Faction First Cuts - [Former Kor'ethyr Training Ground] [Sith]

[Avarice]

The Hollow Ring wasn't on any official map of the Academy. It was a sun-baked, sand-floored arena left behind when the Shifting Citadels moved on, now used for… extracurriculars.

It sat a few kilometers from the Citadel's current site was a sunken pit of red sand and cracked stone, ringed by half-collapsed railings. The one banner still clinging to its pole was so tattered it barely resembled the Academy crest at all. No instructors patrolled here, but everyone knew why it still stood. The place was a sorting ground, a slowly growing "tradition" the staff might have turned a blind eye to if they knew about it.

Avarice stepped from the shade of the cracked stone archway, silver hair catching the late-afternoon sun. The air smelled faintly of dust and scorched rock. His eyes traced the pit's edge, reading the scorch marks and dark stains like a history book, studying the remnants of every fight that had left its mark here.

Kor'ethyr wouldn't care about his past. Such would be meaningless here. If the official trials were still weeks away? Well… nothing stopped a would-be student from sorting the pecking order early. Maybe the staff even saw it as weeding out the weak before the real tests began.

He stepped down into the pit. A few of the other up-and-comers shifted to watch, some curious, some already sizing him up. Of those gathered, it was understood; king of the ring rules. First blood decided the bout. The winner walked away with bragging rights… until someone took them back.

Avarice leaned against the warm stone, arms folded, eyes half-lidded as if the fight barely held his attention. In truth, he was cataloging every twitch.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Always watching, observing, learning. Something Varin grew very akin to since Korriban became his new home. The very sands themselves seem to welcome him with open arms whenever he would stroll through the desert.

Today though, the sands would instead decide on what the next move would be. It almost seemed to guide Varin to the ring. Looking down into the pit, he observed the many faces. Familiar and not so familiar. All seemed to have a common goal, yet their goals all seemed to clash with everyone else's.

That was competition. To strive, and show who you were. To be seen, noticed.

Varin stepped into the pit, taller than most of the others here, he stood out like a sore thumb. Didn't help that he constantly had a cloak of smoke always following him. Eagerly, his heart pounded in his chest. The beat was a rhythm of something familiar, he was ready to fight. Anxious even.

Hearing his breathing, one might think he was out of breath. But it was excitement for him. Glory in combat, and an opportunity to show how much he had grown since crash landing into the ever open and expanding sands. He stood with his arms to his sides, fist clenched tight. Waiting, watching, observing.

Tags: Open​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice stepped forward, small black boots padding through the red sand, until he stood just shy of the man planted in the dead center of the ring.

Light on his feet and built smaller than most, he carried himself with an easy confidence that made the size difference irrelevant. Crimson eyes swept over his opponent, studying the set of his shoulders, the weight on his heels, every subtle tell in his stance.

With a casual motion, he slipped one hand into his robe and drew out an ornate hilt, its polished cage-guard gleaming with inlaid red gems. The weapon caught the sun as he tilted it lazily in his grip, like it was more ornament than tool.

"Perfect," he said, a half-smile curling his mouth. "I was hoping for a warm-up before dinner."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin watched as someone stepped up towards him. Smaller than his usual fights, but he was smart enough to hold off on judgement until sufficient evidence was given on their fighting prowess. He showed no sign of disappointment. Anyone who had the guts and the drive to just walk up to someone starving for a fight, that gave them a certain amount of amusement.

"Perfect, I was hoping for a warm-up before dinner."

He spoke with a smirk. An air of confidence resonated from him. Confidence is key At least that's what Varin was told. He glanced down towards his hilt, standing almost like a statue. Unmoving, very little emotion on his face besides the drive of the upcoming fight.

Slipping off his jacket the sandy winds bit into his exposed arms. On his hip resided his hilt. A heavy cross guarded handle made from various dark metals with a bladed round pommel. He gave a slight smirk back as his brown eyes began to burn like embers.

“I was going to say the same thing…” His voice was deep and quiet.

He gripped the handle so the pommel was facing up and placed both hands on the handle, giving it a quick twist. Like a jetting afterburner the white blade ignited to life with a loud roar before graduating to a hum. The white color of the blade beginning to bleed into a maroon color.

Under no circumstances are you to intervene in this fight Ignati.

The being within him stirred as it digested his words. And responded in kind.

My thoughts exactly…boy…

Avarice ​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice stepped back, granting his opponent a respectful distance. The small, ornate hilt spun easily through his fingers as he tossed it up in a spin; he caught and rolled into a downwards flourish as rich violet blade hissed to life, arcing in a blur of violet light. With practiced grace, he raised it in a distinctly Makashi salute signalling an elegant, precise, and almost theatrical use of the blade.

In his other hand, a second weapon slipped free from some where hidden on his person, this one a more compact hilt that rolled over the back of his hand before igniting with a sharp hum. The blade was shorter, violet-blue in hue, and shaped like a sai-sword: the central blade flanked by two smaller prongs, its length closer to a sizable parrying dagger. Both weapons shimmered in the heated arid air as the slight figure took to a makashi style stance.

"If you wish to taste dirt, then step forward~"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

His smirk faded as his opponent flourished. A lot of showmanship in his movements. Likely means a lot of moving around. To him flourishes were wasted energy, and the fighting styles that caused people to jump around and do flips simply annoyed him. He preferred a simpler style.

Maintaining a reversed grip on his massive blade he stepped forth as the other clamoring students started to go silent. It was their turn to watch and observe. Words did not escape his throat, the time for words was done. Action had begun. He stood in what looked like an opened stance. Arms still at his sides, fist clenched on his saber and his dominant foot forward. A stance of solid balance, a stance of a rock, solid and unmoving. His eyes glared into and through his opponent.

Avarice​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer
Avarice studied the stance, tamping down the familiar urges that rose in him.
He knew what Teresa Zambrano | Darth Pellax would want from him here.
He knew what Darth Carnifex would expect. Unfortunately for them, he had a talent for being a disappointment, willfully so.

His opponent's form was… interesting. Solid in some respects, flawed in others. Rarely did he face someone who balanced thought with instinct as cleanly as this one seemed to. The murmurs of the onlookers dissolved into a distant hum as his focus narrowed, locking onto the smallest cues, the shift of a shoulder, the weight in a heel.

Without warning, he slid forward, blade flashing in a probing feint. The motion melted into a downward swipe aimed at the front leg, testing both defense and nerve in a single breath.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

His opponent made the first move, his first reaction was to react to the feint. But his opponent fell into his bait for his leg. Shifting his leg back he drug his sabers blade through the sand spitting up particles towards his opponent. As his blade flew upwards he flipped his grip to a two handed upwards position and with a wide circular arc brought the blade back down towards his left shoulder as the sand cloud began to dissipate.

An intriguing start to this duel boy. But I doubt he will fall for it twice.

Ignatis voice burned into Varin's head as the fight continued. He bit back any response he had for the creature, he couldn't afford to lose his focus. The smoke spewing from his back began to smolder as he took his first action in the fight, amping himself up, growing stronger as the fight would progress.

Avarice​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer
Varin's blade came in hard, however Avarice was watching and reading the simple tells in Varin's body; the subtle shifts of muscle that telegraphed his intent long before it could take form. Without hesitation, he surged forward toward his opponent with blinding speed. Avarice stepped off the center line to his own left, outside his opponent's weapon arm. The violet blade brushed across his opponent's side in a shallow, mocking cut before Avarice passed clean through, the dust swirling harmlessly in his wake.

By the time Varin finished, Avarice was already behind him, steps light and unhurried, as the tip of his Violet blade was angled idly toward the floor. "You'll have to do better than that," he murmured, voice smooth with amusement, as if he had expected nothing less than dirty tricks. "I almost felt it." He mused.

Picking a fight with one of the larger students was, perhaps, seen by the other on lookers as punching above his weight. This was, however, very far from the truth. Avarice had missed these simpler duels, where the stakes were pride and skill, not survival. There was something almost refreshing about facing raw intent instead of a six-armed war machine bent on reducing him to scrap.

Still, he had to use a measure of restraint, even when bullying other would-be Sith acolytes. He could never be certain who was, and who wasn't, someone's apprentice, nor what politics might lurk beneath the veneer of pride. It would serve him poorly to reveal his hand too soon.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The words fell flat on him. He could feel a pull with them, something more than just taunting. It was blotted out by his sheer will to focus on the fight.

He smirked. Bit by bit, he was learning his opponent. Poking and prodding while keeping his cards close. But now he was behind Varin.

Tricky, tricky that one. Almost entertaining.

In an instant Varin's back burst into flames in blinding speed the flames licked towards his opponent. Hot and bright, the flames were persistent towards his foe. Varin never left his back unguarded. As the flames burst towards Avarice, Varin quickly spun around throwing his saber towards him. Aiming for a relatively nonlethal spot he would watch his opponent's momentum on where they would go next.

"Words will not do you any good. Here is a place where we lay the broken, their pieces to sprawl in display of their failures."

Avarice ​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice drew in the heat greedily, letting it flood through him and refill his reserves, absorbing as much as he could, as quickly as he could. Fire felt like an old friend seemingly more than familiar behaving obedient and eager to answer his call.

The incoming blade met the catch of his off-hand parrying dagger. With a sharp twist, he tested its hold, ensuring that if Varin clung to it, he would be disarmed, rotating the hilt towards the thumb and fore finger and leveraging it with torque. In the same breath, Avarice stepped in close, driving a thrust toward his opponent's vitals with surgical precision.

"Cute. It knows poetry~"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The aftermath of the blaze from his back began to burn off his shirt, revealing the Sith ritualistic brands on his back, within the scars it would reveal that the fire and smoke was coming out of his own flesh, as if it were a part of him.

Varin glared at his opponent, the possibility of losing your weapon when it is thrown always clung in the air. It was always a reckless technique, if you didn’t have some form of backup. With the speed still running through his system Varin sidestepped Avarice’s attack just barely but was able to get in close. Using his reach advantage he grabbed him by the wrist of his striking hand. His hand burned into his arm with intensity. His other hand shot forth into his opponent's chest as he pulled him closer.

Avarice​

 

[Avarice]

The speed and fluidity with which Avarice shifted between Force techniques was a terrifyingly clear sign of his experience. He had no real desire to seriously harm any of the other acolytes, much to the chagrin of his would be Sith masters. But showmanship demanded he appear ruthless, cocky, and self-assured, his provocative peacocking all part of building a reputation worth whispering about.

Varin, however, was behaving foolishly. Whether it was stubborn pride or sheer defiance driving his next set of moves was anyone's guess.

A subtle application of Trakata freed Varin's blade from its line, and in the same breath Avarice seized control of the weapon. Rather than turning it back against its owner, as his masters might have preferred, he sent it spinning across the arena, embedding it in the cracked stone of the archway far from reach.

The wrist Varin seized might as well have been carved from stone, absorbing more energy than it gave. Avarice eased off the centerline, stepping in close and wrapping one leg around the back of Varin's front knee. Varin's attack hovered just shy of his chest, while avarice's shoto blade flared back to life.

In one smooth motion, he sought to trap Varin's wrist between the main blade and a curved prong, twisting with leverage the fist toward him. The smaller blade surpisingly didn't burned hot or even singe nor cut, every angle of attack was calculated, every motion deliberate in intent.

Some small sacrifices were made, the tiny openings and telegraphed flourishes of a showman, all to preserve the illusion of a skilled acolyte playing with his peers, rather than a war-seasoned battle master amusing himself at a student's expense.

His wrist that was held was pushed forwards towards Varin Mortifer seeking to push him off balance seemingly intent on keeping true on assisting him with tasting the ground.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin was anything but easy to knock off balance. As his opponent shifted as the fight went on, he was still learning. Improvising, and improving certain techniques. His opponent's cold blade met with Varin and he felt a wave of exhaustion. His body weakened slightly and his opponent was then able to just slightly cause his stance to slide back a few inches. A sharp exhale of his chest was evident that he was just a little surp[rised at the efficiency. He felt it was time to step up a little more.

Enhancing his own strength he pushed back, driving his shoulder into Avarice’s midsection and center of gravity, in a fluid motion as he drove into him his forwards hand released a burst of force energy into his opponents gut to drive the air out of his lungs, the combined assault opting to break his balance as well.

It was at this point Varin's vision began to bleed red, a natural ability for him that shut off pain receptors unlocking the limitations of his body, further enhancing speed, strength and his endurance.

As he watched the many strengths his opponents played in, he too finally started to show some of his true colors.

Avarice​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice's leg remained hooked behind Varin's knee. Until he was either untangled, rendered unconscious, or willingly released, Varin would find him stubbornly difficult to shake.

Caution was necessary as while his blue, parrying-dagger-styled blade was nonlethal, the violet rapier in his other hand was anything but. With the limited movement allowed by their tangled position, Avarice angled the rapier away from Varin's face and neck, keeping the lethal edge at bay.

The blow to his stomach landed full force, yet Varin would feel his force seemingly rebound with the unyielding solidity of stone, as if he had slammed into a wall or column. Avarice took no small satisfaction in this for the "soft-to-solid" technique he had been refining in preparation for facing Aris Noble was serving him well. This bout was proving an excellent trial, showing both the limits and strengths of his progress in the art.

After the shoulder check, Avarice chose to climb the mountain that was Varin Mortifer by drawing up his opposing foot and setting his boot just above Varin's hip, in the same breath he seized the brief opening to drive the blue blade toward the vulnerable juncture between Varin's neck and right shoulder, even as his left hand locked the back of his rapier's hilt behind Varin's head. Using the momentum from Varin's own forceful repulsion, he turned it into a fulcrum pivot just above the young man's hips. With a sharp jerk, he rolled with him into a high-elevation circle throw, pivoting to land astride Varin's larger frame.

In one smooth motion, Avarice drew back the rapier and stabbed it down — deliberately — into the ground just to the left of Varin's skull.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Almost with no emotion after he landed on his back and his opponent's blade stabbed just by his skull, Varin maintained composure.

I certainly hope you are done playing with him. Do you really want to continue this way? Take some of my power…break him! Dominate him!

Ignati’s voice resonated into Varin’s mind.

Did he already get under your skin Ignati? Is me having some fun really that infuriating? And do you really think so little of me?

With a quick glance at Avarice, he triggered his trap. On the shoulder that held the smaller blade a quick loud and bright burst went off, a kind of brightness that burned into the retinas, rendering them useless for a small time and a concussive blast that produced a highpitch ring that would blot out most noises.

At that instance Varin expanded his force signature all around them, making it seem he was in multiple places at once. His saber unlodged itself from its entrapment, almost longingly to be with its master once again and flew forth towards the both of them.

Using his speed he quickly kicked back up, elbowing Avarice in the chin followed by a quick sweep of his shin with his leg. The sheer magnitude of the strength behind the sweep capable of toppling even some larger enemies.

As the blade flew forth towards them Varin reached behind Avarice's head grabbing its hilt and driving its pommel into the top of his spine sending a shockwave of pain down his back.

Varin was done with his studies, and was ready to let loose.

He then went into his more standard stance. Grasping the base of his blade just below the guard causing it to give off a constant spark.

Avarice​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice winced at the burst of light and the deafening ring, weathering the first of the attacks taking that brutal strike to the chin... He staggered almost blacking out... fortunately the blinding pain in his eyes kept his attention. His blades drew back, feet shifting with practiced surety to slip past the sweeping leg. He dipped low, avoiding the strike aimed for his spine, guided by flashes of precognition that whispered where and when to move. The Force flowed through him, steady and controlled, as he released a slow breath. Around them, the air began to stir, building into a whipping vortex.

His opponent might have thought him blind, and physically, he was, for the moment, and in relatively sharp pain, but blindness was a condition Avarice had prepared for through countless hours of absurd conditioning. Now, with the battle heating up, he siphoned the very air from around Varin.

The blade of his saber flickered as its internals came alive under a subtle use of the Force, the trakata technique vanishing the blade within Varin's grip, his weapon removed form his grasp with just as easily as it had been taken. Another lesson hard-learned, courtesy of Aris Noble .

For Varin, breath would likely come shallow and labored, muscles starved of the oxygen they craved. Movements would grow sluggish, balance falter; confusion and panic often would seep in as strength drained away when soem oen couldn't breath.

"Need a moment to catch your breath?"

It was a cruel tactic, but an effective one, and Avarice pressed the suffocating power with unyielding resolve. The wind curling against Varin's form told him exactly where his opponent stood and how he was poised.

He stepped back, disengaging, while his violet blade lashed out all on its own. "I can do this with my eyes closed…" The blue parrying dagger turned red and zipped and darted in tandem, snapping in quick, harrying swipes, while the violet blade met Varin's sword head-on, all guided telekinetically. Avarice eased a few paces back, rubbing at his burning eyes as if this were nothing more than a pause between exchanges.

"Don't stop now ~ I'm almost impressed with how determined you are to lose without dignity," he said, the mockery sharpened to pry at the acolyte's pride, letting the words work to fray whatever shreds of composure the acolyte still clung to.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The air whipped around him in the vortex, siphoning the air around him, by this time the numbness had taken effect. Muting the needs of the body in opt for higher performance, almost more like a living being, than force energy, that surrounded him smoke billowed around his body followed by flame.

Very well. Have your fun

Fiery wings unwound from his body as they lashed out to the oncoming blades. Varin slowly walked to his opponent as he smiled.

"I’m starting to have fun with you."

Lightning began to arc around his body as his vision became fully red, unburdened by lack of oxygen, his body was far used to the strain. As if the crystal in his hilt had a mind of its own, it flickered back to life. A soul of a warrior spirit residing in its very core. It refused to be silenced.

The output of heat was becoming vast, like standing near a burning building.

“You want a real fight then?”

He quickly reached out grasping the violet blade holding it in his hand as the wings battered at the smaller blade. His grip tightened around its midsection. The sand around his footsteps turned to crimson glass that cracked under his stride.

Remember, this is nonlethal Varin reminded himself.

“I’m not here to fight your toys.”

He glared at his foe as he tossed the violet saber to the ground at his opponents feet.

“Pick it back up.”

Avarice ​

 

[Avarice]

Varin Mortifer

Avarice blinked hard as shapes began to form again in the white haze of his vision. The saber in Varin's grip gave only a lazy flicker before slipping free as if it had been waiting for the excuse, sailing back to Avarice's side with effortless familiarity.

The fight had escalated quickly, too quickly for a casual spar, and the gathered onlookers instinctively widened the ring, taking several wary steps back as the air between the two began to burn and hum with power and tension.

Varin moved with the poise and raw force of someone far beyond the rank-and-file hopefuls who trained here. His command of the blade, his unflinching presence in the midst of chaos, and the dangerous interplay of fire and Force all spoke of a fully field-ready Sith warrior, one who simply happened to be spending the day in a pit full of underlings.

Avarice himself was now operating way above what most Sith acolytes having displayed the skillset of a fully seasoned duelist, comfortable mixing multiple advanced saber forms in one flow and applying acombination of high-level Force control (vortexes, selective suffocation, precision telekinetics), and doing it all while taunting and never truely breaking pace.

This was looking far less like a simple pecking-order duel and more like a clash of demigods. The air between them was thick with heat and power. Avarice was no stranger to such exaggerated displays with the grand flourishes, the roaring elements, the raw energy meant to awe and intimidate. He also knew, better than most, the price they demanded from the body. Every surge came with a cost, and sooner or later, the bill always came due.

He continued to draw the oxygen from around Varin, starving the flames at their source and stripping away one of the three elements fire needed to live. With the air went the heat, and Avarice siphoned that energy as well, folding it into the steady circuit of power that fueled him, a closed loop, feeding itself with all the energy Varin was putting out. He would certainly beable to out last his energy and play the long game. But to prolong this furthe rthan they already had would only be more dangerous. He couldn't afford risking an injury this early on.

This was far too much bluster, too much spectacle. Eyes lingered where he preferred shadows, and he had no interest in wearing a crown forged in sand, blood, and ash.
He let the tension bleed from his stance, the violet blade lowering as a faint, crooked smile curved his mouth beneath the mask.
"I concede defeat… your highness~" he said, the honorific dripping with playful venom, as if the crown Varin had just claimed was made of tin. He even offered a graceful bow, the picture of a chastened upstart , though his crimson eyes never left Varin's form, calculating, measuring, storing away every detail for later.

"I was unaware we had a Master among us." The words were smooth enough to pass for flattery, but his eyes measured Varin like a blade testing an edge.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin’s anger grew exponentially, not at his opponent but at the being inside him, Ignati. The one he told to not intervene. And he did anyway. The being within him that birthed the flames around Varin as protection would not nourish his foe. For it was not his to take.

He growled to himself.

“I’m no master.”

He was even angrier that this being would interrupt a duel that was meant to be between peers. That alone punctured his pride, pride in himself that he could fight his own battles. But Ignati was protective, With that result Varin would not want a crown, especially if He was unworthy. Though he was angry, he couldn’t help but feel a small slight of respect for his opponent. His mastery of swapping so effortlessly of fighting styles and force techniques, it wasn’t something that was ignored by him.

Perhaps in the future sometime, we could have a real duel. Preferably without YOUR interference

Varin growled towards ignati within his head.

Ignati snarled at Varin in his head. He knew those words were pointed at him, almost like venom.

Varin disengaged his saber as the flames drew back into his form, his back returning to its smoldering smoking cloak.

“You are gifted and talented, I will learn from this fight, and perhaps we can have a more…balanced duel.”

His eyes softened towards Avarice. Truly he thought he was a talented warrior. Whether Avarice believed him or not, was up to him.

Avarice ​