Faction Know the Ground [TSC] | Training

[Lysander von Ascania]

PvP training ground. Spar, test your skills, and respond to the unexpected. Focus on timing, awareness, and adjusting your strategy on the fly
Open to Sith acolytes of any affiliation
Join us on Discord
​

DESEVRO

Thick fog wove itself around the Academy's courtyard in a veil that made everything look blurry and soft. Puddles formed in the uneven ground, reflecting the faintest glin of sunlight. Every footfall made a splash or slip that would be audible only to those who listened closely. The air was so saturated that visibility would reach no farther than an outstretched arm.

Stone columns stood in uneven ranks; some remained still, while others slowly turned with an ominous grinding noise.. a mechanical menace just out of sight. Wet terraces were spread across the area, slippery and tricky to walk on. One false move promised a punishing tumble. Low stone walls jutted here and there, offering refuge but also risk should anyone rush without looking.

At the courtyard's center, Lysander's swordgleamed ghostly as it caught shards of the pale dawn. Tendrils of fog writhed and pulsed around him like a living thing, shrinking back from each stroke of the cold phrik blade.

“No katas today. No forms, and no fixed sequences.” Sharp eyes traveled slowly among the assembled acolytes pairing off. “Just you, the terrain, and how quickly you react when the ground refuses to cooperate.” With a nod, he stepped aside, giving them the courtyard, where the only rule was to stay alive. "You must learn to read what the eye may deceive. Trust your instincts and stay aware, for if you hesitate, even for a moment.. you will surely lose."

Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs with the scent of Desevro's decay. Breath bound to memory, every motion bound to purpose. Like notes in a symphony, Lysander would know who moved in rhythm, and those who fell out of tune.

“Begin.”

 

[Shade]

The fog swallowed sound.

That was the first thing Shade noticed as she stepped into the courtyard—how the air itself seemed to muffle movement, swallowing footfalls before they could betray direction or intent. Moisture clung to her braid, cold against the back of her neck, and the ground beneath her boots had the slick, treacherous feel of a surface that wanted bodies to fall.

She moved anyway.

Silent. Controlled. Unhurried.

While the other acolytes shifted, squared up, fidgeted with nerves or bravado, Shade slipped between them like a shadow seeking its target. She did not pair off. She did not posture. Crimson eyes tracked the turning columns, the wet terraces, the erratic rotations of stone that could maim an inattentive fighter as effectively as a blade.

Her awareness stretched, not through the Force, but through instinct—trained, sharpened, lived-in instinct. Terrain first. Opponent second. Escape vector last.

She did not look at Lysander when he spoke. She listened.

No forms. No katas. No patterns.
Good.

She wasn't here to perform.

When he finished, and the acolytes began to move, Shade withdrew a half step deeper into the fog, letting the gray swallow the cobalt of her skin until she was little more than a cold shimmer in the mist. A puddle near her foot rippled—not from her movement, but from the deliberate lack of it.

She exhaled once, letting the breath disappear into the veil.

Then she moved.

A sudden slip of motion—low, fluid, a predator's glide across unstable ground. She used the slick stone to her advantage, letting it slide her sideways into the blind spot of the nearest acolyte. No blade yet. No strike.

Only a test.

A hand brushed the hilt at her thigh, then dropped away just as quickly as she pivoted, allowing one of the turning columns to pass between her and her would-be opponent. The grinding stone blocked vision for a heartbeat—more than enough time to vanish into the other side of the fog.

From somewhere behind another column, her voice surfaced—low, cold, almost disembodied in the haze.

"If you wait for your eyes to tell you what's there…" A whisper of metal brushed free of its sheath. "…you're already dead."

A sharp splash of a footfall—intentional, timed—echoed behind a different acolyte entirely.

Shade didn't reveal herself. She let the fog carry her. Testing them. Reading them. Learning which among them was prey…and which might actually prove worth the effort.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

A hiss sounded off as he stepped into a puddle, acolytes have gathered in the courtyard for what seemed to be a drill exercise. It was what he was prepared for, until he heard no katas, no forms and no fixed sequences.

Sparring. A grin crept over Varin’s face as he shifted in his lighter outfit. No mace today. Just his saber. Something he really needed to work on. His heavy footfalls could be heard across the courtyard as he placed his helmet over his head. The mechanisms locking in with an audible click.

His gaze fell over all of the acolytes as he towered over them. Though it was difficult to see, he could sense every one of them for the most part, some more hidden than others. He could see glints of movement, the shine of weapons and armor. Unless they got closer. He stood at the very back of the crowd as he always did. Making sure students actually get a good view and understand all of the rules that followed. He wanted to make sure they were all at their best. It was the only way anyone would learn.

He could hear slight shuffling and movement from the other acolytes, but one thing he learned from Korriban, most newer students tended to avoid confrontation with him, just from sheer size alone. The fools. Unwilling to test themselves because of a challenge that was laid bare to them.

He would not pick his partner, or his foe. Whoever would want a challenge could easily come to him.

An acolyte who was stumbling around in the fog bumped into Varin, his head slapping right into his breastplate. He watched the acolytes eyes widen as his head trailed upwards to look at Varin’s face.

“You are already dead, stumbling around exerting your eyes. You need to feel what is around you.”

His eyes bled into a bright orange that could be seen through the visored eye holes of his armor.

“And you are too picky on your foe. Being afraid of challenge and growth will kill you as well. You are nothing but canon fodder now, pick your fight.”

The acolyte stumbled back falling backwards as Varin unlatched the hilt of his saber from his belt.

“Get up.”

Tags: Open​

 

[Naniti]

The violet Togruta stood among those assembled, always open to the opportunity to train. When a certain blue woman surfaced, however, Naniti's blue eyes tracked the Chiss as she prowled the scene. Arrogance was not an uniquely Sith trait, but they certainly seemed to have more than their share of it letting someone they'd captured just roam about. Sure, Lysander could be keeping an eye on her, but he was also keeping an eye on all of them. They may have disarmed Shade, but that didn't make Naniti view her as less of a threat.

When the woman sought to vanish into the mist, Naniti couldn't help but notice. Not that Naniti could see her in the fog, of course; she didn't have Super Togruta vision. But there were techniques no one seemed to realize or inquire about. Even Lysander who was closest to her. Bit of a bother there -- she really should tell him -- but it was what it was. Old habits died hard.

Fortunately, Shade didn't seem inclined to murder them. So, Naniti let the vision go and focused on the moment. An unstructured training opportunity desired to test their ability to survive, huh? Fair. Only meant she shouldn't use her ability. Sure, Sith didn't care about rules, but cheating to 'win' only cheated her out of a useful learning experience. She intended to become strong enough to brave an ancient Machine kept secret by their Lords, not merely strong enough to stay alive.

Of course, that also meant Naniti had to avoid using a Togruta's sense of echolocation as well. Stretch out her feelings into the Force. Feel the ripples. The disturbances. Their shapes, position, and movement. Her head turned slightly at the sound of a splash nearby and behind her. Perhaps it was because they'd "met" once before. Or perhaps it was luck.

Naniti's hand rested on the grip of the sword sheathed at her side. Shade continued to move and stalk, which suited the Togruta. Naniti waited until Shade was no longer directly behind her before she'd turn, draw the sword, and lunge toward the Chiss with a quick thrust. The training sword and her leading foot snapped back as suddenly as they'd launched. The Chiss was a threat. Leaving herself over extended was begging to die.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade didn't need to rush.

The courtyard itself shifted with every breath—fog curling, stone groaning, footing turning treacherous under even the slightest misstep. Naniti's blade had cut through the space where Shade had been, but the Chiss moved with the kind of quiet discipline that didn't leave ghosts behind; she left misdirection.

A ripple in the puddle.
A soft brush of fog.
A faint shift of weight.

None of it conclusive.

And then the terrain itself became her weapon.

One of the turning columns ground sharply against its neighbor, stone scraping stone in a sudden, violent drag. Shade had timed her movement to the sound perfectly—not creating it, but letting it cover the soft displacement of her body as she vanished deeper into the layered haze. The noise stretched across the courtyard like a jagged tear, and for anyone relying on instinct, it was the kind of sensory disruption that tugged attention off its mark for half a heartbeat.

Shade moved inside that heartbeat.

Upward—not in a dramatic spring or acrobatic flourish, but in a clean, efficient climb that used the shifting terraces as stepping stones. Her boots pressed silently against slick stone, weight distributed with surgical precision so the wet surface never betrayed her. When she reached the lower ledge, she didn't reveal herself fully; only the faint outline of her form separated from the fog, a silhouette sharpened by discipline alone.

Naniti would feel her there—above, angled, calculating.

But Shade didn't wait for the Togruta to adjust.

She moved.

Her descent wasn't a pounce; it was a controlled drop, body low, momentum tucked and directed with exacting focus. She slid down from the ledge in a diagonal sweep, boots skimming the slick terrace before she pivoted sharply, using the wet stone as a blade would use oil. Her knee bent, weight compressed, and she launched into a strike timed not to overwhelm, but to exploit the moment of recalibration Naniti needed to adapt to the new angle.

Shade's weapon—a training blade, light but perfectly balanced—cut through the fog in a swift horizontal arc aimed at Naniti's flank. Not reckless. Not overcommitted. A textbook ambush-angle strike: fast, quiet, precise, and leaving Shade already pivoting into a defensive stance that would allow her to flow instantly into a second exchange regardless of whether the Togruta dodged, blocked, parried, or countered.

Her voice came too, not taunting, not breathless.

Just calm.
Cold.
Measured steel wrapped in velvet.

"Adapt."

A command.
A courtesy.
And a promise that Shade was only beginning to turn the terrain into a weapon.

Naniti

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Desevro
Objective: Reconnaissance of Covenant Territory

Outfit:
Belt of Strength, Field Com-Scan Link,
Well Worn Boots, Zhaboka,
Athletic Clothes & Shadow Mask

Tags: Haro Aven | Lysander von Ascania | Varin Mortifer | Open

​

Sometime earlier, Naamino had arrived planetside with none other than his best friend. Haro guided the new ship they'd been awarded, after aiding the King in the destruction of Deathstar v3, piloting them towards loose coordinates he'd been provided by Lysander prior to visiting. There, the young men soon found telltale signs of the nearby academy. He considered utilizing their hangar, then thought better of it, instructing his buddy to land a little over a mile from any outbuildings. While they were technically still in Order territory, they were brushing against the far reaches and despite their invitation from a trusted source, they were still paying a visit to a potentially rival Sith group.

Upon making landfall, something deep within the hull of the ship stirred. Zafira had joined them for this journey, downright demanded she come along, and had been growling unhappily about cramped quarters the moment they left Korriban's atmosphere. In recent months, his Sithspawn companion had grown ill tempered at being left behind when the zabrak was away. With Leshanna traveling between Kor'ethyr, Brosi, and wherever else A'Mia bid she go, Naami's girlfriend was similarly too busy to spend excess time with the adar.

As they set out to leave the ship, Naamino made quick work of opening the cargo hatch. The wily mechanic and Sith warrior were soon out the door, Naami marching down the boarding ramp and leading the way, at the same time Zafira pulled herself free from the cargo bay with a triumphant roar into the icy air. Her rider sent a stern mental message via their telepathic bond.

Observe, kill nothing, and return to me if I summon you.
​

She snorted prissily at him, not deigning to respond, and was soon airborne. Vast, leathery wings raking at the subarctic air as she climbed high into the sky, soon out of sight.

"Stick close, Aven. Just 'cause Lys and Varin are training here doesn't mean we can let our guard down," he rumbled as he slipped the wolf-like shadow mask over his face.

Outfitted in just enough gear to keep the chill off, Naami set a fast pace. Something in his chest tugged like a compass needle. He knew where to find his comrades, bonded in blood upon many battlefields as they were. His pace slowed as he saw others approaching the same location and soon enough a familiar voice cut through the fog.

The big zabrak look a wide angle on approach, his traditional double bladed Iridonian weapon held at ease by his side. He soon closed the distance enough to speak to Lysander in a voice that wouldn't carry too far beyond him.

"Too much time elapses between our meetings, brother. Apart for a month or two and now you're a professor?"

His tone was dry and at ease, despite the way he prowled at Lysander's flank. In truth, he missed his friend more and more these days as their busy lives often kept them occupied else-wise. A quick hand sign of acknowledgment to Varin was the only indication he made to having seen him. That masked gaze regarded the gathered students and searched the mist for any who might want to try their skill against him, even as he awaited Lysander's response.

 

[Suzaku]

A silhouette of shadow transverse through the fog. Fluid movements, contorting in strange unexpected angles. The tapping of sloppy but light foot work echoed about the stone pillars and a figure atop ascended with a speed matched by stupidity or overconfidence and they were not alone. As other acolytes took off to scale higher ground, they found themselves at odds with one another, some used their wits and others their brawn. Brief clashes and flashes of red blurred from the elevated positions revealing short feats of lightsaber combat and displays of acrobatics.

Groupings of students utilizing strategic telekinetic shoves and pulls. Shrieks of fear erupted as one such acolyte was torn from their position and forcibly pushed off their platform to a foggy uneven stone floor below.

They landed with a sickening thud.

Another such acolyte, a female zabrak, rested their back against slick stone to catch her breath. She was alone...or so she thought. The shadow moved again. A mere flicker but enough send the senses into alert. With a snap-hiss a scarlet lightsaber ignited and bathed the adjacent area with its glow. The moisture in the air producing a ever constant hissing. She scanned the area, feeling it out with the force and using her saber as a source of light. Squiting the zabrak female furrowed her brow and took in her platform.

Stone, cobble, ruins, more stone and then some painted in red. A thick crimson substance that stained a surface edge. It trailed away and then ended abruptly. Peering to the foggy depths below the acolyte took a whiff of the scent and its richness of iron.

Blood.

A wrongness over took the senses. Producing goosebumps, causing hairs on the back of the neck to straighten and a cold chill ran down her spine. A second of hesitation and then a surge of channeled anger! A scarlet sweep of energy lashed out at what the zabrak female thought was something behind her and a shadow jerked away from the strike just barely. The lightsabers blade raised higher into a guard of defense, illuminating the shadow and forcing it into detail.

Eyes went wide in horror. Bloodshot and over taken with fear. The shadow took a limp forward, a movement enough to invite reflex and make the female zabrak acolyte gasp in horror as her foot and own momentum took her off the platform and plunging below. The scarlet blades light reflecting in her eyes as she descended. They took in a face visage of decay and rot before the fog closed in to mask the features once more.

Her body would fall adjacent to Varin Mortifer , femurs broken in multiple places.

 

[Anet Raine]

Tags: Lysander von Ascania | Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Naniti | Suzaku | Haro Aven | Shade

Anet walked into the courtyard with a lightsaber clutched in her hand, the one she had been given, many of the acolytes, at their live-combat exercise in the Pit. Once again, the instructors had ushered them out of the academy, and once again, they were asked to fight each other.

They called it "sparring," and yet they each held lethal weapons--

Her body would fall adjacent to Varin Mortifer, femurs broken in multiple places.

--and already their lives were on the line.

She grimaced and looked up towards where the woman had fallen from. Did she jump? Had someone pushed her? Anet shook the thoughts loose. She knew how easily some could sense them, and would not become prey for the bullies.

Her hand tightened around the dead Jedi's weapon as she marched into the courtyard, posture strong and proud... a piece of advice from Varin given to Kirie that day, not that she'd admit overhearing.

"So how does this work?" She wondered.

The acolyte interrogated the scene, observing the others. Some trained on their own, while others lined up for a duel. Would that she had any combat ability, she might've boasted and challenged as the stronger ones did. Instead, she stood out like a sore thumb - easy prey for anyone looking to pick a fight.

Oh, how Anet wished to be back in the library...

 

[Naniti]

"Focus, Naniti," she muttered under her breath as she slowly turned to observe the fog before her. The environmental disturbances did attract her attention, but that wasn't what gnawed at her. She'd briefly confided in Lysander she'd had a difficult infancy; the reason for it was being forced to come to terms with a sense others did not have. One she was desperately trying not to rely on because others did not have it. But it was about as easy as maintaining depth perception with only one eye open, and reminding yourself not to let the other eye snap open.

The Togruta turned her head aside for a moment as if listening. The grinding hid the Chiss' movements. In fact, every mannerism and technique she used suggested Shade was a trained assassin. Not a terribly wise move to let someone like that roam about freely. Not unless they'd seared a loyalty into their soul. Not a terribly young one at that; well, experienced or a natural prodigy. This really was a learning opportunity since usually the only time you got to train against an assassin was when they were trying to kill you.

Maybe she was.

Slow, even breathing moved through Naniti's lungs, oxygenating the blood to her limbs and maintaining a steady heart rate.

At last there was the sense of movement from above. Naniti's blade was held forward at a forty-five degree angle away from her, while her feet were shoulder-width apart in a traditional Longpoint stance. A tiring stance if held for too long, but it minimized the distance to all fields of strike at the fore where the Togruta expected the attack. Naniti was exceptionally book smart when it came to techniques and powers; what she lacked was practical experience, which is why she attended the academy. Her Master had taught her well and many pre-Academy student had fallen at her feet, but that didn't mean she was experienced. Not yet.

Though with Lysander's help she was getting there one day at a time.

While uncharacteristically calm for a Sith Acolyte, when it came time for Naniti to bring her sword down to block and deflect the passing strike at her flank the Togruta let out a sharp and loud shout or kiai. The tip had risen at the start of the swing enough to allow weight and momentum to held keep the assassin's blade from breaking through the guard.

But it didn't end there. Naniti pivoted on her foot and bound after the Chiss, sword tip lowered off to her side. She intended an sweeping strike from down to up at a slight angle across the woman's body if it struck. Just surviving wasn't enough, a Sith had to crush their enemies.

Shade

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace stepped out of the fog like the mist had decided it was done trying to hold him. Nothing about him announced itself, no aura flaring, no weapon drawn, no swagger.​

​

Just a young man with white locs damp from the haze, eyes sharp and unreadable as they took in the courtyard carnage without so much as a tightening breath. His gaze passed over Shade and Naniti's clash. Over Naamino's prowling form. Over the echoes of screams from above.​

​

Then landed on Varin. Not with fear. Just… acknowledgment. The kind a wolf gives another wolf when stepping into new territory.​

​

Ace's boots stopped a respectful distance from the towering warrior, the fallen acolyte in between them. He didn't look at whoever it was.​

​

"…You look like the only one here worth walking toward." He adjusted his stance a fraction, weight centered, hands still empty. "Wanna try your hand at someone who's not scared of you?" He added, tone quiet but solid.​

​

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Haro Aven]

​

LOCATION: OUTER RIM TERRITORIES > THE SLICE > TION CLUSTER > DESEVRO​

EQUIPMENT: BODIE | MERC ARMOR | BLASTER PISTOL | VIBROKNIVES | TERRABOARD​

OBJECTIVE: RECONNAISSANCE OF COVENANT TERRITORY... VISIT OLD FRIENDS​

TAGS: Lysander von Ascania | Naamino Zuukamano | Varin Mortifer | Naniti | Shade | Suzaku | Anet Raine ​

Haro Aven spent most of the flight from Korriban to Desevro chattering to his best buddy about their new ship, what he'd learned about it, and how he planned to modify it. He'd already spent the last couple weeks poking around every part he or Bodie could access, learning the computers and every component—from the greebles to the actuators to the fusion reactors. Despite having worked on hundreds of vehicles and starships in his life, he'd never owned his own ship before and, even though this one was only half his, he was ecstatic. His enthusiasm for the joint ownership was tested when Naami had insisted Zafira come along on their trip to Desevro, especially because the damn Zabrak had waited until they were set to leave to let Haro know—not ask permission, of course. The huge semi-sentient reptilian sithspawn had been looming behind her master at the time so it was not like Haro could refuse, not if he valued his limbs.

Fortunately, Zafira had been well-behaved for the duration of the trip... mostly. She'd apparently very much disliked jumping to hyperspace and there was one terrifying moment before Naami calmed her down that Haro though she might tear a whole in the hull. She'd quieted down since then, enough that Haro had forgotten she was there until the deep rumbling sounded from within the ship as they were making landfall. The sound sent a chill down his spine. It was a good thing he was such a damn good pilot and didn't let nerves effect his piloting. Needless to say, he was relieved when Zafira made her way out of the ship and took to the skies to stretch her wings. Haro watched her disappear into the thick fog that seemed to strangle the air, then cast his gaze around the barren landscape pocked with murky puddles and littered with jagged geological structures.

"Well, isn't this charming?" Haro quipped sarcastically.

"Stick close, Aven. Just 'cause Lys and Varin are training here doesn't mean we can let our guard down." A wry smirk curled the edge of Haro's lip at the dramatic way Naami pulled his mask over his face and used his very serious commander voice to issue his orders before he stalked off with purpose, clearly expecting Haro to follow.

"Sir, yes, sir," Haro teased, chuffing an amused laugh as he followed.

He heard Lysander's voice and saw the ghostly gleam of his blade through the fog before he saw him and the many other figures gathered in courtyard, each of them poised and armed for combat. Realizing they'd wandered into what appeared to be a training session, Haro's hand hovered close to his blaster and he remained close to Naami as they made their way closer to Lysander. He nodded a casual salute and fleshed a friendly smile at Varin Mortifer when he briefly caught his eye.

"Professor Lysander," Haro sampled the new title. "'s got a nice ring to it."

A warm grin spread wide across Haro's face upon meeting the blonde's gaze—he was clearly thrilled to see him after so long—though he waited for Lysander to make the first move as he didn't want to pull his attention away from the lesson at hand if focus was required. Despite how at ease the lithe mechanic appeared to be, he remained attentive to the movement in his peripheral vision and never let his hand stray far from his blaster. ​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Equipment: crossguard lightsaber, armor but looks like this

The sound of the acolytes shaky breaths of fear was overshadowed by a thud right by him. A broken zabrak lay on the ground startling the acolyte.

“Do you want this to be you? I said get up.”

Footsteps caught his attention as he turned to see the white haired stranger that approached him. He issued his challenge. Varin's head tilted as he turned to face him then reached his hand towards the acolyte he was speaking to and with the force pushed him away from the both of them.

“I am always up for a challenge, newcomer.”

His hilt hung loosely in his grip within his other hand as he pointed it towards him.

“A test for us both I certainly hope.”

His voice was quiet and deep, though it carried as a couple of the other acolytes already sparring began to give them a wider birth. The challenge brought excitement to Varin's eyes, someone he did not know, it was perfect. Perfect in the fact that neither of them knew each other's abilities or styles.

His other hand gripped the lower end of his saber hilt and with a quick twist the blade roared to life in a dark crimson as orange flames seemed to lick up the blade. The Erinar diamond that chose him now replacing his old bleeding crystal. His stance mimicking a variant of djem so.

“Guests first.”

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Shade]

The moment Naniti's kiai split the fog, Shade felt the sound cut through the air like a ripple across still water.

Good.

Noise revealed more than silence ever could.

Her blade met Naniti's guard—not to overpower it, but to measure it. The impact vibrated along the length of her practice sword, telling her everything she needed to know: strength, stance, the strain in the Togruta's muscles, the angle of her balance. Shade didn't try to break through. She didn't need to.

She only needed the moment after.

Naniti pivoted into her counter, disciplined, committed, the upward sweep angled cleanly toward Shade's flank. But Shade was already moving—flexing low and to the side, letting the upward trajectory pass through the space where she had been a heartbeat earlier. She didn't jump back. She didn't retreat. She slid with the wet stone beneath her feet, using the slick ground to her advantage rather than fighting it.

Her boots skated along the thin film of water—controlled, planned—turning what should have been a destabilizing surface into a weapon of mobility.

Mist billowed as she moved, swallowing the sharp edges of her silhouette.

And then Shade was inside Naniti's guard again—close, too close—forcing the Togruta to rely on muscle memory rather than reach. Shade's blade angled down in a controlled arc, not to strike, but to test the next layer of Naniti's defense.

A whisper of sound left Shade's lips, a tone colder than the fog curling around them:

"Better."

No mockery.
No praise.
Just assessment—clean, clinical, honest.

She pivoted again, foot dragging the water in an arc as she cut across Naniti's periphery, always moving, always forcing adjustment, her presence slipping between silence and steel.

Her blade flicked once toward Naniti's leading hand—a probing strike, quick, precise—but Shade never committed fully. She left space. She left a choice. She left the outcome in the hands of the Togruta, who would either deflect it, evade it, or turn it into her own counterattack.

Shade wanted the reaction.

She built the reaction.

Because this wasn't a duel meant to end.

It was a lesson.

And as she circled, fog trailing behind her, her voice slipped through the mist once more, level and unshaken:

"Again."

She did not stop moving.
She did not wait.
She only shifted angles—inviting the next exchange, the next strike, the next moment where skill either sharpened or broke.

And she readied herself for whatever Naniti chose to do next.
Naniti

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Ace's locs blew in the direction of the acolyte Varin had sent flying. He didn't blink nor flinch. Then Varin's blade roared to life, flames licking the crimson edge like it was hungry. A crossguard? He'd never seen one before.

Ace rolled his shoulders once, loosening them, and stepped forward until the heat of Varin's lightsaber brushed the damp air between them.

"Alright then."

Ace's hand drifted to his own hilt and pulled it free in one smooth, practiced motion. The snap-hiss of blue igniting carved a clean line through the fog. Ace angled his blade low, tight to his body, stance compact and coiled.

Then he moved - not with a lunging strike or reckless opening. He simply stepped in fast and close, testing Varin's guard with a sharp diagonal cut meant less to wound and more to feel him out - his strength, his reaction time, the rhythm in his muscles.

Ace had almost exclusively faced opponents Varin's size in Darth Hydra, Ravoch, and sparring with Aris. At this point? He was basically an expert. And with that experience, came confidence. Not arrogance. Just a quiet, grounded, self-assuredness that radiated off him like heat from a hidden ember.

He wasn't here to be impressive. He was here to learn. To sharpen steel. One way or another.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The blue blade ignited causing Varin’s eyes to glare. His blade came down at an angle towards him, Varin shifted his blade towards his strike deflecting it then following up with a swift swipe towards him. He kept his eyes on his, watching his whole body. Reading him.

He moved with confidence. Not ego. Someone who has possibly fought someone of Varin's size before. Fortunately Varin was used to fighting someone shorter than him.

The counter was simple, also another extension to poke, prod and test. Varin shifted his stance, the metal on his boot scraping against the stone as he prepped his blade. He would play the patient game for now. This was not a fight to completely annihilate your opponent, it was to learn.

Varin was always the type to take care of any colleagues he may work with, but what is armor or a weapon if it has never been tried or tested. How do you know the extent of yourself if you do not exert.

The time for exertion would come. For now it was the time to study and test.

His blade hissed as the moisture came into contact with it.

“And who did you kill for your blade, Stranger?”

He spoke to him in a tone of piqued curiosity. The thought never occurring to him that it could legitimately be his own blade.

“Did they writhe?”

He slowly stepped closer.

“Did they scream?”

His brow furrowed.

“What is its story that you will carve?”

His heavy hilt twisted slightly as his glare stayed on his opponent. His way of making light conversation during sparring, to get to know the newcomer.

Acier Moonbound​

 

[Naniti]

The Togruta snorted as the Chiss slid out of the way. There was the urge to activate her hover skates to show off that the Chiss wasn't the only one with moves, but she shoved it back down again. It wouldn't actually benefit her tactically. Not with so many other people nearby. Solid footing was what she needed, not mobility.

As the assassin pivoted to strike, Naniti had resumed her stance. Surprising how fluid the blue woman moved. If Naniti didn't know better she'd almost wonder if they were shockingly alike; but Chiss weren't known for Force Sensitivity in adulthood from what the Togruta knew.

When the strike came, Naniti's hands snapped upward to block. Just as their swords met, however, the violet woman's back foot slid around as she used the full length of her body to try shoving Shade's weapon away. Exceedingly doubtful her momentum would abruptly stop with her guard down, but why not give it a go?

Better? Naniti did want to learn, but she wasn't certain how she should feel with the Chiss thinking herself an instructor.

As the woman moved, so too did her opponent. No wide or sweeping movements, but enough to try and remain lined up with someone that enjoyed dancing in the mists. Naniti figured the moment she tried anything that left her footing out of position the assassin would strike. Which left the Togruta with an interesting thought.

Shade struck quickly with a hand snipe. The assassin had -- unsurprisingly -- thought of the less obvious move first. Naniti was forced to step back and draw her hands in and down into a close left stance to add more distance and get the guard better placed to defend against a repeated snipe.

If there wasn't an immediate follow-up, Naniti would try to step back into engagement and test Shade in turn with a quick and short-swing toward a shoulder. Two could play at the not-quite-committed game to get a feel for one another. Provided the woman didn't instantly melt back into the fog; which would cause the Acolyte to return to a guard stance once more.

Either way, the assassin would slip into the 'shadows' and bid for another engagement. That's when the thought earlier returned. When Naniti would lead with her right foot instead and change her grip accordingly, but her shoulder alignment was out of position for the guard as a result -- just slightly forward.

Shade

 

[Shade]

Shade registered the shift in Naniti's stance long before steel met steel. The Togruta was quicker than most, disciplined, adaptive—she read patterns well. But Shade didn't fight patterns. She erased them.

Their blades met with a sharp, controlled ring, and Shade felt the pressure behind Naniti's attempt to shove her off-line. Clever. Committed. Predictable. Shade allowed the moment to stretch, then let her weight bleed away from the clash, the force sliding past her like a current she had anticipated three beats earlier.

The Togruta recovered quickly—good technique, solid footing—but Shade had already stepped into the opening Naniti had created by moving her centerline forward. Not a retreat. Not a rush. Just a shift, efficient and quiet, almost too subtle to track unless one knew exactly what to watch for.

The hand-strike she delivered wasn't meant to land clean—it was a test, a disruption, aimed toward the Togruta's guard at the precise angle most fighters forgot to protect. Naniti caught it in time, stepping back into a tight stance. Smart. Controlled.

Shade followed, pace deliberate but light, her boots whispering over the wet stone. She didn't lunge, didn't overextend. She pressed just enough, letting Naniti commit first.

When the shortcut toward Shade's shoulder came, the Chiss shifted her weight, body rotating on a calm, unhurried pivot. The blade passed close, but Shade didn't disengage. Instead, she let the narrowing distance draw Naniti in—and then she altered her angle.

A single step. Small. Precise. Designed to test how well Naniti handled an opponent closing rather than retreating.

Shade's blade slid along Naniti's in a controlled glide, not to overpower her, but to force a change in leverage. Her free hand lifted—not to strike, but to ghost near Naniti's wrist, a threat of a trap or disarm that she could take or abandon depending on how the Togruta reacted.

Shade's voice came low, even, a quiet hum beneath the rhythm of the spar. "You're favoring your right," she murmured, not boastful, not mocking—just observant. She didn't specify how. She didn't need to. Naniti would feel it now that it was named.

Shade shifted again, withdrawing a half-step to reset their spacing, blade angled in a deceptively relaxed guard—one that hid three different counters depending on which way Naniti committed.

Her crimson eyes never left the Togruta's. "Adjust." Not an order. A challenge.

Shade moved again—closing the distance with a smooth, fluid advance meant to keep Naniti thinking, recalibrating, forced to meet her tempo rather than fall back into her own.

She did not strike first. She waited. Always patient. Always poised. Letting Naniti decide whether to change…or break.

Naniti

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Desevro

Equipment:
Acolyte Robes| Lightsaber | Cybernetic Arm

Varin deflected the first diagonal strike cleanly, strength rolling down Ace's blade like a shockwave. The follow-up came fast: a heavy, flame-lit swipe meant to test his reaction.

Ace met it, sliding back a fraction, blue angling down to catch the crimson edge before it reached his ribs. The impact hissed, steam curling between them as Ace bled the force of the strike off his stance and stepped sideways into clearer footing.

Varin shifted, settling into that patient, heavy posture. Ace mirrored with tighter, quicker footwork, adjusting his centerline to avoid being stacked under brute force.

"I didn't kill anyone for it." He said calmly.

Ace pressed forward just enough to keep the rhythm honest, bringing his lightsaber up in a short, controlled cut toward Varin's guard. It was a precise probe to answer Varin's test with one of his own.

"It's mine. Always was."

He didn't embellish it. Didn't give Varin theatrics. Just truth. Ace shifted again, circling a half-step around Varin's dominant side, blue blade low and tight, inviting Varin to keep reading him as he spoke.

"I fought Vestra. She dropped me. Decided I like to breathe, so I came with her."

His words were followed with a sharp strike, delivered with enough speed and precision to force Varin to take him seriously. A diagonal cut aimed at Varin's guard once again. A clean, disciplined test of structure and reaction.

Varin Mortifer​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Varin's blade caught the first strike as Acier spoke. He simply spoke truth. He did not kill for his weapon, it was his. A smile crept up on his face beneath his helm. As Acier swapped his stance circling around Varin, he swung his next attack. Varin read his footwork. As Acier was mid swing he spun his hilt in his palm to a reverse grip and parried his next attack.

That attack was faster, it drew with more intent. It seemed Acier was starting to get into the rhythm of the spar. Varin held his blade against Acier's, the hissing carried through the fog as sparks flew to the sides.

“A bird swooped up by vultures.”

His face plate slowly turned to face Acier once again.

A pause.

Varin whirled his blade again to break the clash, it was harsher, slinging the momentum of Acier's blade downward Varin circled his blade for an overhead strike. As the momentum carried.

“You will have to learn to crave meat over berries.”

The metal of his boots scraped across the stone floor almost causing the foundation to scream beneath him as he shifted his stance again.

Acier Moonbound​