Public Pride Is a Poor Shield : Jutrand Academy

[Avarice]

Tags: Zeptepi Zambrano | Open to Sith and Sith-adjacent characters with a plausible reason to be here.

​

By late afternoon, the old pit had gathered another little court of ambitious children and hungry spectators, all drawn in by rumor, pride, or the sick need to know where they stood. Red sand clung to black boots and darkened hems. The cracked stone railings held their line above the arena, half-collapsed and heat-warmed, while the last ragged strip of Academy banner stirred against its pole as if it wanted to tear free and be done with the place. No instructor had come to ask why so many students had drifted from the proper grounds just yet. No would-be Proctor or sponsor had descended to restore order. That distinct absence had become permission for these ambitious, bloodthirsty rabble to prove something.

Avarice stood near the center of the sandy pit, silver hair bright beneath the lowering sun, one hand resting at his side, the other lazily turning a saber hilt between his fingers.

He had become a vexing challenge to every plucky upstart Sith hoping to carve out a name before the proper trials for this semester began. Avarice had been publicly denoted as one of Darth Carnifex 's would be apprentices, attendants, pets, or chosen things, depending on which jealous mouth had carried the rumor last. Some had seen him moving in the shadow of the Butcher King like something leashed only by preference. Others remembered him here, trading violence with Varin Mortifer in the red sand before Varin's name had grown too large for the Academy's little games.

That made Avarice seem useful, and it made him hated. Better yet, it made him something the hot blooded students could not quite ignore.

His crimson gaze moved over the gathered faces, pausing on those who looked away too quickly, then on those foolish enough not to.

Avarice let his gaze drift over the gathered faces, pausing on the ones who had already tried to claim the pit for themselves: the boy with the bruised knuckles, the girl who no longer smiled when he looked her way, the tall one who had learned that size made a poor argument on its own.

"Come on, then. Surely one of you has grown braver since breakfast... Although some of you left with a better understanding of your place."

The saber hilt turned once between his fingers. He had collected small trophies from each challenger he defeated, prying off clasps, rings, broken beads, torn strips of House-colored cloth, and any other little vanity they had been foolish enough to wear into the pit. Avarice wore their losses as to add insult to injured pride; a vexing a reminder that pride could be taken apart piece by piece and made into decoration.

 

[Zeptepi Zambrano]

Avarice

'Inspections of the initiates.' The educator loves and hates the whole system. She would rather throw all the hungry prospects into an active volcano, and whoever is the sole survivor, deserves to be handed down the ancient secrets of the Sith. Far too many are simple pawns. All the pompous delusions of grandeur imbued within the psyche of these underlings! How they feel themselves superior and yet knew little of the reach of true Darkside power. But the Empire demands that even the pawns be respected, they are afterall going to die for the Emperor. They deserve ice cream with dinner.

The young General Zambrano had worshipped her Father, Darth Carnifex , from the womb, and welcomed his influence upon her very development. He and Darth Prazutis , a universal most notorious Dyad, had together torn through the veil obscuring diabolical secrets of the Darkside Force. The daughter of a Nightsister, learned in fantastic primeval Magicks, apostasies toward the natural order of Physics, but resulted from the very same Laws although twisted, not much truly impresses her around regular Sith.

She can teach them all she wants, but few will actually master the arts to the magnitude of total control of the Darkside as a true enigma. The blessed blood of such Lords coursing through her veins, and the rituals she underwent, eternal life, proclaiming her devotion to the Eternal Dyad, she has hope for her own expansion of knowledge to the greatest of evolution the Sith have ever produced.

But for now…the universe demands…inspections. As she walks through the training grounds, the General Zambrano sighs to herself, not caring to keep her lack of intrigue a secret from any who might have been watching.

"Who are your troublemakers today?" she asked.

The cyborg drill instructor rattled off a list of names identifying the Acolytes within the arena. "Do you want me to run them off?"

"Oh, no. Let them decide who continues on with their training, and who submits an application to the camps, to flush out escape slaves." Zeptepi paused and corrected her language, "Prisoners," she decided. The term slave hit a sour note among practically every system the Empire…conquored…governs.

The Cyborg chuckled, and zoomed his focal lens onto the acolyte in the center of the pit.
​

 

[Malrik Dren]

The Academy reminded him of another fortress. Not because it looked the same. It didn't. The stone was different. The banners bore another empire. The language spoken in the courtyards belonged to another age. But the eyes… Those never changed. Young men convinced they would conquer the galaxy before the decade was out. Young women already imagining the titles they would one day carry. He had seen those eyes before. Hundreds of times. On worlds whose names had long since disappeared from navigation charts.

Malrik sat among the weathered stone benches overlooking the arena, content to remain another face in the crowd. The silver-haired apprentice below fought well. Good balance. Well trained. Patient enough to let his opponents make mistakes before punishing them. That alone made him worth watching. It was, after all, why Malrik had come. To watch. To learn.

His attention drifted from the blade work to the small collection hanging from the victor's belt. Clasps. Rings. Torn strips of cloth. Trinkets stripped from wounded pride and worn as decoration. A curious custom. "Interesting," he murmured, more to himself than anyone nearby.

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Malrik Dren Zeptepi Zambrano ​

Avarice seemed disinclined to stop, at least not until his little crowd had dwindled and every eager challenger had been properly thrashed and returned to their rightful place beneath his boot. Each defeat only appeared to sharpen his amusement; another trophy claimed, along side another sith-ling striped of their pride left kneeling or sprawled somewhere upon the sands of the fighting pit.

He had no intention of ending this little game of 'king of the ring' unless some would-be authority finally revealed themselves and attempted to spoil his fun.

Perhaps this was simply the nature of the Sith, however… strength invited challenge, and every public display of superiority drew hungry eyes. They would circle, measure, and wait for weakness to strike; then descend upon one another without hesitation.

Avarice merely had the courtesy to make the invitation explicit and open.

"What's the matter… are you scared~?" he taunted lightly, his gaze roaming across those who still lingered at the edge of the pit.

 

[Kaelen Voss]

OBJECTIVE My Arena
Tag: Avarice Malrik Dren Zeptepi Zambrano
​

Kaelen remained among the spectators.
he stood with his arms folded while students crowded shoulder to shoulder around him. Their voices blended into an endless murmur of wagers, rumors, and quiet ambitions.
He listened as the masked mans taunts echoed through the arena below, answered by the cheers of those eager to watch another hopeful be broken. Trinkets clinked softly from the silver haired mans belt as another challenger limped from the sand, pride stripped away along with whatever token Avarice deemed worth keeping.

Kaelen's crimson eyes never left the pit,
Watching every flourish, every movement, studying him.
Avarice was skilled. There was no denying that.
Another student collapsed into the sand.
Another trinket joined Avarice's belt. while the crowd laughed.

He exhaled softly while stepping forward, stepped forward.

Conversations nearest to him faded as those closest to him noticed at first, even more conversations tapering off as he crossed the cracked stone and descended into the red sand. Dust shifted beneath polished black boots with each measured step.
He simply walked until only a few meters separated him from Avarice.
Crimson eyes met crimson eyes.

For a long moment, Kaelen said nothing.

His gaze wandered briefly to the assortment of trophies hanging from Avarice's belt—rings, clasps, torn strips of cloth, little fragments of pride stolen from defeated students. He studied them with clinical disinterest before looking back to their owner.

"If your victories require reminders, Then it seems you fear they'll be forgotten and eventually, You with them."
The crimson gem set into his armor caught the fading sunlight as he straightened.
"Kaelen Voss. Second Cohort. Rank Eleven. If you want someone to fight then i will gladly oblige,
"If I lose, you may add whatever meaningless bauble you find on me to your collection."

"But if I win..."
His eyes drifted once more to the trophies hanging from Avarice's belt.

"...you'll leave this pit wearing none of them."
he said, Placing his hand over the hilt of the lightsaber dangling from his belt

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Malrik Dren Zeptepi Zambrano Kaelen Voss ​

Avarice watched as a singular man stepped out and studied his gait and posture. "Ah…a new challenger approaches. How very bold of you~" Avarice turned his attention toward the gathered students, raising his voice for those lingering along the pit's edge. "Hark, and cast your gazes upon this man. Do not mistake him for your savior, but an opportunist." He flourished the blade and delivered a Makashi style saber salute to the man in turn. " I am known as Avarice.... And these petty little trinkets are not meant to remind me of such small victories…"

A pale finger, tipped in onyx polish, brushed one of the dangling clasps, setting the collection softly clattering. "They are here to remind them." His single lust red eye's gaze passed over the gathered students before settling upon Kaelen once more.

"Although I suppose Second Cohort, Rank Eleven, practically requires a more personal lesson."

Avarice tilted his head, the metal veil of his half mask concealing whatever smile might have formed beneath it. He knew well this man had been memorizing every step he took…

"Though, it would seem I have already occupied more of your thoughts than a 'Rank Eleven' ought to admit."

The saber hilt rolled slowly within his palm as he purred the sentiment trying his hand at some light and 'playful' Dun Moch. Avarice unfastened the trophies from his belt and tossed them into the sand beyond his heel at the edge of the ring.

"Should you win, they are yours to return, destroy, or wear yourself, should you deem them worthy ornaments."

His attention lowered toward Kaelen's insignia.

"Should you lose…I will take something less meaningless than a simple bauble.... In fact.... When you lose, I will take 'Rank Eleven' from you…or whatever little symbol allows you to pretend it means something in your scholarly pursuits and you'll have to explain to your keeper why you failed and how you lost it . . ."

 

[Zeptepi Zambrano]

Reserved...hang on fellas. Post incoming.

 

[Zeptepi Zambrano]

OOOPS.
<.<
Sorry.

Avarice | Malrik Dren | Kaelen Voss | Any Newcomers

Their enthusiasm did spark her intrigue. Looking over the display, she noticed the toss of the trinket from the loser to the winner, as if they were merely entertaining a game of chance. "There had better be more behind the purpose than that," she said moreso to herself, than to the Drill Instructor. "Leave them to it," she commanded him.

Noting the many pieces of adornment donned about the scrawny one in the center, yes, that is you, Avarice the Sith Lord snickered. Her own Mother taught her to snag herself a trophy after a feat; but it was not such simple tokens as these! It was fingertips! Which she would later curse, to demand servitude of the barer, many even after death! The Epicanthix / Nightsister breed would not spill her most unique ways to just anyone. Her Mother taught her to take pride in herself for an aire of mystery.

Sharply she turned her attention to face her faithful Drill Instructor, "What do you think I ought to grant the winner?" she asked, pondering the possibilities. "Knowledge? A new Holcron? An extra hour of free time?" She knew those to be dwelling amongst the student quarters to get into so much trouble when it's nappy time, and they just aren't sleepy. She would give them a free pass to explore anything they wish, instead of end up being tired to their beds. "A ride on my Dreadnaught?!" she chided with a grand genuine smile.

The Drill Instructor was about to reply, which she truly has no interest in hearing. "I know," Zeptepi continued, as she rolled up her sleeves and approached the precipice above her training pit. "Perhaps the gift of giving them something to actually work with," she stated, most pleased with herself. At her spoken word, the Sith outstretched her arms and rubbed together her thumb and fingertips.

A Darkness trailed from Zeptepi's hands and swarmed about her being, the beginning of a raging Force Storm. She motioned her hands to usher the Force towards the center of the pit and descend upon the focussed students. From the land itself, the Darkside awakened and sprung forth, delighting in its own frenzy. She steeped her students in its glorious power. How it would permeate their senses. It granted concentration, ingenuity, swiftness…​

There shall not be clumsy Acolytes in her training pit today!



​

 

[Kaelen Voss]

OBJECTIVE My Arena
Tag:: Avarice
​

Kaelen remained silent until Avarice had finished.


The corners of his mouth curled into the faintest smirk as he finished
"So much talking."

His crimson eyes swept over the half-mask, the discarded trophies, then back to the Sith before him.
"You remind me of a performance, A cheap one at that."

A quiet scoff escaped him.
"You stand in a forgotten pit challenging children beneath your station, collecting scraps of metal and torn cloth while convincing yourself you're building a legacy."
He gestured lazily toward the pile of discarded trophies.

"You've beaten hopefuls. and nothing more."
"You want my rank then come try and get it"

"But if you're coming for my rank then when I win you will submit yourself to me for as long as we are at this academy, in front of everyone here."

With a sharp snap-hiss, his crimson blade ignited.

The point lowered toward the red sands between them as he readied himself, waiting for his attack to come.

 

[Malrik Dren]

The exchange beneath him continued to gather ornaments. Rank. Legacy. Submission.

Each new promise made the coming fight heavier before either blade had moved. Malrik did not begrudge them the performance. Ritual had its purpose. It told the crowd what victory was supposed to mean, and gave the loser something greater than bruises to carry away with them.

Then the woman overlooking the pit rolled up her sleeves. The air changed. Darkness gathered around her hands before spilling down into the arena. It moved through the sand and stone, settling over the two combatants without striking either of them. Malrik did not understand every contour of what she had done, but he recognised its purpose.

She was not attacking them. She was refining them.

His attention sharpened. He leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees as the unfamiliar pressure moved at the edge of his senses.

The silver-haired one fought well. His challenger carried himself with confidence. Both remained worth observing.

Malrik lifted his gaze from the arena and settled it upon the woman above. “Interesting.”

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Kaelen Voss Zeptepi Zambrano Malrik Dren ​

If Avarice was aware of Zeptepi Zambrano watching them, he had yet to make it apparent. His attention remained carefully fixed upon Kaelen Voss , even as the other student raised the stakes.

Greedy creature that he was, Avarice had already sought instruction from several Sith in his own private affaris. Being bound to one overconfident brat with ambitions larger than his station would prove an inconvenient obstacle. Perhaps he ought to forgo the playfulness this time.

He had deliberately slowed himself against the younger, less experienced students, giving each of them room to learn something from the exchange… a lesson offered without explanation, whether they possessed the sense to recognize it or not through their injured pride.

The Force swelled through the ring beneath the storm Zeptepi Zambrano had summoned. Avarice drew in a sharp breath as its power pressed against his senses, then released it with measured controlled ease.

His crimson eye passed over Kaelen before lifting a light glance toward the spectators, as though seeking confirmation that they had all heard the same thing.

“You accuse me of indulging in cheap performances… then challenge me before an audience and demand my submission for the remainder of the term~? How forward of you. Most men wait until after the duel to demand that I belong to them~”

One pale hand settled against his chest.

“Rank Eleven, we have only just exchanged names~”

His head tipped slightly to the side, amusement curling through his voice in a playful purr.

“At least defeat me before you begin planning our future together… or perhaps buy me dinner first. Then you may announce your intentions before the entire Academy~”

With that, the time for talk had passed. Avarice surged forward with terrifying speed, his blade driving into a swift series of probing thrusts aimed at testing Kaelen's guard and forcing him onto the defensive.

 

[Zeptepi Zambrano]

Avarice | Malrik Dren | Kaelen Voss

Zeptepi watched with dissatisfaction as a few of the younger initiates among the crowd appeared to grow nauseated under the shifting weight of the Darkside. She frowned, and taking a step towards the drill instructor, pointed them out. "Pull them and schedule them for immediate evaluation." They will not be moving forward if their connection to the Darkside is unsatisfactory. The Cyborg swiftly activated his comm and relayed her command.

Had the two who stood as stars of the pit not begun to engage one another as they had, the Sith Lord had already begun to formulate her next move. Luckily for them, they knew exactly how to properly respond when the Darkside of the Force sunk into them. These two are no bystanders. She felt how many more of them were sent into a frenzy at her little blessing. The participants shall not be ending today's practices any time soon.



​

 

[Kaelen Voss]

OBJECTIVE My Areana
Tag: Avarice
​

Kaelen didn't respond to the joke as the dark energy flowed through the arena, His eyes seeming to glow brighter as the power surged through them both.

The grin on his face faded as soon as he moved, The sudden burst of speed showed that he was obviously holding back against the hopefuls.

The first thrust came fast, followed immediately by another as he probed Kaelen's defenses, He knew we would use Makashi since he watched the fights earlier,
Kaelen met the first strike with a quick parry. the second guided away with a turn of his wrist,

He gave a single step backward, refusing to let himself be pressured into a mistake by his quick pokes,
"You certainly like talking." he said to him,
Another thrust came.


Kaelen angled his saber just enough for the blades to slide past each other with a sharp hiss. as their crimson blades met,
He had been on the defensive this entire time, but that that changed

As Avarice recovered from his latest thrust, Kaelen stepped in instead of back. his blade parrying his before shifting his feet and going on the attack.
his guard dissolving into something more brutal, something relentless, Now its his turn to be on the defensive, If he can keep it up for long,

Kaelen, parried his thrust, but this time stepped forward, with an aggressive swing after swing, putting the pressure this time on him, using his height and weight advantage to try and press through his defense and try and overwhelm him.

 

[Avarice]

Tags: Kaelen Voss Zeptepi Zambrano Malrik Dren ​

Avarice yielded a step beneath the first heavy swing, then another, his petite black boots tracing a narrow crescent through the red sand. And yet there was no panic in the coy retreat. His posture remained compact, as his crimson blade turned each attack aside with the smallest possible movement. He wasn't trying his hand at contesting Kaelen's strength, but rather letting every heavy handed blow pass him by, redirecting the larger man's momentum into empty air with a small motion that shunted the power off course.

Kaelen possessed the clear advantages of height, reach, and weight, and yet Avarice had spent years learning how little those advantages mattered when one's opponent became predictable.

Each strike offered him another precious glimpse, a small fragment of Kaelen's rhythm: the tightening of his shoulders before a committed swing, or the placement of his forward footing, even the brief opening left whenever aggression outran control. Beneath the mask, his interest grew into something near gleeful fanaticism.

"There you are~"

Avarice's retreat suddenly ceased without warning; Rather than absorb the next blow or shunt it aside, he stepped diagonally inside its path, turning his wrist so the crossguard of his saber sought to catch and carry Kaelen's blade beyond his centerline. His smaller frame rotated beneath the attack, placing his entire body behind the bind while denying Kaelen a clean avenue to press forward.

In the very same motion, Avarice attempted to slip past the larger man's leading side. His crimson blade reversed into a swift, abbreviated cut aimed toward the exposed flank, not lingering long enough to be easily trapped before recoiling into guard.

"You mistake forward motion for control," he murmured, already shifting his footing again. "They are not the same thing~" He chided playfully seeking to goad the taller in to continuing with the aggressive attack, breathing out a soft breath keeping track of his breathing and keeping calm amidst the rolling empowerment of the dark side.