Ebon's Training: Form III "Soresu"

[Sirak Kolar]

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The room was lit by soft white lights from either side of it’s ceiling, a distant porthole giving perfect view of the lightspeed travel the ship must have been taking. In the midst of it, was Ebon, the harsh whirring of his down trodden lightsaber working through the artificial air to wherever his hands could command it to go. Sweat dripped from his brow to his open mouth, each of his breathes harsh and heavy, hours of training, days on end, finally bringing him to his physical and mental limits.

Attempting once more the complicated footwork of Makashi, his half ignited blade rode towards the ground, each hand cupping the extended blade as his feet rushed out in front him, each seeming to glide across the durasteel plated floor, unlike his usual crushing manner, or his high energy Ataru. The blade flicked gracefully upwards, downwards, followed by a swift spin of his body, and a masterful parry of the invisible opponent in front him.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

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Despite the calmness taken in his movements, Ebon dropped the lightsaber and fell to his knees, his lungs heaving at the strain of his training. For days, weeks, and months since the end of the Primeval Civil War, he has been getting stronger with the help of the holocron he had recovered long ago. He felt shame for his inability to save his religion from their own devious plots and greed, and he felt shame for failing his true god, being Balagoth.

As sweat dripped along his cheek, his mind moved to where the ship he had commandeered was going. It was headed for One Sith space, a land of people vaguely similiar to him, men and women both filled with duty to serve, to cater to their master. Balagoth would always be his true master, but Ebon needed direction outside his own, at least for some time. Regardless of what he thought he needed, he knew the connections he made providing his services to the One Sith would come in handy in the long term future of both himself and his eventual dreams.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

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The holocron once more lit up, Ebon’s tired expression lifting to meet it’s hooded gaze as the digital sith lord before him began a slow cackle. The Sith Lord was hardly a imposing man, but Ebon knew better than to question ancient wisdom, choosing instead to respect and bow his head between heavy heaves. Slowly, the Sith began to speak, each word dry and harsh to the ear;

“You’ve come so far, Knight… First Shii-Cho, now Makashi. The time you’ve perfected these forms, rivals even my own… Now, are you ready for Soresu? The Ultimate Defense…”

The Sith broke into a small, hoarse laughter once more.

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[Sirak Kolar]

Ebon simply nodded, far too exhausted to speak on the subject anymore. His strained muscles fought to stand once more, and with it he carried his lighstaber in weak fingers turned strong by sheer will power alone. Slowly, he began to learn the basics of the technique, following his masters words in repeated succession.

Hours began to blur, eventually as did his vision. As Ebon took the next few steps in his move set, he consciousness began to fade, and once more he fell to the ground, this time for good. His body had give up on him after long hours fighting the urge to surrender to exhaustion. If Ebon were to be too stubborn to allow for rest, then the body would take it itself.

 

[Sirak Kolar]

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Waking up hours later, Ebon’s tense muscles tore at his every movement, forcing the powerful warlord to grit his serrated teeth and clench his jaw. His eye’s wandered once more to the porthole of the ship, now stuck in dock on one of Coruscant’s many ship yards. He watched for a moment as the outside city world continued it’s routines, while Ebon would just now begin his own.

After a moment of hesitation and grunting, Ebon stood once more, his legs wobbly but sturdy. He carried himself to his personal latrine, washing the sweat from his scarred skin. Once done, he dressed in usual black attire, leaving carefully the shirt he would normally wear in preference to skin, to accommodate for the training he was to do.

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[Sirak Kolar]

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Once more unto the breach, as Ebon began once more his steps in mastering the art of Soresu. What would take many Jedi a life to accomplish, Ebon would accomplish in mere months, lest he lose himself to the urge for war on his own allies aboard the ship.

What would he become on this new planet, and would it last? The thoughts flashed in his mind before he continued on with his footwork, exhaling just as the blade brought itself into a protective position in front of him. He shot the thought from his mind, but his snarling teeth began their own smile beyond his control.

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