Nipping Buds

[Ras'kala'han]

Kalee | Sith Shadow Academy​

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Corin Zanith always had been ambitious - a quality Darth Vesper admired in himself and others. He, in fact, admired all the qualities in himself, but there few things he saw in others worth considering. One was power, that glimmering potential to be feasted on by the hungry, whatever the form. One was beauty, for personal enjoyment. But ambition? That meant that a person could be an endless font of entertainment, danger, excitement - perhaps, close to what a being like Vesper might consider a peer. Might.

Yet, as Vesper meditated, crosslegged, ambition was a double-edged sword. It was [member="Darth Abyss"] who had taught him that: the first ploy he had made was very, very ambitious. But he had been crushed completely. He had lost, and lost, and been brutalized and ultimately forced to rely on others' aid to hide, to heal, to restore his physical flesh. Now, however, his power was restored - he was not at his peak, but he was climbing, and mirrors met him with the same pale, soft-skinned, long-limbed figure he always had been, silvery hair brushing his shoulders. He had dressed in a simple tunic and shadowsilk cloak, a crystalized bloodflower to serve as a broach.

The brief reflection caused him to narrow his eyes with rage as he dug his manicured fingernails into the posh cushion. Darth Vesper: the Sith Lord who others tossed around like a ragdoll. It was not a reputation he wanted to garner. But in risking it, he had been educated. He had learned, not limits - that was too mortal, too petty a word for him - discretion. Wisdom. He had acclimated to the new era and its way of doing things.

The man who now called himself [member="Darth Animus"], who now - his sources told him - raised its banners in defiance of the legitimacy of the Sith Empire of the implacable Darth Carnifex? Never had such misfortune crossed his path.

He pursed his lips as the craft touched down on the sandy plains of Kalee in the shadow of a building he had seen constructed. It would be appropriate, though, for him to take the role of educator now: to teach this "Animus" the same lesson he had been taught when he grasped beyond his abilities.

In other words, he had come here to crush his foe utterly and put him to ruin. For his benefit, of course. The possibility of status for eliminating a foe of the Empire was simply a side benefit. As he strode up to the steps of the academy, he waited patiently, his cape of lusterless black fluttering in the wind. And he raised his voice, calling out, and echoing his call in the ripples of the Force.

"Animus, I return. Darth Vesper is here. Come to me."

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[grammaticus]

The Shadow Academy. In a time lost to misfortune, it had been his greatest hope and achievement. With the support of the Resurgent Empire he had built it, gathered students to train in its halls, and secured the Force Nexus deep beneath the surface. He had done these things, and yet, they had all come to nothing in the end. When the Resurgent Empire fell, he had lost the support he had. Alone, he could not defend the Shadow Academy against the Sith Empire. He had abandoned the world of Kalee before their fleets arrived in orbit. As a final slight against him, many of the students in the Academy willingly joined the Sith Empire. Those few who had tried to stop their former Master from leaving the world quickly found out they had much to learn. Animus never allowed them that chance.

He had gone across the galaxy since then, taking work where he could, living little better then a pirate. It wasn't until he found the New Sith Order that he had been given a new purpose. Now, since he had wiped out the old regime, he had a new dedication in life. He had left the Order behind at their rallying point to journey to Kalee a final time, to retrieve any possible relics he could find.

Exiting his personal chambers, he was momentarily shocked to hear the calling of an old acquaintance in the force, yet another relic from an age best left behind. Grabbing the mask he kept at his hip, he pulled it on as he made his way out of the academy proper and down the long steps. He came to a stop on one of the many levels, staring down silently as the figure approached.

"I did not think to be seeing you again, [member="Darth Vesper"] it it now? Tell me, why do you come here?"

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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"Yes, Darth Vesper. A Lord proper of the Empire now... Lore of Avarice. Appropriate, no?" He chuckled softly, tracking his hand along his flowered broach, his fingertip finding the edges of the shimmering jewel. As he spoke, he stepped up three steps, leaving a measure of distance between himself and Animus. Focusing his mind as he spoke, keeping a steady, genial tone, he mentally probed the faults and edges of the stone forming the staircase - a Shaper trick he had picked up on Kro Var, plundered from the mind of a kidnapped Master. He tilted his head. "As for why I'm here - do you even need to ask?"

Vesper clicked his tongue a few times, wagging a finger at the Darth, coy and scolding. "I know you've been misbehaving. I tend to keep tabs on the Sith I come across, and you're no exception. Tsk, tsk, tsk... starting a 'New Sith Order,' right after Coruscant falls? You get points for audacity."

"You haven't drawn the ire of the Emperor. Yet. But you will, and when you stray within your grasp, they will crush you." Vesper glanced around, raising an eyebrow. "There's room for ambition - yes, even Imperial ambition - but you need to learn the art of timing. I learned too late that trying to play the disloyal, grasping independent reaps only pain. It only comes to nothing."

"Even Darth Abyss learned that. He was far stronger and more established than either of us, and he lost everything when he contested the will of the Empire. You're premature, Animus." As he rambled, he continued on with the arduous mental task of unlacing the delicate bonds holding the steps together while replacing them with telekinetic Force to be retracted at a moment's notice. In the back of his mind, he fretted - this trick fails if his erstwhile ally noticed even the slightest shudder.

He paused. "Abandon this fool's hope. If you join me, the Empire, I can restore Kalee. I can seat you on Malachor, if you'd like. Aren't you tired of living like a fugitive refugee?" He paused, extending his left hand. "I know you're above this. Let me guide you."

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[member="Darth Animus"]​

 

[grammaticus]

Animus nodded his head slowly, looking off into the distance, across the forest and the few buildings breaking through the tree cover. Once this valley had been filled with the sound of students training, even laughing at times. Now, there was only silence, and the occasional cry of some beast. He turned his head back to Vesper, shaking his head slightly as he began walking down the steps.

"You forget the nature of the Sith, Vesper. We are meant to strive for power, to achieve victory and set ourselves free from the shackles of control and servitude. I learned my lesson when Kalee fell to the Sith Empire, I learned just how powerful your precious Emperor was. But, recent events have shown that his Empire has grown vulnerable in its strength." Coming to a stop on the flight of steps just above Vesper. He looked down at Vesper silently, grimacing beneath his mask as he began to prepare himself mentally for the task ahead.

"You offer me a return to the past, a rebirth of dreams and goals long since dead. It is not the nature of the Sith to go backwards. We must always stride forward, and take exactly what we want. Your offer may have been tempting if you found me sooner, but I have learned much since we last met. I know where my true place is." Animus flicked his left hand, flipping the cape he wore over his left shoulder and exposing his pure black lightsaber.

"I ask you now, will you stand with me, or shall I have to make you move as well..."

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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And straight to violence - Vesper should have expected as much. When egos rub up against one another, sparks fly. Even so, he couldn't help but feel almost... disappointed. Had he misjudged his foe? He had thought, years back, that this [member="Darth Animus"] might be a useful ally. Or even a useful tool. But if he lacked the sense to see what he did, to see that he was following his ideals to a pointless death?

No, more than disappointed, he was offended. Did his foe really think he could win his allegiance with the point of a sword? Or was Animus just looking for violence? He pursed his lips - it didn't matter. He had made his offer, he had dangled salvation - a chance to be brought into his majestic orbit - and now was time for the distasteful alternative.

"If you learned your lesson," he said as an arc of bloody plasma blossomed from the hilt of his saber, "Then it's terribly rude of you to make me teach it again. Don't worry, Lord Animus - I'll oblige you."

Then, he released the mental grip on the stones he had worn down, the object of his concentration. Without his will binding it together, the well-worn steps would quickly disintegrate into fine, dusty gravel, leaving only a smooth ramp. He didn't expect this to do more than unsettle his once-ally for a moment, but then again a moment makes all the difference in situations like these. In that same instant, he himself was rushing up, intending to put his saber through Animus' shoulder.

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[grammaticus]

Animus had never expected he could convince Vesper to join the New Sith Order. The man was strong and intelligent, but he focused on the wrong aspects of the Sith in his personal opinion. However, at this point he only intended to leave Kalee and go on his way. He doubted that that Vesper would allow him to leave peacefully, given that he would stand against his Sith Empire in the future. Just as he was preparing to make his move, the Academy steps began to shift.

Before his eyes, the steps of the Academy vanished. Instincts kicked in at that moment, before he even realized himself what he was doing. The instant the steps became a ramp, Animus angled his feet downwards, loosening his posture and allowing himself to slide. A single push behind him of the Force gave him the speed he needed. He activated his saber, bringing the blade up to knock aside Vesper's, before kicking out with his feet towards Vesper's leg, intent on taking his feet out from under him.

He didn't like the prospect of fighting on a uphill slope. Best to take it down towards level ground.

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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Vesper bit his lip. He should have known better than to expect a trick to be enough to shake the resolve of a Sith. His blade batted away, a leg slinging towards him, a jump backwards would buy time to gather his concentration - but it would also leave time for a follow-up strike, and he likewise had no love for fighting on an incline: his trick may benefit in the short term, but only if his foe was spiked on his blade, otherwise he suddenly was fighting uphill.

"So you have learned." He whispered breathlessly. Then he jumped - forwards, a charge to bring his body against his opponents and move into close quarters. Not his area of expertise, but he put a measure of faith in the possibility of surprise, and another measure in the Force that fortified him.

His saber may be occupied, but so was his foe - and he flicked his left wrist, a small vibroknife appearing from his sleeve. As long as he remained within the length of Animus' arm, it would be near impossible to land a strike with a saber. Thrusting, thrusting, he let a rush of mad frenzy carry him forwards, intent on dealing as many puncture wounds as possible before his foe could fight him off.

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[member="Darth Animus"]​

 

[grammaticus]

Animus flipped over mid slide, coming back around and arresting his downward momentum by digging his heel into the ramp, the slightest push of the Force letting him hold his position. A bare moment later his opponent was on him, driving a vibroblade towards his chest. Rather then try to counter, he let his armor, and a small shield of Force energy protect his chest, negating the worst of the cuts and only leaving him with a few grazes and a single moderate wound he would need to treat later. He couldn't keep this up for long, and so he quickly brought his armored head around, slamming his mask towards his opponents face.

At the same moment, he let his foot slide, his body still facing Darth Vesper, but not he was sliding down the ramp towards the forest below. He brought his saber around, holding it slightly tilted to the side in front of him as he regarded his opponent.

"You have learned to use unconventional fighting methods, I approve. I suppose I must answer in kind then."

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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For a short while, a vicious and adrenaline-fueled animal moment, Vesper thought it would be enough. The feeling of blood slicking his blade when he finally landed a solid pierce filled him with a sort of rushing, primal joy. He pulled back for another stab at the vulnerable part and suddenly there was a ringing pain and a sickening crunch and an unceremonious rolling as he skidded to a stop, dropped to a three-point stance with blood trickling down his chin out from a nostril, wetting his lips. His hair and clothes - nice clothes, but all his clothes were nice clothes - were covered in dust. His nose was broken. He furrowed his brow briefly, and with another wet snap the hands of the Force set it back in place. He mentally cursed as the dull, hot ache settled in.

Trying to kill him - one thing. Sullying his body? That was a whole other class of offense. Now he knew any outcome other than Animus' total defeat would be a humiliation, and a denial of rightful revenge.

"What makes you think I'm going to let you respond?"

Tossing aside the knife, he clenched his hand into a fist briefly, gathering the channeled pain and bringing his focus to bear. Pulling the energy through his veins and nerves. Now, he would show him what he had learned on Kro Var.

Thrusting an open palm forwards, he loosed a primal force - not fire, but heat. Invisible, save for a barely-perceptible shimmer in the air, and intangible, but fierce enough to set fire, to soften metal to searing red, to blister and blacken flesh, racing towards his target.

He smiled softly. Do you still approve?

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[member="Darth Animus"]​

 

[grammaticus]

Animus felt more then saw the blast of heat coming his way. It was a trick he himself did not know, but in all honesty that wasn't surprising. He had never been one to focus heavily on the use of the Force in a fight, preferring to use his agility and saber skill to carry the day. It seemed his opponent had different ideas to that.

With a brief flick of Force energy, Animus unclipped the cape around his shoulders, while reaching up at the same time to grab it and toss it in front of him. The cape caught fire almost immediately, but it gave him the time he needed to jump over the majority of the heat blast. He felt the outer edges of his armor searing his skin, but he forced his mind to wall off the pain. He could treat the wounds later.

As he flipped over the burning cape, he ignited the other end of his saberstaff, twirling the blade to bring it down in a flurry of blows at his enemies head. When his feet touched the ground, above his foe this time, he began to march forward, his two crimson blades blurring in the air as he moved from one assault to the next.

He had to keep his opponent on the defensive.

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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Vesper had hoped to get more mileage out of the elemental blast, but briefly, mentally chided himself - really, you can't expect to throw sheer, brute Force at every problem and have it cave. Not, at least, from the outset. It was strange, however, and distressing to think that someone he had once loomed over now could match him beat for beat in open combat. Were that the case - though his ego doubted it, even if reason said otherwise - it would come down to two factors: attrition, and who had the most tricks up their sleeve. If that's the case, Vesper thought as he grinned coldly, wheeling to face his foe as he flipped over his head to bring a cascade of hostile plasma down on him - victory is mine.

Two blades was problematic. Vesper fancied himself a spell-wielder, not a swordsman, and keeping up with one was hard enough. He found himself stepping backwards, diverting valuable concentration to adhering his foot to the ground with each backpedal along the incline so that he wouldn't fall. He needed an opening -

And then, an arc of black energy caught him along the wrist, he grimaced - but the fabric of his outfit seared away to reveal glittering metal. And the grin turned into a smirk as he raised it up to push back against the blade, trying to have his opponent give ground. Wrapped three times around his arm was a shimmering, metal serpent - his Cyberstaff, a poisonous, living weapon formed by Sith alchemy.

To turn about, he lashed out with his saber, breaking his giving ground to launch a two pronged attack - a straight swipe from his sword, but also a coiled, whipping thrust from the Cyberstaff, its fangs dripping anesthetic venom, its head swerving at angles to catch a point to coil around [member="Darth Animus"] and slither across his body for the bite.

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[grammaticus]

The moment he spotted the serpent like creation, Animus knew he needed to change his assault. He had been hoping to buy himself a bit more time to set up the next phase of his plan, but he had to jump straight into a counter. In the middle of one of his assaults Animus deactivated one of the blades of his saberstaff.

As the serpent like creature launched itself at him, he spun his body. The serpent had been moving across his body, but he turned now, bringing up the saberstaff. The serpents head, instead of biting into Animus was suddenly met with the deactivated end of his saber. The creature wrapped around it from its own momentum. Continuing his own spin, Animus used the serpent trying to pull away from his saber to shoot towards Vesper. He hoped he would hit his opponent, or at least force him to drop the serpent. The fact he was using his enemies own weapon to draw him in should help keep his foes lightsaber out of range.

As he launched his counter, he quickly snapped his free hand down to his waist, popping open a small compartment on his belt. He removed a small packet from within, quickly crushing it in his gloved hand, pure red liquid exploding out from his hand.

He would have to act quickly now.

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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Rule One for the aspiring combatant: let your enemy control your movement, and you lose the battle before you draw your sword. He felt the attempt to reel him in or use him as a lever to move closer to him before he saw it, and responded without even needing to move: the creature was designed to be able to deliver electric shocks and plated with alchemical armor. He issued a mental command to his dominated companion and its power glands flared, the body tensing to rigidity, the air filling with an audible, high-pitched whine as he sought to stun and harm his foe. That he thought, will teach you to think that my own tools can be turned against me, would-be Dark Lord. As it was to his advantage to have this go on for as long as possible, he had the creature keep its fangs fixed on the saber handle, slicking it with drool that turned to vapor, an attempt to forcibly break his grip on it.

With his other hand, he lifted two fingers up from the handle of his own sword, pointing towards Animus; he would duel him on the battlefield of the mind. "You presume, Corin. Presume to think you are worthy to lead to the Sith... to lash out at me, to lay a hand on me." And then he spoke, and his voice echoed, and the air rippled in front of him as he let the words guide the patterns of his thoughts, sculpting a spell as he relied on the electricity and his saber to ward off the foe long enough to complete the incantation.

"Ri zûtawohnasi doryumi an j'us na ri zuchjura iw Typhojem. Zûtayitka Danda Sine tuti titji, diâ Tilotny ai raka katsoshi ant ri amya."​

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The prayer to ancient, dead, forgotten gods and goddesses echoed, and it carried with it a pulse of Force with all the driving strength of any hammer blow that Animus could strike, directed towards the consciousness - to send it backwards, into the abyss of the subconscious. It wasn't even painful - it was cool, deceptive - the sensation of falling asleep after a hard day's work, of sinking into a warm bath after a long run, of drinking sweet milk to ease a sore throat. It was the embrace of dreams, and dreamlessness, tugging at the mind, the desire to recede inwards - vision blurs, sounds mute, and one simply drifts away.

And if it buys a moment's time, Vesper, like a serpent coiling to strike, would begin the next incantation - he was not one to underkill for someone who had gone so far as to defile his body.

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[member="Darth Animus"]​

 

[grammaticus]

Every instinct Animus had screamed at him to drop the saberstaff. As the electrical current ran up his arm and through his body his fingers tried to drop it on their own, but he kept his grip, willing the rebellious digits more then anything to stay locked. He knew if he discarded the blade he would never be given the chance to pick it up again. And at the moment, he had his foes primary melee weapon pinned in place.

Turning his body with the pain, Animus ran his free hand across the body of the cyberstaff, his mind screaming in increased agony at the direct contact. The red liquid on his palm, a liquefied form of Dioxin he had taken from as assassin sometime ago, and now finally put to use. The liquid coated the body of the cyberstaff, before beginning to enter its body. Almost at once Animus began to feel the strength of the electricity faltering, the poison working within the creatures body to weaken it.

Before he could capitalize on the change, his foe launched a renewed assault, this one not of the physical world, but that of the mental. Even as he was shedding the glove still coated in the Dioxin, Animus felt the barriers of his mind come under assault. Years of training, and further years of experience had taught him to refine his mental defenses. Wall upon wall of mental defenses. He had faced a cult of witches a few years ago who had trapped and tortured him. Their mental attacks had broken his mind then, and it had taken many months for him to rebuild it. When he finally escaped and killed the cult, he had sworn never to let something like that happen again.

Finally a scream escaped his lip as he finished his turn, the walls of his mind crumbling one by one. Before it was too late, he had to act and stop his foe. As the world began to warp around him, Animus turned his mind away from the physical, and focused remaining thoughts on the Force. Letting it guide his hand, he flicked his wrist, a small vibroblade kept hidden within snapping down to his free hand. Turning, he plunged the blade towards his opponents neck, his eyes burning with rage and hatred as the last walls of his mind began to crumble.

"I am Darth Animus, Shadow Lord of the New Sith Order, and you shall not stand in my way!"

[member="Darth Vesper"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

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When his victim began to show pain - and he had been waiting for it, eagerly - Vesper smiled, bearing his teeth. A viper, bearing his fangs as he circled around his prey.

His serpent writhed on the ground for a few moments before going limp: it hadn't died, too many of its vital functions were mechanical, but it was damaged enough to require intense healing - if he wanted to use it again, he would need to return to Syngia and restructure its muscles, its nervous systems... a shame, an inconvenience, but not an insurmountable setback. He made a mental note to later retrieve its flaccid form once he dealt with the matter at hand.

These mental defenses, he thought as his forceful assault came up against the walls [member="Darth Animus"] had erected, are surprisingly sophisticated. Of course, they eventually began to crumble - this was his area of specialty - but it bought time. Too much time. Soon, the figure was rushing at him, ready to rip open his throat - he grimaced, involuntarily raising one hand between them, memories fresh in his mind of Darth Abyss' boot coming down mercilessly on his neck - to make no mention of the consequences of that poison coming too close to him.

He hooked his fingertips, focusing his mental attack: not the general mind itself, but the motor centers of the Sith's brain, seeking to have him sprawled out in front of him by limbs that would no longer obey, going limp, feeling as though they were standing on water, simply failing.

"Shadow Lord - yes, only the shadow of a lord - and there is no shadow that the night does not swallow. Now, b̞̳͕͇̙͍͖ͬ̒̿e̘͕̲͒̈̎̊ͮ͗ ͍̗͐ͩͯ̂̂s̮̀ͩͭͩ̒t̅ͦ͑ͧi̬̘̹̮͎̱̎l̦̭ͬl̩̩̻̞͑͑͌.̜͖̞̖ͯ̆ͫ"

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