Private Iron Sharpens Iron

[Revna Marr]

Location: Kor'ethyr Academy Grounds; Korriban​

Dark scores scarred the ground around the two figures - one a woman, smaller and seemingly lighter in frame; and the other a taller and broader young man, who almost seemed to dwarf her. Two crimson blades clashed against one another as both sought to reach the other in a delicate dance of death - one where the woman clearly seemed to have the upper hand, or at least the one with the most experience. At first glance, it would appear that the two were earnestly trying to kill one another - but looks were deceiving.

Revna had no intention of killing her apprentices, not unless they spectacularly failed her.

This was but a simple practice session, a spar between Master and apprentice, to sharpen and fine tune the young man - as well sharpen her own skills, and learn how he fought.

Especially with a weapon or a blade that was not his own.

They had been going at their sparring session for almost an hour, and not once had Revna relented in her assault. She pressed upon Varin in the same manner that Darth Carnifex had pressured her in their many duels, integrating both offensive and defensive techniques and interchanging them on a whim to keep the young Sith on his toes and always adapting to the fight - much in the same way she had been forced to do, when she fought for her life against the Dark Lords. What good were the lessons, if she didn’t pass them along to her own students?

The spar ended when Revna had had enough, and with a decisive twist of her wrist, disarmed Varin before bringing the humming red blade up towards his throat, just enough for him to feel the lethal heat of it, before she stepped back and disengaged the blade and bringing their practice session to an end.

“Very good, Varin. You’re a quick learner, and you have a decent foundation to your swordsmanship.” Revna said as she hooked her saber back on the belt around her waist, and pushed a stray lock of silvery black hair back from her face. Varin might notice that, even in the chilled air of Korriban, that there was a beading of sweat upon her brow. She had made him work, but in turn he had worked her as well.

“I have a task for you.” she stated after a few minutes, to allow them both to calm their racing hearts and collect their breaths. “Or, more accurately, a challenge. I want you to engage Lysander in a fight, a swordfight. I want you to disarm him and confiscate his lightsaber. Bring it to me, as proof of your victory over your co-apprentice.”

She issued the order, the challenge, so casually and as if it would be an easy task for Varin - and yet both would know it was anything but. Lysander was an excellent duelist, sharp and quick and lethal. Varin had his own strengths and weaknesses when it came to swordfighting, just as Lysander had his own. And she knew that by pitting them against one another, they would sharpen each other.

Besides, she felt it would do them good to have a friendly rivalry and competition going on between them.

“You are not to give him any warning beforehand. Your enemies will not warn you before they attack you, so neither should you. Choose wisely the time when you engage him - as it may decide whether you win or lose your fight.”

Of course…what she didn’t tell Varin, was that she had given Lysander the same challenge just hours earlier when she had last met with the blonde Acolyte: to fight Varin, and disarm him, and bring Revna the proof of his victory over his fellow apprentice. By telling them both to choose the right time in which to engage, was to make them study each other and look for the opportune moment that might grant them victory.

She trusted them both not to kill one another - but she also didn’t say as much to either of them. Both were very valuable as prospect Sith, and had great potential. But she was training them to be Sith - and only the strongest of their Order would rise above the masses. If one fell to death, then it was a natural culling of the weak.

Revna would be disappointed, for sure. But she understood the way of the Sith, and it was her job as their Master to ensure that they came to understand it as well.

Of course, injuries were to be expected, but Revna wasn't too concerned about this, for she knew that Madrona A’Mia would be able to help repair any wounds delivered or sustained.

“Unless you have questions, Varin, then you are dismissed and may go about the rest of your day as you please.”

Varin Mortifer // Lysander von Ascania ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Revna Marr Lysander von Ascania

The weapon left his hand and clattered to the floor as he felt the intense heat of the crimson blade near his flesh. In the heat of the moment all he could do was glare into her eyes, showing no fear but understanding he still had much to learn.

Doubt began to spew into his mind until Revna spoke about his swordsmanship. The sting of losing his weapon was still prevalent, but to hear that he is quick to improvement did not fall on deaf ears.

"I will do better for our next session, master."

He spoke directly and quietly after she spoke. Though he did take note that even though he still needed to work on his combat skills, ge still exerted his master to a degree. As she holstered her saber a phrase caught his undivided attention.

“I have a task for you.”

Though she reworded it to a challenge Varin was immediately hooked. Anything for growth is what he craved.

Issuing him a challenge to duel his co-apprentice and retrieve his lightsaber only to return it to his master. This challenge brought excitement to him. He could challenge himself and his apprentice thus bringing both of them growth. That does not mean he would go easy at all on Lysander, and he certainly wouldn't expect the same response from him either.

With a quick lift of his hand the disengaged hilt flew back into his hand. He then placed it back to its proper housing where he grabbed it before.

He remained quiet as Revna spoke, taking in her words to heart and to memory, and smirked.

"As you wish."

He stood for just a moment, in hesitance of kneeling, a habbit from his father's previous teachings. Instead he simply lowered his head keeping an eye on his master before he quietly left the training area heading to his dorm.

The sun was setting, giving the red hue in the sky. It took some time but Varin had finally gotten used to it. It wasn't long before he finally arrived back at his dorm opening the door.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Revna Marr | Varin Mortifer | Madrona A’Mia

​

An object hovered above the digital scale before he carefully set it down.

The blue-hued numbers flickered for a moment.

6 ounces.

Lysander smirked slightly, eyeing the prize.

A Bantha steak. For someone who was constantly engaged in training these days, it was more precious than any Sith artifact.

In this corner of the room, a makeshift kitchen had been set up, complete with a low-heat plasma grill that hummed with a similar tune to his lightsaber. Sliding the thick slab of meat steak onto the device, the grill began its duty by searing the surface.

Several minutes passed, and with care he transferred it to the small cutting board crafted from dark wood. The aroma teased the teen’s senses, begging to be noticed, but his attention remained elsewhere.

Adorning his ears was a bulky pair of noise-cancelling headphones, the kind that meant to silence the world around him. With curved blade suitable for a chef, he sliced through the steak with the same precision of a seasoned butcher, sparing no glance. His eyes were locked on the datapad that was propped up against the wall, displaying the latest episode of Twin Suns, One Heart. Lysander hadn't quite been a fan of the first season, especially with the slower pace and a rather odd Ashla-worshipping antagonist, but season two started with a banger, and now he was officially hooked.

Before long, his Force-attuned senses, sharpening more each month, detected nearby movement. A lifeform approached; thankfully, the presence was familiar. Though confident in the current operation with A’Mia’s greenhouse, a recent surge in customer activity had begun to make him feel paranoid, a heightened state that was both foreign and unwelcoming to be sure.

This was the very reason he’d recently purchased an old, abandoned warehouse in the industrial district with leftover credits from his father’s death. It wasn’t too far from the academy, and offered more privacy, certainly more than he’d experienced since arriving on Korriban. Aside from being a secure spot to receive larger packs from the Neti, it would also be where the acolyte could finally begin exploring music.

Simply put, Lysander was done with dorm life.

At the moment, Lysander lounged comfortably in black athletic sweats, having recently returned from a morning class; the dull lecture turned out to be nearly impossible to follow. Lately, he'd been more obsessed with physical training than ever before, a stark shift from his Padawan years, when he'd been consumed by holotexts.

Prep knife still in hand, and stretching lazily, his muscles rippled under tanned skin, as he gazed across the room to Varin, offering the boy a nod of acknowledgement, and then returning to the holodrama.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Lysander von Ascania

Instantly the boy was greeted with the sweet scent of cooking meat. He couldn’t help but pause for a moment to enjoy the aroma. Noticing Lysander was on the couch he received a greeting nod. Varin walked into the room following the scent.

“What did you add to that?” He could feel his mouth start to salivate at the thought of food.

He’s open right now boy! Take this opportunity.

Varin shoved Ignati’s suggestion to the back of his mind. They had recently added a few new things to the dorm and he really did not want to ruin the room….again.

He took his place in a chair not far from Lysander to watch this next holodrama. He hated to admit it but he was certainly drawn to these little shows. He reached into his bag to pull out a pack of mainly dried fruits and nuts and began to snack on those while watching.

“Have you ever thought about making bantha jerky?”

Taking in a mouthful of his snack he reminisced that flavors of jerky, how much he loved it as just something quick to have, but the prices have hit the snack hard. For some reason a snack that leaned more to the poorer side had grown so much in price he simply refused to buy any nowadays.

“Smother it in sweet sauces and spices and let it dry out. Maybe add some spice to them to add a little pep in your step.” He sighed ever so slightly. “I miss that.”

He stretched the soreness out of his arms. Thinking back on the duel with his master he would have to do something soon about a lightsaber. His main issue with it is it was just so light. He loved the feeling of resistance in his swings, the weight that would carry every decision of his strikes. But for now, he would take this rare opportunity to just relax and watch the holodrama, studying his co-apprentice.

He chuckled to himself. “I noticed those herbs we shared before made me a bit…snacky. Is that common?”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer

​

A knowing smirk flashed as his gaze lingered on Varin's entrance into the room. He knew that exact look, one of anticipation, typically born after training sessions when all he could think about was consuming food. When his roommate settled onto the couch. Lysander's returned to the holodrama. Given that it was a new episode unfolding, he wasn't about to miss a detail. His mind had a way of hungrily dissecting every frame, every twist in the storyline, and more often than not, it was a puzzle only he cared to solve.

However, the description of the beef jerky had him listening intently. A savory image in the mind's eye was already stirring the boy's appetite once more before there was even a chance to reply. With a slow, amused shake of his head, Lysander finally turned to him. "No, but now that sounds really good."

Chuckling softly, he leaned back into the cushions and allowed his focus to momentarily drift upwards to the ceiling. Chances were he'd rewatch this entire season at some point anyway. A slow breath escaped through his nose. The thought of the next class was already feeling heavily, one he hadn't been keen on attending lately. Some of them no longer seemed to align with the path he tried carving for himself, becoming distraction from the priorities held close to the heart.

But when Varin mentioned the herbs and the snack, Lysander's expression suddenly shifted. The blonde looked thoughtful and amused, fingers tapping on one knee. "Yeah, bro," he began, tone sincere, "but it's also kind of like a sports supplement. The heat here on Korriban can kill my appetite sometimes. So after training, I like to smoke a little.. plus it sharpens the senses." A small admission between friends, the same bond that Lysander felt towards the other Badawans, despite the treacherous nature of their kind.

"I really don't see any more classes in the forecast today," he added, stretching his legs out. "But I don't want to be stuck here either. If you're down, I could show you the warehouse I picked up the other day. It's over in the industrial district.. not too far from here."

As the sounds of Twin Suns, One Heart hummed in the background, mirth danced over the teen's face, lips curling as he prepared to mimic one of the characters. "And, pray tell, how goes your seduction of that one pureblood Sith muscle mommy? Have you yet uncovered her name?"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Lysander von Ascania

He paused for a moment. How could such a plant sharpen the senses? Is it also normal to be extremely sick after smoking it? What's the real appeal to it? All of these were questions he had but he supposed he could ask them another time. One thing for sure, Ignati did not like it and made it very clear, which would likely answer the getting sick part. His thoughts were cut short when he heard about a warehouse that his roommate had bought.

“Yeah, I'd like to check it out, getting out may do us some more good. What all is already in it?”

Another question was asked that caught Varin slightly off guard. Since the last time he spoke about her he hadn’t really seen her until recently while doing some reading studies.

“Seduction? I don’t quite know what you mean by that. She’s just a sparring partner at the moment, and I don't think she is old enough to bear children.”

He smirked after he gave his answer. Walking to his room to change out of his training gear he revealed a bit more detail of this new sparring partner.

“I did finally get her name though. Nyara, and she is certainly…..spicy? Almost always looking for a scrap. Kind of reminds me of me.”

Coming back in wearing his more casual loose fitting clothing, various patterns of maroon and black. He looked back at the holodrama as he sat back down.

“There was that weequay that tried to interrupt a good conversation between the two of us though. Starting to think I should have just finished the job. I haven't had a good fight in a long time though.”

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer

​

“Not much,” he said casually. “I just made sure the kitchen was right first, got an old desk up too. But beyond that.. nothing important.”

The blonde's lips pursed together; mirth sparkled behind his gaze, before continuing more thoughtfully. “You do make a valid point. I guess it doesn’t matter how many midichlorians she has or if a shoulder somehow gets dislocated during sparring. What really matters is the potential for childbearing. Honestly, I bet you could publish a whole study on that. I mean, I have faith in your abilities for such findings!”

When his roommate stepped away, he effortlessly slipped back into the holodrama, as if no interruption ever took place. Scenes playing out, dialogue flowing, he was fully immersed in the fictional world until Varin returned. The boy's brows then furrowed as his head tilted. "That's not necessarily bad, I suppose. Spicy's got its merits, sure," he commented, chuckling softly. Lysander couldn't recall where that data arrived from, but if he had to guess, it most likely surfaced during a banter session after training with some of the other boy acolytes.

One eyebrow quirked in question. "Bro, this almost sounds like the start of one of them enemy-to-lovers tropes.. pretty much a classic theme in all of my holodramas." But such stories often all required the essential ingredients. A grin unfurled. "Has there been anything like.. you know.. prolonged eye contact and whatnot? I need details." After watching hundreds of episodes, the bard was certain that he knew all the subtle signs of flirting.

A sigh drifted into the room, and he peeled himself off the couch. His hand found the black hoodie lying on the table nearby and pulled it over his head; it matched the athletic pants. Next came the smooth slide into high-top shoes with flat rubber soles. He would finish by slipping the curved lightsaber hilt into the front pouch.

But the mention of their Weequay neighbor caused the teen's mood to shift. Stretching both arms overhead, he twisted his torso in the same manner one would when warming up before throwing hands. “Man,” he muttered, “if that schutta is starting to get between you and Nyara, maybe it’s time for him to kick dirt.. permanently.”

He recalled the rival from his Teräs Käsi class, one who tested both his skill and patience. Something familiar stirred within.

“I’d be down to help,” Lysander said calmly, as if discussing little more than a workout routine rather than the potential murder of their neighbor. “But.. we need to make it public, a spectacle for all to see.” His voice became more serious; words were now dripping with malice. “That way, it sends a clear message to everyone. It will show that we have an alliance, and that will be enough to keep the annoying ones at bay.” With a shrug of the shoulders, he strode towards the door. “Nothing worse than some weakling constantly barking for attention."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Lysander von Ascania

Varin looked at Lysander in confusion about the comment on writing about childbearing. It certainly was NOT a matter he was extremely knowledgeable about, certainly he was taught about it, he wasn’t ignorant of it, but he certainly wasn’t a professional on knowledge of the subject.

“I think you should have more lack of faith in that one, Lys.”

The young apprentice paused as he remembered if there even was prolonged eye contact.

“I’m not entirely sure. I was too busy not getting cut in half, and watching her body positioning in anticipation for defense or offense. You truly are very interested in our partnership, why is that?”

Though after he spoke, of course a memory of Her eyes were burned into his mind. Maybe he secretly wanted prolonged eye contact.

Varin chuckled as he saw the more serious side of Lysander. It was always amusing to him that such a charismatic person could hold such intensity. Not once though, did he never take him seriously. Afterall he is a sith, and to Varin, all sith are to be treated as dangerous.

“The weequay will have his time. That is a given. I think we should dominate him, enslave his will to ours. Maybe he can be a little informant for you and your….business. Even some larger predators keep little pets.”

Varin grabbed his sword and scabbard as Lysander finished prepping, following him out of the door.

“This could be one of those instances I told you about some time ago in botany. Sometimes it's more beneficial to bring your victim to your heel, humiliate him and show him just how powerless he is to you. Who knows how much knowledge he would lend for your benefit.”

He grew quiet for a moment letting his roommate speak for a bit, maybe he would be able to vent about some things or even talk about certain passions he may have. Though Varin was listening, he still couldn’t get Her eyes out of his head. It was starting to become a distraction, but one he did not want to go away. Whether it posed a problem or not he didn’t care, he would simply adapt.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer

​

From the moment he entered the hallways of the dorms, frustration simmered beneath the boy’s exterior. Ever since their detention, this place had been a constant annoyance. Eventually, once everything was in place at the warehouse, that would be a place he could truly call home.

Pacing ahead, the slight tilt of his chin was a challenge to the air around him. “I observe because I’ve kinda made an art of it,” Lysander said, voice low, fingers brushing against the edge of his sleeve. “Some people guess, but I just so happen to be good at knowing. I’m rarely wrong about matters of connection.” His attention floated to Varin for a moment, eyebrows quirked with a hint of playful challenge. “Like hand to hand combat bro. People often reveal more than they intend, if you know where to look. And trust me, the choices they make speak way louder than any punches they throw."

The acolyte’s mind grappled with logic behind the approach for their Weequay neighbor. The thrill of control did spark something within, cautious, but not entirely dismissive. But lately, his patience had been stretched thin; nonsense grated his nerves. The idea of just eliminating bothersome individuals held a certain dark allure.

Stepping outside, the air hit him immediately. The teen pulled the hood of his jacket over his head as dust swirled across the streets.

A small part of him also shrugged inwardly. "Once I leave this place, I probably won't see most of the people here again anyway." His gaze drifted to the crimson sky, as if already calculating his endgame. It threatened to send his thoughts back to that familiar place, the one they always could never quite escape.

"I have a feeling he won't last much longer anyways,” he said flatly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “Might as well make his death worth something. Right?”

There were, however, some traits of the Sith that he found himself not possessing; or rather, not as naturally. The way they could choreograph manipulation made it seem like muscle memory. For Lysander, control worked better when it was earned, or more subtle, rather than with chains, or puppet strings.

He found nothing elegant about cruelty; at best, it stirred unease in the back of his mind. Perhaps, this would provide an opportunity to better understand his roommate’s train of thought. “Bending someone until they break isn’t really my style. But, I still wouldn't mind hearing more about your take on it."

Senses alert, he began down the pavement in the direction of the industrial district.

“Say you survive this place and keep your soul intact. Or mostly intact. What’s your plan after this? Like, if it were completely up to you.”

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Lysander von Ascania

He listened to every word he said, and agreed to every bit of it. Action is a lot more readable in your opponent, their fight or flight or if they just freeze. It marks their confidence and certainty. Whether it is a lack thereof, or overabundance. Not very often you find someone in a perfect neutral slot.

Varin’s gaze drifted over the red sands that ran across the walkways. To him this was his second home. Not much else in other places he could really go. But he certainly didn’t plan on staying here forever.

"I have a feeling he won't last much longer anyways, might as well make his death worth something. Right?”

Varins face frowned a bit at the phrase.

“To earn a meaningful death, you would have had to live a meaningful life. When you die, and no one mourns you, or shows any resemblance of memory, then your death is worth nothing. At least that is how I have always seen it.”

He paused for just a moment as a chuckle left his throat.

“The only meaning I see in his death is using his body as a piece of furniture. At least that is what I told Nyara. He would really benefit society as a step stool.”

The question of control and bending others to your will really caught Varin’s attention. His family may have been nobles, but before that they were conquerors. And a display of power did not stop at simply killing.

“My take? There are far worse things than death, or the fear of where you will go. My family conquered a planet alone. Yes they killed many, but to this day there are still living witnesses that survived their wars. They were to be made examples of what happens when you cross the new rulers. To fully break and humiliate those who fought so hard against you and bring them to heel, so that they now follow your every whim? That is true power in my eyes. Death is only a means to an end.”

Following the lead of his roommate Varin thought about his next answer very carefully.

“I only have one true home, Lys, and that was taken from me, and my soul was already ripped from me the day I crash landed here”

His grip tightened on his hilt.

“My journey is fully up to me, every choice I make is for the greater good of reclaiming my home. When I do, those who are responsible for what they did, will suffer for years to come. They will want to scream, beg, resist, even hide. I will hunt them down and give them their proper judgement. But their leader? He will suffer for years to come, and he will die when I say he will die.”

His gaze fell upon the moving sands of the streets almost as if he had spaced out, but in all reality, he was relishing in the thoughts of pain and suffering he will be gifting this jedi.

"After that? I guess we will see what happens, I suppose."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer

​

The air was dry, as it always was. Lysander adjusted his hood with a flick of the wrist, letting the motion buy him some time while he considered everything Varin said. Leather boots landed smoothly as they crossed the edge of the industrial zone, not far at all from the academy. He didn’t look over at his roommate, instead, his gaze was just locked straight ahead.

“Have you ever wondered if that kind of vengeance.. actually works?” The acolyte's voice was casual, like he was musing over the strange behavioral patterns girls tended to carry, rather than some vendetta. “I don’t mean it doesn't hurts.. I know it must hurt. But does it actually fix anything? After the execution, after the.. humiliations, after the screams.. what then?”

Lysander had never been bloodthirsty but liked to believe he was always purposeful. Death, when it made loyalty clear, became easy to defend. It was cruelty that made him hesitant, reflecting on values, some of which he still wished to keep clean. “The Weequay’s end wouldn’t be about hatred; it could be about clarity. I don’t need loyalty from everyone.. just recognition, enough to shift behavior in the future. If everyone is present, they wouldn’t be able to reinterpret the truth. The right eyes, right moment, no loose threads. I want people to adapt when they hear my name. To stop what they’re doing and reconsider.. because I taught them what happens to something when it overstays its welcome.”

He tilted his chin slightly upward, scanning the rooftop from a nearby building. “I still support you. That doesn't chang You’re building something solid here. Whether anyone sees it or not. Every move you’ve made since you landed, it’s all pretty much led to this. And I think it's working.” There wasn’t any judgment in his tone. "That matters.”

Soon they breached heavy doors, and his hand slipped out from the hoodie pocket, fingers brushing over the grooves of a keypad built into the frame. The old system whirred with a gentle hum. It was outdated, but perhaps too stubborn to die. Tapping a few worn buttons, a sharp hydraulic hiss pierced the air as it began to open.

He stepped past the threshold, drinking in the darkness that surrounded them. Empty crates were stacked high; there were overhead beams that creaked. His mind, calculating, was already moving much faster than his feet, already formulating another grand plan while moving through the maze of objects.

Pushing deeper into the shadowed space, Lysander drew near a wall panel covered in grime. After brushing the dust away with his arm, a series of switches were revealed behind the casing. A single flick upward and after a few second delay, a row of lights came to light.

"Well," he drawled, peering back up at the rafters, feigning sincerity. "It appears she has quite the character." With a nudge of his boot, a broken crate was sent across the floor. "This place may need more love than a vibroblade, but hey. now it's ours."

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Lysander von Ascania

His words spilled into Varin’s ear, and he absorbed every one. Taking them to heart, he certainly could see his side of things. But to just kill those who had made him suffer, didn’t seem to suffice or satisfy.

“I’m afraid I would never be satisfied to just kill. I seem to…feed on suffering. To know I’m the one in control, dominating, however you want to call it, it….just feels right. Whether it works or not. To see them suffer as they caused others to suffer brings me satisfaction to my blood lust. After their screams cease and the silence surrounds my ears, I feel at peace for a moment. When you constantly have something living in your head whispering how hungry it is, you’ll take any silence you can get.”

He remained silent for a moment, respecting Lysander’s time to speak his view on his way of making examples.

“Recognition…”

Varin chuckled to himself quietly.

“A public execution would certainly give you that. I will admit that, but what if that isn’t satisfying your inner hunger? What if you find you need more?”

Varin’s memory flashed back to the concert, the body of the pureblood laying at his feet and for the first time since he can remember, though the band was playing, he felt silence, peace even. He began to see that he spoke from personal experience. Killing isn’t enough anymore for the young apprentice, it was now his own personal drug to elevate suffering to those who wronged him and his family, past and present. But what Lysander said next stunned the young apprentice. He had his support. For some reason that hit his chest like a ton of bricks.

“Lys…after you left the concert. Something happened to me that never happened before. I snapped. Lost control. I was in the pit and I…cooked some pureblood alive from the inside out. But it wasn’t enough, I needed more. When I saw Naami leave I tried to follow and I’ll be honest, I don't know what I would have done. I was pulled back into that pit. And the last thing I remember is I was surrounded by bodies. I don’t know how many I took. But I know I wanted more.”

He spoke to him as he opened up the old building, its old grimey walls beckoning them both inside.

This could be it boy

Ignati’s voice burned into Varin’s body, tempting him. But for the first time since he was possessed, Varin did not want to follow his order.

Draw your weapon on him. Show him MY might.

The kick of the crate snapped Varin back to the present.

“Character is never a bad thing, it gives it individuality, and a gift of certain freedoms.”

Varin looked over the walls as he stepped in, remaining quiet.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer ​

Lysander's chest heaved with a slow sigh; Varin's confession settled heavily between them. "But this voice you feed, that.. thing inside you.." His voice softened, yet also held caution, ".. it still shouldn't hold the final say." His gaze shifted sideways, and a ghost of a smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. The urge to chuckle bubbled up, even with the seriousness of their conversation. Of course, it was easy for him to advise against any form of obedience, for he had always been driven by his own impulsiveness, and rebellious nature. "Maybe hunger makes you feel strong," he continued, his voice thoughtful, "but true power lies in the choice not to obey. Trust me bro.” Naturally, he wanted to help, to extend some sort of lifeline to whatever his co-apprentice was currently wrestling with.

The acolyte's gaze drifted upward, tracing the rafters above. Shifting his weight, finger began trailing across the surface of a dusty crate beside him. And almost absentmindedly, he drew a random pattern into it.

Then, turning back, his voice became steady. “You’re not its vessel; you’re its master. Not the other way around. Maybe..” He paused, considering his words, "..find a way to slay it, before it can drag you too deep."

News about the Tu’kata Tears concert aftermath should have left him cold, devoid of judgement.

But empathy still blossomed, a soft reminder that the blonde was, after all, still human.

And that alone gave Lysander pause, causing him to reflect and wonder how their path could devour all light.

"I suppose you could say I left because I believed in Aven's mission." He then met Varin's gaze. "Honestly man, stacking bodies.. it's impressive in its own way, but without direction, it becomes nothing more than another wound carved into you.”

An image of his once Pureblood Sith rival surfaced, and for a moment, he wasn't just trying to make sense of Varin's decision; he was trying to make sense of his own, for it was still recent.

A trace of uncertainty flickered in the teen's gaze. "You've wandered into the storm, I suppose. I get it. I've wandered into mine as well.. but it looks a little different." His fingers still resting on the crate, tightened just slightly. Lysander's breathing slowed as he recalled old memories. "You have power, for sure. I bet you could take half the planet with that rage if you let it loose. But that power without purpose, it's just a flame we all carry.. waiting for something, or someone, to burn."

His own truth began stretching its limbs.

It awakened slowly.

The word made him wince as if it were a physical wound.

"I keep fighting because I care. Because my purpose is.. love, even if it's not always the romanticized kind," he mused, tone more contemplative now. "Even if I'm a fool for that.. or hopeless at times." A small smile appeared. "But by improving myself, I know that no matter what storms come, I'll still be able to show up for others. I'll still be able to give, even when they have nothing left.”

The acolyte's brows drew together, not in anger, but in a soft collapse, as if they weighed down on his very core. “That's been my fuel during all my trials here on Korriban."

Thoughts pressed against a door he tried to keep locked and buried deep.

His gaze drifted as a hint of pain flickered in the reflection; but rather drift towards something physical, it was the familiar depths of longing.

..a wish.

"The girl everyone sees me messaging on my datapad constantly.. part of me wonders.. just wonders.. what it might be like to hold someone's soul.”

His breath barely held.

"And not crush it."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

“You’re not its vessel; you’re its master. Not the other way around. Maybe...find a way to slay it, before it can drag you too deep."

Varin remained still to Lysander’s words. Listening, absorbing, processing. If only he could “slay” it. But where would it leave him? It’s been with him for so long that to sever it would be to remove a limb you depended the most on, or even an organ. Could he really have the power to disobey Him? To cast aside a direct order? And if so for how long?

His gaze drifted down to a small insect crawling along his boot, and for a moment he could see its….insignificance. He could crush it at any second and not a soul would bat an eye or remember such a small thing. Nor would it be able to stop him. The apprentice had felt that same insignificance before, and he hated it.

“....Stacking bodies without purpose can also make you look like a rabid animal. I wonder if that's what I am to be. After I have fulfilled my purpose…what next? That's probably the most frightening part. A spear will always miss its mark if it has no target.”

Ignati growled low as he whispered into Varin’s ear once more.

I tell you what your targets are, MY will is yours, you are only satisfied when I AM. You will pick up that sword and STRIKE

His grip tightened on his hilt, causing his hand to shake and his brow to sweat.

“Even with people like me…you would still be there for them?...why?”

He listened as Lysander continued, speaking of a girl, and to hold a soul. Without a second thought Varin drew his blade and pointed it at his co-apprentice.

“And if I were to just betray you and kill you here?! Leave you to rot?”

His hand began to falter as the blade shook. Varin glared at Lysander, his eyes turning a bright orange as his grip tightened once more on the hilt. He growled to himself and threw the sword to the side, the resounding echo of the blade clattering to the ground.

“WHY?! Why would you give so much to someone who would burn the world for himself?!”

His breaths became heavy as his fists clenched to his sides hanging loosely.

“Why wouldn’t you seize the opportunity to crush a soul that is so damaged? Put it out of its misery?”

Tears began to well in his eyes, as he realised if he didn't have His purpose, he was better off dead.

​

"This girl of yours, Lys...She gives you something to live for? Something to die for?! What if she was taken away?"

His breathing was rasp, harsh and quick. But he stayed his ground.

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer
​

Lysander's expression remained steady in the warehouse, his emerald gaze, cool and controlled, met Varin's with neither reproach nor fear; instead, there was only calm, the kind by someone used to standing his ground against the odds.

The atmosphere shifted, the stillness waiting for a storm that was possibly about to break. He felt the air thrum faintly, the hum of energy just above a whisper, occasionally punctuated by speeders beyond the walls.

His mind drifted back to Ukatis, reflecting on a time when he endured endless hours of study and discipline. It was in moments such as these that he felt gratitude, for both knowledge and skill, yes, but also for the realization that he still lacked experience when it came to serving the wills of others, flawed or not, especially in moments like this. It didn’t help that those studies took place in the Mid Rim, where one could be honed into a blade with clarity, rather than amid shadows where loyalties so often shifted. Perhaps it had been both a shield and a cage, too.

“I may not always succeed, but I try to follow principles.” There was quiet firmness in his voice, devoid of the mirth that often lingered at the edges. “The ones that define me, duty before desire, clarity over chaos, protection over pride.” He paused. “It’s how I’ve stayed human after all the trials Kor’ethyr made me suffer through.”

A soft sigh escaped Lysander’s lips, a quiet wish to surrender to the tension creeping through the space between them. “But.. standing still is worse than missing,” he said more thoughtfully now. “At least when you miss, you’re moving. So pick something, even if it’s temporary, and spears don’t choose, the hand that throws them does, Varin.”

The orange flash was caught with heightened awareness; the warning born of fire and turmoil; it was sharp, and unmistakable. Yet he did not immediately register the blaze as a threat. But as seconds ticked by, he could feel their descent into a more treacherous realm; a realization that was affirmed by the ignition of the blade, a beat later. In truth, he had not expected such a display from Varin today, but it was highly possible he’d also grown too trusting, especially of those flirting with the dark arts.

“Then I guess I’d rot where I stood, wouldn’t I?” Lysander’s voice sharpened. “And maybe that’d be fine by you. Maybe it’d please whatever it is that whispers in you.”

A single step was taken, narrowing the distance. “I don’t offer loyalty by accident, you know. I chose you, just like our Master chose us.” His stare bore into the other boy’s. “That bond doesn’t disappear because you falter.. it just means I need to be steady until you remember who.. or what, you are.” A subtle shake of the head followed as he thought back on some of the enclaves once called home. “I’ve stood beside enough dull blades to know when one still holds weight.”

When the final question landed, whatever was radiating off his co-apprentice, he could feel it mirroring within him, ready to break if needed, as it lurked like an unwelcome shadow.

The words that followed next were laced with a reverence that was nearly sacrilegious. "She didn't just save me. She named me." A fragile rawness simmered in his eyes; not tears, but something more elemental. The silence stretched, so that the weight of his confession might settle. “That girl gives me something no war, no cause, no one else ever could.. a reason to be,” his voice cracked, fueled by the truth. “So if she were taken..” his breath caught, ragged as if wrought from physical pain.

The idea of Sibylla's absence cut deep into his very being.. exposing the nerve of his heart.

Fingers snaked into the front pocket of his hoodie, coiling tightly around the curved hilt within. Then, a crimson blade spewed forth violently. “It wouldn’t just break me.. it would rewrite me. And. I don’t want that.”

Whatever name clung to the emotion surging beneath his exterior, it was wild, fierce, etched into every fiber of his being. "Dying for? I say she's the only thing worth becoming for."

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He watched Lysander's blade ignite as he in turn pointed his saber at him. The red hue illuminating the room.

And you threw your weapon away

The condescending voice antagonized Varin's thought process.

Varin eyed his co-apprentice not budging an inch, or backing down. He reached his hand to outstretched to his side as he called his sith blade back to him.

“I'm going to need you to put that saber to use Lysander. Show me why you believe you are worthy of protecting your own life.”

He turned his blade down so the hilt was up and grasped the leather sheath that wrapped around the base of the blade.

“Show me that you are certainly the one that could protect those you hold so dear and close.”

He stood waiting for Lysander to make his move, or say something in return. However Varin was now much quieter, focused. His eyes reflected a cold and emotionless state, as if he shut down all the build up, all the tension within him. Honing it into his body. His back began to smoke.​

“Perhaps we will gain a new found confidence for each other after this.”

Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Varin Mortifer
​

Lysander was confused; he felt something foreign underfoot, echoes of danger begging to unleash. Even now, the warehouse air hummed. His blade had sprung to life, not as a threat but as a confession. With a saber pointing at him, he saw more than hostility. He saw a fracture: someone clinging fiercely to the darkness that could easily devour, aware it could also mean burning alongside him.

When challenged to fight for his own life and others, he realized that a promise made to himself was inseparable from his own will to survive. Everything he was, every principle hammered into him on Ukatis, every discipline pursued for mastery, every lesson on duty, merged into that choice.

"You want proof that I'll defend all I cherish?" His voice was a low, menacing whisper, weaving through the distance that separated them. "Then you’ll see it.”

There was no bravado in him, just someone who’d grown to know what it was like to risk everything.

"Let’s etch our truths across this ground."

With a final exhale, he shifted his weight into the classic Djem So guard, planting one foot behind the other, shoulders squared, and saber held just above the shoulder. Then, like lightning in slow motion, Lysander lunged, a blur of inhuman speed. His blade arced down in a vertical slash, a hammer of red light aiming to test Varin's guard.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

“Let’s etch our truths across this ground.”

The sentence made Varin smirk, He couldn’t have said it better himself, and then again, Lys had a thing for words. Varin was no fool about that though, any phrase that Lysander would say, Varin knew had weight to them, he could back it up. They both have had tests of hardships, tempering them. It's why he respected him so much. But a true test of mettle was now starting.

A quick motion from Lysander and Varin’s eye was already on him, he saw the vertical swing and shifted his shoulder to the side just dodging the blade, and as a normal practice motion of poking and prodding his enemies reflexes, Varin brought his hilt up towards Lysander’s chest. Giving an ever so slight tap on his shoulder. It was not a showing of cockiness, but a display of simplistic movement. With this movement came a silent unspoken promise. He hopes to learn and teach at the same time, as well as he would hope his opponent would do the same.

After the quick tap he did a swift shove with his hilt to gain a little distance, but he would follow through right afterwards with a horizontal slash in a fluid motion. His voice was quiet but he felt the need to say it.

“Don’t you dare go easy on me. Test me as I will test you. I will not do you a disservice, and if I happen to be the one that loses, well…then that is what it is.”

Lysander von Ascania​