Private The Second Son

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael
Voice Sample

After returning from the.... interesting debacle with the Emperor the Shaper firmly decided on one thing: If he wanted to see this Empire's youth rise to be worthy successors to their fore-bearers then he would have to inspire them to greater heights. Much as he was an interesting thing Dok Varuut did not strike him as one willing to do whatever it took to see himself ascend, as such, he would find another who could also stand to learn this most valuable lesson. So it was that the Shaper had instructed those in charge of rooting out suitable candidates on Korriban to locate him an Apprentice of promise. He stood in one of the academy's training halls, garbed in his armor, Urfael at his side and Acharn placed resting against a nearby wall.

The room was large, tall and rectangular in shape, with shallow sand marking the combat pit at which he stood on one end of. Two Tuk'ata flanking the Shaper on either side as he stared at the closed door to the training area. The Shaper had gathered a powerful expression of the Force into his palm and he simply waited for his would-be apprentice to enter the room. He felt he had been much too lenient with the other and was intent on making sure the potential rival for Dok was someone who would be able to anticipate the surprise and trickery Dok favored, while he would also train Dok to deal this one's preferred mode of operation as well. That way they both would be forced to experiment and evolve, he would ever let them grow lax.

The very second the door opened the Shaper would extend a hand, using the single, gathered amount of Force potency in his hand to grip Darth Acharon and pull him into the room. Not hard enough break anything, but definitely hard enough to feel like he was shoved from behind by someone large and angry into the sandy pit. The Shaper did not bother to stop and see if Cyrus was armed, prepared, injuried or not, as he then motioned with his hand and two slavering, ravenous Tuk'ata both growled and began flinging sand behind them as they charged at the prospective apprentice.

Only once the Tuk'ata charged and leapt at Cyrus did the Shaper's voice speak to him through the Force, contacting his mind with The iron Crown. 'Fight Apprentice, if you are worthy. Know that I shall never allow you rest, never allow you to falter or grow complacent, and should you wish to survive you shall strive for perfection in all that you do.'

​

 

[Darth Acharon]

Cyrus had come to Korriban in chains. After fleeing from the Core, he had made his way towards the borders of the Sith Empire. What few resources and credits he had left had gotten him passage on a freighter heading towards Fest where he hoped he could find some work while he tried to settled down. The fake identity card only got him through a single checkpoint when he landed on Fest before he was stopped for questioning. He had been on edge still, the exhausting of recent weeks still plaguing him, and when the security had come for him, he had lashed out. He had managed to wound a few of the guards before a Sith belonging to the Brotherhood stopped him.

Rather than killing Cyrus, the Sith had chained him up and sent him to Korriban, a potential recruit for the Emperor's armies. Upon arriving at Korriban, still technically under arrest, he was taken to a holding cell while the Academies instructors sorted him out. It had taken them a whole week to make their decision. No food had been provided, and only the scantest amount of water to keep him alive during the time. Cyrus had still yet to fully recover from then, and he could still see his ribs just beneath the surface of his skin three weeks later.

The schedule he had begun to settle into at the Academy had changed today. Instead of attending classes with other Acolytes, he had been instructed to go to a room in the Academy he had never been too before. Wearing nothing but black pants and a shirt, and carrying only a small stylist he would have used to take notes, Cyrus but his hand on the door of the room and knocked. He got no answer, but he hesitated before reaching to open the door. He sensed...something on the other side. He was not sure what it was exactly, but he had felt something similar ever since he had arrived to the Academy.

He had felt it on the night his old life ended too...

Shaking his head, Cyrus reached forward and opened the door...only to be suddenly shoved into the room. He stumbled forward a few steps, turning his head back to see what had moved him, only for his eyes to widen in shock at the sight of the two monsters waiting on either side of the door. He barely registered the words of Arctus Silmar in the back of his mind as the two beasts leapt towards Cyrus, fangs and claws glinting. Heart pounding in his ears, his legs shaking, and every instinct in his body screaming at him to run, he acted.

Still off balance from the actions of the Shaper, Cyrus did not even try to right himself. It would take too long he realized in the split second he had before the creatures reached him. Instead, he shifted all his weight to his right leg, which he had put out originally to try and steady him, before shoving off the ground. He twisted his away from the initial hop, spinning twice in the air as he flipped over the two Tuk'ata, their mad rush sending them right through the air Cyrus had been a moment before. He landed gracefully on both feet, his decades of training in dance on Chandrilla helping him keep his feet. His initial evasion only bought him a few seconds as the Tuk'ata began to turn around on the spot, bumping into each other briefly in their haste to get to their target.

The things terrified Cyrus, but a quick glance at the door told him he had no choice but to fight them if he wanted to survive. Gripping the thing metallic stylist in his right hand, Cyrus took a few running steps towards the Tuk'ata. They did not miss his approach, and the two creatures worked in unison. One leapt into the air to strike at Cyrus's head, while the other sprinted forward, its claws flashing to cut his legs out from under him. Cyrus gave neither the chance, and flung his legs out in front of him, his body slamming into the floor and sliding. The first Tuk'ata flew overhead, its head snapping around to try and follow its prey's movement. The second creature tried to readjust its position. In that instant, as Cyrus slid past the second Tuk'ata, he brought the stylist in his hand up and slammed it into the creatures right eye, his momentum meeting that of the creatures and driving the small device in to the sensitive organ.

Shoving back with his shoulders, Cyrus flipped himself back to his feet, coming down into a combat crouch, his eyes filled with anger and fear as he prepared himself for the fight of his life.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

Darth Acharon

As the Tuk'ata pounced at Cyrus in unison and Cyrus acted in response the Shaper showed no visual response of approval or disdain for Cyrus; actions. No outward display of whether or not what he had done well, was falling deeper into a trap, or was failing the Shaper's expectations. All that greeted Cyrus' actions from the Shaper was a casual wave of his hand, causing a spray of ice shard to swirl through the air towards Cyrus. None of them particularly large and more to disorient him than anything else, each shard the size of an individual razor blade. The Tuk'ata themselves were kept largely safe from the small blades by their hides and fur, though the Tuk'ata Cyrus had stabbed in the eye yelped and growled viciously as it shook it's head in a wild, successful attempt to dislodge the stylus. The small, metal implement clattering against the far wall.

The uninjured Tuk'ata, barely catching it's failed charge by digging it's paws into the sand, spun around with lithe, inhuman grace before lunging at Cyrus. Clawing and snapping at his calves while the injured Tuk'ata spun, it's only seeing eye glancing around desperately for a moment or two before it spotted Cyrus. It's balance and aim of it's charge was off now, due to the alteration to it's sight, and it pounced once again toward Cyrus. This time it's attack was just the slightest bit off-center, the slightest bit slower, as it lunged for Cyrus' chest. Intent on barreling him over as the Shaper once again spoke to Cyrus in his mind.

'Do not allow yourself to be prey. Draw on your fear, your anger, that roiling, swelling well of emotion. Make the Force your own, force it to heed you and wield it against these beasts if you can. If not, the die, and feed those stronger and more useful than yourself.'

The Shaper was attempting to coax Cyus into connecting with the Force, to tap into the Dark Side and turn his attention away from the physical, to see exactly what this potential new apprentice was capable of. He'd already found the one of passable quality and should Cyrus do at least as well the two of them would be able to push the other to greater and greater heights to earn his favor. That or perhaps one of them would achieve supremacy and, unbeknownst to them both, should one of them someday slay the other the Shaper would see them risen to the rank of Sith Knight to conquering their rival. A lesson in overcoming obstacles, adversity and cementing one's own power to achieve their ends, and one he would be sure the two of them learned well. Pacifism, mediocrity. These things he would not accept and so he planned even now for the tests he would give this one, assuming Cyrus managed to avoid becoming simple food for a Tuk'ata.

Should Cyrus once again survive the Tuk'ata's efforts the Shaper would then emulate the tactic Dok had performed in his tomb, summoning a sheet of ice to cover the sand around Cyrus to compromise his footing. Teaching Cyrus, even now, of the rival he was yet to face before he even knew Dok's name.

 

[Darth Acharon]

Cyrus barely had a moment to to sense the approaching threat Arctus Silmar sent his way, and to react to it. A quick look over his shoulder confirmed the blades of ice approaching him. The approaching Tuk'ata however prevented him from fully turning his attention to the attack, and so he did what he could. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a smaller undershirt beneath. With quick work, Cyrus jumped away from the approaching Tuk'ata, at the same time as he brought the shirt in his hand around like a whip. The ice shards still tore through the material with little effort, but the momentary delay in their passage allowed Cyrus to make it through the worst of the barrage with only minor cuts.

Granted, it now meant he had one less layer of clothing to protect himself against the monsters he faced, but he figured they would have done little to protect him either way. His thoughts were proven right when the Tuk'ata advanced on him. He managed to sidestep and avoid the mad biting and slashing of his uninjured foe, but in doing so pushed him into the path of the disoriented Tuk'ata. Its leap at him had been off balance and poorly aimed, but in avoiding its pack mate, Cyrus had walked into its path. He cried out in pain as he felt a flash of searing agony across his chest as the Tuk'ata landed a shallow cut from his shoulder almost to his hip.

Without thinking, Cyrus grabbed the Tuk'ata by the claws it had just used to cut him. He spun quickly, faster than he normally should have been able to on his own, though this did not register in his mind. He pulled up the clawed paw of Tuk'ata, and before the beast could react, he slammed it down on his knee. There was a resounding snap, as the force enhanced strength of his attack shattered the Tuk'atas entire arm. It howled in pain and stumbled backwards, one leg hanging loosely from its socket.

He did not have long to revel in his small victory, or consider what he had just done, when a mass of weight slammed into him from behind. The other Tuk'ata had circled around and launched itself at Cyrus's exposed back, and they now both tumbled across the floor. Fresh cuts and slashes were delivered across Cyrus's body as they went. Each flash of agony and terror pushed him further and further into a darkness that had been lingering at the edge of his mind. The pain dissapeared. His fear dissapeared. All that remained in his mind was a burning fire of hatred, and a clarity of thought that had only come to him once before.

On the night he had killed his family...

They came to a stop in their roll, with Cyrus pinned to the floor, and the Tuk'ata staring down at him. In a slowed motion, it began to lean down to deliver the death bite to his neck, only to suddenly feel Cyrus's legs brace against its stomach. In the next moment, using all his strength and the Dark Side of the Force to aid him, he shoved upwards against the Tuk'ata. It went soaring through the air, almost perfectly vertical. Yowling in sudden confusion, the Tuk'ata flailed as it left the ground, separated from its prey that had been dead to rights but a moment before. As Cyrus tried to scramble to his feet, he found himself losing his balance briefly. Looking down, he found the entire floor of the room, formerly of sand, had taken on the appearance and feeling of ice.

Almost without thought, he slammed his fist into the ice before him, his Force enhanced strength shattering the ice before him into almost perfectly shaped shards. He had used the Force to try and control the ice as he impacted it, although the shards came out to be smaller than Cyrus intended. With another force of effort and will, he dragged the two, knife point shards up from where they were. Not with his hands, but with the Force this time. The two shards came together to form half of a pyramid, angled upwards. All of this happened in a few seconds, and the Tuk'ata, slowly plummeting from its fall, had no time to avoid the new obstacle.

It slammed down onto the shards, its own weight and momentum aiding in it being pierced through by the force infused ice shards. It yowled in agony, body spasming and flailing as blood began to pool beneath it. After a few moment, it fell silent, and its body hung limp on ice shards. A moment later, the shards shattered, as Cyrus's control began to falter. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he looked down at his chest, seeing the tattered remains of his undershirt soaked through with blood. He had blocked out the pain of the wound, but had not thought about dealing with it at the time. That thought shattered his state of mind, his control over his body and the Force flowing out of him with the ever increasing trickle of blood.

He stumbled to the side, the ice that remained sending him falling. He slammed into the ground next to the corpse of the first Tuk'ata, grunting from the pain that flashed through his whole body. At the edge of his thoughts, he registered the sound of the stumbled approach of the other Tuk'ata. Opening his eyes against the agony in his skull, Cyrus saw the last foe approaching, a stumbled gate from its lack of control, but still fast. When it was only a few yards away from him, it took a final leaping lounge forward, digging its claws into some of the sand that had not been coated in ice, and leaping into the air towards the prone, and almost entirely helpless Cyrus.

For but a moment, the clarity of focus and thought returned to him. His right hand shot outwards, gripping the tail of the first dead Tuk'ata. With a fierce pull, he snapped it out of its socket, bending it away from the Tuk'ata and then upwards. He placed it above and before him, right in the path of the descending Tuk'ata. He cried out in renewed agony as the weight of the Tuk'ata slammed into him, though it was dead before it even touched the ground. The sharpened end of the other Tuk'atas tail had pierced clean through the creatures skull, killing it even as it landed on the ground.

Dropping the tail, Cyrus slowly, painfully, dragged himself out from underneath the two dead Tuk'ata. Groaning, he clutched an arm to his chest as he slowly rose to a crouch, and then to his feet. His eyes looked across the room at The Shaper, the one who had brought him here to face these beasts. Eyes narrowed, Cyrus took a single step towards the Sith Lord before losing his balance once more, and falling to his knees in the sand, near the feet of the Sith Lord.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

The Shaper watched with an impassive gaze as Darth Acharon fought for his very life, the beastly Tuk'ata lashing out at him with all the savage fury they could muster. Hunger, raw and insatiable, fueled their every movement toward clamping their jaws around Cyrus' throat, digging their claws into his flesh and rending him apart to be devoured. The Shaper was rather disappointed at how the Tuk'ata were able to wound and marr Cyrus, who seemed much more interested in amplifying himself with the Force rather than any expression of the Force which might handle them at more of a safe distance. Even so he could not deny the visceral pleasure of hearing the Tuk'ata's bone snap across his knee.

As Cyrus was pinned down by the other Tuk'ata the Shaper could feel Cyrus digging deeper into the darkness, tapping into some long-buried memories, a wellspring of the dark within himself. This fact brought the Shaper nothing but satisfaction and seeing Cyrus' solution of using the ice the Shaper had used against him but moments ago made him nod his head ever so slightly in approval. The bloody, climactic end to the confrontation occurring as quickly as it had been initiated and as Cyrus staggered over to the Shaper and fell to his knees before the Sith Lord the Shaper calmly regarded his bleeding, battered body with an inscrutable gaze.

Only after a heavy, long pause enough to let the scent of death fill the air fully from the slain Tuk'ata did the Shaper speak. Voice low and echoing ever so slightly around Cyrus, as if it were not coming from the Shaper directly, but from all around Cyrus instead. "You have done well, Cyrus Teraah." The Shaper would step forward and lay a gauntlet-clad hand on Cyrus' head, the Shaper's voice now echoing within Cyrus' mind as a cold, almost slimy feeling began to rescind and dull Cyrus' wounds as the words were spoken. 'Let this be your first lesson into the way of the Sith. Peace is a lie, there is only Passion.' To enforce this point the Shaper would echo the first saying of the Sith Code within Cyrus' mind over and over again, forestalling the dark, cold healing of his body between every iteration of the saying. Forcing the association of the acceptance of the Dark Side with the end of his pain by only healing Cyrus when the Shaper brought his thoughts back to the Code.

Only once the Shaper was certain Cyrus wouldn't die merely from kneeling did he continue actually speaking. "I will henceforth make you my Apprentice. I shall instruct you in the ways of the Sith, of the Dark Side, and shall be both your Master and your most hated enemy." The Shaper drew back his hand from Cyrus' head only to hoist Cyrus off the ground telekinetically by his throat and gaze his helmet-clad eyes into Cyrus' own. "Draw on your hatred of me, use it and absorb all that I may teach you, for one day THAT shall be what frees you from my yolk. Until then you are beneath both my heel..... and my care." Of the two prospects the Shaper made it clear that the word 'care' should have been even more worrying to Cyrus than being under his heel, before releasing his grip on Cyrus and walking past him to inspect the slain Tuk'ata before motioning for Cyrus to follow.