Proof of Their Fall

[Darth Ferus]

"So, this is how he fights?" The voice, accompanied by a yawn, erupted behind [member="Auberon"] and his cousin. The large Zabrak seemingly appeared from nowhere as he stepped up to the group, idly rubbing the back of his neck. His pale blue eyes watched the fight as it continued, the hint of a smile on his lips. There was nothing like a good fight to get the blood pumping after all.

"I'm not too late to watch, right? How long has this been going on?

 

[Vora Kaar]

The fight was rather interesting. One that I was intently watching after my cousin had fallen silent. She stayed there. Likely looking around and watching everything else other than the fight. However, I could even tell she was focusing upon it further with the intensifying of the movements, actions, and even just raw potential that was being used. Saying that these two men knew each other like Echani would, is a compliment. Clearly they had been allies at one point even before here. They were brothers in arms, and that showed with how they clearly opposed one another, but also complimented each further action. Knowing that it was the man in bandages who was supposedly leading the Knights Obsidian, it started to slowly solidify my thoughts on this group. However, I had yet to meet others.

A voice came from behind us. One I had not heard before. Anora almost flashed around. Reaching out a hand to her arm, I steadied her. While I did not turn around, I did answer the question of the man being presented to me, and my cousin.

"Not at all. I feel its only beginning to heat up."

Turning my head a little to indicate I was paying attention to the new person, but also still wanting my focus upon the fight, I continued.

"Auberon. Anora Shaw."

[member="Krest"],

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Echani were always good at making hand to hand look pretty amazing." Krest nodded with his opinion, glancing once to the cousins before back to the fight. Interesting. This was [member="Auberon"] . He stepped beside the pair and casually waved his hand towards the ground. It shook and erupted at his call, forming into what looked like a chair of some kind. With an audible groan the old Zabrak plopped down with a thud.

"Krest Novar. A pleasure to meet you both."

 

[Vora Kaar]

Interesting for him to know of the Echani and their martial arts. More so, I was curious if he trained in that form, or just happened to know a couple? I knew that my Uncle went around the galaxy a couple times, and I for sure know that Anora has done it at least once. Maybe even having others from our own to go through the ringer themselves. Krest Novar as he introduced himself, I bowed my head lightly at the man. I could feel the force flowing from him to begin with. However, the act of creating a chair from the ground itself? Alter Environment, or maybe something else. Not too sure. However, as soon as he did so, I smirked ever so lightly.

"In return Novar."

Anora on the other hand, was still intrigued by the chair. Wondering how he created it. She turned to me, and I shook my head. A rolling of her eyes, only showed me that she had the action down better than myself. Either way, she stood there, likely wanting her own seat.

"Yes. We typically tend to be good at combat. However, there are some who excel above their own kind to be... prime choices. Such as these two, and likely yourself from the sound of it."

[member="Krest"],

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest fell silent and peered over to [member="Auberon"] for a moment. Then another moment. Finally he just burst out into laughter, slapping one of his knees with a resounding smack. "I like you kid. I'm certainly past my prime now, but I appreciate the thought." He continued to chuckle as he caught Anora's gaze. So she wanted a chair too? Well, he could use the exercise. The aged Zabrak raised a hand for the pair and lifted, resulting in a similar effect to what he had done earlier.

The ground split and earth bent to his will to form another two chairs. "You can sit, if you'd like. Wouldn't be right if I was the only one relaxing, hmm?"

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pomsty expected no less a reception from her kin. She immediately identified with [member="Vytal Noctura"]’s awe of being offworld. She bobbed her head knowing no words were truly necessary on the topic; they have each lived unique, sheltered lives, cut off from everything except what the Sith brought them; which was really good, but not the only thing women exist for. Regardless of her recent traumatic experience in learning her true origins, there were times she missed. She missed her innocence really. Learning she was a cloned reincarnation and actually meeting someone from her past life, her husband to be exact, was the absolute most difficult information she ever dealt with. So far the entire galaxy has produced absolutely nobody who can empathize with her internal struggle. Will there ever be a release for her? Is it perhaps in [member="Darth Metus"]’ instruction? Should she perform an apostasy and create her own Phobis Device? If she only knew what exactly it is out here that she is looking for. There is no escape from the thoughts that exist inside her own head. She is most likely to run herself like madd into ruin just to unlearn this fact about herself.

“Vytal, you have no idea just how happy I am to see you!” Her eyes almost teared, to which she intently focused on the fighting before them, anything but to deal with her thoughts.

Back on Dathomir, Pomsty was an unscrupulous tease regarding the attentions poured out by the hopeful Nightbrothers. They fawned over her for a glimpse into her Grimoires. There was never one who did not come calling without the intentions of playing her game. Every now and again she would feast upon a lucky soul, a random choice who merely happened to knock, on the right evening. How he would fight to try to be chosen for a second time. She harbors a tad unkind view on men because of her empty experiences, but that’s her culture. And just maybe she hasn’t met the right one yet, someone who plays harder at the game. Had she any inkling that even her husband of her past incarnation could love her for who she is today and not who she was in her past life, she would have explored his attentions further, but then she never would have sauntered into CIS space. She estranged herself from him, but not before knowing him. That chapter in her life ended more badly than anticipated, practically a year ago. Could anyone be her current conquest, she kept it to herself. Pomsty is not one to go about openly unguarded of her deepest emotions. She did however find herself passionately rooting for [member="Alkor Centaris"]. Why wouldn’t she have? She had worked with him before and never even met his opponent.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

The men could tend to themselves. Was that not the way of things? Their Clan did not abuse the Nightbrothers. They were given everything they needed, and provided comfort when they demonstrated their worth to a Sister. Vytal herself had entertained one in her adolescence. Though there had been little time afterward for such things; not that any noticed. In developing and later perfecting her Compulsion Art it had been necessary to solicit volunteers. At times others in the clan could see her with a male like any partners might. What they didn't know was it did not end upon bed sheets in seclusion. The first few had been awkward given Vytal could not suppress their memory of the affair. Not using her magick anyway. A potion and a threat of eternal harm helped seal their lips instead.

Since departing home Vytal had been wary of entertaining aliens. A few Sisters that had followed had indulged their curiosities with none being the worse for it. As their leader, however, Vytal did not want to be too frivolous with her time. Being with her coven away from home was all the affection necessary to keep going forward. Now she'd found [member='Pom Stych Tivé'] again. The minx. They could only serve to bolster one another's spirit out here among so many strange and often lesser creatures.

Vytal's eyes lingered with the other woman even as Pomsty focused on the fight. After a moment, the Nightsister's pale hand was laid atop of Pomsty's. "We are always here for you, Pom. We do not abandon our Sisters." Her fingers gently curled about the other woman's hand. It was in the voice. In her eyes. The intensity of her stare. And in her posture. Something troubled Vytal's Sister. A woman that had left Dathomir ahead of the five that formed the Fates of Midnight. What had Pomsty borne witness to or what trials had she weathered? Who did Vytal need to torture to set things right?

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn stays mindful of their shrieking lightsabers twisting in conflict and then separation, as his fist ejects Alkor from the clinch up. An impressive display of footwork again on Alkor’s part prevents him from taking a trip through the dust. His own reaction to the rush of adrenaline mirrors Alkor’s. He sucks a wad of blood down from his nostrils, gargling it, and spitting it out into the sand. A maniacal smile flashes back. Teeth and gums caked with blood and his nose irritatingly broken. Breathing through his mouth was taking a less than desired effect as sand, blood, and mucus were all piling down his throat with every swallow of air.

With a flourish his lightsaber hilt spins from his left hand to his right again in the traditional grip. His relentless march against [member="Alkor Centaris"] continues as his feet pound the sand and he draws the lightsaber across his body at waist level. As he enters his optimal range of engagement a back handed slash lashes out. He keeps the blade close to his body for every moment up until it sweeps across from left to right, blade singing in to cut Alkor in half.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor met the advance head on, sparing no time to burn off the heightened adrenaline. Combat high was the closest thing to pure bliss, and it narrowed the focus of the fighter. Combined with the seething rage and burning pain in his torso, the movements of the smaller man showed no less ferocity than his aggressor. The Corellian brought his blade narrowly across at waist level, letting it clash with Hevn's powerful stroke Midway up the saber. Firmly, his body angled the weapon down, and they glanced off of one another. Forehand for backhand.

Now, retaliate.

Alkor stepped with the flow of the blade, letting the momentum carry him through and away from the possibility of a brutal riposte. His weapon thrummed around in a half circle and then down in a diagonal from right shoulder toward left hip, intending to either force Hevn backward, or meet him head on when the next strike came.

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She watched Alkor although arena fighting isn’t exactly her thing. She admired the demonstration for the sheer experience and art that it is. The men on her planet did such things, quite brutally, so this was not entirely alien as a sport. It is just that the women were raised being more subtle in their plights. They learned to fight with their mind.

Pom could see the passionate expression upon [member="Alkor Centaris"]’s visage. He seemed to be reliving a moment from his own past, digging up his own demons. She witnessed his internal struggle firsthand during their first mission together. While she did not understand what turmoil burst forth from his spirit then, she never forgot it. She has no idea what power makes him, but whoever he dug up that day, or better yet whatever had been pulled forth from him, it made him more real in her mind. He had something she identified with.

[member="Vytal Noctura"]’s concentrated presence bore into Pomsty’s unbalanced aura. She did not have a clue how she could ever explain what had happened since she left Dathomir. She has not been able to speak the words aloud yet. She feared that regardless of how much they had built between them as clan sisters, Pomsty would paint such a terrible atrocious picture of herself that Vytal could forever after see nothing else other than it. Pomsty herself could not escape her own chastisement. How could she expect Vytal to overlook the truth? Pomsty imagined nothing could ever arise that would willingly draw this news out of her!

“It’s all good, Vytal. I promise. It’s just a mood of mine. I’ve missed so much. Discovering you here is good medicine for it!” She never thought she’d see anyone of her family ever again, especially not out this far from Dathomir.

Perhaps her deepest sadness lies more on the lines of her awareness that she can never go home again, and yet there is no place like it, not anywhere.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

A mood? Vytal hoped Pomsty didn't believe her Sister would fall for that. It had been a time since their last parting, but not so long that Vytal forgot the other woman. "And I have a great deal left to learn," her reply followed by a small smile. "Perhaps you could could be my guide?" If being together again was medicinal then Vytal saw no need to cut their reunion short. Sooner or later she'd learn what troubled Pomsty. There was enough patience to find the right moment to strike in the rebellious Nightsister.

Vytal turned her head forward, but her eyes still lingered with Pom Stych Tivé at her side. A quick check on the men below whose prowess certainly seemed of a caliber above most, but little else. The Nightsisters -- Vytal's only family -- were everything to her. Set the entire galaxy ablaze and so long as her clan survived, Vytal would have no complaints. Harm one of them in any way, and she would make the offending party beg for their end. This wide, open galaxy was too nice to its creations. Too soft. She would show her enemies and those of her family a taste of Dathomir.

If she were to spare a moment to appreciate the fight once more, however, the pale woman might wonder what it was like wielding one of those blades. Was it light or heavy? What could it slice through? A blow earlier showed it handled flesh could easily. Practically no reduction in momentum. How long did this sword of light remain lit? Swords her clan could handle. Such weapons might be of value.

 

[Djonas Vile]

Djonas could not hold back a slight chuckle as Alwine questioned him. "This place has history, great space for whatever kind of fight you could want, and the heat ain't so bad. Besides, this is training, not showing off. We are here not for entertainment, but to see how well our fresh Knight can handle himself. Apparently, the Knight Commander sees great strength in him. I'm enthused to see why." Djonas explained. He watched the duel go down the way it did, keeping a close eye on the movements of the two and how each adapted to one another's fighting style. All of it was very familiar to him, reminding him of his younger years battling alongside the Sith.

Occasionally Djonas' sand toned eyes would look over to Alwine to admire her while internally chuckling at her silent judging of the event. "Are you not entertained, Executor? I felt that something like this would be right up your alley. Perhaps you are more than just your title as I initially thought." the thyrsian stated, turning to look at her. "Every moment with you I learn something new. I enjoy it." Djonas said before looking back at the duel.

[member="Alwine Lechner"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn’s saber shrieks as it is deflected once again by the red blade of [member="Alkor Centaris"]. As his own blade clears the width of his waist, his right hand chokes up, and left hand grips the hilt towards the bottom. Swiftly he twists his wrists toward his left, and the tip of his lightsaber meets Alkor’s before it can find his shoulder or face. Giving Alkor’s blade an extra shove, Hevn circles to his right trying to take Alkor’s left flank. He jabs his blue lightsaber blade out to stab Alkor’s left arm in the bicep region, and firmly balances his feet and grip of the lightsaber for whatever action his opponent would take next.

It wasn’t quite a mirror match, but it was evident neither warrior has deviated much from the training of the Jen’jidai. Alkor was much too fast to risk anything quick or fancy against without the power of the force to aid him. Hevn deduces that the most logical path to follow was to continue pressuring, oppressing, and attempting to fatigue his enemy. While his nose was awfully sore, his gasping breathes were doing enough to maintain him for now. Slowly his lungs were growing heavy with the task of keeping up, but his adrenaline held strong against any semblance of tiring.

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The overhand strike parried exquisitely, Hevn put pressure back into Alkor in order to mitigate the possibility of a quick, thin riposte. With a lightsaber, even the most slight of strikes had the potential to cripple, a skill that the faster styles exploited to their favor. While it lacked the stunning brutality of Alkor's Juyo, Hevn's Djem-so was efficient in its own way.

The smaller Jen'jidai could taste the pain radiating off of Hevn. In the same way his opponent utilized his own suffering to augment himself, Alkor was not above a display of sadistic vampirism. His own pain, coupled with his Brother's, irradiated his being with virulent energies. Like a drug, he took it in greedily, and the euphoria became evident in his movements.

His expression had shifted from monotony to something between excitement and glee. Dilated pupils, bared canines, bloodied spittle seeping from between gritting teeth- he was every bit a monster.

Alkor turned his own elbow up, flicking the blade a full 90° downward as Hevn pressured in, releasing the resistance of his own weapon to hopefully bait a step forward in the event Bedrovelse off balanced himself. A wasted effort in that regard, but Hevn's thin thrust met with plasma instead of meat.

Hardly a victory.

He flicked his wrist around quickly, bringing the blade around in a tight arc toward Hevn's chest, from the other man's left as he stepped to his own right to stay square with [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Look how far you’ve come. I can still see you on your knees, Corellian. Dead eyes boring into your own reflection in the blade of my sword. Ripping your flesh. Carving it. Etching my spell into your skin.

There was no trace of that man now. Save for the bandages that scoured his form, and the tattoos forced upon his slender frame. There was a lion in the place of the spider. No less deadly or effective, but bolstered by a courage and ferocity he had never seen Alkor wield so keenly as now. Where this monster once lurked, it would now stand, declaring itself for all the jungle to challenge. Alkor has found the will and might of a king.

Had [member="Alkor Centaris"] even had this wicked look upon his face when they slaughtered Muunilinst? Or was finding Hevn a flavor sweeter than vengeance? His eyes glint with something resembling pleasure. The trickling blood seemed to tickle him. He was inhaling the essence of battle and letting the high carry him to new heights of lethality.

Hevn is a passionate fighter. The roar of his attack a few moments ago still tickling his blood soaked throat. Yet within the fires of this moment his blade is tempered and fire cooled. He could spare no rash action or misguided maneuver against an opponent of this caliber. His icy gaze remains fixated and alert upon Alkor’s body and weapon. His face is calm and composed, even despite the gash in the center of his face and the crumbled remnants of his breathing mask. Even labored breaths invigorated him to rise to the challenge of his brother’s skill.

As their blades connect, Hevn’s patience prevails. He draws his lightsaber upright and charges. Alkor’s slash is met by a wall of blue light as Hevn tilts his wrists to the left to stop the red blade from reaching him. Hevn’s right hand releases the hilt, his left poised to deflect another lightsaber blow, and throws a hard right hand punch at Alkor’s sternum hoping to compound on the damage to his torso.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

“I am reminded every day how little I actually know out here. I would be a bad teacher because I haven’t changed a thing about myself. There are some unspoken rules I apparently break daily. Don’t you do that either. Don’t you learn to be like them. I will kick your arse. You will see them sigh at you and ignore your presence, it’s because they are afraid they don’t know squat about the Nightsisters. What they do know, they learned through heresay, and it’s in our favor. Some say we don’t know poodooe, that their skills are better. I say, let’s keep it that way, keep them in the dark about us. I mean,” she waved her arm towards the arena, “just look at the way they treat eachother!” Pomsty sat back in her seat in a huff, “Yet they label us some subsect!”

Pomsty watched the Darkside consume both men in the arena. She wondered if they fed off the crowd for their strength. It would have been only natural if they did. Pomsty felt the welcome sensation of home radiate within this place.

She hoped to turn Vytal’s focus to the fight. “I wish I knew their story. They both feel like they have lost themselves in this. Both feeling inherently dark, aren’t they then on the same side? The way I see it, usually that the dark fight the light.” She voiced her most simplistic interpretation. “By the way, I have been in this light and it literally causes my flesh to singe in ringlets of fire! It’s source can’t be all that good.”

A service robot rounded in front of Pom with concessions. She recently sold a bundle of love potion infused chocolates and therefore she bought a nice spread for herself and [member="Vytal Noctura"]. The droid reached towards the armrest between them, and pushed a single button which caused a tray top to slide up and center between them. It deposited Pom’s purchase and moved on down the rows of spectators.

Pom waved her wrist to Vytal inviting her to enjoy as much as she likes. “You know, they say there is different style names in how men wield these light sticks. I don’t know about you, but I just don’t see it. Besides, what difference does it make? The outcome is the same...death.”

She knows thousands of spells, potion incantations, and demons by name, but the customs shared among the rest of the galaxy completely perplexes her. Their attitudes even more so. “How do you think that little cylinder holds confined that incredible light, which I can only liken to that of a blaster?”

 

[Asaraa Vaashe]

"Tapas?" The question drew the pink-haired Jedi's attention over from arena before them the show. She could till hear the heavy footfall of the two men as they battled across the sand, the hum of their lightsabers slicing through the air. It was a display of combat mastery the like of which she'd rarely seen before, the sort of exhibition match which she'd always hoped to see, just maybe in a slightly more hospitable environment. Asaraa enjoyed the sand as much as anyone else, though she did prefer it on the beach rather than blowing against her skin like little grains intent on scouring the flesh from her bones. Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite that bad, but she could think of more pleasant climates, speaking of...she gave Kurenai a wry smile, "I don't think Knight Commander Centaris would have brought us here if we're just supposed to use the force to avoid it...at least I didn't think so," she admitted staring around at the other attendants...none of them seemed much put out by the environment. The girl took a look at herself, the touch of her mind sloughing the sand off her body in a waterfall like cascade. "I guess it doesn't make sense not to use what we can right?"

[member="Kurenai Yumi"]

 

[Miras Tinup]

I lounge at the very bottom level of seating that surrounds the arena, elbows propped atop the railing, fingers interlaced beneath my chin.

Watching.

The sun beats down on my exposed skin, bringing a flush to its normally pallid hue and glinting off the tattoos that cover my bare arms and torso. Sand, broken free from the arena floor by its occupants and born in my direction by a stifling breeze, pelt against me like razors. Even if I wasn't enthralled by the spectacle before me, I wouldn't feel any of it.

But I am. Before I was broken on Thyferra, I had been confident in the knowledge that I was quite possibly the most skilled fighter in the galaxy. I'd bested everyone who ever made the mistake of standing against me- Jedi, Sith, champions of foreign warrior cultures, duelists and assassins by the handfuls- and never even broke a sweat. But this was...something more.

Art.

Economy of motion at its peak. No movement wasted on elegance or a flair for the dramatic or flamboyant. Each strike a killing blow, masterfully executed and lightning fast. Each evasion a tactical maneuver to gain the upper hand. The Knight Commander's movements were erratic at first glance- you had to look closely with a skilled eye to see the deadly interwoven pattern, but it was there. A deadly web spun by a natural hunter. A spider luring in its prey, waiting for a misstep.

One that might never come, if I'm correct in my assessment of his opponent. A hulking titan of a man who fought in a much more direct manner than my benefactor. Like the Commander, you had to look closely to understand the genius- and I don't use that word lightly- of his movements. What at first appeared to be plodding, straight forward attacks were in reality a display of brutal cunning the likes of which I've never seen before. Each blow is struck with colossal force, but he retains strategic awareness, using each thundering movement to reposition himself, set up his next attack, and push forward. Severing each strand of the web just as fast as the spider could spin it.

I am in awe. Deaf to the chatter of those around me, insensate in more ways than one to all external stimuli save the scuff of boots on sand and the snarl of tangling lightsabers.

I make up my mind right then: I won't rest until I am their equal.

[member="Alkor Centaris"] [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal laughed at Pomsty's threat. A soft hum followed as the Nightsister lounged back in her seat listening to [member='Pom Stych Tivé']. "Let them believe what they will. We will prove ourselves to those that matter and reap the rewards for our effort." And if they were not even given that chance, then the Nightsisters would simply take what they wanted. One way or another, Dathomir's future would be assured. They would not be relics to the past subject to the whims of -- what was that tactic some loathed? -- orbital bombardment, or waves of a droid army. Lifeless constructs would not silence the keepers of a Secret Darkness many sought to learn of, but few truly understood. All their teachings were was a curiosity to offworlders. They missed its true potential too eager to claim its power. Such was Vytal's belief, despite her lack of personal involvement with such people.

"There are no sides in the dark." Vytal turned her attention back to Pomsty despite her Sister's hope to distract her with talk of sweaty, bloodied men in a pit. "Except those the Nightsisters and brothers make for themselves." They were fiercely loyal to their clans, and even coexisted with other clans. Usually. Unless their Mother was too weak to keep the clans united; then there was something in the failing of the clans not to see reason -- they were stronger together than apart.

Pomsty's mention of the Light interested the other Sister, however. Its touch was like fire? How strange. Whenever someone spoke of this Light Side and Dark Side philosophy they always touted the peace and tranquility of the Light. How the energies of the universe brought peace or discord escaped Vytal. Perhaps they meant by the hand of the Fanged God and Winged Goddess. "Where did you find this 'Light?'" Vytal inquired, genuinely curious of this other 'Side' people spoke of.

Drawing forth a tray between the two woman was both sudden and after the surprise wore off vexing. It kept Vytal that much further separated from her Sister. With the invitation to share, however, Vytal stuffed the inconvenience aside and slowly retrieved a sample. It would be rude to refuse a gift. "They have much time," she replied before taking a small bite. Most sentients lived in worlds were they did not need to fear being eaten by beasts; it gave them plenty of time to do whatever fancy struck them. Vytal continued after she'd swallowed, "Developed entire combat arts, much as we did magick. Does it make a difference?" Her eyes strayed back to the duel for a long moment. "In the right hands." An inexperienced fighter would just be swinging a stick in elaborate motions mimicking something others had spent years honing. Truthfully, it was all a bit mysterious and her tone reflected as much confusion as Pomsty had in her question. Someday one of those would be her's and then she would know whether they were worth pursuing. Otherwise, a good spear or her claws were enough to bring down a foe.

"If they even knew of magick," Vytal trailed off before laughing softly a moment later. No, those cylinders did not use magick to contain and release the power. Their inner workings were truly a mystery. Blasters stored and released energy -- though again, Vytal didn't understand how -- but these lightswords? "Have you held one? I wonder how heavy they are. They seem to swing them so easily."

 

[Kurenai Yumi]

Kurenai kept a keen eye on the match below, she did have to admit both were quite good fighters, the early parts of the duel seeming like child's play to their current clashing. Guess that was how these duels went, more trying to give a good show to the crowd and not just trying to beat their opponent like other matches. Perhaps in the future she'd be able to duel either of the men in the arena, both seemed like worthy opponents to face, maybe provide a challenge she could learn something new from. Her attention only being drawn away from the match as her conversation partner continued to talk, "I would not give to much thought into it, I belive the only reason we are here is due to the arenas historical noting". Sitting in the hot sun watching a duel didn't seem like any sort of profitable training, more so when those in attendance where not all apart of the Obsidian Knights. "As an old saying goes, never look a gift bantha in the mouth".

[member="Asaraa Vaashe"]