Faction [TSC] Fight Dirty | Training Class | Sith Acolytes

[Arris Windrun]

OPEN
​

At the foot of the mountains, beneath the shadow of the Sith Academy, was a specialized urban training ground. There were hollowed buildings made of duracrete and obstacles, too. Inhabiting the mock urban sprawl were droids - droid soldiers, droid tanks, even droid ‘civilians.’ Though as the prospective students arrived, they would find all the autonomous constructs powered down or in standby mode.

“Alright, listen up!” Windrun’s voice cracked through the crowd.

She stood atop a pile of shattered duracrete at the center of an open courtyard. Her steel-colored eyes fell over the Sith in attendance.

“This here is Droid Town. I know, fitting name, reeaaal creative. I might make use of the good people who live here; we’ll see. For now, ignore the droids and focus on my voice.”

The cyborg was wearing a black jacket over her open cybernetic form, and matching cargo pants, and, naturally, her gunbelt and revolvers, too. Her hands rested on her hip, just above the grips. Her short, dark hair wavered gently in the low wind.

“The style of fighting I am going to teach you is about frustrating your opponents - getting them to commit more and more aggressively, so that they expend strength, bullets, and show off all their tricks and toys until they have nothing left to surprise you with. It is especially effective against people you’ve never fought… and who have never fought you.”

She waved over a Sith instructor in the crowd. He began to climb the rubble, and when he nearly reached her, Arris planted her foot into his chest and pushed - the instructor rolled down like a ragdoll.

“Use everything to your advantage: high ground, walls, weather, your two feet. Rather than acting to win, break your opponent out of whatever they’re trying to do.”

As the instructor tried to get back up, Arris reached for the revolver at her hip, but instead of drawing, she kicked the rubble, sending a small avalanche of rocks crashing his way. The instructor yelped as he scrambled away. That was when she finally drew and fired a beanbag round at the back of his knee, tripping him up and bruising the tendons.

Arris held up the smoking pistol. “Save your own strength - don’t show off - until it’s surefire.” Then she reholstered it.

While another pair of Sith dragged the whimpering man away, her eyes fell back over the crowd.

“Now - I want a show of hands. Who here knows… Scratch that, who here thinks they can win a fight?”

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Arris Windrun​

-

Calyx stood in the middle of what was meant to be a merry gathering. Droid town, they called it, though every droid in the place had been deactivated. That part was ominous. He'd knocked on a few of them, just to be sure, checking whether they'd truly gone dark or whether this was some elaborate gag waiting to spring.

It wouldn't be the first time the Sith had done that. Dropped him in the middle of something and offered 'survive or die' as kind words of encouragement. This felt dangerously familiar to those times.

He watched the cyborg woman climb the pile of rubble, with a bored expression. Then took an unwilling step back when her voice snapped them all to attention.

Frustrating? He huffed. Don't think I need to be taught that.

A half-smile played at the corner of his mouth. He had yet to meet the first person who wasn't at least slightly annoyed by his presence — he'd begun to consider it a talent.

He stared blankly as she waved an instructor forward, only to shove him straight back down. Calyx couldn't suppress his laugh. Then she called for a show of hands, and he realised, with dawning clarity, who might be next. The laugh died immediately.

As wise as he considered himself to be, Calyx kept his hand down. This didn't feel like the place he wanted to be taken a lead in.

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber

Varin watched behind the crowd as Arris explained Droid Town to them.

Droid town, self explanatory. Just a town full of droids that were currently inactive.

He watched as she spoke, unflinching to the torment of the instructor time and again was knocked back down the pile of rubble.

He did not flinch when she shot the man with a beanbag in the leg.

No. He actually came to expect that whenever Arris teaches, someone is getting shot. His attention shifting to the student he caught laughing only for his laugh to be silenced when the tough question arose.

Varin knew what Arris was doing. He was no fool. Varin knew he could win fights, he had done it countless times in many battles. This question had strings attached, followed by a loaded gun on each hip.

He left his armor behind. No use in properly training if the armor absorbs all the blows. And instead opted into wearing his training outfit. Combat pants for flexibility, and a long sleeve black shirt, his Black Blade sheathed at his left side and his saber hilt on the opposing side.

His gaze wandered over each student to see who would be foolish enough to challenge this question.

Calyx Sundrift | Arris Windrun​

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Varin Mortifer

The training grounds were dull. Not because of the blood. There wasn't any yet. Not because of the Sith. There were plenty of those. It was the waiting that irritated Seris Velmora.

The Rajakzânkut stood among the gathered acolytes with her arms folded across her chest, crimson eyes fixed upon the demonstration area. The trophy hammer hanging from her belt knocked softly against her thigh whenever she shifted her weight. A stolen prize. A deserved prize.

A reminder. Her fingers brushed the haft unconsciously. The scar beneath her shirt itched. Seris ignored it.

The instructor's introduction at least managed to hold her attention. She watched the exchange carefully, head tilted slightly as Arris danced around the confrontation. There was something appealing about it. The confidence. The mockery. The way she seemed perfectly willing to toy with her opponent.

Or perhaps it was simply another lesson in patience. Seris hated patience.

Her expression darkened the moment the blaster appeared. A quiet scoff escaped her. Violence was violence. She understood that well enough. But a blaster? There was no feeling in it. No resistance. No warmth. No moment where flesh yielded beneath blade and an enemy realized exactly what was happening to them. A trigger pull was efficient. A blade was personal.

The shot rang out. The lesson continued. Seris barely listened. When Arris asked for volunteers, there was a noticeable hesitation among the gathered acolytes. Seris never understood hesitation. Winning was pleasant. Losing was painful. Both were infinitely more interesting than standing around.

Before she could spend even a second considering why nobody else was stepping forward, she was already moving. A grin spread across her face as she stepped out from the crowd. "I know I can win a fight." Her hand settled atop the trophy hammer hanging at her hip. The weapon felt solid beneath her fingers. Proof. Proof that she had survived.

Whether Arris intended to teach a lesson or administer a beating was irrelevant. Seris was here to fight. And if she left with another scar, so be it. Scars healed. Boredom was much harder to endure.

​

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra sat atop a mound, one knee propped up before her. A bag of credits sat off to the side, which she'd been openly counting for the past few minutes. Not because she didn't trust her customers. Of course not. But because that's what a woman of the Corporate and Underworld did. Arris wanted people to fight dirty, didn't she? What was dirtier than flaunting credits? Especially before a young and hungry audience.

Someone had to resupply the Sith Covenant with droids. They didn't just materialize out of thin air.

Oh, a good portion of the credits would be doled out to those that made the exchange possible, of course. The distributor, the manufacturer, the underwriter... A little something for herself as the manager of the entire affair, and also something special for Lysander's agenda. Not that she told him in so many words she'd established a new transaction fee in his honor. Credits just happened to be available when he needed them for some business purpose.

Arris' demonstration hadn't garnered Astra's attention until the 'instructor' was dragged away. Then the leather-bound woman almost sneered at their retreat. Just an all around pathetic displayed. The kick to the chest could be excused, but the scrambling? The whimpering? No. She hoped that man had been brought there just for such a reaction otherwise Astra would need to find the Covenant better instructors. For an exorbitant fee, of course.

She'd tied up the pouch and tucked it away when a very brave and gun-ho woman proclaimed victory before she even know whom her opponent would be. Astra's brow lifted over her round, ruby lenses as a smile pulled at her lips. Knew it? Now there was someone with a future. Assuming they survived.

Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Varin Mortifer | Seris Velmora​

 

[Darth Strosius]

Darth Strosius idly surveyed the aptly named "Droid Town" whilst the assembled students were being gathered and addressed, His hands crossed behind His back if only so that the Neti at His side would be content that He was paying attention as she so desired. He typically wasn't one for simply observing training sessions, much preferring to take part in the instructing Himself. In this instance however He was far from any sort of familiar territory and only two faces in the crowd were those that He recognized.

And one of them was standing next to Him. A'Mia had been insistent on the pair of them attending this little outing although the exact reason somewhat eluded Him at present. She was more than active with the academy on Korriban of course but evidently she must have expanded her reach to the Sith Covenant's courses as well, or at least she must have offered them her assistance enough by now. He wasn't sure which and He wasn't certain He'd get a clear answer out of her about it either.

The masked man's gaze swept back over the display, perhaps 'humiliation' would be a better term really, between the speaker and one of her assisting instructors with a small hum. "Getting right down to the point I see." He noted with a mutter beneath His breath and an incline of His head. "How quant." While there was some initial hesitation after the little show, sure enough one of the assembled did indeed raise her hand and proclaim her assurance of her own victory.

A sight which drew a quiet chuckle from Darth Strosius. "Are we about to see a show, my lady?"

Madrona A’Mia / Arris Windrun / Calyx Sundrift / Varin Mortifer / Seris Velmora / Astra Sadow

 

[Veyla Tass]

Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Varin Mortifer | Seris Velmora​

Veyla Tass lurked while the cyborg spoke. She hid in dark shadows, tucked in the narrow space between the walls of a deli and a barber's shop. The light of Thrantin's sun hurt her eyes and burned her skin, and though simple shade couldn't replicate the security of a Coruscanti sub-level, it helped. Little was likely to soothe her nerves entirely, though. This place was too bright, too open, and just being here made her skin crawl...

And when she looked at Arris, her vision swam with dark spots. Thousands of pinpricks of somehow-bright darkness beneath the cyborg's skin, twitching and pulsing with every shift of her joints and at spots where armor plates connected and the yawning, sucking void in her head, pitch-black and obscuring her features when Vey looked too hard at it.

The Acolyte clutched her left wrist between her teeth and bit until the skin turned pinkish from blood vessels bursting beneath. Calm washed over her, and the glimmering shadows across Arris faded from her vision. Just in time, then, to witness the Dark Horse of Ruusan shoot some poor sap in the chest.

Vey, like the rest of the Acolytes, kept her fething mouth shut. She'd won plenty of fights, as, she was damn sure, had the more hardened Sith in attendance. But surely none of them were stupid enough to take such obvious bait as -

"I know I can win a fight."

Veyla coughed, a rasping barking laugh that left her chest uncomfortably tight and drew more attention to her hidey-hole than she'd like...

Idiot.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Calyx Sundrift Varin Mortifer Seris Velmora Astra Sadow Darth Strosius Madrona A’Mia Veyla Tass
​

Her eyes continued to scan the small gathering.

Astra off to the side, no doubt double-checking that she hadn't been cheated in her little droid delivery. Calyx... whom she hadn't seen since...

Arris smirked. "Well, well. We've got a genuine Desevro veteran on our hands." Varin was there, too, of course, but she didn't need to pat his back for it.

Then there was a girl who bit her on wrist? The cyborg raised a brow but didn't remark. You got used to the fact that your average newblood acolyte was usually some freak. But it was the arrival of Madrona A'Mia and her unfamiliar companion in the back who drew a longer-than-necessary stare.

For a second now, Arris wondered if any hands were gonna show at all. Shame - were they all so lousy or self-doubting that they couldn't win a fight? Okay, now that was just a mean and facetious thought.

A grin spread across her face as she stepped out from the crowd. "I know I can win a fight." Her hand settled atop the trophy hammer hanging at her hip.

'Ah. Here we go,' she thought.

The cyborg returned the young woman's grin. She recognized her in passing. "Oh... You're the one who survived an exploding star destroyer, aintcha?" Her Talusian accent peeked through.

"Well - lesson number one. Always single out, isolate, and pick on the winners."

She pointed at Calyx, then Veyla. "Eyepatch, wrist-biter. It's two versus one. No weapons, though. From any of you." That last part went out to the whole crowd.

Arris waved them off with a hand towards an emptier space in the courtyard. "Don't worry - I'm not just asking you three to disappear and fight until I grow bored. I'll be with you in a sec. Just get sweaty before I circle 'round, yeah?"

Her attention turned back to the four remaining. First Astra. "Are you gonna just sit and watch, or do you corpos know how to fight?" Then Varin. "And you, Fire Boy, I hope you didn't come here looking to gloryhound in front of the newbies. Why don't you do me a favor and start disassembling those new droids I just purchased?" It may've been an odd request to break freshly purchased merchandise, but Arris had a plan.

Finally, those cybernetic eyes settled on the Neti and her mysterious friend. "Didn't expect to see you here, Governor. Not trying to collect a debt for what happened to that name day cake, are you? And who the hell is he?"

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Swaying just slightly beside the more sturdy figure of Darth Strosius, A'Mia looked as if she was enjoying a pleasant song or non-existent breeze. In one hand she held a parasol whilst the other rested on her hip in a rather dainty fashion. Today she was of a height with Alisteri and wore a simple, casual outfit as if she were merely on a stroll through the park rather than overseeing a street fighting tactics course.

"Oh yes, the Covenant really values practical learning. And Arris…" A'Mia returned the cyborg's stare with one of her own and a faint smile.
"Well, you'll see."

Her tone was amused and light, despite the Triumvir being a clanker A'Mia found she couldn't quite shake how intrigued she was by the woman. The neti gently nudged Alisteri in the ribs.

"You're scrappy, maybe you can offer some tips to the acolytes too while we—"

She began to say, but could feel Arris' attention turn to her just before she addressed the neti directly. A'Mia laughed brightly, mirth not quite reaching her strange blue-green eyes.

"We'll call the cake your recompense for that little mix up with customs. As to my companion…" she moved to the side a bit and swept a hand to gesture at Alisteri.
"This is Darth Strosius, the Prophet of Wonosa."

Calyx Sundrift | Varin Mortifer | Seris Velmora | Astra Sadow | Veyla Tass
Darth Strosius | Arris Windrun​

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Arris Windrun | Veyla Tass | Seris Velmora​

-

He'd made a point of looking away. Staring directly at your teacher usually meant you'd get their attention too.
And the last thing he wanted was to be noticed by the likes of Arris Windrun.

Every rumor he'd heard told him he'd be better off without this woman knowing you. It made sense, too. You didn't win the galactic kaggath by looks alone. No, there was real strength behind this woman. And if that came from fighting fought unfair, he didn't doubt that she lived by that creed too.

Which was why, as it happened, he flinched when she spoke, her eyes resting on him.

Desevro Veteran.

Burn me, how did she remember?

He hadn't even clocked her noticing him before. Not on Desevro, and not after.

So much for anonymity.

She decided to make use of his presence too, calling him forward alongside the girl he'd tried to stand as far away from as possible. And why?

To face the overconfident one, of course.

Calyx let out a long sigh as he drifted toward the spot Arris had pointed to.

"Alright. So the rule is that there are no rules, eh?" He cocked his head to the side, eyeing the two women he'd been sent off with. "I'd rather not get hit in the face, though, if it's up for preference." Calyx grinned.

He made sure to keep at least six paces between himself and Seris Velmora . He wouldn't be caught off-guard and then scolded for "waiting for a start signal." Likewise, he kept one eye on where Veyla Tass moved, deliberately stepping away from her to leave room for an early flanking maneuver.

He gave a mocking bow toward Seris. "'Kay. Whenever you're ready, hot stuff."

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

Equipment: Durum Mantle | Black Blade of Chandrila | Eye of The Dragon | Heavy Sith Mace | Cross Guard Broadsaber​

Varin’s gaze pinned onto the trio as Arris called out the other two, one he knew from Desevro some time ago during a field training exercise. When Arris called upon him he looked over to her, his arms hung loosely at his sides, wordless yet his body language spoke clearly. Though he did not raise his hand, he did wish for a challenge.

Then she directed him to the inactive droids around the complex, his gaze glaring in their direction, he began to take a step until he heard her call out a certain Governor, his sight then tore towards who she was talking to, noticing A’mia and his Grand Master Darth Strosius. His fists tightened ever so slightly, the one time he chose to stand down to allow others a chance at glorious combat and it was in front of his Grand Master and Lady A’mia.

His jaw locked in frustration, then he wandered towards one of the inactive droids, stopping but an arms distance from it, his hands remained tucked behind his smoking cloak that he always donned. He simply just looked at the droid for a mere moment, before the metal frame started to creak and cave in on itself, contorting limbs, spitting sparks and folding the droid's head inward, it was like the droid was being folded and then pulled inside out.

He had many exploits, and now reduced to a droid disassembly tool, it frustrated him.

But that frustration burned deep inside, he used it like a tool to mold himself into a weapon of destruction.

Within moments the droid laid on the ground at his feet in an unrecognizable heap of scrap metal and sparking wires.

That was one droid disassembled.

But even though he was only dismantling inactive droids, he still did not show what he was capable of, though some of these acolytes may have heard what it was he could do and the magnitude of its capability.

Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Seris Velmora | Veyla Tass | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Strosius | Astra Sadow​

 

[Isobel Serraris]

FIGHT DIRTY​

LOCATION — Thrantin, Training Ground
TAGS — TBD?

Destiny had once more woven a cruel pattern, one that drew her away from the warmth of Zardossa--away from the escapades that made her believe the Light was not beyond her grasp. Only for the shadows to once more consume that wishful thinking and lead her back into the Academy's grasp. Must all glimmers of hope be perished under the weight of this. . . 'duty'?

The Nabooan rushed down the mountain path until she at last found the training grounds. Late, as expected, her hands dirtied by the soil of her garden, and leaves and thorns still stuck in the coils of her hair.

Her gaze trailed over the surroundings: hollowed buildings, droids and far too many people. It did not fill her with confidence to know so many could witness her stumbling and failures.

A certain group of Acolytes had already begun preparing for battle. Among them stood one she remembered quite vividly: Calyx Sundrift , now donning an eyepatch as a result of her blunder. The other two figures were but other pieces of the puzzle, lost pieces at that. As her eyes wandered elsewhere, she noted yet another familiar figure, Varin Mortifer , who stood by the droids as he swiftly reduced them to heaps of wires and metal.

The Serraris remained at a distance, her hands drawing to one another as she fidgeted anxiously. Her gaze did not settle, instead assessing the threats upon the field, until they caught a masked figure standing off to the side: Darth Strosius . For a moment, the training grounds vanished and her mindscape settled on Voss; The duel, his Sith accomplice, the flash of a blade, and the searing ache where Naamino Zuukamano had stabbed her.

Coming here was a mistake... She should have. . . fled, no?

Once fear began to loosen its hold on her, she turned her back on the grounds and tried to slip back toward the mountain path, hoping to vanish unnoticed. . .

 

[Astra Sadow]

Astra smile beneath the ruby reds of her shades as Arris Windrun questioned a Corpo's ability to fight. Was a humble Corpo worth all the fuss? How inclusive. How considerate. Or, more than likely, how demeaning. Goad her loitering visitor into action was it? Her teeth gently pressed upon her lower lip as she watched the other woman. A woman that felt inclined to quickly prod others to action. How festive.

Intruding on the trio Arris put to the task wouldn't be entertaining. They already had an assignment and would learn something from it.

Varin, meanwhile, set to work without so much as a word. Body said enough for ten, but Astra wasn't going to be a fire-brand whisperer. Not to mention interrupting his 'work' would mean less credits for her pockets. Presumably the Academy would want those droids replaced after whatever purpose dismantling them was meant to serve.

Then there was the Governor and the Prophet. Strosius? Astra took a moment to look over at the dark figure. Her eyes drifted down his length before they returned to his head. Yes, she knew that name. Not from personal dealing thus far, but from his connection to Lysander von Ascania . When she entered into business with someone, Astra always learned everything she could. Not that such a task was easy with a Force User, but your average Private Investigator was not the extent of her influence, wealth, or power. Still, quite a few questions remained. Almost all the important ones, in fact.

At last, however, Astra caught sight of a pretty thing that looked a touch disheveled despite a late arrival. Isobel hadn't made proper introductions or waded into the cesspool near so far as she should have, but close enough for a Corpo with seemingly nothing better to do.

A soft hum and a warm snort accompanied the woman's turn that reflected the glint to her eyes. Escape.

Without preamble, the ground just beneath Isobel Serraris 's feet cracked and two sets of limbs sprouted from an earthen grave. Their soil-drenched digits clawed and sought to fasten to the woman's lower leg and knees to trap her there is she did naught but allow it. Their mission wasn't to capture the hasty woman, but to startle back into the welcoming company of the Academy and its guests.

Casually, Astra reached up to retrieve the shades from her nose and idly polish them with a pristine cloth produced from a jacket pocket.

Varin Mortifer | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Strosius
Calyx Sundrift | Seris Velmora | Veyla Tass​

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Varin Mortifer | Veyla Tass | Astra Sadow | Darth Strosius | Madrona A’Mia

Seris' grin widened when Arris recognized her. "The one who survived the exploding Star Destroyer," she repeated with obvious satisfaction. "See? That's way better than remembering names."

The memory brought a flash of excitement rushing back through her. Fire. Screaming metal. The rush of surviving something that should have killed her. Now that was a good day.

When Arris assigned her opponents, Seris didn't hesitate. "Two?" she asked with a laugh. "That's better."

Her hand immediately dropped to the hammer hanging from her belt. The battered trophy came free with a metallic scrape. Without ceremony, she tossed it several meters away where it landed with a heavy thud against the courtyard stones.

"Anybody touches my trophy and you'll regret it." The warning came casually. Almost cheerfully. Her lightsabers remained where they were. Their weight would not be a hindrance in a “no weapons” fight. And they were far too precious to allow anyone to even think about touching.

Then she began cracking her knuckles one by one. Her neck rolled. Shoulders stretched. Arms crossed over her chest before extending dramatically behind her back. A few nearby joints popped loudly enough to draw attention. Seris was halfway through an unnecessarily theatrical stretch when Calyx spoke.

Hot stuff.

A giggle escaped her immediately. A genuine one. Her crimson eyes shifted toward him as she bounced lightly onto the balls of her feet. Up and down. Side to side. Never still. A predator with too much energy.

"Oh, I like this one." She began a loose fighter's dance, circling slightly as she sized up both opponents. Her hands remained open. Relaxed. For now.

"It's time to fight," she announced brightly. Then her grin sharpened. "But there's probably time for more afterward." The statement carried just enough implication to be intentional. And just enough ambiguity to be dangerous.

Seris immediately contradicted herself by turning her attention away from the eyepatched acolyte. She flashed Veyla a wink. "Wrist-biter, huh?" The grin never left her face. "Bring it on." she challenged in a husky tone.

No cautious approach. No strategy. No patience. Just anticipation. The kind that made her heart pound and her blood sing. Exactly where Seris Velmora wanted to be.

​

 

[Drakul]

Tag: Seris Velmora Calyx Sundrift Veyla Tass Astra Sadow Darth Strosius Madrona A’Mia

A shadow moving too soon in an alleyway, a cold chill rolling down your back when you should be alone, the feeling of preying eyes on your every move. This was how Drakul made his way down the alleyways off the aptly named Droid Town. He wasn't vain enough to think his presence hidden from Sith Masters, but to the untrained, or the distracted, he moved like a wraith. Seen by few, remembered by fewer.

Red cybernetic eyes focused on Arris Windrun , her cybernetic figure calling to the Arkanian, his gaze immediately catching what he could beneath the robes she boasted. Most saw a woman, a Sith Lord, a leader. Drakul saw a cyborg, he saw the redundancies of the flesh removed. She had discarded the chain of muscle, sinew, and nerve, instead replacing it with efficiency. A faint smile tugged at his pale features.

The cyborg ascended the rubble pile and called an instructor forward. Drakul watched the exchange unfold with detached interest. It required no great intellect to predict the outcome. The fool climbed anyway. A quiet sound of disgust escaped the Arkanian as the man struggled upward. He could not understand how so many Sith survived long enough to become instructors. They mistook confidence for intelligence and aggression for cunning. Predictably, the instructor tumbled back down the rubble.

Drakul's smile widened.

The only thing better was when the Sith Lord shot him in the back of the leg, Drakul's eyes tracked the shot immediately. Posterior knee, likely through the popliteal region. If the anatomy was typical, the strike would have bruised the hamstring tendons near the semimembranosus and biceps femoris insertions. Painful and debilitating, but temporary.

Efficient.

The instructor would limp for days. His dignity would require considerably longer to recover.

Perhaps the Sith Covenant would prove to be less verbose than most Sith he had encountered in his brief studies. Only time would tell. For now, Drakul laid his eyes on the other Acolytes who were present. Then Arris offered the obvious bait, a question meant to single out the Acolytes. In his head, the Arkanian simply thought 'it depends on the enemy', of course he could win a fight against the likes of his lessers, but even Drakul knew his limits.

Then, the trap was sprung, a young acolyte volunteered to be the example, and quickly, Arris rose to action, sectioning off the Acolytes by group and task. The three first acolytes were to fight without weapons, something Drakul was relieved he didn't have to do. A third, one Drakul had seen before, was tasked with disassembling droids it seemed.

The Dark Side coiled around the towering acolyte as he approached the nearest droid. Power radiated from him in measurable quantities, though power alone had never impressed Drakul. Plenty of powerful beings had ended up on his operating tables. The same flesh bound all organic life like a prison.

But, Varin Mortifer obeyed without protest. Curious. Most Sith would have viewed the assignment as an insult. This one merely crushed the droid into scrap metal. Drakul's crimson eyes followed the destruction for a moment longer before he finally stepped from the alleyway. The movement was subtle, little more than a shift in the shadows, yet it was enough to announce his presence.

He crossed the courtyard at an unhurried pace, pale hands folded behind his back as he approached the twisted heap of metal. The Arkanian crouched beside the ruined droid. Long fingers brushed aside a sparking bundle of wiring before lifting a mangled actuator from the wreckage. He turned the component over in his hand, examining the damage in silence.

"Interesting."

The word was mostly spoken to himself

Finally, his gaze lifted to the mountain of a man responsible for the destruction.

"You destroyed the servomotors first." His eyes drifted across the collapsed chassis. "The central processor remains largely intact, as do several secondary components. Had these droids been active, targeting the joints would have produced a faster result with significantly less expenditure of energy."

Drakul rose to his feet and casually tossed the ruined component back onto the pile. "If your objective was disassembly rather than destruction, your methodology was inefficient."

The faintest hint of a smile appeared on his pale face.

"Unless, of course, the inefficiency was intentional."

​

 

[Darth Strosius]

As anticipated, the instructor latched onto the sole volunteer rather quickly with a little remark but surprisingly she didn't make an example of the student as He was idly expecting. Instead it seemed as though the students would have their hands-on learning done right away with an unequal matchup. "Practical learning indeed." An interesting choice to be sure, one that could pay off well in teaching a hard lesson or which could backfire just as easily into petty squabbling. Time would tell which it became in the end He supposed.

It soon dawned on Darth Strosius that this 'Arris' either didn't know the names of some or most of the attending students or simply didn't care given the usage of overt nicknames in lieu of anything else. Although He wasn't quite certain why she'd send Varin to disassemble some droids instead of pairing him off as well. Although between what almost sounded like a proposition for Him involving Himself in the proceedings from A'Mia and the instructor addressing the pair of them, He wasn't left to wonder for long.

When the young Sith glanced their way He offered a small nod of His head in acknowledgement, as if sensing his mood and offering one silent condolence, before His hidden gaze returned to Arris as the Neti introduced Him. He could only guess at what incidences they were referring to but He didn't bother asking. Instead the masked man simply gave a small bow of His head. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lady Madrona was insistent on my attendance adding some value, but you seem to have the lesson well in hand already."

Before He could continue any further with the pleasantries though a somewhat familiar presence prickled at the edge of His senses, earning a stray glance from the corner of His visor towards what must have been some new arrival for the class. Albeit one hanging on the outskirts of the activity thus far. That she seemed to be turning on her heel to leave only caused Him to quirk an eyebrow and nod towards her as He looked back to Arris. "Seems as though you've got a less than eager student there."

Madrona A’Mia / Arris Windrun / Calyx Sundrift / Varin Mortifer / Seris Velmora / Astra Sadow / Isobel Serraris / Drakul

 

[Renji]

There was a late arrival, who was missing all the fun.

Tall, slender, he looked on from the sidelines as Arris Windrun barked orders and commentary. This was exactly what he had wanted to see however. Windrun didn't really look like much. An oversized gremlin with a gun and an attitude problem. But it didn't matter, because she was making everyone run around like a nuna without a head. She dominated those who were several sizes bigger than her too.

Now that was power.

But she had not given him any orders and so Renji simply... watched.

None of this was his forte, really. He couldn't do chit with droids and preferred using his mind to influence others. Trying to manipulate the minds of his fellow apprentices seemed like a bad idea though.

Then again Renji was bolder than he was wise.

So after a moment... his mind subtly reached out to Windrun's.

He didn't try anything special... all the zeltron wanted was to get an impression of her mind and her emotional state, if possible.

Madrona A’Mia / Arris Windrun / Calyx Sundrift / Varin Mortifer / Seris Velmora / Astra Sadow / Isobel Serraris / Drakul / Darth Strosius

 

[Veyla Tass]

Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Seris Velmora​

Seris immediately contradicted herself by turning her attention away from the eyepatched acolyte. She flashed Veyla a wink. "Wrist-biter, huh?" The grin never left her face. "Bring it on." she challenged in a husky tone.

Ugh.

This girl talked too much for Veyla's liking. And why was she flirting?

Vey crashed through a window, feet-first, into the barber's shop to her right. She hit the cheap plas flooring with a roll, and then scrambled to get up against a wall. Cover was important; she didn't know what this freak could do. She inhaled, and let the tension creep back in. This was do or...well, probably not die, but nothing good.

Her vision blurred for a fraction of a second, and the dark spots returned. She couldn't tell you the name for them, but these were shatterpoints, visible whenever Vey wasn't focusing on not seeing them. Weak spots in the walls, the joints in her fingers, these things looked shadowy, dimly lit. Real weakness, like whatever was going on in Arris's head, was a sucking, dark void in the world.

There were none of those when she peeked her head up to window-level to look at Eyepatch and Pigtails, though.

Ugh.

Fine. No obvious sore spots to target, no clear buttons to press...

She'd wait, for now. If Pigtails came for her, she'd have limited entry points, windows and doors...or she'd have to break the wall down. If Eyepatch jumped her first...that was an opportunity.

The acolyte's leg twitched, nervous energy looking for somewhere to escape.

Wait.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

Arris Windrun | Veyla Tass | Seris Velmora​

-

Calyx moved too, keeping the distance between them intact as they circled. "After?" He smirked. "It's supposed to be dirty fighting, isn't it? I'm sure our lovely instructor would agree." He shrugged lazily. "But I'll take after, if that keeps your head in the game."

There was a dangerous streak to her, only further underlined by what Arris had said. He doubted he could survive an exploding Star Destroyer himself. And if that were her standards, he was fairly certain he wouldn't survive fooling around with her either.

But maybe that was the exhilarating part.

His eye snapped to Veyla as she crashed through the window.

What a team player.

This was about fighting unfair. And it wasn't as if Arris had specified whom it had to be unfair too. Calyx could do nothing but respect the move, especially from the standpoint of self-preservation. Even though it felt as betrayal.

The shattering glass was signal enough. Calyx exploded forward, closing the distance with fluid grace in the span of a heartbeat. He threw a jab at her to test her guard. It was a feint, and his foot immediately shot out to kick at her shin before he backpedaled, attempting to keep at least two paces between them.

 

[Vulcan Zambrano]

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

Thrantin, Sith Academy, Droid Town...

There was a time and place for everything.

But sometimes? The whole security process was a headache, it often was dealing with his security detail. The Imperial Crownguard were easy enough, they’d obey without question and a simple order kept them back. When it came to the Umbral Guard they required a more…delicate touch. Even a pair of them it wasn’t the message he was trying to send on his first day, not here. First impressions were everything and a pair of guards could send any number of wrong messages. Either you were delicate and needed protection, an overinflated sense of your own importance, or just general arrogance. But you never knew what to expect when you spoke to the Shadowsworn, they were hard to read under all that plate. Somehow their humanity had been stripped down beyond what he was accustomed to with the Crownguard. Their devotion to House Zambrano was without question, but it made negotiations with them profoundly difficult. When he’d agreed to bring a communicator and check in with them, it seemed to do the trick.

Despite this he half expected to see them behind him when he stepped off the ship, there was relief in knowing he was alone. The mountain path gave him to the edge of Droid Town like something cut loose from a darker world. Thrantin’s light caught on the black of his chosen training attire, simple and practical in a way that almost seemed deliberately severe. Fitted combat trousers. Reinforced boots. A dark sleeveless upper layer beneath a thin black training jacket, the fabric light enough to move in and plain enough to be dirtied without regret. No weapon sat at his side. That last absence sat strangely on him. Vulcan felt it more than he showed. The place where a weapon should have rested was empty, and the emptiness irritated him in a quiet, intimate way. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t even discomfort. It was the sense of being stripped of a language before entering a room where everyone expected him to speak. A Sith without a weapon wasn’t helpless. He knew that. He had been taught that since before he had been fully awake to the shape of his own inheritance. But knowing a thing and being pleased by it were separate matters.

Droid Town sprawled below the academy like a city that had been murdered and made useful after the fact. Hollow duracrete buildings stood in uneven rows, their windows black and empty, their doors opening into rooms that promised nothing but ambush. Rubble choked certain streets. Training obstacles broke the courtyards into kill-boxes, funnels, blind corners, and high ground. Vulcan paused at the edge of the courtyard and let the scene arrange itself before him.

The class had already begun.

That much was obvious. There was no neat formation of students waiting to be addressed, no patient instructor reciting doctrine while acolytes pretended to listen. Whatever order had existed here had already been kicked down a slope, shot in the back of the knee, and dragged away whimpering. The lesson had moved beyond explanation, and into the practical element. Good. Explanations were cheap. Consequence had weight. Vulcan’s gaze settled on Arris Windrun without haste. He knew enough to know she mattered. More importantly, he knew enough to know she was not attempting to look like she mattered, which was usually more dangerous. There was no grandeur to her instruction. She stood in Droid Town like the place belonged to her. That drew his attention more than ceremony would have. Nearby, three acolytes had been set aside for violence. No weapons, uneven numbers. A deliberate imbalance. Elsewhere, a mountain of power reduced a droid to wreckage. Vulcan’s eyes shifted toward the collapsing machine as metal shrieked and folded in on itself. It was an impressive display in the most obvious sense. Strength applied, and matter yielded. A thing made whole was made useless. Many Sith would have admired it for that alone.

Vulcan didn’t.

He watched the destruction, then the ruined droid, then the pale figure who approached afterward to examine what remained. The critique that followed was not difficult to understand even before every word reached him. Destruction wasn’t the same as efficiency. Power spent poorly was still power spent. That, too, was a lesson. His father would have approved of the distinction. The thought passed through Vulcan’s mind without softening him, his father. Darth Prazutis hadn’t sent him into the galaxy to be impressed by noise. The Shadow Hand didn’t raised an heir to mistake brutality for mastery. Any beast could lunge, any warlord could crush. Any fool with enough strength could turn a droid into scrap and call it victory.But to ruin something with the least motion necessary? To frustrate an opponent until their strength became their humiliation. To make another being reveal every habit, every fear, every hidden advantage, and only then decide how they would fall? That wasn’t lesser than domination. It was domination without vanity. Vulcan stepped fully into the courtyard. Dust shifted beneath his boots. A few stray fragments of duracrete clicked away from his heel. He didn’t look toward the students to see who noticed him, nor announce his presence to the instructors. Vulcan chose not apologize for his lateness, because apology required the surrender of meaning and hadn’t yet decided whether his lateness meant anything at all. And Vulcan Zambrano, son of one of the most terrible names in the modern Sith tradition, stood at the edge of it all in plain training clothes with empty hands.

There was a temptation to resent that.

He felt it coil in him. Something colder than anger and more useful than pride. The old instinct of blood and name and expectation, whispering that he should not be made to wait among lesser acolytes in a broken mock city beneath a foreign academy. That he shouldn’t be reduced to another body waiting for instruction. That the galaxy had already bent beneath the hands of his house and would do so again, and again. Vulcan let the thought live for one breath. Then he killed it. Pride had its place. So did inheritance. So did the terrible gravity of being born from monsters powerful enough to be mistaken for forces of nature. But none of those things would stop a blade in an alley. None of them would protect his knee from a shot he hadn’t respected, his throat from a wire he had not seen. The dead didn’t care whose son they had killed. A wall, a shadow, a shard of glass, a corner, a distraction, a feigned stumble, a handful of dust, these were not noble things. They were useful things.

Any Sith who sneered at useful things deserved to lose. Vulcan’s expression remained composed, but something behind his eyes sharpened, determination burned. It was something his father always said. Honor was for the dead. The Nether is full of the spirits of the honored dead who were butchered, because their code kept them from seeing common sense. His gaze returned to Arris Windrun. For a moment he said nothing. He simply stood there, tall and still against the broken geometry of Droid Town, the black of his attire stark beneath Thrantin’s light. He was easily taller than everyone here, by a good margin too. Then, with a measured motion, he drew the training jacket from his shoulders and folded it once over his forearm. Beneath it, his arms were bare, the build of him strong, powerful, athletic rather than bulky, power without waste. A body made to move, not merely endure. He set the jacket aside on a piece of broken duracrete. Only then did he speak. “Vulcan Zambrano.” He said, his voice calm enough that it carried without being raised. “I am late, point me in a direction.”

✦ Witnessed By the Throne ✦

Arris Windrun | Veyla Tass | Seris Velmora | Calyx Sundrift | Renji | Varin Mortifer | Drakul | Darth Strosius | Madrona A’Mia | Astra Sadow | Isobel Serraris

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦