Talon's Rest [ Srina ]

[Malok]

K A S H Y Y K K​

It was nice to get away.

Very seldom did he enjoy moments such as these. Above, the sun began to bid farewell to Kashyykk - basking the heavens in a myriad of vibrant hues. Mandarin. Vermillion. Magenta. The splashes of color even then reflected upon the water's surface - forming a masterpiece which spanned for miles. It was here, standing before the lake just outside of Silver Rest, that Darth Metus relaxed. For just a few moments, he could revel in the sight of something beautiful and let the morrow worry about itself. He afforded himself this sweet release, punctuating his silence only by raising a travel mug to his lips.

The robust flavor which greeted him with every sip only magnified the lack of tension. Sweet and savory rolled into one and danced upon his tongue. Suffice it to say - the Sith was enjoying his time among the Silver Jedi's principle temple. However. He had not trudged out to the lake solely to marvel at the conclusion of daylight. Tonight, he had asked his Apprentice - [member="Srina Talon"] - to be his company. Since their arrival on the forested world, the two were not as connected as the hip as usual. Darth Metus had matters of relations to discuss with the Grandmaster; and whilst finite details were ironed out, the Echani was free to mingle with the Jedi proper.

A break from this cycle came in the form of the "gala" the night before. The evening broke for Darth Metus the excessively conservative stereotype that colored the Jedi type. As he witnessed them dancing and drinking the evening away, he realized that they were very much so human. They were fully capable of stepping on their partner's toes, drinking too much, and poorly sinking popular lyrics just like anyone else. Yet, while the shattering of a presupposition was a highlight of the evening, what would color his memories forever was dancing with his Apprentice.

It was the most fun he could remember having in years. And, above all, it highlighted just how much he missed having the Echani closeby. Even when they weren't training, the bond they had developed was as mermerising as the lake before his eyes. He found himself relying on her ability to speak to him plain - not as the Vicelord or her mentor. Her insight was always pure and she was not afraid of challenging his mindset if he was wrong. She, in essence, kept him sharp. She made him better.

And at least, for tonight, he would strive to return that blessing as best he could - by passing down all he knew.

As Darth Metus awaited Srina's arrival, he became keenly aware of the wooden box in his pocket. Eagerly provided by their gracious hosts, the contents of which were the beginnings to a staple to any Force sensitive's arsenal. The Lightsaber. In particular, the box contained all of the components and casings required to form a functioning, basic saber. All except the focusing crystal. That was already in the possession of his young apprentice, given as a challenge quite some time ago. And while he would not guide her in breaking it further on the Jedi grounds, he would at least incorporate her progress into the finished product.

But for now, all he could do was wait.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina wandered the grounds of the Silver Rest, following the missive from her Master, using the bidirectional line of communication that always silently ran between them. She could feel him as easily as she could feel clothes on her body. He was there at all times, a dark comfort, where the world felt so incredibly harsh and jagged. He was her home, her refuge, and her anchor. Always, she was drawn back to him. She hated when politics and business matters stole time away that could never be regained. She felt robbed. Jilted.

The pale-skinned woman had a long morning interacting with Jyoti Nooran, a fellow Echani, and she hadn’t had much down time since then. Even still, she would never deny Darth Metus.

She approached him easily, a soft smile lingering at the kiss of her mouth. He looked different while they remained on lands that belonged to the light side of the Force. It was surprising. He seemed comfortable and relaxed in a way she didn’t always recognize. Srina slipped into his side and wrapped her arms loosely around his middle. She’d missed him, terribly, even though her Master dominated most of her time. “Master…You wanted to see me?”

Gray eyes lingered on the sun setting over the lake. Her typically pale skin seemed to glow a soft burnished gold in the fading light. Her normally snowy hair had become gilded, silken, and appeared to be made of little more than molten light. Her pale attire consisted of the light blue dress that she’d worn for dinner. It was plain, unadorned, and fit the elegance that the young woman seemed to consistently portray.

Ever so slowly she loosened her hold, but she didn’t move away, merely leaning against him. She could remember a time when leaving his side, when standing just inches away from him, was too far. When they’d met she found that for a few days, perhaps the better part of a week, she couldn’t breathe without him. Now she just felt safe. Relaxed. Comforted. “It’s beautiful here isn’t it?”

“I’m a little jealous. They have all of this green…We have sand. And more sand.”

“And more sand after that.”, Srina spoke softly, teasingly, often forgetting her place as a traditional apprentice. She had seen other students bow to Darth Metus almost as if they were showing reverence to a God. They refused to move until he gave them leave, eyes lowered, as if they were somehow unworthy. Never had the little Echani felt the need to bow to the man before her. When she approached him she smiled. She touched him, embraced him, and accepted all that he was.

All that he had been. Sins, darkness, and everything inbetween.

“We should build something in a place like this. A sanctuary. Something with colors, life, and water. It doesn’t have to be like the Silver Rest…”, Srina trailed off, realizing that she might have been asking for too much, if he used the Jedi Temple as the basis for her request. She cherished every moment of this brief respite because it reminded her of the beauty of Eshan. He would feel her homesickness. “It would just be nice to have somewhere that we can go to exhale…”

The small woman crossed her arms as she leaned against the much taller man. Peace was the scariest thing in the verse. The promise of it, the fight to keep it, and the inevitability that it would be taken away. Peace was not infinite. No matter pacifistic wants or needs…It could not last forever.

Despite uncertainties—Srina tentatively tried to appreciate it while it lasted.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

"There you are."

Despite the fact that he standing in the midst of a dazzling sunset, the sight of the Echani seemed to bring color back into his world. She was...such a stark contrast to him at a glance. Her elegance seemed effortless. Her attire was always pristine. Her beauty often gave him pause. Together, they stuck out like a sore thumb in almost every occasion - yet he was convinced that a solid seventy percent of heads turned because of her. Yet, all of this was nothing compared to who she was.

How quickly she embraced him was a testament of this. Before a verbal greeting, she returned to her place at his side and wrapped his arms around him. His body instinctively responded as his arm soon draped over her as well. She was not afraid. Despite the fact that he was a Sith. Despite the fact that he practiced sorcery and utilized Fear as a literal weapon. Despite the fact that he was cut from the cloth of Mandalore.

Despite everything he was, she had no fear. She accepted him and embraced all of what made him him.

And that is why he hesitated.

He was grateful that, thus far, she never questioned when he sent her out on the strangest of missions. By his word would she leave his side for days - affording him an opportunity to practice the truest extent of his craft. Yet. Before the others of the Dread Horde, he would not hesitate. He would slaughter without blinking if it were Akabane or The Fallen at his side. Yet Srina...the thought of casting her into the abyss ate at him. He didn't want to lose what made moments like this so special. He didn't want her to turn to ice in his arms.

It's beautiful here isn't it?

A light chuckle escaped the Sith as her words brought him back to reality. Her gripe over the sands of Ryloth and the more sands of Geonosis were perfectly valid. And, although the home he had erected on the former was magnificent, it still did not feature a view like this. His first home - the one that was taken - had...and maybe it was time for something just like that. "You might be onto something there, Srini." he breathed, addressing her by the nickname that had developed over time.

"If I could take this view with me, I certainly would...But, for now, we'll enjoy it while it lasts."

For a moment, his arm briefly abandoned her form so that he might produce the gift he had procured on her behalf. "So, I wanted to show you have to build a lightsaber. I know that I've been busy lately and had promised you I would, so..."

Within his hands now rested the box, yet the lid was now open. Upon a satin pillow now rested a seemingly complex series of wires, internal components, and the beginnings to an ivory-hued casing. He had personally requested the color so as to best match his Apprentice in every way.

"Do you have your crystal?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina sighed softly when she felt a familiar set of arms wrap around her and her eyes momentarily fell closed. Never, had she expected to find so much peace, so much internal harmony, just from the proximity of one person. Every time she returned to his side it felt akin to coming home after weeks spent alone in a nuclear winter. Her Master was made of fire. There was a certain level of beautiful danger involved with being so attuned to the Sith Lord. There was an unspoken and extremely visceral threat of getting burned if she got too close, and most people, would regard him with the same level of caution as they would an inferno. Something to be feared and admired from a distance. Not up close.

The Echani simply couldn’t help herself. She had faith in him. She trusted Darth Metus implicitly and had learned to breathe through the fear and walk through his flames unburnt. Instead of ash—the Sith Lord gave her life. He gave her meaning. He gave her purpose.

Loyalty, was less than he deserved, but all that he asked for. Srina was happy to oblige.

Hearing her nickname from her Masters lips caused a lilting laugh to escape her. It was soft, that of silver bells and little secrets. He was the only one who got away with calling her that. “While it lasts.”, she repeated with a small sigh, already missing the smell of fresh water, and sight of trees so tall they seemed to touch the clouds. The small apprentice didn’t mean to make light of the fortress her Master had built. Her perception was merely skewed. By his logic, he had built a home for them, a space to safely hang their weapons and find security.

He didn’t seem to know that a home wasn’t made of walls and stone. A home, was only a home, due to the people it held. Without them it was worth little more than a tinder box. Her home, her heart, no longer solely belonged to Eshan. Her place in the verse was wherever he was.

Srina looked up when he moved, curious, when he abruptly changed the subject. A well of excitement rolled through her at the notion of building a lightsaber. Finally. She felt like the least of all of his apprentices without one. She pulled away to see what was in the gilded box, a little surprised, that he’d managed to hide it from her. Aside from the obvious newness of the items it seemed like a jewelry box filled with shiny things and pieces of scrap. Gray eyes lingered on part of the ivory casing and she reached for it, swallowing a little thrill, as she turned it in her hand to see the design more clearly. “This is lovely. Where did you find it?”

Darth Metus asked if she had her crystal and she nodded her head, tugging the simple chain that lay around her neck, up and over white-gold hair. Srina freed the clear crystal that it had become over time, though her lips fell into a frown, feeling a sense of failure. “It’s still not red. I can’t….I don’t think I can do what you asked. I have tried and tried… Forgive me, my Master.”

The slender woman felt a pull through the Force and her hand moved slightly, almost imperceptibly, and the pieces of the saber began to float from the wooden box. She’d read dozens of holo-books on the construction of a proper lightsaber but still found herself at a loss. Graceful fingers moved in the air as the parts seemed to line themselves up, smallest to largest, and mirrored eyes watched each piece turn in the fading light.

“Can it still be done?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

This is lovely. Where did you find it?

To be honest, the Sith Lord had quite a bit of assistance in that particular quest. Parting his lips, he regaled her in a brief - yet entertaining - tale of how he interrupted the Jedi Grandmaster whilst she instructed a handful of younglings. [member="Valae Kitra"] was as sweet as could be in response to his sudden request and, together, they scoured Silver's Rest for a solid chunk of time procuring the ivory components. And, they were storied as well, apparently hailing from the Temple Guards on Coruscant but never assembled.

Now, the beautiful ivory casing would serve a new master.

When he had finished speaking, Darth Metus had expected his Apprentice to remain wholly upbeat regarding the gift. However, at the mention of the crystal, it seemed as though a weight had been placed upon her shoulder. [member="Srina Talon"] admitted that she had not succeeded in the task that he had laid out before her - to break her crystal. Yet, the Sith simply lofted a brow and inspected the results of her efforts. "Srini," he began, shaking his head lightly. "This your first lightsaber...it's not going to happen overnight."

"Remember, it took Mandalore exploding for me to be able to break my most recent crystal. Take your time. When you are ready and able to complete this task, it will happen."

He left out any mention of his demise associated with Mandalore's destruction - for fear of another icy episode. Instead, he quickly moved along, resuming his smile with vigor as his apprentice telekinetically inspected the components of the box. They lined up in the air before her eyes, gleaming against the fading light of the sun.

"It can and will be done, when you're ready. In the meantime, you can construct a fully capable saber with your crystal as is. Where it is now, you've made it yours. It will not empower you, yet, but everything that made it...itself is now gone. The crystal is an extension of you now - and I'm sure you've felt that through your meditations."

With that said, he reached out and plucked a single set of circuitry out of the lineup before tossing it over his shoulder, unceremoniously, into the lake. Srina's holo-book research would have told her that those were Dimetris circuits and were assumed to be vital in the construction of the saber. Yet, the Sith was hardly concerned - muttering: "Why are those still a factor..."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina listened as her Master explained how he’d essentially harassed the Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi into an impromptu scavenger hunt and laughter danced in the silvery halls of her eyes. She could only imagine the two of them, from nearly opposite ends of the spectrum, rifling through spare lightsaber part to meet the expectations of Darth Metus. “You should have at least waited until she finished her lessons Master…”, she chastised fondly, and without any real hint of reproach.

Her countenance seemed to fall as she pulled the crystal from around her neck and examined the clear surfaces. It reflected the light, pretty as a picture, but not the shade she had been vying for. Srina had communed with the crystal through pain and suffering that was not wholly her own. It had been an accident, borne of proximity, not skill. She felt as if she’d both cheated and failed in her training. Darth Metus again referred to her by her nickname, and she raised her hand to push him lightly by the chest, a faux punishment for pardoning her failure so easily. “Perhaps not…”

“Perhaps my heart has not ached enough since it turned clear. I thought that my feelings over my people would have been enough…”, she trailed off, gray eyes seeming to turn distant, before they refocused sharply at the mention of Mandalore. He did not need to mention his death. She would never forget the anguish that had filled her to the brim when his body burned. “But I seem to have been mistaken. It certainly doesn’t compare to losing a planet.”

There were remnants. Flickers of despair, that she swallowed, burying the memory of flame and smoke that haunted her more than she was willing to admit. The slender woman reached out and let her fingertips brush against his cheek before her hand fell away. He was fine, real, and far from the plagues of his past. Darth Metus pulled her away from such dour recollections by drawing her attention back to the pieces of her soon to be weapon. She held them in the air effortlessly, watching them spin in the dying light, listening to her Master speak. He assuaged her fears about her crystal not being enough, because she hadn’t been able to bleed it, and she slowly nodded her head. “It is mine….Me. In a way…”

It was hard for her to explain. Much like the presence of Darth Metus, she felt better when she kept it nearby. The precious stone was too large for conventional jewelry but she typically kept it beneath her clothing, somewhere near her heart, where it remained safe. As much as she trusted the security procedures in Golbah City she knew that she could protect it best of all. It belonged with her in much the same way that she belonged with him. “It feels connected.”

Darth Metus began to look through the parts that hung low in the air and eventually stole a piece away, and tossed it, without preamble, into the lake. Srina rose an eyebrow but didn’t question her Master. For all of his oddities, he had his ways, especially when it came to his one true love. Creation. He made things, weapons, armor, and ships with a passion that she could only begin to express with a pair of blades. “Are you sure my first lightsaber won’t explode?”

Her words were soft and teasing as the parts began to move slowly in the air, arranging themselves in a different order, in the way she thought they ought to go. Her eyes were hesitant. She didn’t want to fail. Trial and error was not an acceptable practice from her homeworld. She willfully didn’t know the meaning of it. That was the reason she’d read so many holo-books. “This is different than practicing with pieces of steel and spare parts…”, Srina admitted softly before mirrored eyes found his. “Guide me, Master? Please?”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

You should have at least waited until she finished her lessons Master...

"Believe you me, I paid for that interruption." he began, chuckling ever so slightly. "After we had found the casing, [member="Valae Kitra"] had me tell the younglings a few stories. Youngling appropriate stories of course. I dare say she enjoyed them too."

Shaking his head, he then listened as the alabaster woman voiced her thoughts on the crystal. The gentle push of her hand upon his chest set the tone for the conversation - it was lighthearted, still, despite her concerns that the crystal had not been broken completely. "If I'm being honest...it wasn't the planet's destruction that tipped me over the edge. It was learning who was responsible - it was a personal pain."

In truth, the Sith did not ever mean to be vague or distant with his Apprentice. However, there were but a mere handful of things that stung too much to divulge as candidly as usual. Some things required time to face - and this was one of them. To know that Mia Monroe, his liege and friend, was responsible for his demise still tore at his heart. And, now that she had been killed by the Mandalorian Empire, there was conflict at the thought of her. Although he had forgiven her, he did not stand at his side. Although he had vowed to help her, he did not aide in her civil war. Although he said that he followed her...A large part of him couldn't come to terms with what she had done.

The thoughts retreated when Srina raised her fingertips to his cheeks. Instinctively...gently...he caught her hand when it fell and raised her palm to his lips. The gesture was pure affection - a show of gratitude for pulling him from a spiral of black memories. He then released her hand and nodded along with her sentiments regarding the crystal...But soon laughed aloud when she responded to his chucking of the Dimestris Circuitry. "You know that I would never jeopardize your safety, Srini." he began, shaking his head.

But it was her request for guidance that caused him to melt. Wordlessly, he brushed his psyche against hers, depositing the whispers of his thoughts into her mind. He showed her, step by step, how he constructed the lightsaber which hung upon his waist - the very same that he had used time and time again without it blowing up. As he displayed these thoughts before her mind's eye, he altered the lineup of some of the pieces. Switching a wire here, adjusting an emittor there...until finally, everything was in place.

"There you go. Put it all together and let's see that saber shine."

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

“You have stories suitable for Younglings?”, Srina questioned with a finely arched upraised eyebrow, disbelief laced into her expression, before it smoothed. His good humor brought her own and she couldn’t help but smile a little bit when he spoke of the Grandmaster. The fondness and respect was obvious to anyone who would hear it.

Who would have ever thought that a Sith Lord could be so warmhearted toward a Jedi?

Her Master explained what had truly tipped him over the edge, when it came to the bleeding of his crystal, and Srina nodded. Personal pain. She remained steadfast in her confusion, however, because of how her crystal had initially reacted. The pain that she’d felt hadn’t been her own…But it had been personal. The sight of the death of Darth Metus had been strong enough to leave her a quaking shell of her former self. If that wasn’t enough…What was? What would she need to lose? Who?

That thought momentarily frightened her—chilled her to the bone. It was enough that she reflexively reached out to touch her Master. His physical presence grounded her as nothing else did. What she didn’t expect was for him to catch her hand as it fell. The sudden feeling of lips to her palm sent a flare of much-needed warmth that chased away the cold. Affection from her Master, pure and unadulterated, radiated like the light of the sun. The depth of it left her feeling momentarily stunned. Breathless. Srina was too much of a warrior to take something like that out of context, but she did smile, a little bit of rose coloring alabaster cheeks.

They returned to discussion of her lightsaber as if nothing had happened. It was an easy transition, the flip of a switch, and she was soon able to return to teasing Darth Metus. He seemed to take her words pseudo-seriously and his response drew a silvery laugh from her. “An exploding lightsaber is worse than taking me to fight stormtroopers?”, she questioned, still, just pulling his leg. Only he could call her ‘Srini’ and not find himself with a bruised jaw. “You can’t keep me safe from everything…Not always…”

Of course, he knew that. Which was why he taught her to better herself. For the day that would inevitably come where she would need to fight without him. He gave her the tools and support that she needed to survive. It was the very best form of protection he could offer, despite the theory, that his presence alone kept her people at bay. Everything he did, every step of training, was preparation.

One day, she would need it. All of it.

She asked him for assistance when it came to the actual assembly and she could feel his response. Words were entirely unnecessary when his mind touched hers. She welcomed it, as she always had, with very rare exceptions. He would never harm her, never betray her, not for all the credits or power in the galaxy. Her hands came to rest on her abdomen as she closed her eyes, visualizing what needed to happen, while interpreting his advice in real time. He made any necessary changes and she could feel parts adjusting to the lineup. Telekinesis had once seemed like such a foreign concept to her.

Now, it was a weapon, a tool, just like any other.

Darth Metus gave her the go ahead and the little Echani began the assembly process. Parts spun this way and that, not disturbing any connections he had made, and eventually, each piece found its place. As the casing slid over the internal parts and locked into place silvery eyes fluttered open to view a fully constructed saber. The sun was just dipping below the horizon. Srina let the weapon, the symbol of what she was, hang in the air, twisting in the light that was all but gone. “It is wrong that I’m afraid I won’t be able to wield it as well as my blades?”

The query was born of a number of things. The slender Echani, wrapped in pale blue silk, feared little. What did she have to worry for when Darth Metus was at her side? He was peace, protection, and security all rolled into one. She could not fail, not truly, while he held faith in her capabilities.

The lightsaber floated down to her hand in a spiral and she held it carefully. It felt sturdy, but so light, compared to her usual weapons. The ivory casing was even more beautiful now. Even in the dark. Darth Metus had requested that she activate the blade, that she make it shine, and she sent him a quiet smile before holding the weapon away from their persons.

There was a familiar sound in the air, the famed, snap-hiss, that made her skin tingle. The light that came from the hilt was bright white. It almost hurt to look at it. She could vaguely feel the heat from the vents that made the cross guard but otherwise, her grip tightened, a faint breath causing her chest to final rise. “It’s perfect.”, she murmured, almost lovingly, transfixed by the deadly beauty the lightsaber represented. Srina took a step back and moved to the flat grass, before twisting her wrist, causing the blade to move in the air. Darth Metus couldn’t very well expect her not to test it out.

She fell into an easy stance, adapted from her vibrosword training, and took a few experimental steps in offensive bladework. It was a straight attack and a direct extension toward her target. Her feet moved easily, despite her gown, maneuvering her in and out of range of her shadow opponent. She pretended that the enemy parried and she deflected a blade that only she could see. She countered an incoming attack and began to swing the lightsaber as if she were trying to break through an opponent’s guard. She dodged and spun around, a blur in the night of ivory and pale blue, before executing a heavy slash that would no doubt bring her opponent to its knees.

Srina paused. She was getting carried away and hadn’t even thanked Darth Metus properly. The most treasured gift anyone could ever present an Echani was a weapon.

“I love it. Thank you, Master.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

You have stories suitable for Younglings?

"Why Miss Talon, I am offended." came the Sith's response. Except...the tone he used was the furthest thing from his actual, baritone. His pitch was elevated. His enunciation was posh. He was doing his absolutely damndest to imitate one of those aristocratic, powdered wig types who would be offended if a drop of tea hit the dirt. "I'll have you know that I am a fine and storied soul - those Younglings left that lesson enlightened."

He coughed immediately after the word enlightened. One of those dry, ugly sort that caused him to double over for a second.

"Almost said it with a straight face."

To say that Srina brought the best out in the Sith Lord was an understatement. Although their thoughts had moved in the direction of Mandalore - for the briefest of moments - the Echani was able to steer her master back to a smile. Effortlessly. Truly, there was no greater joy for Darth Metus in that moment...save for when she looked at him the way she did. Her eyes gleamed in the waning light, with a hint of rose ever so faintly coloring her cheeks. It stirred something inside his chest - a heat which crept up his neck and settled firmly upon his face.

An exploding lightsaber is worse than taking me to fight stormtroopers?

The heat evaporated as the jest escaped her lips, causing the Sith to shake his head ever so slightly. "Stormtroopers can't aim. You can dodge a bolt - can't dodge a blown off hand." For a moment, the mirth in her tone shifted when she mentioned keeping her safe from everything. And, frankly, Darth Metus hated to be reminded of this truth. She had said so aboard the Ferocity on the day they met. She said so during their time in the field or in training. And she said so now. It was as if she knew...

That he'd give anything in the 'verse to keep every hair on her head safe from harm.

But. He couldn't. He couldn't be there at all times. There would come some hellish day when he wouldn't be able to get to her...so he had to protect her in advance. He had to show her everything he knew so that, even if he wasn't there to defend her, he would still be at her side. A moment of doubt danced within his eyes. Could he...could he shove her over the edge? Was he able to destroy everything that he lov-cherished about Srina in order for her to survive whatever came her way in the future? He put the thoughts far from his mind and placed his full attention upon the lightsaber.

"You'll grow accustomed to the change over time. It's very jarring at first, but soon you'll want to wield nothing else." The truth of his words were evident in the fact that he had long since stopped carrying a beskad into battle. Although physical blades had cultural significance to them both, there was just something too effective about the elegant lightsabers. With that said, Darth Metus briefly folded his arms and watched the weapon come to life. The ivory casing slid perfectly into place before the pristine blade sang into the air.

It hummed. He could feel her presence radiating from the weapon. For a few moments, Srina tested the weapon in her hands - prompting the Sith to unbuckle the saber which hung from his waist. At a glance, the Echani would recognize that this was not his usual weapon; and that fact would be confirmed when an emerald blade sang into being. "You're welcome, Srina." he began, before briefly adjusting a setting on her saber. The knob which made up the pommel turned by his telekinetic touch, lowering the power setting to that of training.

It would sting like hell, but not amputate, upon contact.

Darth Metus then gave his borrowed, training saber a light flourish before leveling the hilt before his sternum. The Makashi salute as it were.

"May I have this dance?"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina said nothing, at first, when her Master challenged her view on his ability to tell stories that wouldn’t scar younglings for the rest of their natural born lives. Mirrored eyes watched him like a hawk, analyzing, breaking down his denial, so that she could accept his poorly hidden humor. His sulfuric eyes were warm, a shade of tawny amber in the dying light, and she found herself smiling at his antics. “If enlightened stands for terrified I’d be inclined to agree.”

For a brief moment, the flaxen-haired beauty thought she saw something different, something new, in Darth Metus. Echani eyes did not miss a thing. Occasionally, she wished they did, just as she wished her visions would leave her in peace once in a while. “Are you feeling all right?”, she questioned, gray eyes holding a touch of gentle, cultured concern.

Moments later, he seemed well enough, and continued teasing her as if he had never stopped. He insulted the aim of Imperial forces and she laughed lightly, the sound ringing like silver bells, tipped with flavored sugar. “Oh, Master. They aren’t that bad.”

“Plenty of warriors lose limbs on the field. I hear the newer prosthetics are quite good. Nearly indistinguishable from the real thing…”, Srina went on conversationally, as if she were debating a new recipe substitution, versus losing a limb. That being said, she almost regretted her blunt tongue, when she felt her Master’s mood change. Logically speaking, she was correct. He couldn’t always be at her side to keep her safe from every little thing. It just wasn’t possible.

He just didn’t seem to like it being brought back to the forefront of his mind. Accepting fact and wanting to acknowledge it were two very different things. Something glimmered in the depths of his eyes and she paused, again, seeing more than she should, more than anyone had a right to. It was a look she knew, one that she recognized, and also knew ahead of time what it meant. Doubt. The only thing she wondered was exactly what it stemmed from. Was he losing faith in her? Or in himself?

This time she let it go. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. Especially, not when her heart was jumping in her chest at the notion of assembling a lightsaber. She wanted to enjoy this moment. Not mourn it. Darth Metus reassured her that soon she would want to use no other sword, no other blade, than a lightsaber. Srina shook her head wryly, white-gold hair spilling over her shoulders in heavenly waves. “That’s extremely hard to believe. I’ve had my blades for as long as I can remember…”

“I know how to use many weapons…But they were mine. They are part of me.”

Srina gave herself some space to test out her lightsaber and found it to be pleasing. The weight was different, as she had feared, but it felt so good to swing it through the air. It felt so weightless, but she knew for a fact that its cutting power was nearly unstoppable, save for a few materials. Only a fraction of people in the galaxy were skilled enough to use such a thing. Where she should have felt privileged to ignite it, it just felt right, almost alive in her hands.

When she stopped moving, she noticed that Darth Metus had used her actual name, and was also removing a lightsaber from his belt that did not belong to him. It lit up bright green and she was a little confused. It felt wrong. She felt a slight movement in the force and tilted her blade in time to see the pommel turn. Her eyes went flat while she tried to figure out what he’d one before it eventually dawned on her. She was new to using a lightsaber. Of course, there would be training protocol.

The Sith Lord inclined his head to her and the slender woman lifted the fabric of her gown so that she could curtsey properly, the response automatic, sweet voice clear. “Always, Master.”

“Though…This won’t do…”, she murmured, reaching for the pommel, to turn the strength of the blade back up. She picked up the soft, silken material of her blue dress, holding it away from her skin, before she used the lightsaber to slice it from lower thigh to the floor. Now, she could move. From there, she turned the intensity of the saber back down. “There…That’s better.”

“It’s all safe still, I promise. I won’t cut your arm off.”

Her words were teasing, but gray eyes were dark, almost cold. The anticipation of a fight dashed away the gentile woman that she often pretended to be and left him with the snow-demon that had so often tormented and destroyed Thyrsians on the field. As was the duty of a Seeker. It brought out the warrior in her, the Echani that killed, who moved faster than the unenhanced eye could follow.

The wind blew softly and she remained contained with almost unnatural stillness. Metus would be hard pressed to tell if she was even breathing. All at once she fell into motion and began closing the distance. Her footwork was just as important as her bladework so she remained careful, still uncertain of the balance of the saber, but more than anything wanting to test it out. Srina feinted left, reflexes startlingly fast, but then attacked toward the right, bringing her white blade in a sweeping arc up toward her Master. Expecting a swift counter, as Darth Metus was extremely skilled with a weapon she was only just learning to hold, she braced for impact.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

If enlightened stands for terrified I'd be inclined to agree.

"Oh ha ha." he said, placing his hands upon his hips in a ridiculously exaggerated manner. "First of all, I doubt you've got any Youngling appropriate stories - Miss Echani Special Forces." This time around he wasn't daft enough to go full soprano with the pompous tone, but did speak in a higher octave. "Second, I'll have you know that they learned Mama Metus' tried and true recipe for spicy nuna wings. How's that for enlightened?"

If all the money in the Galaxy was riding on Darth Metus getting through that tirade with a straight face, he would have lost. Horribly.

Are you feeling all right?

"I'd be better if you believed in my ability to not scar the younglings." he replied, veiling the heat upon his cheeks with a spoonful of sass. For as much as they were joking, when the subject of the Stormtroopers came up - compliments of his admittedly horrid jab - there were some real bits sprinking in between the chuckles. "You say that but, having had a few cybernetics at one point...nothing better than going all natural."

This time it wasn't a forced vision, but a gift from her Master - a brief, mental glimpse into the installation of a product from iBorg. An implant directly into the skull. He left out the part where the drill actually broke through the bone, but she'd get the point. "I definitely don't want you to have to get plugged up with fake limbs if you don't have to."

In but the span of a few moments, the pair had navigated from ridiculous humor to a conversation of elegance. Particularly in regards to the construction of the Echani's lightsaber. By his own experience did Darth Metus suggest that the skill accumulated with a physical saber would, in time, translate over into skill with the lightsaber. In fact, he felt much the same as she did over the years. His beskad was apart of him - an extension of body and mind. It was, at one point, never far away from his person. Yet now...he relied upon a much more elegant tool.

"Trust me on this." he said simply, before stepping back and watching his Apprentice test out the blade. She navigated through a number of steps...until he posed his challenge. With borrowed saber in hand, he watched intently as she readied herself...by murdering her dress. The move made complete sense tactically, for the flowing material would have hampered movement significantly. And while Darth Metus had no objections to seeing the Echani wear less, it was going to be amusing to explain her attire when returning to Silver's Rest.

No matter.

Gone was the banter.

Quiet were the laughs.

Two predators now stood before the pristine waters. The wind gently caressed their bodies as silence ruled them. As Srina stood, as disciplined as the finest soldier, the Sith lowered his saber ever so slightly - bringing it diagonal in comparison to the whole of his body. She moved. Darth Metus did not anticipate just how swiftly she could. On Mikko, she was his guardian angel - standing back to ensure that her Master did not meet an untimely end. Yet here? She was unrestrained. Here, her chains were broken.

Instinct bit into the Sith as she feigned left. His muscles tensed in response to the move - yet his stance remained unchanged. Then, her blade sliced through the air with a mighty humm, coming down in a sweeping arc. Where green and silver collided, there was a yellow flash, followed by the baring of teeth. The momentum of his Apprentice's strike brought his blade closer to his body...but he shoved back.

Where she was dawn, he was dusk. Where she was speed, he was power. His lightsaber pushed upwards mightily against hers, rising up from his body in a sudden surge. The move was intended to shoot her arm and blade skyward, opening her torso for a counterstrike. And, if it succeeded, his offhand would rocket forth, attempting to shove her back a few paces.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

It took everything Srina had to remain impassive while her Sith Lord Master stood with his hands on his hips like an affronted female homemaker. Even his voice was raised in pitch, with just the right amount of snootiness, which definitely reminded her of an irritated spouse. She had heard her mother take that tone with her father many times in her childhood. She started blankly at the dreadlocked man, expression pale, before she spoke in a defiant deadpan. “Better stories than you.”

“Mama Metus.”, she repeated with an almost derisive snort at the ridiculous nature of his statement. “If she had any sense, would have told you that enlightenment comes from the study of the philosophical, from being fearless, dedicated, and a critical thinker.”

“This state of mind does not spring from betwixt the pages of a spicy nuna wings recipe.”

His face seemed like it might crack as he tried to hold his amusement in. She imagined that her logical no-nonsense responses probably didn’t help with maintaining the façade. There was a change in him, and she inquired about it, to which he pouted further from her inability to believe he wasn’t restricted material for impressionable little Jedi-in-training. She reached out and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder, a quiet effort, intended to soothe his damaged feelings. “Sure. I believe you.”

She did not.

As they spoke of cybernetic replacements he placed an image in her mind of a particular cybernetic treatment and the young woman frowned, before shaking her head back and forth, as if to wash picture away. “You see? You know I can’t unsee that. I present you with Exhibit A in the case of why a Sith Lord isn’t safe for younglings.”

Though she was still pulling his tail when it came to the subject, she did take his concerns seriously, even if she didn’t seem to be. Of course, she didn’t want to lose her hand. There were some selective combat advantages that might be available from a cybernetic upgrade but Srina was under the impression that she had been born whole. The Goddess wished them into the world, perfect, in their own perfections. She would continue to exist as intended for as long as possible.

The Sith Lord asked for her trust, when it came to wielding a lightsaber, and slowly she nodded her head. She was still skeptical, it couldn’t be helped, but of Darth Metus spoke it to be true…The little Echani believed him. Her smile was light, as she danced away from him, so that she could test her new blade. Experimental flicks, twists, and strikes were made with all of the natural flow and elegance of a sirens song. It was simplistic. Effortless.

By the time her Master offered to be her partner, Srina readily agreed, but not before taking care of her dress. It may have the unintended effect of raising questions, but the Echani cared little for gossip, and focused more on practicality. She wouldn’t risk breaking her neck, or making a fool of herself, for the sake of a few yards of silk. Her occasionally stale, however affectionate humor, seemed to erase itself entirely. It faded from her eyes like a dying light and became frost. Calculated.

Srina, the soldier, tended to think. She did not feel.

Darth Metus seemed to notice and she buried the small mote of pleasure she felt when he fell in tandem. Gray eyes could see the experienced Sith Lord follow her movements, no matter how swift, in the way his muscles nearly imperceptibly moved. She could see it in the way he breathed. Their blades met in a flash of light, and where he bared teeth, the Echani retained a pale smile. There was no joy in it, there was no love, no laughter, and no life. It was a hollow expression. Unnerving, and hard on the senses to anyone who knew her as a living, sentient woman, it would feel wrong. She had become paradoxical. A hard truth buried in a gentle lie—Blazing heat in the middle of winter. Scorched ice.

Her teacher shoved back in a sudden blade lock and she allowed it, oddly enough, trying to sense how his blade moved against her own. She likened it to fighting with one vibrosword, versus two, and committed every minuscule moment to memory. Once she gathered enough information, she could use it to try and predict what he would do, so that she could capitalize on his momentum. Whereas she longed to attack fully, she knew the importance exploitation and deflection, rather than resistance.

With that in mind, as Darth Metus sought to overpower her and force her arms upward, her lightsaber shut off to cease the uncontrollable motion. She could feel his intention. As soon as the white light began to disappear and the lock abruptly broke, she spun past him, little more than a tightly wound distortion of air, and as the blade reappeared, she took a horizontal swing at his side.

Srina expected him to parry. Should he do so, she would adjust and make a quick thrust toward his thigh, her intent to slow him down further entirely prevalent. He wasn’t the only one to notice she was physically weaker. Her speed and lightness of foot made her hard to follow, and more than that, hard to hit. Though, it was far from impossible. Especially for a Sith Lord.

The small Echani knew the cutting power of a vibrobade, but it paled in comparison to that of a lightsaber, and her actions revolved around that notion. They might have been training, but if someone actually hit her with one, they could take her hand, or even more in the blink of an eye. Initial caution was not only smart, but necessary, and entirely appropriate. Whereas as some might have found the task grueling or nerve-wracking, Srina remained focused, and did her best not to leave herself open for an easy counter-attack. The silk of her ruined dress would not protect her. Not the way his usual armor would protect him.

Every time their sabers met, and the sound of frenzied electricity met her ears, she moved and attacked again, almost every time from a new angle. Her movements also became faster as she got more comfortable, aiming both high and low, forcing him to meet her, lest her blade clash with some unprotected part of him.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Where once there was banter, now there was only silence.

In truth, the Sith Lord and his Apprentice could have had their battle of wits for hours. The exaggeration of hurt feelings and half-truths was amusing to the both of them - even though Srina insisted on wearing a poker face for the majority of the exchange. However, when the time came to truly test out the capabilities of the newly forged lightsaber, all illusions of humor were cast away. All that mattered was focus supreme. All that mattered was the thrill of battle and the besting of the adversary before them. All that mattered was Victory.

And to say the least...Darth Metus was impressed.

Given her heritage, he had anticipated that the young woman would have been quick on her feet. However. Upon the collision of their blades, he soon found that he had stepped into her domain. She read his intentions like a book, meeting his attempt to overpower her through the uplifting of his blade with pure, common sense. She turned off of her lightsaber. Immediately, the silver light retracted, causing the Sith’s own blade to rise unopposed. Darth Metus’ muscles stiffened, attempting to catch himself mid motion so that he might not be totally exposed.

But Srina smelled blood in the water.

A quick spin brought her to his flank - her blade reignited and swung at his side. His response was, admittedly, the furthest thing from elegant. His wrist flipped over - his arm rotated to follow the motion, providing a meek defense for the swing. Her saber bit into his, sparking yet another flash of golden light. But, Srina was relentless in her assault. She moved as if she could anticipate the logical response of the man - quickly adjusting her assault in order to place a swift thrust towards his thigh. The Sith grunted. There was no way to bring his lightsaber about in time to parry this strike. And, he consciously decided not to utilize the Force...not yet anyway. The Sith wanted his Apprentice to have an opportunity to truly wield her lightsaber.

And thus, the long-buried Mandalorian heritage reared its ugly head.

Darth Metus was keenly aware of his equipment. So much so that it required no thought to respond as he did. Where most would recoil from the blades of lightsabers, in awe of their tremendous cutting potential, the Sith now ran towards the danger - metaphorically. His offhand reached low, quickly, and coiled about the length of silver which now jabbed at his thigh. The whole of his hand, protected by an Echoy’lan Crushgaunt, seized the light and tugged up and away, attempting to viciously yank Srina’s arm into an uncomfortable - and vulnerable - position. To make matters “worse”, the Sith also righted his wrist and came down, attempting to a strike that would normally cleave her arm straight off given its position.

But their battle was far from over.

Her responses to his strength were met with speed. Her answer to his might was unpredictability. She struck high and low, fast and vicious, in order to unbalance the Sith Lord. And, with each clash of the lightsabers, Darth Metus could feel the tempo of her strikes increase. It was as if she had moved on from treading water and moved on to full on swimming. [member="Srina Talon"] was mighty with the blade...of this there was no doubt.

 

[Srina Talon]

Physically, her Master was strong. If he somehow managed to get his arms wrapped around her she estimated it would only take a few seconds for trauma to begin. It would be painful and she would be essentially pinned to the wall of his chest with her arms trapped uselessly at her sides. If he squeezed, her ribs would pop and her spine would crack as if she were made of toothpicks. From this observation alone it remained important that she remained in a constant state of motion. She would be water and air whereas Darth Metus would become rock and earth.

More than once, she debated on forgoing using her newly forged weapon when she saw an easy opening, but remained steadfast against her instincts. Srina was personally exceedingly fond of submission holds, especially the more intricate forms, but this was a lightsaber duel. She would refrain, for the most part, unless her opponent broke the unspoken rules of engagement. There was an equal amount of danger. The closer he came, the more chances he had to immobilize her, however, that also meant that he risked her proximity.

The nearer the little Echani was to his person the more lethal she would become. Especially, when she completely found her footing. The lack of fore-weight to her saber was disconcerting but the apprentice vowed silently to adjust. If this was the premier weapon, the preferred weapon of her teacher, she would learn how to wield it. If only, to prove to Darth Metus that she could. As often as some suffered the misguided notion that she was merely a pretty plaything for her Master—she would prove them wrong. She was not a pampered noble, nor some feeble-minded royal, and she did not need to be coddled.

Srina reacted with an evenly calculated amount of elegance and precision. When he blocked her swing to his side, a singular eyebrow rose, just faintly. His response was slower than she’d expected. Clumsy, for lack of a better term. If she had kept adding pressure to his wrist it would have definitely felt tender later on. As it were, her blindingly fast strike to his thigh met its mark, but he surprised her by taking hold of the white light, as if it were nothing.

Once again he tried to pull her arms up and into vulnerability but this time she simply let go to avoid the sting of his emerald blade. No weapon was worth exposing herself. The softest parts of her silk covered form were a weakness that she endeavored to protect. She would not be able to take as much physical abuse as her Master. Not because of her skill level—but simply because of bodily limitations. Srina stepped into his form once again, body to body, before she whirled hard and drove her elbow mercilessly into his abdomen. Pain flooded her arm, moving through her like wildfire, but she accepted it as her teeth ground together. Metus would probably notice a line of pale-red fluid running down her arm. The attack would have bothered her more than him as his armored form surely could take it but Srina only wished to throw him off balance to create some room. Afterward, the Echani dropped and rolled away from her opponent, before holding her hand out, using the Force to tear her blade away from her Master. It landed back in her hand.

The small victory was short lived because she had to ready herself immediately. The Sith Lord would give her no quarter. As such, when their blades met again, she made sure that the connection was brief. Her intent was to win. Not to abuse their blades or her arms. She felt his strikes vibrate through her bones and experience told her that eventually, her body would begin to numb. It wouldn’t necessarily affect her performance but it was a sign that the fight would take its toll.

Srina fell into a blazing burst of vicious lightsaber strikes that were both rapid and controlled. Her white saber only ever struck as far as necessary to complete a movement, but no further. The white-haired beauty moved on instinct to offset and incoming blow, standing neither too close, nor too far, to adhere to a set of invisible rules. There was no wasted energy. No strike made without purpose. The Echani had long ago learned that it was important to strike with power, but it was also equally crucial that she aimed to end the attack from a place in which she could recover. This ensured that a missed strike did not leave her dangerously open. If anything, she tilted it to her advantage, making sure that her unpredictable aggression paid off.

It came to a point in which it seemed that neither fighter could advance and Srina swung her wrist in a downward arc so that the tip of the blade sought to scrap against the tops of his boot covered toes. It was an odd movement, no so much as it was an attack, as it was a distraction. Whether he jumped back or not the fist of her off hand coiled and before her blade could come full circle she threw a none-to-gentle jab at her Master’s face. As always, she withdrew just enough, before she began to attack anew, this time, aiming directly at the arm that held his saber.

It seemed that she could fight, breathlessly, with as much skill and strength as someone had had just begun. If she was winded, despite her constant movements, Darth Metus would not see it. What he would take notice of would be her penchant for improvisation. While every movement, even a cheap shot to the face, was laden with dazzling grace there didn’t seem to be a distinct style she followed. More than anything it seemed like a culmination of principles all boiling down into one complete move set. Srina would do her best to surprise him, and any opponent, as the shock value usually left them with vulnerabilities they couldn’t control.

Most sword fights Srina had found herself engaged in against Thyrsians did not last long. Generally, they lasted seconds. Or what felt like a fraction of a second. Seekers were trained harder and pushed further than many. Even the remnants of the Sun Guard had found themselves struggling against her unit, and that was no easy feat, considering they were famed fanatics with pike skills that were second to none. Long story short, the Sun Guard were terrifying, hot, and angry. Srina was the opposite. Cold and controlled.

That being said, there would be a point, when they would either need to draw or stop holding back. Srina knew that her Master was trying to give her the opportunity to fight with a laser sword without having to worry about a Force-related attack on top of it…But how many enemies would show her the same courtesy?

None.

“Stop protecting me and fight me.”

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

In truth, the Sith Lord felt lighter than he had ever been.

Decades. Literal decades had been wasted as a prisoner to the Iron Skin. Pounds upon pounds of heavy metals weighed against his body, cultivating a condition that became accustomed to the perpetual pressure. Yet, in the absence of the beskar’gam, Darth Metus himself felt similar to the plight of his apprentice. Where she worked to adapt to the weightless blade within her grasp, he worked to come to terms with how his body moved when unrestrained. However, now was certainly not the time to spend moments thinking about how he could properly respond to her assaults, swiftness be damned. The blow that had caused his wrist to turn at an awkward angle had proven that much.

Still. As their battle raged on, the Sith was surprised at just how quickly he was able to respond at all. Simply achieving the successful theft of her saber was something that an armored-Darth Metus would not have been able to pull off. Yet, just as his apprentice, he did not afford himself any moment to savor the meager victory. For, once the shining blade burned against the beskar of his crushgaunt, Srina responded with a merciless elbow to his abdomen. The force of the assault was, largely, absorbed by the blast vest which clung to his torso; and yet he still felt pain and was subject to the weight of her strike. He forfeited ground - a single step back in response to her strike. And in that moment, her roll and summon yanked the newfound weapon back into her grasp.

Darth Metus did not resist the tug of the lightsaber from his grip. Rather, he allowed it to burn out of his hand unopposed. Then, immediately, the Echani was upon him once more. She was a flurry of dancing blows, of swiftness of feet, of unpredictability. And he was a mountain. Unmoving. Unyielding. Where she struck, he parried. Where she slashed, he bit back. But it was not easy. They were both opposing sides of the same, metaphorical coin. Their dance was such that, if one faltered in the slightest, the strength of the other would not be denied. But, neither Master nor Apprentice budged. Neither Srina or Darth Metus faltered.

It seemed that, if nothing else, their respective heritages had given them enough stamina to weather the other.

A break in their dance came with Srina brought her saber down in a downward strike. Darth Metus read the assault and responded as one typically one - forfeiting another step so as to prevent damage to his footing. He, like a tree, depended upon his roots for strength; and as such to incur damage there would be to falter. Would be to hand victory to his apprentice. However, this was a deception on the part of the Echani - for as the Sith moved to preserve the safety of his feet, her fist collided with his face. In comparison to the hits he had taken over his lifetime, this was a jab if ever there was one. He did not see stars, but he certainly tasted his own blood as his teeth slashed against his tongue.

And that was enough that Darth Metus, for a moment, forgot that he was facing his Apprentice.

When her retaliatory strike came, aimed for his sword arm, his saber batted it away with renewed vigor. Unlike his previous blows, the collision of their sabers now would cause a fresh numbness to rattle within her wrists - as if she had taken a stick to the side of a tree with all her might. But this was just another step in their dance. The flurry of dancing strikes resumed, as did the fury of Darth Metus’ defense. All until a break in the fighting - a gap was created between Master and Apprentice. A precious reprieve where Srina spoke.

Stop protecting me and fight me.

Darth Metus swallowed.

The emerald blade extinguished and fell to the earth, thumping upon the fertile ground. ”I won’t kill you.” came his solemn vow. Then, the Force beckoned his saber from his belt. A meager slide of his thumb caused the crimson blade to erupt into being. He held it aloft, allowing the blade to level horizontally out in front of him...before yanking his arm back; thereby bringing his saber up vertically.

Srina would find her footing challenged - a mighty pull yanked at both of her legs, attempting to see her flipped square onto her back. In tandem, the Sith thrust his offhand forward. Wrath personified arced from his fingertips, racing across their training ground in order to strike her form.

Per her request, Darth Metus cut the crap and fought.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

“Fight me like you need to.”, Srina returned to Darth Metus, her expression grim, eyes solid. She knew what she was asking for—But how could she learn to fight Sith if he kept trying to keep her from the darkness?

Srina could feel a change in her Master, from the time she requested that he stop calling his shots, to the time he called his crimson saber to his hand. It didn’t help that she suddenly found herself looking up at a star-speckled sky. The wind was knocked out of her when her back hit the ground, some invisible force having stolen her feet out from beneath her, and although she pressed back against the grass to try and right herself rapidly, that too, seemed folly. At first she didn’t know what was coming. Time seemed to slow as she watched the bright light, pale blue, and blinding scorch across the grass.

The reflection of it glowed in silver eyes, and briefly, she felt it beautiful, before Force Lightning crashed full force into her slender frame. Pain. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, reflexive, as she couldn’t draw breath to actually do so. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t think. All of her faculties were momentarily destroyed to the point of simply accepting the deluge.

Briefly, brokenly, through weathered gasps, she was able to activate the bracelet on her wrist. It didn’t seem to have been affected by Darth Metus’s attack, at least not yet, and she was momentarily given reprieve as the jarring attack was halted. She lay still, just relearning to breathe, her arms flat on the grass as her chest heaved. Her stomach, which had taken the first point of contact, ached and burned, almost enough that when she rolled to her side to try and get up that she nearly got sick.

She opened her eyes, heaving a shaky gust of air, before she realized the unthinkable. The Force Lightning was literally eating its way through the shield that the power of the Mandragora had created. The momentary resistance was enough to give her a small, small break, but it wouldn’t be enough to spare her. Srina had been trained since childhood to endure. To outlast her opponents. Pain was nothing, just a trick of the flesh, a staple of mortality. She could fight through it.

Srina could fight him. The ground beneath her began to rumble as a jagged crack ran through the earth, running swiftly along the space between her and Darth Metus, before the vibrations ran deep. Her telekinesis pushed forcefully beneath the soil, spurned by her desire to fight, to win, before bursting out beneath his feet. It lifted the solid ground, dirt and shale, in a giant slab and unless he moved swiftly, it would seek to throw him and the chunk of rock some distance away.

Hopefully, it would give her time to breathe, make space, and get her bearings. For now, she was trying to learn how to stand again. Her legs felt like jelly and refused to cooperate no matter how hard she tried. Her fist met the ground in a rare moment of frustration and she eventually moved into a standing position on stubbornness alone. Again, her hand shot out, and she pulled her lightsaber back to her.

Despite shaking limbs and blurry vision, she readied herself for a new attack, posture falling into something familiar. Her stance was wide to keep steady and the split in her skirts exposed the deceptive length of her legs, pale flesh unmarred, though her muscles visibly trembled. She didn’t notice the pale-red fluid running down from her earlobes. It was a little hard to hear.

“I-I won’t make this easy for you. I won’t give up.”, she called across the makeshift battlefield, her thumb moving across her weapon. White light again erupted from her saber and she held it as she would have held it mindfully. As noted before the lack of weight felt strange. Srina crept forward, carefully, slowly, and incredibly stubborn. Many would have simply thrown in the towel but the little Echani refused.

One tap, one sneeze, from her Master and the Mandragora energy shield would be destroyed. After that, she was on her own, and likely at his mercy.

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

Fight me like you need to.

Conflict boiled underneath the skin of the Sith Lord. On one hand, the Echani had requested this; and as her Master it was his duty to ensure that she was able to face the wrath of his kind head on. Yet...on the other hand...to cause the young woman any form of agony tore against him. Even to strike back during their semi-regular sparring sessions gave Darth Metus pause. But this...this was something different entirely.

The young Echani soon found herself bereft of solid footing. With posterior upon the grasses, her silver eyes looked to the skies - blissfully unaware of the storm to come. Then, a typhoon raged from the hand of her Master. Wrath personified arced as angry bolts across their battleground, burning past the fabrics and into the flesh of Srina. Her agony was his agony. The pain which caused her lips to part in a soundless scream echoed through their Bond. Yet. Something louder rang within his psyche. Something yelled at a pitch greater and more intense than the suffering she endured - defiance.

Srina Talon was not backing down.

Reprieve came in the form of a dueling shield, activated only moments after the lightning made contact with her body. The azure protection sprang to action immediately - drawing away the brunt of the assault so that she could breathe. The Sith would not be denied, however, and continued to press his attack. The Lightning only seemed to grow in intensity as the seconds rolled ever forward - as if spurned by the determination burning through their Bond. Srina's will to fight became Darth Metus' will to continue. All hesitation burned away as the roar of her grit saw her rise to her feet.

A half-smirk played upon the Sith's lips.

Rumble!

The very earth below the Sith's feet began to tremble and break. Fissures formed, created by the determination of the Echani alone, in an attempt to cast the Sith Lord back. The slab of dirt surged upwards and towards his being - only to be cut through by a swing of his saber. Stray chunks of earth did yet collide with his form, causing the stream of lightning to cease. What's more, Darth Metus forfeited ground, staggering back a pace or so in response to her defiance.

I won't make this easy for you.

Settling his gaze back upon his Apprentice, sulfuric depths witnessed a warrior back on her feet. Although visibly shaken by the electric assault upon her person, Srina Talon stood as bold as a lion. Her determination rolled off of her in waves, solidifying a single truth in the mind of the Sith Lord. Even if she fell, she could handle his best. "Remember this pain." he said, splaying his fingers out before him. "Remember it...and make it your own."

The cryptic command's meaning made itself perfectly clear in the next instant.

An incantation slithered from his lips. Ancient Sith. Odojinya. And at once, a well of anger formed within the pit of Darth Metus' stomach. The spontaneous combustion of his feelings would send primal ripples through their Bond - enough to alert the Echani that an even greater storm was on the horizon. And, just when the question of "what" could form in the mind, a trio manifested. Amber bands rose from the very earth about the Echani, suspending themselves just outside of arm's reach in an intimidating perimeter. They brimmed with the Darkness and vicious intent - moving only when the Sith closed his hand into a fist.

Constriction gripped their form.

And like a caught beast would the Sith attempt to ensnare his Apprentice. Upon contact, the bands would cause enormous agony to the body; as if one were being slowly roasted alive. There would be no burnt flesh in the wake of the contact, nor evidence of their existence upon her body. Yet, the most terrifying trait of the Odojinya was what happened to the body once ensnared. In that instant, should the Echani become his captive, the presence of their Bond would slowly quiet. The presence of the Force would slowly seep away. As if the river of her might was dammed by the rings.

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

"Remember this pain. Remember it...and make it your own."​

Srina had a sense of danger, a sense of dread, and an overwhelming urge to run. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that she knew she ought to heed, but her spasming muscles couldn’t comply. It had taken most of her strength to try and create some sort of distance between them, just to have enough space to breath without lightning arcing through her core. A singular word passed through her Master’s lips, and the anger that welled within him startled her, leaving her feeling like she’d been sucker punched in the gut by someone twice her strength and size.

Odojinya​

Something rose from the ether, something she could not fathom or explain, and although the typically nimble woman tried to evade it, she failed. As her master closed his fist she gasped when amber rings snapped tight around her form. Agony. Her face tilted toward the sky and her eyes rolled back when her nerve endings were flooded with burning, searing, pain. The silvery woman, hovering inches from the ground, could not halt a high, keening wail from escaping her lips. It was sharp, frustrated, and touched with misery.

Inwardly, when she could think between waves of unforgiving fire consuming rational thought, Srina seethed. Just like before, she tried to reason that pain was relative, that it could be endured. This trap was different. Her lightsaber clattered to the ground as her hands clenched and she involuntarily screamed again, shoulders straining as she fought to free herself, the action only causing the heat to increase. The more she struggled the more it felt like it was blackening her insides.

Worse than that, she could feel her strength draining away, and the unmistakable connection to the Force felt like it was dwindling. Srina could hear her blood rushing in her ears, feel her heart threaten to burst from the cage of her chest, and more than once it felt like she might lose consciousness. To her credit, she remained aware, but it only brought suffering of a new kind. She could feel the bond that she shared with Darth Metus slipping away from her. He felt further and further away with every moment. It was torture. Had her upbringing been any different, she would have begun to panic.

She might have even begged him to stop.

Instead, her head fell down. Her jaw clenched, and storm cloud eyes landed on her Master, set in a dead glare. Rocks, pebbles, and anything small that wasn’t glued to something greater began to float in her vicinity. She pushed, hard, reaching for the Force with everything she had. A telekinetic wave rippled from her being, violent, as if ripped from her very core, and headed straight toward the Sith Lord. It dug up grass and dirt as it went, clearing the area….But just before it touched him the strength of it seemed to fail and it would touch him with as a gust of spring wind. Srina tried again. And again.

Each attempt to use the Force became less successful. Between the pain of the rings and her constant struggles, she was soon rendered to stillness. Only her defiant glare remained, her teeth grinding to avoid screaming in agony again. If she could not escape, she would endure, until her Master was satisfied. Her nails left crescent moon slices in her palms as they dug in and her entire body went rigid. Her eyes stung and burned against her will. She didn’t want to cry and express any more weakness than she already had.

She would not cry. She would not make a sound. She would not cry.

‘I won’t give up. I won’t back down. I don’t care what you do. Your magic won’t break me.’ ​

​

[member="Darth Metus"]

 

[Malok]

He knew.

Decades ago, a young man draped in Beskar had tasted the very same agony. Suspended was he within the confines of an imperial hangar, bound with bands of vicious energy that wreaked unimaginable havoc upon his body. He, too, released a chilling wail into the air upon the contact of Darkness and flesh. He, too, recoiled against the torment which sent unceasing pain rippling through every fiber of his being. He, too, made this agony his own one day. Yet, despite the memory which danced before his mind's eye...his resolve was given a solid shake.

The care he had for the young Echani caught him between two vicious extremes. On one hand, a small part of him wanted to stop. Wanted to end the simulation of battle - wanted to spare Srina of the anguish he was putting her through. But...on the other hand...he cared to the point where he had to continue. She was his - to protect and mold. And as such, he had to prepare her for whatever may come in the future. He had to arm her with the very same, vicious power that now raged across her body.

And as promised, Srina did not make this easy.

Her defiance manifested through her primal instinct. The concentration of her latent talents saw debris and the earth rise to her command. They soared across their makeshift battlefield, attempting to pelt and assail Darth Metus' form. Perhaps it was a move intended to break the focus of his magick, for stones alone would not be enough to see him laid low. Yet, just as her assault would have reached him, the telekinetic might propelling it forward came to a halt. As if her reach had reached its zenith and could not extend any further. She tried again, despite this failure. And again. And again. And again.

Yet each time, the debris fell short.

Yet each time, the agony persisted.

...Your Magick won't break me.​

"Good."

His response came as thunder. The deep beritone of his voice carried a dangerous edge as his fist unclenched. Sulfuric eyes burned against the silver pools that glared upon him, meeting their defiance with sheer might. Though. For the moment, the Echani might mistake what came next as mercy. In but the briefest of moments, the bands of torment returned from wench they came - evaporating from her body as quickly as they has manifested. He did not abandon her to fall to the ground unceremoniously, providing a slight cushion to her fall by means of paltry telekinetics. Once settled safely upon the dirt, the Sith turned his focus to the nature surrounding them.

His dominant hand stretched forth, reaching for the pristine waters.

Amber bled from his fingers. Slithering light wound its way into the crystalline depths for the briefest of moments - affording Srina enough time to collect herself. Darth Metus spoke no words in the moment, but the Echani would soon witness the vile might he now displayed. One by one, native fish began to rise to the water's surface. One by one, their lifeless forms bobbed in the waning light of day, completely drained of all essence. What had kept them in the world of the living had been completely torn away - drained into the waiting grasp of the Sith. And when he had his fill, he set his gaze upon her.

His hand moved. The Amber responded. And soon, Srina would find slithering bands of attempting to graze her flesh. Yet, as they drew near, a peculiar reality would become apparent. These bands would feel as the warmth of a campfire against the chill of winter, radiating a comforting sensation as they approached. Simply being within swatting distance of them would relieve some of the tenderness in her joints - and allowing them to make full contact would see much more immediate results. Srina would feel refreshed, her pain wiped clean at the hands of her Master. But. She would feel the demise of the fishes. She would feel their lives swimming away, stolen to refresh her own physical condition.

What's more...a quiet appetite would linger once the "healing" was done.

Yet the Sith did not seem to bat an eye at the practice. This was not the first time he had utilized this profane means of rejuvenation, and it certainly would not be the last. "Magick is like fire." he began, continuing her training as if nothing in the world was wrong. "It requires only fuel and a source of ignition to begin, but requires no direction to act. Fire can, of course, be guided if one has the means, but otherwise it behaves as it ought. So too is true of Magick."

He paused, concluding his "healing" by lowering his hand.

"Pain is a powerful fuel source for Magick. As is Anger. Grief. Jealousy. Hatred. As for a source of ignition, Magick revolves around an incantation. A single word or phrase that directs the flow of the Force. The Dark Side understands what it is meant to do - just as Fire - and will respond to your incantation."

He opened his arms then, as if to embrace the whole of creation.

"I want you to think of your family. Of Eshan. Of what you've lost at the hands of your own kin. I want you to drag those buried feelings to the surface and to make that pain your own. Do as I have - utter Odojinya and strike!"

[member="Srina Talon"]

 

[Srina Talon]

Her glare maintained the same level of intensity while her Master observed her, seeming measure her resolve, or perhaps he was simply waiting for her to fall apart. Her body was on fire. Her soul, the very essence of her being, felt like it was being torn to shreds and systematically destroyed. Her body shook, trembling with pain, and an emotion so terrifying and bleak, that she couldn’t identify it. Eventually, she began to see through Darth Metus, eyes hard, but slowly losing focus. Her strength was gone, literally, leeched from her body by the damnable amber rings.

She was entirely unresponsive when the spell fell away and her body floated to the earth. Everything ached. The air moving across her skin caused her eyes to sting, every inch of her, feeling as if she’d been scrubbed viciously with sandpaper and chemical cleaner. She gasped for breath, white hair falling from her braids, strewn among the dirt and chunks of torn up grass. Slowly, ever so slowly, she curled in on herself. Shivering. She could do nothing else.

Srina did not move as feeling returned to her, as the Force reignited the bond between herself, and her Master. He was warmth. But distant. So very, very far away. She could see him in her mind’s eye, pulling fish from the lake, and she remained wholly confused. She could feel the buildup of power, so she knew something was about to happen, but she didn’t know what. Regardless, she was utterly powerless to stop it. Her body held all of the consistency of ground, processed, bloody meat. Her bones felt brittle and hollow, like they might snap at the slightest movement, intentional or otherwise.

Against her better judgment, and the protests of her battered form, she tried to push herself into a sitting position. She fell more than once. Failing, embarrassingly, at doing something that even a babe could do. Still, ever stubborn and determined, she tried.

When Sith magic anew flowed through the area, new power reaching for her, Srina shied away from it. The Echani dug deep and managed to scuttle away by a mere few feet, not trusting the amber bands of power that reached for her, but she couldn’t stand. Her legs would not cooperate under any circumstances. When the first wave of it brushed against her ankles, sweeping up her legs, she gasped at the sensation of pain evaporating. It felt so good, it almost hurt, all over again.

Srina let herself fall back down in the dirt, a fallen star, clad in blue tatters. She was filthy, covered in grime, grass stains, and dried pale-red blood, but at least she could breathe. It took a long time for her to realize that Darth Metus had siphoned life from something so small as a fish, to replenish her, and repair the damage that had been done to her body. Her eyes closed and she temporarily languished under the effects. When the light faded, and the power receded, Srina frowned. It was as if she’d nearly been asleep, and someone had stolen her blankets away.

It was cold. She missed this warmth, the way it stole away her hurts, and replaced it with a feeling lighter than air.

Darth Metus began to speak, and the apprentice remained prone, the wind stirring the blue silk of her ruined dress. Long lengths of moonlit hair danced in the night, fluttering from the ground, as if it had a mind of its own. “Magick like fire.”, she repeated slowly, accepting this for what it was, versus the torture it had felt like. It was a lesson. A dark truth of cause and effect, of strength and weakness, and a reminder, that as long as her Force abilities remained untrained…No fight would ever be fair.

Her Master went over the emotions that were capable of becoming fuel. An incantation annoyed her, but, at least it seemed to revolve around short phrases. Srina was not fond of standing around chanting when could have been fighting all along. “The Dark Side understands…Does that mean it also thinks? Wants?”

If so, what did it think, and what did it want? Srina had been trying to answer that for as long as he had known Darth Metus. Her visions seemed to be the way that it spoke to her the loudest. She had long ago learned not to ignore it. It would be heard, no matter what she wished, and it would make her regret not listening closely enough in the first place. When her Master opened his arms to the open air and green life of the Silver Rest the young apprentice sat up.

It was true, she felt more refreshed, and the pain was gone, but she was still overwhelmed. Her spirit felt drained, taxed, as if it had been spread too thinly. Darth Metus implored her to think of her family, to think of what had been taken from her, and encouraged her to feel that loss. At first, she felt nothing, and the wind kept turning, tossing loose white hair this way and that. Her heart was a vast emptiness. It was still waters, with nothing to cause a wave, or even a ripple.

It had been that way ever since she attended Larinkáoi. She thought. She did not feel.

The more she dwelled on her home world he more her training seemed to fade. Little by little the pain flooded in. Agony, heartache, and fear ate through her steel exterior and her hands returned to fists in the dirt. She did not stand. She did not breathe. Her head turned slowly, silver eyes alight with power unknown, sharp, and wide as silver dollars. Low stars burned within her iris, causing an odd glow before her strength began to show itself once more. Gravity seemed to fail and time itself slowed to a crawl as her gaze fell to Darth Metus.

Her eyes were filled with things unnamable. Unleashed, and unbound, by the pain her Master had brought her…Silver pools glistened with fire so cold that it burned. Oh, her eyes could be so cruel. When everything seemed to stop, the wind, her breathing, she murmured that which the dreadlocked man wished to hear… Odojinya.

A culmination of black emotions forced bands of energy into existence. They were similar to that which Darth Metus had created, but different in shade, a little darker. They were redder than amber—nearly onyx on the edges. Delicate fingers rose in the air, and just as he had trapped her, the dark webbing snapped closed around her Master. It was vicious, surging, raw, and untamed. She did not have the finesse that the Sith Lord had displayed.

Just as quickly did the burning, painful bands wrap around him, did she realize that her lips had curved into something resembling a smile. It felt wicked. Srina paused, wholly, and lavender lids fell over gilded mirrored orbs. She released the power, released the energy, and let the spell fade into nothing.

“There are…Consequences…”, she uttered slowly, burying all that she felt, all that Darth Metus had lured to the surface. “There is a price. I will pay it…If I must…”

“But I will not pay it to harm you. Not today.”

Srina’s head fell, accepting the failure, as well as a new wave of exhaustion. Mentally…She felt torn apart. Her promise to never harm her Master felt threatened. She felt for the bond that had always bound them, and traveling the line of it, she found him on the other end. Apology lived in her core…But so did a mote of fear. She could feel the lure of this power, of this magic, and could feel herself slipping. Losing her footing.

She did not have the same faith in herself that her Master did.

[member="Darth Metus"]