Private Walk It Off [DSE]

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

THE POMOJEMA
NONPARTISAN, NONDENOMINATIONAL DARK SIDE ACADEMY OF HIGHER LEARNING
DEEP SPACE, DEEP CORE

The crash workshop - in the sense of rapid, intense training - had gone on for three days in one of the Pomojema's largest halls. Its main focus had been to teach these people to take a hit strongly, square up to it, and manage their expectations and consequences. Resilience, resilience, resilience.

Skills they'd covered, varying by participants' aptitudes and experience, had included Force Protection (Ashin's greatest specialty), poison detoxification, controlling their own pain, reducing someone else's pain to help their allies trudge on through one more hit, the demanding Freedon Nadd-era Sith sorcery to (very painfully) heal someone else, and good old-fashioned first aid. They'd trained against gravity hammers and regular hammers, concussion grenades and shockboxing gloves.

Everyone who'd dared to participate, Ashin not excepted, was now covered in bruises and bandages and high-grade kolcta. Three fething days of it. A couple of people had died (and been promptly resurrected into clones or the bodies of captured enemies).

Now a long table had been brought out for a celebratory final dinner, nothing fancy but very good food and drink and plenty of it. Time to come down a bit, maybe be a team in this kind of way, get their bearings, and come to terms with their recent experience. Ashin, for her part, was nursing a sore jaw and eating one of the best soups of her life, heavy meat and flat noodles, small spherical vegetables and thick spiced broth, all sopped up with fresh bread. A nice change after three days of combat rations and electrolytes.


Invitees, optional, all welcome:
Lord Creuat
Ibaris Varanin
Tyro Lok
Wymar
Sahar
Meliant
Talon Draven
Thomas Barran
Prowler II
Voldran Molf

 

[Meliant]

The Pomojema

​

Meliant was present and seated. He had not died, nor could he truly, but his shell had taken a beating which would have proved lethal to anyone else. His armor bore dents - particularly in the head, which had warped the helmet in an unseemly way. There was a large tear stretching from the right shoulder to the middle of his upper-chest, revealing an ominously hollow interior.​

​

His unique constitution had saved him from death, but it also deprived him of the ability to eat. He stared inscrutably at the meal in front of him and seethed in silence.​

 

[Ashin Cardé Varanin]

He stared inscrutably at the meal in front of him and seethed in silence.

Meliant's frequent, low-level Force Drain effect had of course been noted; the Pomojema had a similar effect, exacting an infinitesimal tithe on all aboard. This was all familiar ground in some ways. So in the spirit of good hosting, a plate was brought out and set before him. It contained an artfully disassembled Jedi lightsaber, with its centerpiece being a blue-white kyber crystal of particularly valiant tasty life force. Maybe Meliant had the skill to take sustenance from it, maybe not, but that was his big grown-up responsibility in the same way as Ashin and her very sore teeth were responsible for figuring out her soup.

 

[Tayiji]

|| WALK IT OFF ||

Epiphany - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Ashin Cardé Varanin | Meliant
​

FEED YOUR HEAD
​

THE POMOJEMA

Three days has passed and now to the feast. The workshop has left Tayiji with bruises, open wounds, and a galaxy-worth of new Dark Side knowledge. He survived the gauntlet, barely. Bandaged and kolcta’ed wounds are scattered throughout his body, the future scars it will leave already in line reserving a place to add to the years of cicatrized battle scars that tell a story of a rampaging marauder drunk under the influence of the Dark Side.

The Dark Side Elite covered his body with his Evereni fur coat that covers his shoulders, arms, and abdomen, but leaves his chest open for air circulation. Their host has prepared a celebratory final dinner, Tayiji might be a barbarian but he is a cultured barbarian, he wears his best clothes for such occasions. He went for the most gamey dish, one which his superior smelling sense can still trace the origin from the remaining blood.

He sits and devours his meal silently; observing the host and his fellow Dark Side Elite.