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

[Isobel Serraris]

FIGHT DIRTY​

LOCATION — Thrantin, Training Ground
TAGS — Renji & Arris Windrun // Indirect: Darth Strosius

The soil's tendrils sought to suppress her movement; the movement of a woman who practically worshipped all there was to life and its blessings, its flora. Mayhap that piety was the reason for their swift retreat, as they slithered back into the ground after curling around her boot for mere seconds. She was not one for mockery, truly, yet this attempt was beyond laughable in the Acolyte's eyes. In Isobel's eyes.

The sheer audacity of using nature against her.

"Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."

The sharp voice pierced through the thick cloud around her head, echoing her amusement. Once the mist lifted, her eyes immediately darted toward the cyborg. That tone was why she felt so acheingly familiar, that blasted Sith! Sharp nail found her skin as she sought to suppress what little agitation this woman summoned within. Their meeting on Coruscant had been brief, but in her eyes. . . it had been the start of a path into the shadows. "I am NOT your sweetheart!" Bel barked back loudly, it sounds carrying through a part of the sparring crowd--and its spectators-- though all might notice it carried as much bite as a Charhound pup.

Her sweet voice softened as to avoid drawing the eye of a former foe, or future ones at that. On Voss, the former Padawan had donned the mask that came with Lysander von Ascania 's gifted armour, but what little could it have been done to veil the mark she left on the Force?

"Had I known you would be here, I would have stayed on my delightful vacation," Her head shook lightly in dismay, before she added softer: "or offered myself to the nearest black hole."

"You came to the right place, though... if you're looking to find an edge against us. I can teach you how to fight. How to protect yourself against stronger opponents. Not that pacifistic banthashit you brought with you last time."

The Sith's words earned a non-committal huff from her lips, as eyes drew toward the figure Arris had proclaimed to be 'Pretty Boy'. A (half-)Zeltron from the looks of it. . . Even better. So on top of having to deal with the general madness of this organised bunch of murderers, she would have to face off against the one that could make her entire head spin!?

Reluctance flooded her senses as she wished to flee and never return, but alas, she could not abandon this strange sense of duty. . . not yet. Head tilted toward an empty patch, before murmuring: "Shall we then?" to her opponent.

 

[Drakul]

Tag: Arris Windrun

Watching Varin give into his rage was fascinating.

His muscles tensed in ways that Drakul hadn't seen yet. Even his fears came through in the way sinew stretched across muscle. The acolyte could tell what he was about to do before he even did it. The body perched a certain way before it acted, muscles lining up to lessen the load when they moved. It was easy to spot in a warrior the size of Varin Mortifer .

But surprise was the name of the game, so when the other Sith launched his attack, Drakul had two options. He could take the attack, and feign weakness until he had a better moment, or he could play his cards now and retaliate. The tick of the shoulder, still compensating, signaled that the punch was coming .

So Drakul played along. He moved his body just enough so the impact didn't actually hurt his ribs, it more was soaked up by the rest of his body. It was still painful, but pain was preferable to broken ribs. Agony fired through his body like electricity, every part of him tensing.

"Fear is a chemical response." His voice was more of a hiss at this point, the air still having been knocked out of his lungs by the impact. What happened next, was Drakul's response to Varin's prodding. He had allowed Varin to hurt him, so that he could see the way he responded. The Arkanian was precise, like the edge of a scalpel. You didn't cut indiscriminately, you made one perfect line, and that line could open you to the rest of the body.

Varin's wrist extended to grab Drakul's throat, trying to choke him. That was the Sith's moment. Dormant musculature flexed beneath the robes. Flesh was still a prison, but one he maintained meticulously. A hand would appear from beneath Drakul's robe, attempting to deflect Varin's attack, leaving the bottom of his arm and his rib exposed.

The intent was to use the momentum of Varin's attack against him, turning on his leg and kicking into Mortifier's ribcage. At the very least he wanted to put some space between them.

As he kicked backward, Drakul stood tall in the space made between them. He appeared to be more lithe than he had been before, his body appearing bigger beneath the ocean of black that still swallowed his form.

Then his crimson gaze caught something interesting. The late arrival, the taller one, he had been moving closer to the two of them. Every step brought new movement in the droids behind Varin. It appeared that another Sith was entering the fray, and it appeared he was going to become Varin's problem as well. Whether he was there to help Drakul was a different story. The acolyte was not stupid enough to think he would get help in the traditional sense of the word.

"Hormones, chemicals, struggle." He looked back toward Varin now, realizing he needed to keep him preoccupied. "They're all symptoms of the flesh we wear." Blood streamed from his nose and mouth, coating the machinery that lined his jaw.

"One day I will be free of it."

"Of fear"

"Of flesh."

"Of entropy."

A bloody smile passed his lips as he realized the other Epicanthix was nearing. This one was darker, both in his blood and his presence. Something in him festered deeper than any wound.

"Until then, I can feel fear." He lowered his head slightly, the robes that swallowed him whole opening for just a moment just a moment to reveal the cold, pale skin beneath. Then he looked back up, just in time for Vulcan Zambrano 's arrival.

"Surprise is also a chemical reaction." He laughed, choking up blood from his lungs as he did.

​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

VARIN MORTIFER

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

Varin felt the impact into Drakul's side. Firm, yet lacking. As if most of the impact was absorbed off center.

Varin's hand lurched forward towards Drakul's throat only to be deflected at surprising speed. As he reeled back trying to correct himself Drakul's kick came in hard into Varin's side sliding him back.

That was when he heard it. The metallic scraping and shambling of another droid, one heading his way. Varin's gaze flicked towards it as Drakul spoke.

“Machinery also requires maintenance. Many times I have seen it fail.”

He then sensed another presence. Close…too close.

Stinging pain shot through his eyes and his head jerked back, his hand instinctively coming up to wipe away the debris. His back bumped into someone and his elbow quickly whirled with his momentum shattering the chassis of the droid he had run into.

A sharp impact racked his knee causing him to grunt, but the force remained strong within his very bones. The surprise was enough for him to take a half knee.

His vision blurred, his eyes stung. It was impossible to see with his normal eye.

Impacts came over and over as this new fighter took on a challenge with Varin. Hard jabs and kicks to his ribs, a droid planted to interrupt Varin's advances to go on the offensive.

That dormant fury began to bubble within him. His fists clenched as his arms rose to protect his face in a guard, his teeth gritted together.

He focused with the pain.

Another hard impact to his side.

Drakul would hear in his head.

Pain brings clarity, pain brings strength…only cowards would run from pain. You say you would erase fear, yet you would always fear pain.

A yell erupted from Varin as he felt this new fighter come in close. His hand shot low, a feint attack as his other came up, a small spark flying from his palm nothing grand or intricate. Barely enough to draw attention. Until it burst with a loud bang and a violent flash. Relatively harmless but devastating to the ears and eyes.

Immediately afterwards Varin would kick his leg low towards the shin area as Vulcan drew closer once again, his head reeling back then driving forward towards his incoming fist.

Drakul | Vulcan Zambrano​

 

[Veyla Tass]

Calyx Sundrift | Seris Velmora​

Oh, it would've been perfect. Veyla could feel the crack, hear the crunch before it happened. She'd bashed her share of heads in, and - well, she wasn't a sadist, really, but she couldn't deny there was something satisfying about well-executed violence.

Except -

"Chit! Feth! Ugh, dammit, dammit."

Veyla bounced on one foot for a second, because instead of Pigtails' skull, she'd connected boot-first with a pillar of stone. She hadn't sensed the push-and-pull of the Force coming from Pigtails, so that meant...

"They gave her the high ground, eh?" he said, exasperated and still lying down, eye fixed on the newly formed mound. "These outside interferences are getting tedious."

The acolyte glanced over at her ally, thrown from atop their mutual victim by the sudden eruption of stone. Her jaw tensed, her teeth clenched, and she thrummed her fingers against the side of her thigh.

"Yeah. Are you o-"

Without another thought, Seris launched herself off the earthen pillar. Straight at Veyla. No careful angle. No clever setup. No real plan beyond colliding with the feral acolyte and discovering what happened afterward. That was half the fun.

The move puzzled Veyla. A jump, from maybe a foot away? She blinked, slow, almost reptilian, while Pigtails threw herself at her. Well, if she insisted -

In the split second before collision, Vey took a half step back, and threw a right hook at her prey's abdomen from below.

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Arris Windrun | Calyx Sundrift | Veyla Tass | Astra Sadow

Seris' leap wasn't graceful. It wasn't calculated. It was enthusiastic. The gap between them disappeared in an instant, and for the briefest moment she thought the collision alone would carry them both to the ground. Instead, Veyla moved. Just enough. The hook drove upward into Seris' abdomen.

"Ungh!"

The breath burst from her lungs as the punch landed solidly beneath her ribs. Momentum carried her past the worst of the impact, twisting her body sideways as she crashed to the ground. She hit hard, rolled over one shoulder, and continued the motion until she slid to a stop several paces away.

For a heartbeat she stayed crouched, one hand pressed against her aching side. Then she laughed. Not because it hadn't hurt. Because it had. "Oh, that was a good one."

Still clutching her side, Seris rose back to her feet. She rolled her shoulders, worked a deep breath back into her lungs, and settled into a loose fighting stance once more. The grin never left her face despite the fresh ache blooming across her midsection.

Her crimson eyes flicked from Veyla to Calyx and back again. "Again?" The single word carried more excitement than challenge. Seris bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, ready to throw herself back into the fight the moment either of them gave her the slightest excuse.

​

 

[Vulcan Zambrano]

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦

Thrantin, Sith Academy, Droid Town...

The runed giant didn't fold.

That registered immediately, too late to matter, but clear enough to sting. Vulcan had disrupted him, forced him off rhythm, even dropped him to a knee. But that wasn't control. It was pressure without finish, the runed giant didn't retreat from pressure. He leaned into it. The shift came fast. Guard tightened. Weight settled. No hesitation left in him, just intent. Vulcan caught it a fraction too slow, already inside the danger zone. The runed giant's hand dipped.

Vulcan tracked it.

Flash.

White swallowed everything. No warning, no buildup, just a burst at point-blank range. His pupils slammed shut too late. Vision burned out. Sound followed, a concussive crack that rattled his skull and hollowed the world into a ringing void. His stance broke. The runed giant capitalized instantly. The low kick smashed into Vulcan's shin, clean, brutal, perfectly timed. It wasn't just pain; it disrupted structure. His base collapsed on that side, knee buckling inward as his weight shifted unevenly. Vulcan adjusted mid-fall, trying to re-center, but his opponent didn't give him space. The headbutt came next.

Vulcan's punch had already been committed, tight, direct, aimed for the ribs. No time to retract. He rotated his forearm across his centerline, turning the strike into a shield just as his opponent drove forward. Impact. Bone met bone. The shock ran up his arm, through his shoulder, into his jaw. His head snapped sideways. Teeth clicked hard enough to taste blood. His vision, already wrecked, fractured further into streaks and shadows. He stepped back.

Once.

Then again.

Not retreating, recovering. There was a difference, and he forced himself to remember it.

His shin screamed with every shift of weight. His hearing was useless. Sight unreliable. Instinct pushed him forward, demanded retaliation, something sharp and immediate to reclaim momentum. He shut it down. That impulse would get him killed. Instead, he slowed breathing in careful, controlled, measured breaths. If his senses were compromised, he'd simply fight without them. The Force filled the gaps, not as clarity, but as pressure. Mass. Movement. His opponents presence loomed heavy and grounded, a constant anchor in the chaos. The droids scattered around them became obstacles in a shifting map, edges, angles, hazards. Vulcan moved. Not toward Varin. Across him. He pivoted off his good leg, sliding laterally behind a standing droid. His palm struck its back as he passed, and the Force carried the motion further, shoving the machine into his opponents line like a moving shield. Right at the same time, he pulled. Two broken droid torsos scraped across the ground from opposite directions. One cut low across his opponents path, aimed at his lead foot, something to trip or force a step adjustment. The other dragged behind him, threatening his rear leg if he advanced too aggressively. Simple disruption, no wasted motion. Vulcan's vision flickered back in fragments, blurred outlines, light bleeding into shadow. Not enough to rely on.

So he simplified the fight.

Control space. Deny movement. Force decisions. His left hand opened, fingers steady now. A severed droid arm lifted from the debris and spun low, skimming through dust toward his opponents planted foot. Not a strike meant to injure, just another variable. Something to step over, something to misjudge. Every inch mattered. Vulcan blinked hard, forcing tears from his eyes. Shapes sharpened slightly. Not clear, but usable. His lips twitched. Not amusement. Acknowledgment. "That was clean." he said, voice rough but steady. Blood traced the corner of his mouth. His shin throbbed with every shift. His forearm ached from the collision. His target had punished the overcommitment exactly as he should have. Lesson taken. Now it was Vulcan's turn to dictate.

The droids around them shifted again, not randomly, but with intent. Vulcan drew them into a loose arc, forming a jagged barrier between Varin and the remaining intact units. Just enough to complicate every approach. If his target wanted through, he'd have to break it. If he wanted Vulcan, he'd have to choose his path carefully. Vulcan wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving the grit where it was. He didn't rush back in. Not yet. That mistake had already been made once. Now he controlled the pace. Behind him, the droid he'd claimed scraped farther back, shielded by the makeshift barricade. Damaged. Inactive. Worthless to anyone else. But it was his objective. That made it valuable. Vulcan lowered his stance, weight distributed carefully to protect the injured leg. One hand rose near his face, the other extended slightly, ready to manipulate the field again at a moment's notice.

So far his vision still wavered and his hearing hadn't recovered yet from the deafening boom nor the blinding light. But it didn't matter. He didn't need perfect conditions, he needed control. The presence of his opponent blazed bright full of vitality, pain blossoming into internal power and all of it made him easily trackable in the force. The Prince grinned. "You can hit me." Vulcan said, voice calm despite the blood. A droid torso shifted another inch into his path, metal grinding against stone. "But you're not walking through me." Vulcan ripped a piece of debris and launched it towards the runed figure in what he surmised would've been a blind spot, aiming to violently strike him. It was a twofold plan it either hit its mark, or it distracted his target enough to provide an opening for him to exploit. All the while he kept track of the other figure involved in the fight, tracking intent and location through the force in the event he became an adversary.

✦ Witnessed By the Throne ✦

Varin Mortifer | Drakul

✦ ☩ ✦ ☩ ✦