Round 2: Prison Break (Sage Bane vs. Melori Raaf)

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The towering structure had seen much use through the years; first the Trade Monarch and his Council with their endless enemies, then the Republic sympathizers who had thought to hide within the abandoned building, and now… now the Sith had come.​

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Like always, they put down the stagnant, wounded beast and brought in monsters of their own making; where crumbling permacrete once stood now loomed imposing walls, kept safe and impenetrable by sentient and technological eyes alike. Those thrown into the depths of the reborn hellhole would not see the light of day again unless the Sith willed it so, for the interior of the prison was built like a fortress of the old. The architect may have very well been paying homage to Prakith.​

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That was, of course, once the renovation was completed. Presently, the jail was in no condition to house those unlucky enough to avoid summary execution by the ever-forgiving judiciary system reintroduced on the reformed Core worlds. As a way to test both the ability of the apprentices and the edifice itself, the powers that be had elected to send the pair into the prison that would see them emerge either stronger… or broken.​

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Sage Bane would find himself at the bottom again, locked into a cell that a small Hutt would be hard-pressed to squeeze into. In contrast, Melori Raaf would be placed into one at the very top of the structure, afforded as little room as her fellow Acolyte. Their goal would remain simple as ever; defeat the other. The pair would soon discover that their environment wasn't conducive to that end, however, not in the very least because the doors of their cells were locked. The building was old, and the Sith hadn't gotten around to replacing the bars yet, meaning that the unforgiving Time might have left its mark upon the once unyielding durasteel. Nature's mercy is a double edged sword, however, and the two opponents would have to navigate an intricate system of bridges and stairs connecting the many levels of the structure, many of which had been eroded and weakened by the elements.​

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[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Melori Raaf"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]​

 

[Sage Bane]

And they brought in monsters of their own making...

The staccato rap of boots on duracrete. The hissing of a cell door. The ring of an alarm that signaled the match had begun. In his head, Sage Bane added a few extras, like the wet pop of the Sith soldier’s eyes as he pressed his thumbs into the man’s sockets, and the thump of his body hitting the floor. It would be a fine accompaniment to the music that begun his next round in the One Sith Tournament of the Acolytes. It took all of Sage’s restraint to keep himself from fighting tooth and nail against the Sith soldier who marched him down into the basement of the structure and shoved him into the claustrophobic cell of the Neimoidian Prison. Freedom was more necessity than luxury to the former slave, like taking a breath or quenching a thirst, and the absence of it made his blood churn with rage in time to the sounds of screaming in the back of his mind.

Save it. Nurture it. Release it the minute you see a flash of the other’s skin and hear a faintly beating heart.

Letting his hands wander along the walls of the dim cell, looking for a way to quietly manipulate the door, the illusionist found no easy mechanism to telekinetically ply, and so his hand automatically moved to his belt, seeking out his familiar blade.

Sage thumbed the activation switch on his lightsaber and called the Force into his body, letting it pulse through his form. With a preternatural edge in his strength, he let out a sharp grunt as he took a massive swing at the bars. Red sparks flashed as the saber made impact with corroded, rusty metal. Sage cringed every time the noise echoed through the structure and betrayed his position, but finally after four swings and a loud “ha!” he cleaved through the bars enough to slip through. He switched off his lightsaber, placing it back on his belt, and carefully climbed through the mangled bars, a starving wolf released from his cage.

The towering structure of the Neimoidian Prison was a cavernous maze of stairs, bridges, and crumbling former glory, as well as a hazardous place for two Acolytes to fight. There were railings over which bodies could be flung. Stories of stairs down which a broken-necked body could be thrown, only to land with arms and legs at unnatural angles. Here in this place, gravity worked.

Fighting up high could be a death sentence, but staying on the lower levels could also be a disadvantage. Strategically, the middle of the tower might be the best place to engage. Keeping his body activated to sense subtle shifts in the Force, whether fragments of ragged fear or kisses of sweet malice, Sage began to orbit around the prison like a phantom moon, looking for signs of life. The wolf began to prowl.

My, what big teeth you have. All the better to eat you up, my dear.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

The Sith soldier took her to the very top of the structure. She took note where he walked boldly and where he was more careful as he stepped. Local knowledge on an unfamiliar planet was never a bad thing. She went meekly, her features obscured by her robe, her sleeves touching the floor as she walked. She saw no value in wasting emotion now – certainly not with this underling. So she followed him until he placed her in the cramped cell, a room so low she could not stand up straight in it.

No words were exchanged but as he locked her in, he afforded her a toothy grin and a snicker. Clearly he found her predicament amusing. To her credit, she allowed his last thoughts to be happy ones as her left hand raised and under her hood, her blue eyes instantly changed to a deep yellow and red faux-lightning arced from her hands through the viewing port and struck him in the face. Feeling suitably ‘refreshed’ she didn’t even hear his limp body hit the floor before she was meditating.

The planet she was on. The title of the abandoned building she was in. The name of her opponent. The endless varieties of insects she was sharing not only the cell with, but by the sensations she was feeling, the very clothes she sat in. None of these things mattered. Instead Melori focused on what was important.

Her first thought was that her opponent had clearly bested someone to be here. That made him a formidable foe. Next she checked off the tools at her disposal – she had few, but on the plus side, it allowed her to focus on what she knew.

She could sense nobody nearby and so took the time to think through her approach. This was no sprint, it would be a contest won by being the last Sith standing, not by striking the first blow. A recent journey to Ambria had taught her a degree of patience – and it would be foolhardy to ignore what her Master had spent so long instilling in her. Her Master had looked to temper her hatred – or at least refocus it – but her pride and arrogance had previously spilled into recklessness and so her Master had pointed her at the life of Darth Maul, so she might learn the lesson for herself, but also trained her by using those infernal little reptiles too!

So she sat and considered her options. She wore her now traditional black. Robes and loose fitting desert-like garb and a collared coat, belted at the waist. The large hood was still pulled over her head and her long sleeves draped on the floor. Her saber was clipped to her belt and her gloves were currently tucked away. Her eyes were closed as she meditated, cross-legged on the floor – as much by necessity due to the cramped conditions in her cell.

She sensed her surroundings again, the building was sturdy but the durasteel weakened, the concrete crumbling in places. An alarm sounded – no doubt signalling the match had begun. If there was one thing in her favour, it was a simple but important one – she had the higher ground.

Exiting the cell was her first priority and in truth there was one very simple solution – and Melori liked simplicity. Her eyes snapped open and she knelt forward and drew her saber, the curved hilt fitting snugly in her hand. A snap-hiss later and the crimson blade was able to slowly and efficiently cut around the lock until with a dull thud it fell outwards – no doubt the guard’s body was right outside. She gave the door a shove and realised she was right and so her eyes flashed yellow as she lifted the corpse and flipped it away, allowing her to open the door unimpeded.

She toyed with the idea of pitching the body over the walkway – by means of a demonstration but decided it was both too showy and also would telegraph her arrival.

So she slowly and carefully retraced her steps, stopping every now and then to listen and sense. She also replayed her journey in her mind, wondering where the best spot for an ambush might be.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"]

 

[Sage Bane]

Corridors and ramps wound upwards, and Sage climbed them, carefully avoiding the prison's many hidden pitfalls. There was one harrowing place where a bridge connecting two of the levels had decayed, and he had to vault to the other side, a jump that he nearly missed. The prison was so silent and barren of life, that Sage almost welcomed the sight of large black centipedes skittering into the shadows and the tapping sounds of dripping water. There was something else stirring in the darkness. A ripple in the Force that told him his opponent was up there preparing, plotting, sensing. His mouth slid into a vicious smile. Standing before a long corridor lined with cells much like the one he’d been locked in, Sage thumbed the switch on his lightsaber, and with a hum and a crackle, the red blade dissipated.

Gripping the hilt of his weapon, Sage marched down the corridor of cells, deliberately rattling the hilt of his saber against the metal bars. The ensuing clattering echoed loudly through the tower, and spiraled to the ceiling. The prison had excellent acoustics. Perhaps he would exploit them to their fullest. Sage raised his head to gaze up at the floors above. The other Acolyte had to be up there. Somewhere.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!” he shouted as he beat the pommel against the corroded metal in time to his words. “Come out and fight me!”

“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he added with a snarl. “If you don’t come out, I will find you, haul you out of your hole, and SNAP YOU IN TWO!”

Mind games were Sage’s favorite past time, and he cast a jaundiced eye on those who denied him the pleasure of the sport, such as the mute swan he had faced in his previous round. A brief childhood memory flashed into his head, a boy strangling another boy with his own slave chain, and then blaming the action on another child, who was promptly executed for murder.

Sage desperately hoped his opponent wanted to play.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: Win baby
Theme: Patience

patience
[pey-shuh ns]

noun
1. the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like:
“Melori waited with patience whilst her opponent became more agitated”
2. an ability or willingness to suppress restlessness or annoyance when confronted with delay:
“Melori could have waited all day with perfect patience whilst her opponent would no doubt grow frustrated with inactivity”
3. quiet, steady perseverance; even-tempered care; diligence:
“Melori knew that patience was a key factor in the fight – and she would use it to her full advantage”

Neeks. In one sense good for nothing. They weren’t cuddly, interesting to look at and they didn’t even taste that good. But if they had one saving grace it was that they taught you patience. Yes, Melori’s Master had subjected her to the same test Rain had endured all those centuries ago. It was a boring, mind-numbing and at the time entirely futile lesson. But instead of being over with in a few hours, it had lasted for days – or rather days that stretched into weeks. It was the hardest lesson she’d ever endured – but as was often the case – it was the one that had the most impact.

Sitting, waiting for a Neek to gain confidence in you sufficiently to follow you was arguably the most mind-numbing thing possible. Sitting in a cross-legged position from dawn until dusk every day trained the mind to accept that sometimes what you wanted didn’t come quickly.

So as she slowly wound her way down the stairs and ramps, she was equal parts careful and quiet. Many Sith liked to play mind-games, she was aware of that. Her response came naturally to her and was, in a sense, forged by her fascination with Darth Maul. Her choice was to remain silent. Even during the most frenetic of training sessions, when she was enduring painful saber scars, she allowed not one sound to exit her lips. Even her breathing was quiet. And her extensive rehabilitation since the coma had included daily dance sessions to improve her Makashi balance and footwork – she’d already worn out three pairs of ballet slippers due to her relentless schedule. So even in her boots, her step was almost silent.

Of course, he’d sense her – that couldn’t be helped – as she could sense him now. But there was a difference between believing someone was there and knowing it.

And then she heard it, the sound of metal on metal. Her opponent had started his mind-games no doubt. It was pleasing to her for him to confirm precisely where he was – confirming what the Force had already told her. As the sounds echoed in the silence she afforded herself a small smile. This was going to be fun.

“Come out, come out wherever you are! Come out and fight me! You’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Was that a snarl? Was that for dramatic effect or were his own mind-games working against him? Did he need feedback for them to work?

“If you don’t come out, I will find you, haul you out of your hole, and SNAP YOU IN TWO!”

Oh, he was angry all right. And such a waste of emotion and energy in her opinion. For Melori could have been reading a datapad on the flora and fauna of the planet right now, such was her level of intensity. In fact, it might be useful – to know if those long black insects with what seemed liked a hundred legs were poisonous. Or edible?

Yes, she was sure there was a hint of desperation in his voice. The stakes were raised slightly. This was actually going to be a lot of fun.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"]

 

[Sage Bane]

When no opponent dropped down from above or blasted him with a wave from behind, Sage assessed his situation with the analytic mind he had inherited from his slicer father. It seemed that Sage had gotten paired with another shrinking violet who wanted to play the waiting game. Ah well, he had other tricks that would make this one scream.

In order to stem the oppressive silence, Sage sent out another burst of telekinetic energy through the air of the prison, an attempt to suss out his adversary’s position more clearly. It would take a very practiced Acolyte to fully hide a signature from him. He himself wasn’t able to completely mask his presence after all. No matter. He wanted to be found. The other didn’t. Chill bumps appeared on his skin as a shimmer of another being soon returned to him. If he sensed correctly, his emotionless opponent was somewhere a few stories above him. Making barely any footfalls, Sage began to pad upwards again, winding his way up a few more levels, pacing himself so that his deathstick-ravaged lungs didn’t tighten up painfully. His rival was likely expecting another outburst, but he promised to be anything but predictable in this fight. Before, the wolf howled. This time he would stalk.

As he got closer to the location he had sensed, he saw her. Illuminated by a stray beam of natural light, and through a haze of floating dust motes, Sage caught a glimpse of dawn-kissed hair and a flash of white skin. He slid behind a durasteel beam, and then peered out to get a longer look. She was a young and striking thing, with a lithe dancer’s body and an arrogant pout. He wished he could rend whatever sadistic Sith Lord it was who kept pairing him with beautiful blond Acolytes. Whoever it was, they must have known that attractive creatures were one of his weaknesses.

Sage committed the lovely Acolyte’s looks to memory as her corporeal form would serve as the underpainting for his illusion. Eyes sealed shut, his thin fingers began to move in the air, as if he were spinning silk on a loom. Calling upon powerful Sith magic, the kind that his Master, Matsu Xiangu had taught him, Sage wove waves of visual stimulation onto the young woman's brain. It was possible she would resist the illusions, as the mindforms tended to be less powerful on fellow Force users, and harder to sustain. But he felt certain that she would get at least a few glimmers of it, given her apprentice status, maybe more. If she did manage to recognize and attempt to dispel them, it would take some concentration on her part.

If the illusions fooled her, his opponent would begin to see large, infected-looking pustules forming on her hands and arms along with patches of black, gangrenous skin flaking off. The pustules would burst, oozing blood and white viscous liquid. Her lungs would begin to feel as if they were filling with the same fetid soup, slowly thickening as it clotted in her windpipe. Her breathing would not be hampered in reality, but if she believed the mind trick, she would begin to choke as if it were. His fingers still kneading invisible shapes, he opened his eyes and with his fullest concentration on sustaining her waking dream, he watched what happened.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: Aiming for the 1 in that W column
Theme: Lookin’ after number one

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qbi3VFR0sU4

‘If I want something I get it
Don’t matter what I have to do
I’ll step on your face, on your mother’s grave
Never underestimate me, I’m nobody’s fool

Don’t wanna be like you
Don’t want live like you
Don’t wanna talk like you, at all

I’m gonna be like
I’m gonna be like
I’m gonna be like ME!’

Melori sensed the other Acolyte searching for her. She expected it and knew she couldn’t hide from them. They both knew broadly where each other were at any given point – but as they both seemed to be moving, it was like a snapshot. Useful but you never knew how much the picture was out of date – unless you focused purely on updating the map, which was both wasteful in terms of energy and focus.

But the noisy adversary from before was suddenly quiet. Was he switching tactics or was this always his game-plan? Regardless, she now donned the gauntlets she recovered with her master from Korriban and enjoyed the feel of the black scales on her pale skin as she sensed the Dark-sided power pulse through her – she had never felt so strong.

A faint breeze lifted her hood temporarily and she was aware that a stray beam of natural light caught her flush in the face. Allowing the hood to now fall naturally onto her back, she narrowed her eyes. Something was wrong. Not since that Hutt had invaded her body on Coruscant had she felt anything like it. Then it felt like a combination of insects and smoke had crawled under her skin – and all to deliver a simple message telepathically.

Once more her skin felt uncomfortable. Or rather she had the sensation it looked so – but as she was covered from neck to toe in clothing that made no sense. But then she felt it – her lungs were being affected – as if someone were filling them with some gelatinous liquid that was affecting her breathing. Suddenly she was gasping for air.

She thought about what her Master had taught her and of the abilities of the Sith she’d been ordered to study – Maul, Tyranus, Bane, Zannah, Kressh. It felt like some variation of Force Wound – for which she had no real defence – but it was different. She quickly considered it was Sith Magic and perhaps even some Mind Trick – but again she had no inherent defence. All her Master had told her was that such Abilities required concentration to maintain. She had to get to this Acolyte and soon if she were to break whatever spell he had on her. He’d won the first round for sure – but this was no sprint. Who was still standing after fifteen rounds, that’s what mattered.

So coughing – and genuinely expecting to see some vile green soup projectile vomit from her mouth at any moment, she moved swiftly down. Stealth was no longer an option. Her right hand grabbed her saber hilt and she danced down the remaining stairs that separated them. They had to be close – they had to have line of sight – that much she knew.

And suddenly there he was…

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Sage Bane]

The removal of the Acolyte’s hood revealed a face even lovelier than Sage expected, and one that soon became wracked with confusion when the mindforms took hold. A satisfied smile widened his face as he watched the other Acolyte lose her composure. You’ve got something on your hands. Let me help with that. The Sith magic and Mind Twist power were becoming easier to wield and less taxing on his stamina. Sage spent almost every night in his quarters in Matsu’s residence, religiously spinning illusions, playing with the mindforms for hours, sometimes until the waking light crept over the Coruscant skyline. Sage practiced in his mirror sometimes, turning his own reflection into hellish horrors, long-limbed, necrotic-looking creatures with tentacle-like growths and multiple fang-filled mouths growing in places they shouldn’t. It was gratifying to see his hard work paying off.

Matsu is going to be proud of her broken toy.

The woman soon broke into a coughing fit and then began to move with deliberation, heading straight towards him. She descended the stairs with incredible speed and soon was standing before him, her blue eyes trained on his. The shrinking violet was now a tiger lily.

In previous matches, Sage would not hesitate once his opponent was close enough to engage, but the act of forming his illusion left him visibly drained. His chest heaved, and his posture was bent into a slouch. The illusions dissipated as he gripped his saber and activated its red plasma beam with a snap-hiss. Holding it diagonally across his body in a defensive position, he would need a few precious minutes to regain the amount of energy it took to exercise the demanding form of Ataru. However, Sage knew other ways to distract and disarm besides combat. He ratcheted up his charming smile a few notches.

“I don’t think I’ve ever fought someone so beautiful.” he said, still gripping his lightsaber in a crouch, his expression a mixture of admiration and amusement.

“How do you expect me to bring myself to harm such a lovely creature.”

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: Not dying is the primary objective for now…
Theme: What doesn’t kill ya

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxjZbFpBpbE

‘What doesn’t kill ya
What doesn’t hurt
Sometimes you feel you’re up against the world
What doesn’t kill ya
What doesn’t break
This life, it seems
To bring you to your knees
You try to bleed then finally you breathe.’

She made her way down the steps with as much grace and composure as a woman who believed her lungs were filling with gazpacho soup could. But nothing came up – despite her coughing and retching. But despite knowing this was clearly an illusion, she couldn’t shake its effects.

But in an instant they were gone. Whatever focus he needed to maintain them had dissipated. Was he tired or merely changing tactics? She didn’t know – but was wary. His posture and heavy breathing suggested he was drained but it could just as easily been a ploy. Her saber teacher had impressed on her to take opportunities when they presented but she was not sure enough to act.

As she faced the other Acolyte – she allowed her outer robe to simply drop to the floor. She was still tempted to strike – but her new found patience calmed her. She took her curved saber hilt in her right hand and with a snap-hiss activated the blade. Performing the Makashi salute she then swept it to her side, the blade pointing down. Her feet were shoulder width apart and she turned to face the Acolyte sideways on, her blade now closest to him so it was pointing at his feet.

Did she ignore his words or was she too focused to hear them? He’d never know as she wasn’t about to tell him. Instead she raised her left hand and her eyes morphed from their baby blue to a light and finally deep yellow and her irises were ringed in crimson. She instantly focused on performing Force Wound as she looked to crush the Acolyte’s saber wielding hand. Melori liked to keep things simple.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Sage Bane]

Well, she certainly didn’t have any qualms about harming him. His opponent activated her lightsaber and glided into a flawless Makashi position. She looked to be much more apt with a saber than he. Ouch. This was going to hurt. Sage braced himself for a strike or a sweep, but instead came a crushing feeling that began in his fingers and spread to his hand. To pour all of his recharging energy into resisting the pain and ruination of his hand would deplete him of an attack. His face grimacing in agony, Sage dropped his saber, sending it clanging to the permacrete floor. Losing his weapon would leave him terribly vulnerable, but would leave him with enough energy to make her hurt in kind.

Popping noises burst from his hand as his finger bones began to snap from the crushing weight of his opponent's power. Even as a pained groan escaped his lips, Sage began to call upon the Force to fill his body with electricity just as Khan Ra, the Felactian Sith Knight had taught him. In order to learn the power, one needed to be on the receiving end of the lightning, and Khan Ra had struck him alright. He had electrified Sage so severely that his skeleton was visible through his flesh, and the attack left him barely conscious in a writhing heap on the forest floor. In fact, he was still not entirely sure whether or not the humanoid had been secretly trying to kill him. It didn’t help that the Acolyte had picked a Force nexus on Myrkr for the location of their training. It wasn’t Sage’s brightest moment by any stretch. However, it did help accelerate his learning.

As the young man let waves of the dark side permeate his body, indigo sparks of electricity danced off his fingertips, the vibrant volts of energy crackling in midair. His eyes flashed red for a moment, a quirk of nature from his Chiss blood. The smell of burnt flesh wafted through the air. With outstretched arms and his hands bent into claw-like shapes, Sage viciously struck his rival with as much Force lightning as he could. It wasn’t a lethal amount. His abilities were not yet powerful enough to kill, but if his opponent were struck she would receive a debilitating shock to her system.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: I’ve got to fight
Theme: Beat you honey till you drop

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3H1r01yk-l8

‘Someday I'm going to smack your face
Someday I'm going to smack your face
Somebody's going to call your bluff
Somebody's going to treat you rough
Sometimes there is only one way out
I've got to fight
Sometimes I get to feel so mean
Sometimes I get to feel so mean
Sometimes you look like you're too clean
Sometimes I see the in-between
Sometimes only one way
I've got to fight

You're way past your station
Beat you honey till you drop
You're way past your station
It's useless asking you to stop
I got morbid fascination
Beat you honey till you drop

Sometimes you're going to get some stick
Sometimes you're going to get some stick
Somebody's standing in our way
Somebody's gonna have to pay
Sometimes there is only one way
I've got to fight.’

It all started so well. Her saber teacher had drilled her into the art of misdirection and the flourish of her saber had certainly caught his attention sufficiently that her true attack probably came as a surprise.

Once his saber clattered on the floor, she was delighted and was looking to press her advantage when he countered. Clearly he was prepared to accept the pain in return for attacking her.

Sadly this is where her Master’s advise was overlooked. Concentration, concentration, concentration. This was drilled into her – but in the heat of the battle, his attack distracted her sufficiently for her to drop the Force Wound. Instead she had to endure his Force Lightning strike. On the plus side – as there was, however small, a plus side – she’d endured worse already, at the hands of the infernal contraption her Master had tested her with to challenge her accuracy with the Ability. But it still hurt like hell.

And his attack had temporarily foxed her, as her own Lightning was blue – and she presumed his effort was a different Ability altogether – but that gave her an idea. She endured the pain – she had no choice – but pulling heavily on the Force, so that her eyes were now as deep a yellow as they’d ever been, she lifted her left hand again and this time red faux lightning of her own coalesced around the fingers before arcing towards her fellow Acolyte. Her intentions were three-fold. Firstly to break his concentration and to stop his attack. Secondly using Force Drain would deplete his Force energy and transfer it to her and secondly she would be able to quite literally drain the life out of him.

The third intention? As she did this, her sure and subtle foot-work brought her closer to him – to within striking distance given her superior reach due to her chosen Form.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"]

[ooc – apologies for the delay – RL stuff]

 

[Sage Bane]

His lightsaber hand finally stopped imploding, but it was too late. The damage was already done. Sage’s fingers were bent into strange shapes, and his hand fell limp, a hand that would no longer grip his lightsaber hilt. At least not in this fight. Sage felt a pang of regret as he realized all of the mistakes he had made in the beginning. He foolishly drained himself too fast. As red tendrils burst from her fingers, his rival was feeding on whatever was left of his energy like a vampire, and his body slowly began to wither with fatigue.

There would be hell to pay if he lost. His brother, crime boss Cryax Bane had set up a fairly large betting ring over this tournament, with odds on Sage to win. If he didn't come through, he would never hear the end of it from his sibling. Unless it was the business end of a blaster to his temple. Shame bubbled up inside him, followed by acute rage. "Use it,” he could hear his Master say. If he was going to be a fool, he might as well be a fool with enthusiasm.

Shrieking at the top of his lungs, Sage called upon the Force again, urging it to fill his body and push him beyond his physical limitations. His eyes flashed red once again as the young Acolyte lashed out with a violent telekinetic Force pulse, dark, infernal energy bursting forth from his chest. If it made impact the attack was likely to first sever the blood-red tendrils that tugged the life from his body, and then hurl her over one of the railings behind her, sending her falling down several stories.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Theme: Just when you think she’s yours

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9hGcJA8fXvU

‘She floats like a swan
Grace on the water.’

‘Just when you think you’ve caught her
She glides across the water.’

‘Just when you think she’s yours
She’s flown to other shores
To laugh at how you break
And melt into this lake.’

Unlike the Sith she was grooming herself to emulate, she was not completely a being of hatred and evil. She was certainly driven by hatred but did not believe in being evil for its own sake.

But like that Sith of old, she was learning to respect her opponents – win or lose, this was going to be a fight she savoured. And he was a worthy opponent – but in her eyes he’d made mistakes. Not that she was an expert but she’d spent countless hours watching duels and his latest effort fell into that category in her opinion. For the more he drew on the Force, the more he gave her to draw from him – as fast as he was refuelling, she was siphoning it off. It was like he was calling on the Force just for her to use. The pain from the Force Lightning had ebbed, her health boosted by draining his.

She felt the rage within him and expected him to do something desperate, dramatic as no doubt he hoped to end the duel soon. She saw his eyes flash red and truly savoured the wealth of the Force he was drawing for her.

Perhaps his efforts worked, or maybe – just maybe – her own internal monologue was such that she distracted herself. Thinking about what had gone before and what was yet to come and forgetting about the here and now. Her connection to him faltered. It was long enough for him to call upon the Force and attack her.

But this was not the time for self-pity or recriminations. Rather this was the time to stay alive. With his shrieks echoing in her ears, she felt the push. It caught her by surprise – she could only imagine what Darth Veles would think if he saw the replay – and knocked her backwards.

Her training was basic. She had no tools to oppose the effect – so she did what she’d always been told (even if it was an old Jedi lesson). Go with the Force, don’t try to fight it. So rather than look to counter the attack in some way, she allowed it to carry her backwards, but took control as she did. She was used to being thrown in the air in her dancing and so somersaulted as she did, landing deftly and lightly on her feet. The fact she was standing on top of the rail that separated life and death was not lost on her.

Her feet were in the 'second' position (her feet pointing in opposite directions, heels spaced approximately twelve inches apart) and so she switched so her toes were en pointe – no mean feet given she was wearing boots – and from standing with her body weight on the tips of her toes, she performed a ballon to land on the floor – springing effortlessly to almost float in mid-air before landing softly. She performed a bourrée towards her opponent, quick even movement that made it appear as if she was gliding as she moved, her saber still in her right hand, her arm bent.

Her face was still impassive, her lips still closed. She’d given up the initiative but she wondered what else he had to give, this bout was as much about the learning as the winning. But she was almost literally as fresh as a daisy and he looked...well, spent.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"]

 

[Sage Bane]

Holding his broken hand out beside him, visibly favoring it, Sage watched his opponent sail weightlessly onto the railing, balancing herself there almost in defiance of gravity itself. His chest caved in as his deathstick-ravaged lungs desperately cried out for air. His fatigue weighed heavily on him. Where had he gone wrong? As his opponent approached, with no visible sign of distress from either his blast or his lightning, his eyes flashed to his saber hilt. Should he risk using the Force around someone who was virtually siphoning it off him with each swell of energy?

The thought made him laugh, a croupy sound that degenerated into a painful-sounding coughing fit. Then Sage smiled, and with one brow arched, allowed himself an indulgent taunt.

“Pateesa, if you wanted to get me breathing heavily, there are much more fun ways to do it.”

In a nanosecond he forged his next maneuver, hoping that his words were a solid enough distraction. Sage drew, not from the Force, but from his pit fighting days as a slave boy, a dark slice of his past that had left him emotionally scarred but had taught him martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. It was a shot in the dark, but he used his last vestiges of energy in his rangy frame to sprint towards her and launch into a flying kick, with the bottom of his foot aimed right for her sternum. The attack was devised to knock the wind out of her, if he should land it.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: To stop the showboating…
Theme: Think I need a devil to help me get things right


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VQ_3sBZEm0


‘I think I’m done nursing the patience
It can wait one night
I’d give it all away if you give me one last try.’

Melori hoped her Master would be proud of her. She’d exercised patience beyond her usual limits. So much so that she felt fresh and alert whereas her opponent seemed tired and desperate.

Of course the warning bells were there – but Melori wasn’t listening. She was…enjoying herself too much. Was she playing to the gallery? Possibly, quiet possibly. She was – at the very least – playing to her own ego.

She saw the other Acolyte holding his broken hand out beside him, visibly useless. Her expressionless face allowed itself a small smile. Even if he picked up the saber he’d only be able to wield it with a single hand – limiting the effectiveness of his Form.

She could have landed on the ground of course, following her leap. It was definitely show-boating to choose to land on the rail. Might it come back and haunt her? Not in her own mind it wouldn’t. Of course, the fight was not being played in her mind – and she should have been more conscious of the fact.

And she heard the rasps of his breathing. This was no play-acting, he seemed physically distressed. Like a cat that has caught a mouse, she wondered how to play with him – to further extend her enjoyment. It never even occurred to her that the mouse might have sharp teeth. Sharp enough to bite her legs off!

“Pateesa, if you wanted to get me breathing heavily, there are much more fun ways to do it."

Was that an insult or not? And if not, if he really thought she were his sweetie, wasn’t that an insult anyway? It was one thing for Melori to avoid banter, to focus purely on the task in hand, but once more she allowed herself to be suckered in to his game-plan. Instead of pressing her advantage, she was thinking about what he said. Oh, the admonishments certain to come from Darth Veles when he saw the mistake!

Of course, her mind was not on the Sith Lord. Rather it was on why she was sitting on her posterior, fighting for breath. On the plus side she still had her saber in her hand. But it's fair to say the positives ran out there.

She had the advantage of reach. The advantage of holding the only weapon. The advantage of being fresh with her ability to draw on the Force. The advantage of being able to cut him down when he got close enough to kick her.

Yet they all counted for naught when she’d failed to capitalise on any of them. She eschewed armour, so her sternum took the full force of the kick. She was fit, so her muscles saved her from some of the impact, but the tell-tale sound of cracking and the pain shooting through her said he’d definitely cracked a few of her ribs.

So patience? It went out of the window. She regained her feet, wincing as she did. This fight had to end, and it had to end now. She dispensed with the pleasantry of the salute. Instead she used her footwork to close the gap between them as quickly as she could. Her aim was to target his knees. Still holding the saber in her right hand, she used the blade with precision and efficiency. Jabbing at his knees, she intended to reduce his mobility. Despite the pain, her form was still elegant and precise. A feint here and deft footwork there, she kept up a momentum intended to drive him backwards whilst at the same time aiming to score many small hits – cuts rather than an amputation.

The period of show-boating was over. Just as when she’d sparred with the Sith Lord, the pain focused her attention. Made her realise what she needed to do. It was time to finish this…

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Sage Bane]

A wide grin split his face as Sage heard the sharp crack of his opponent’s ribs breaking when he made impact. He couldn't help but lick his lips, savoring the taste of her pain. Finally, he had dented her flawless surface. The blonde Acolyte went careening backwards, landing on her tailbone with a thud. Not so graceful are we now, little black swan? Sage ended up on his haunches, his uninjured hand on the ground as he rose to his feet. As his rival scrambled up to get her bearings and began to close the distance, he advanced towards her, his saber snapping back into his hand, the one that wasn't twisted into a talon. With a thrum, the red blade was ignited. A sickly wheezing still emanated from his chest, and sweat poured from his brow, but the resilient young man’s brown eyes gleamed with determination. Survival instincts. He had them in spades.

Pit fighting was a nasty, dirty sport. Especially when the two opponents were slaves. With nothing to lose, no low blow was spared, no weakness was left unexploited. Once there was a hole in an opponent’s defense, the pit fighter poked a finger into the wound until it was red, raw, and bloody. As his opponent jabbed her saber at his knees with quick, sharp thrusts, he clumsily parried the thrusts with with his lightsaber in turn. Most of them. His face grimaced as one or two jabs landed, painfully scorching his knee, but the pain was worth withstanding in order to lash out with a vicious punch to the woman’s rib cage, aiming to strike her right where her bones were already fractured. He let out a loud, sharp cry as his broken hand aimed to make impact with her torso, an attack could that could be traumatic for both of them.

[member="Melori Raaf"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: The beginning of the end...
Theme: Sometimes you kick, sometimes you get kicked

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROyk9PPBMTQ

‘I look around unsatisfied
At what they’re giving me
Then I think to myself
Is there someone else
Who feels the same as me
Do you feel the same baby?

When my back is broken
When the mountain moves away
All the dreams and promises
That we give
We give away’

She sensed and saw his pleasure as he first cracked her ribs. There was a sign there and she failed to read it. And any decent proponent of the second Form would also criticise her for her stance – in attacking him, she’d turned too square on, not using her superior reach.

She watched as he picked up his saber in his remaining hand – his left hand. Again the warning signs were there. Her left side was open to attack in this stance but she paid no heed.

So whilst she was focused on his knees – and had a couple of successes – she was unaware he was opening her up for a counter. And it was one heck of a blow. She could tell he’d feel it too – what hurt more, broken ribs or a broken hand? In truth they’d both be worse off than before.

But she needed to wrestle back the initiative. And focus on what she knew. She immediately regained her stance but not before she switched the saber to her natural hand. Her teacher had insisted she became familiar with both and against a leftie, she was best served using her correct hand now. It meant her ribs were now protected from his attacks, her elbow tucked in when she wasn’t probing.

And then she circled him. Makashi rarely delivered the knock-out blow but it did keep your opponent at bay and enable you to him them often enough that you worse them down. And the more you wore them down, the more you could hit them. It was a beautiful virtuous cycle.

This time she targeted his thighs. She would quickly and deftly skip into range, attempt to deliver a blow and skip back out. This was just to manoeuvre him into a position where…and that was the moment.

Form a position of having a bent left elbow, to disguise her reach, she danced into range, feigned a stab to his right thigh before raising her saber to flick up at his left wrist. It was all done in a fraction of a second and no sooner had her planned attack finished than she danced straight back out of range. She was not going to let him get close enough to touch her ribs again – or if he did, he’d be skewered through his lungs for trying to come so close.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Sage Bane]

As broken fist connected with broken ribs, a swell of pain traveled from the middle of Sage's mangled hand all the way up his arm, blurring his vision momentarily. Even through his agony, he could feel her delicate, cracked bones further shattering inside her slender rib cage. She should have gone down or at least had trouble breathing, but she stayed upright, her saber switching hands. His rival danced around him, seemingly unhurt, and struck again, but not where he was expecting.

When she feinted her attack, he swept his lightsaber down to his right thigh to parry. A crestfallen look spanned his face as Sage saw his opponent's blade moving deftly up to meet his wrist. There was an acrid smell of burning flesh as the plasma sunk into his flesh. Jerking his hand back, he flung himself to the side so that his wrist wasn't severed. His lightsaber pommel clanged to the ground, his blade extinguished like a dying candle in the night. She retreated, dancing back on her nimble toes. Oh no, pateesa, you don't get away that easily. The wolf may be gravely injured, but he is still ravenous, wrathful even.

Sage vaulted through the air, leaping at his rival like a starving animal, his teeth poised to dig right into the elegant expanse of skin stretched over her soft neck. He desperately longed for a taste of her, a drink of the wine that would drown him. He knew that this attack was going to be his last gasp. He was going down alright, but in a losing battle, Sage would always try to take his pound of flesh before he relented. The sensations he would feel as he bit her, the slickness of her blood washing over his lips, its coppery flavor painting his tongue, might even be worth the pain.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Darth Venefica"] [member="Vrag"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Location: Neimoidia – correction facility
Objective: Are you happy, are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat?
Theme: Another one bites the dust


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rY0WxgSXdEE


‘There are plenty of ways that you can hurt a man
And bring him to the ground
You can beat him, you can cheat him
You can treat him bad and leave him when he's down.

But I'm ready, yes, I'm ready for you
I'm standing on my own two feet
Out of the doorway the bullets rip
Repeating to the sound of the beat.’

The Jedi. Their teaching ways must be in some way useful but to Melori, what she’d experienced in years as a Padawan was nothing compared to her first few days as a Sith Acolyte. Within the space of a couple of lessons, she’d been repeatedly subject to Force Lightning, Force Drain and been skewered by a saber enough times that it took a spell in a bacta tank to fully recover.

One thing she found early on was that it raised her threshold to pain tremendously. With the addition of all that adrenaline pumping through her system as she faced a real-life opponent, meant she was not so much ignoring the pain, she was oblivious to it.

So she continued, literally holding her breath as she circled him. Her ploy with the feint had worked and he’d dropped his saber rather than risk losing a hand. Either outcome worked for her and she afforded herself a small smile. Oh, that arrogance would be her undoing sooner or later.

But instead of backing off as she’d expected – her dominance over him clearly only existing in her own brain, not in reality – she was taken by surprise as he vaulted through the air, leaping at her. In her panic, she dropped her own saber, the hiss-snap indicating the blade was extinguished.

Her nervous system couldn’t be fooled indefinitely and rather than a slow release of pain – as his teeth found the exposed neck between her robes and jaw – it was as if a switch had suddenly been turned on. As he bit down, she was suddenly aware her own breathing was ragged. Clearly intercostals muscles had been damaged previously and her own, now apparent, laboured breathing had been masked by holding her breath and her opponent’s wheezing.

It was as if she’d gone from pristine to fatally flawed in a matter of seconds. The agony from his bite was excruciating but his weight on her chest was worse. They were writhing together on the ground – like some grotesque lover’s tryst. Instinct took hold. Fear drove her to call on the Force and connect with all of her remaining strength. A combination of her arms and Force Push allowed her top flop him off of her, he lay on his back now, blood – her blood – smeared all over his face. Yet he seemed to revel in it. Was he drinking it?

She propped herself onto one knee, fighting the pain now. Looking around she saw her saber and called it to her. It slapped into her palm and she flicked the switch. She wanted to stand over him but couldn’t trust her pain threshold to allow her to even try it. So she shuffled on her knees across to where he was.

She looked at his face. She’d never considered it before. She was sure she recognised him from Coruscant. But she couldn’t remember his name…she was rubbish with names. But he was a worthy opponent. They’d both learn lessons from this encounter. His powers were greater than hers but perhaps her single-minded focus had helped her get to this position. In truth she was too weary to even contemplate this line of thought any more.

Holding the saber in both hands, blade pointed down, she spoke for the first time.

“Nwûl tash.
Dzwol shâsotkun.
Shâsotjontû châtsatul nu tyûk.
Tyûkjontû châtsatul nu midwan.
Midwanjontû châtsatul nu asha.
Ashajontû kotswinot itsu nuyak.
Wonoksh Qyâsik nun.”

And looking directly into his eyes, she endured the screaming pain her chest wailed at her and plunged the crimson blade towards his gut – if she didn’t end this now, she didn’t know if she could continue.

[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Darth Venefica"]

 

[Sage Bane]

Consumed with obtaining a more feral type of ecstasy, Sage was barely aware of their tussle on the ground. Like an animal craving meat, he was laser-focused on the soft, white skin of his target. The young Acolyte growled with pleasure as her lovely blood washed over his lips and dripped down onto his chin and neck, soaking into his clothing. He could understand now why his Master had artificially sharpened her teeth. The better to rip your flesh with, my dear.

Suddenly, Sage was painfully aware of a trickle of blood running down the back of his head where it had snapped back on the Duracrete after his clumsy landing. Shortly thereafter, his opponent straddled him, her plasma blade now alive in her grip. As his rival's saber slashed his gut, causing him a grievous wound, he hissed soundlessly, his brown eyes bulging up at her, red mouth almost unnaturally wide. Then Sage coughed up a mixture of her blood and his, a crimson splash with a reach that stained both the apples of his rival's cheeks and the prison floor. Sage would soon need medical attention, provided by the watching Sith if they deemed him worthy of continuing in their ranks after his humiliating loss.

[member="Melori Raaf"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Venefica"]