fight was something that was normal in a place such as this. Unfortuantely for him, she was not interested in a real fight. This place was for training, and one of her goals was to better control her fury and send it through the Dark Side to empower her body and mind. That was where her speed came from. Several more clumsy swings, all of which she stepped away from or ducked beneath. Bronwyn emitted the same type of push against him and slid him a little further away from herself this time. Even if she hoped he would give up on his attacks, the stomping run that came at her told her otherwise.

Bronwyn took an opportunity to try to humble him, and instead of a true attack, tripped him after side-stepping his brutish rush. She had always been more finesse driven in her combat, but with the Force her body had become more accustomed to using that kind of brute force. That meant the lighter things came even more quickly than they had before she learned more about keeping her rage focused. He practically roared in anger and once he had finished slipping along the floor he flung himself upright and now he too had become faster. Several keen dodges, but one of the raining strikes finally landed home in her face and sent her reeling backwards.

That was the tipping point for her. Bronwyn opened her eyes and stared at him. There was a smugness on his face after a landed hit like that. As if he had won. He assumed she was weak because she had become so injured in the past that much of her body was repaired cybernetically. Was he that simple? Did he not assume this many parts meant she survived horrifying traumas? She spat the blood in her mouth on the floor. "Walk away right now, while you can still walk."

"And what if I don't? You know you're now allowed to just kill me." he said, trying to push this idea that he was some kind of bully to the new students. He may have been someone to somebody, but to her he was nobody. Her eyes were locked though, and he stared right back.

"Oh, I promise that you will survive. But you will not survive unaltered from the experience. If this is what you want, then you shall have it, but I am telling you right now you will not be happy with how you survive this day." Bronwyn said, her voice metallic, raspy, and filled with a kind of brutal hate that made each word deadly if they could kill. She stared at him, unafraid of him. He was larger, taller, more muscled in spite of its leanness, but she did not care. She was only 1.6 meters tall, and the way she glared she felt like a giant. Between the two the Dark Side roiled, called to them to unleash their hate and anger.

With a wave of dismissal she herself began to walk toward the door to just extricate herself from the situation. The final straw, however, was when he grabbed her by the arm. Bronwyn finally had held herself in check for as long as she could, but being touched in such a way was enough to finally set her off in full. She twisted her arm up and around to break from his grab and in close against someone this tall, she had openings. Her claws remained hidden, and instead she simply struck with punches. She rushed herself inside his reach, and threw a punch so hard that it actually lifted his feet from the ground slightly. His sudden grunt and lack of breath was telling. It was a shock that she hit this hard, and moved this fast. The Force was working through her though, and the Dark Side offered her its boon once more in the form of speed and strength. With the punch to his stomach throwing him off, she swung a hook into his left side, curling him in that direction.

As he slid away from her trying to separate him, she dashed forward again. Low, and fast, she threw a rising uppercut into his jaw, and felt something crunch. He reeled backward, and while he was off-balance, she slid forward and kicked his legs from beneath him. With a leg raised high, she struck an axe-kick down into his sternum. A cough and sputter, and he rolled off away from her. Trying to lift himself up, she kicked up into his stomach once more, knocking him back onto his spine. This time he was much faster in getting to his feet, and as he grabbed her shoulders, she lifted her arms up between his and pushed his away and locked them beneath hers. There was a heave, a lift, and a throw, and he went across the floor again. Bronwyn suplexed him and followed it with a lightning quick leap to stomp both feet into his stomach and liver. He was not getting up now, and lay there heaving and groaning. With her left hand, she lifted him by the lapel off the ground, and her right hand plucked from his head both eyes.

"I'll kill you! You're dead do you hear me?!" he said, rolling and screaming on the ground with his hands covering his empty eye-sockets.

Bronwyn discarded the now useless organs. "I warned you. You were given every chance to leave, and you persisted. Now you have to live with your choice." she said, returning to the position in the room she had taken up to focus her mind on the Dark Side of the Force. While he continued to writhe and scream, the sound was drowned out by the Force speaking to her. The Dark Side relished in his pain and her hate. While she had tried to avoid the confrontation to begin with by granting him his words and even tolerating the slap to her face, he continued on, and she responded in kind.

Alina Tremiru Rayth Firrerreo Mazrith Drihl Matthew of Valendale Annika Starfire Madrona A’Mia Aramea Bel

 

[Aramea Bel]

Aramea smiled when at least one of those whom she'd introduced herself to responded to her introduction. She'd done just as Mother had asked! She looked back towards the entrance of the room to beam at Mother, but instead found the spot she'd been standing in empty, barren. What was Aramea to do now though?

The creature looked around the room a moment, indecisive as she was unsure of what to do without Mother's guidance. Like a newborn duck, she decided it best to follow the one who'd responded to her. He too had walked away, and so Aramea made to walk after him, when something entirely different from the chattering of the things in the room distracted her. Screaming.

Moth to flame, Aramea followed the sounds, her graceful form stepping into a savage training room, with something writhing on the ground in pain, a half-living creature looming over him. Aramea approached the screaming, almost oblivious to the half-alive thing in the room. "It screams..." she said, head tilted slightly to the side with inhuman curiosity. Sickly blue eyes followed the tiny spattered trails of blood to squishy orbs, eyeballs, lying on the floor. "It does not see..." If it did not see, it was useless. If it screams, it is weak. That was what Grandfather would say, Aramea thought. And if those were true, then that meant the thing was food.

The splintering of wood echoed in the room, even above the clamorous screams as Aramea's jaw swung open, breaking apart half her skull, and opening wider than any living creature her size should have been able to. Green-brown vines curled from her throat, wrapped around the screaming things body as thorns choked him and a bit into his skin, pulled him in. And then the screaming stopped. Aramea smiled at nothing, satisfied as memories and emotions flooded through her. Hmm. Maybe?

Again, the sound of splitting wood. She grew taller, her shoulders broadened, the palor of her skin darkened and became lively. Her form changed, shifted, until she was the thing she'd just consumed. A Sith acolyte, who's eyes had been plucked from his skull. That wouldn't do.

Aramea walked to where the eyeballs had fallen. A feminine grace contrasted the masculine form which bent over and picked up the first of the seeing-orbs, and was further contrasted by the gruesome ease with which the man popped the eyeball back in its socket. He giggled with Aramea's voice before picking up the second eyeball. And then, seemingly for the first time, Aramea seemed to notice the half-living, cybernetic creature in the room.

With a strange smile, Aramea approached, and held out the still-bloody eye towards the thing, the optic nerve still dangling from it. "I'm sorry, did I just steal your meal? Here. It really is quite tasty."

Bronwyn Rees