Into The Jaws of Death {Trainer Requested}

[Ashin Varanin]

@[member="Rhace Tarrin"]

Velok whuffled. "Of course. Three hours a day, every day. More if you can stomach it. These little tricks I teach you will only be enhanced as you learn that kind of discipline. I'll warn you, of course -- the only style I know is power. Djem So. Form Five. If your gifts and inclinations lie in other directions, I can find you other teachers for the later portion of your training. Slow, deliberate, prescient, the power to break a weak guard or a weak wrist -- this is what I'll teach you."

***

Over the next several weeks, Velok drilled his student in the lightsabre, sometimes pitting him against other Apprentices. He emphasized the links between control of the body and control of the mind, taught Rhace to meditate, and gave him the rudiments of what some called the Core Powers. Only the rudiments, of course, save for the ability to run faster and jump higher. That, he taught Rhace in full.

 

[Rhace Tarrin]

Training was harsh. Fortunately, the paperwork for time away from his unit was granted. This much was important; he had to be there for them as much as possible, but this was different. This was basic training, but Sith style; this was learning how to command power, to wield weapons and skills so exotic that only handfuls of people throughout Galactic history could ever call themselves a master of these arts. It was terrifying, actually. Such power, and he could not grasp it - yet.

Velok was teaching him, slowly but surely, that basics were a start. The only start he needed. He'd seen the full measure of the Force, by Velok's own hand. The ability to tear worlds apart? Incredible. This was just an insignificant speck, comparatively, but everyone had to start somewhere. Meditating was difficult for the soldier. He was restless, never at peace, always struggling to focus. Lightsaber combat? He loved it. Tearing and slashing and hacking at foes like they were little more than punching bags. It was a feeling he relished, that he savoured. His body was hard, his mind strong. He had the ability to do this.

And to think so soon before he had no faith.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

@[member="Rhace Tarrin"]

"All right, you're ready."

The three hours of martial practice a day became four - two with the sabre, two with the blaster. And not just any blaster training, either. The principles, the instincts, of blaster deflection applied to the old Gray Paladin skills. Rhace became capable of deflecting incoming blasterfire with his own blasterfire.

"This'll come at the cost of some of your other skills," said the Whiphid more than once. "You're specializing."

And, of course, the final test: Rhace locked in a room with a pair of blaster-rifle-wielding fringers, and nothing but an officer's sidearm.

"Go."

 

[Rhace Tarrin]

The military assigned specialists to certain roles for a reason, Rhace deduced. After all, one man mastered sniping, another heavy weapons, another medicine. The officer knew this. He was about to learn why. Blaster versus blaster was an art he was especially proficient in, but this took it to a whole new level. This was shooting bolts out of the air, which was a skill he wasn't aware even existed. This was great. This was what he wanted. Velok was putting him on the path to power and he loved every second.

Two enemies. One room. One outcome.

Using the Force to leap forward, Rhace kept mobile, light on his feet, always shifting to present a harder target for his enemies. Drawing his familiar little Imp, he brought it up and drilled one between the eyes while their shots went wide. He slowed, spun on one heel and held his pistol in an unwavering two-handed grip, only to see the bolts coming at him. With mechanical precision, his own weapon unleashed its first bolt, intent on meeting light with light and deflecting the spacer's first shot out of the air, successfully. Rhace's second shot was his counterattack, shooting his prey in the arm. One hand dropped as the Imperial advanced, shooting bolt after bolt after bolt into the increasingly dead body, just to make sure. You didn't want them getting up, right?

Alone, locked in a blaster-scorched room, Rhace finally understood the true meaning of power. It was a feeling to be savoured.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

A slow clap resounded through the room. Velok shuffled over to the most thoroughly cooked of the two fringers, ripped off a tricep, and chewed with gusto.

"One thing remains, from what I promised you. This is a skill I learned from a Nightsister I kidnapped -- a ritual that will subtly transform your bone marrow and infuse it with the Force in specific ways."

He took a small knife from his belt, cut his fingertip, and drew the outline of Naga Sadow's sigil on Rhace's shoulder. The skin hissed as the caustic blood left a red-brown mark.

"Now I can track you wherever you go. Sit with me, and we'll begin the ritual together. Mark your men, and you'll always know which direction to go to find them."

They sat beside the dead men, and Velok led Rhace through twenty minutes of Dathomiri ritual, complete with blood and Paecean chanting.

"It'll burn in your blood for a couple of hours. Fever, the usual. You'll survive, and be transformed...Sith Knight."