Weapons.

[Darth Ferus]

On Bastion Krest enjoyed the temple. A place for the Sith to be taught, for the weakness to be extracted and strength put in. The new generation of Sith always needed a teacher, and the Zabrak was more than willing to be that teacher. But this time, it was not open for any to wander in. Three of his own acolytes, @Otho , [member="Lark"] , and [member="Satia"] , were called to meet him within a small training room. Weapon racks lined the walls, adorned with a variety of weapons. Clubs, swords, whips, daggers, all were there.

All, Krest knew how to use.

He sat in the middle of the room with his legs crossed wearing a simple tattered red cloak. It was his cloak, one he wore for years and never maintained for the soul purpose of hiding who he was underneath. A ruined cloak hiding a King. Perfect, for at least him. Once the acolytes arrived they would be motioned to sit close by, and once all arrived he would begin.

 

[Lark]

Lark walked towards where [member="Krest"] requested his presence for a training session, footsteps echoing through the corridors of the Sith Temple. Occasionally he'd pass another apprentice or shadowy figure, but his attention was focused on the book in his hands. As he quickly strolled towards the training room he read the history of Bastion, absorbing the information seamlessly as pale fingers flipped through the aged pages. To an onlooker it would appear as though he was absolutely entranced by the book, but he was aware of his surroundings. He reached the room where Krest awaited him and the other apprentices, and slid his book into a pocket inside of his shirt.

The walls inside were covered with weapons of all sorts, and naturally the knives were what first drew his attention. Besides his words, those were his most proficient tools, his deadliest weapons. Swords he could manage as well, but many of the others he was woefully unfamiliar with, some were so exotic he had never even them seen outside of images or descriptions in books. He was the first to arrive, and Krest motioned for him to sit in front of him. He obliged, and patiently awaited the others for the start of the lesson.

[member="Satia"] [member="Otho Rendoro"]

 

[Poe]

​I entered the training room, spying another and then my Master sitting comfortably on the floor, and my first thought was to strike my Master whilst he sat unprepared; then deal with his other paper Apprentice. But the time was not right, not yet. I casually moved to the weapon rack, running my cold hand over the sharp edges, retracting only when I suspected it would draw blood. I was growing deeper in the Darkside, my body felt it and my features began to exhibit it like a macabre painting. This pleased me, because the time of my growth was drawing nearer with every passing moon; and my psyche was accepting it as truth.

​I circled my Master, whilst keeping my eye on the other. My hand twitched ceremoniously to grasp my weapon and strike as a Sith should, but again, the time wasn't right. Killing my Master would not be easy, if possible, but killing the other; and feasting upon his flesh as my Master watched was a calculated dark possibility. In the end, I fought down the need to kill, pulling my hand from the training hilt.

​As a show of not fearing the other, I dropped my weapon to the floor, following it with a cross-legged position. To add one more final insult, I looked at my weapon then up to the other one. Sensing no backlash from my disrespect, I laughed hauntingly. When my mind caught up with my morals, I said to my Master, ​"My life for yours."


[member="Krest"] [member="Lark"]

 

[Otho Rendoro]

“Ha!” The voice was booming, full of the pleasure of life and a twisted, manic joie de vivre that was as unassailable as it was cruel, giving announcement to the arrival of the Ithorian terrorist. “If you want to give Lord [member="Krest"] something, why not make it something of value, pale one?” Otho chuckled at his own joke. Some of these Sith were beyond normal testiness and it gave him no small measure of almost sadistic pleasure to rile them up. Otho was careful not to disturb the Lords – there were rumors of a strident, awe-inspiring Sith Lord called Carnifex who was viewed as a god-king on his planet or some such foolishness; the Sith had probably just used his Sith techniques to intimidate enough of the populace into worshiping him. It would be easy to disseminate a lie like that with the power of the Sith to substantiate it. True or not, Otho was not so recalcitrant as to intentionally anger one who had the reputation of a deity.

As he entered, his eyes passed over the cross-legged [member="Satia"], the red-haired human called [member="Lark"] and his master, the aged Zabrak Sith Lord. They were arrayed in what was no doubt one of his master’s favorite rooms in the entire Temple, every available wall surface covered with weapons. Blades of varied length and shape greeted him, but traditional bladed weapons did not interest him. Truthfully, only one type of weapon had interested him. His right hand gripped itself as he thought of the eerie crimson glow and a covetous feeling of ownership rose within him. The other two acolytes were seated, and Otho sunk carefully on his knees before assuming the swordsman’s seat, knees and legs touching the cold floor beneath him as he waited for his master’s bidding attentively.

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Lark"] was the first to enter. He remained silent, and chose to immediately sit as asked. A chuckle escaped the Sith's lips as he felt [member="Satia"] enter. The Force whispered in his ear, singing the tales of blood lust and murder. There was much Satia had to learn if she was going to kill him one day. [member="Otho Rendoro"] came in last, demeaning as ever. Krest made no move to interrupt his words, rather, he would let him finish then change the subject.

"You three, as you've probably guessed, are the three I think best suit my teachings. And as I have in the past, there will always be three. This teaching comes with a new.. Concept, for you three to follow. You three are allies. Working together. Where one fails, you all will fail. Where one succeeds, you all will succeed. You will be placed on missions together where if one of you die you will all die. You may not like this idea, but it will make you better Sith. The greatest challenge any of us have is being forced to work together."

The rules were laid down, and the Zabrak stood up. He moved to the weapon racks, running a hand over the various hilts. "You will decide your weapons here. Pick two, or one if that's your style, and know that these are the only weapons you will have from here on out. They will eventually decide your lightsabers. Be warned, these weapons have been alchemised. They weigh twice what you expect, those with blades can cut almost light a lightsaber. They can reflect blasters, and even absorb lightning. So, choose."

 

[Lark]

Inwardly, Lark sighed. He should've known something like this would happen. He had known that he'd be continuing to train with the same small class of acolytes, at least until they proved themselves worthy to become knights or cracked under the pressure and perished. At least temporarily, they would all be allies, but how long that would last, nobody could really say. Whenever the trainees shared the same room, the tension was so palpable it could be cut by the dullest of blades. And now [member="Krest"] had put them all on a team. Wonderful.

Everything he had done up to this point he had achieved on his own, allies had only ever slown him down. But he was adaptable and in complete control over his emotions, ruling them like a king. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he had no emotions, he was a king without a kingdom. He'd find a way to make this all work out.

He rose slowly and quietly, ignoring his new team, and not a sound was made. His bones didn't crack, his clothes didn't ruffle. Lark knew men who would approach the wall of weapons like a child in a candy store, they'd whine and moan when they were told to pick two and no more. But Lark had already selected his two. The first was a dagger, which probably came as no surprise. Krest was right, it was heavier than it should have been. Lark briefly considered taking another dagger, but decided against it. He was drawn to a certain blade, one with a blue tint, about two and a half feet long with a slight curve, dangerously sharp on both sides. It was heavy, but Lark was deceptively strong, he could manage it. Content with his selections, he moved aside to allow the others to make their picks. He turned to them with an innocent expression, curious as to what they would choose.

[member="Otho Rendoro"] [member="Satia"]

 

[Poe]

​This new concept, as proposed by my Master, left a sour taste in mouth; like eating tainted flesh. Working with others was not what I did, dealing with their weaknesses or lack lust effort to enact any method necessary to do what needed to be done; or to face that final moment that bridged the gap between morality and immorality with uncertainty in their hearts. The idea was as monstrous to me as I was to the galaxy; simply my Master couldn't be serious. But alas, he was. And who was I to question his judgment or ridicule his concepts, he was the Master and I but the student. However, if I had to work with others I would make the best of i5 seeing now my fate was tied to theirs.

​After the one called Lark​ chose his weapons, I went to the weapon's rack; examining the various weapons. I was feeling slightly shunned by the array of Sith Swords massed about, I didn't use swords; but then I spied a small Sith Sword that was the size of a shoto blade. I picked it up, feeling the difference in weight noticing the gleam and sharpness of the blade. This was a deadly weapon. Still not satisfied with just one, I continued with my search until I found the jewel among junk. A coiled Sith Whip, fastened with a small release mechanism on the handle laid unclaimed on the rack. Like the shoto blade, this two felt heavy; and will require much practice to counter it's weight. But what truly drew me to this weapon, outside the whip feature, was the black shimmering glow radiating off the whip's metal stinger.

​More than utterly satisfied with my choice of killing tools, I returned to my spot; paying no attention to the others. My attention was absolutely focused on the attraction these weapons and I were to engage in. Stepping stones for now, but the basis for greater weapons in the future. And this pleased me greatly.



[member="Krest"] [member="Lark"] [member="Otho Rendoro"]

 

[Otho Rendoro]

Otho mused as he slowly rose from his knees. The master was smart, lashing them all together, the threat of death to keep them honest; the savage Satia he knew not to trust, but Lark did not seem to radiating such…depravity as some other Sith did. Like the black one and the white one – a matched set of monsters for this morbid menagerie. Maybe observation would prove him wrong, but the power of emotion and passion that they harnessed could pervert the body as well as the mind if one gave into fell desires. Even though her mind was impervious to any demonstrations of otherworldly cognizance, it didn’t take a mind-reader to see Satia’s barbarity. Perhaps it would be useful – violence would spring easily from this Sith triad.

Otho took the longest, letting [member="Lark"] and [member="Satia"] choose weapons of their own. If he was going to pick a weapon from this rack to influence a later lightsaber, it had better have as much impact as he did. Impact…

Slowly and cunningly, his eyes fixated themselves on a long haft – roughly a meter by his account, forged of dark material that left no doubt as to the alchemical ancestry of the weapon. The body of the weapon traveled seductively up, crowning the maul with a head as cruel as Otho’s: one side of the weapon was a decisively large and blunt hammer, the other a merciless spike. He could not help but let a languid, pleasurable smirk draw itself on his mouth. His hand ran its way up the hilt of the maul before clutching it, feeling a thrum of dreadful vibration as his own latent power harmonized acrimoniously with the weapon, a discord that was yet pleasant and filled the Ithorian’s chest with the promise of glory to be won. The weapon was as deceptive as he was; one end was blunt but others could pierce and bash again. This was a tool for a Sith and he wrenched it out of place, knowing it would be heavier than it looked and it was. There was teaching and aid in the maul, one pushing on the other to create a vital tension that he could sense within the Iridonian king who was his master, a drive that pushed him forward and kept the ranks of the Sith increasing without letting weakness crack its foundations.

Otho swung the maul over his head, cleaving an imaginary opponent and parrying an invisible blade once, twice, a third time before wrenching his phantom enemy with the spike and throwing them over his body for a savage blow with the hammer to the illusory cranium. As Otho demonstrated a small knowledge of melee forms, he noticed with glee that the maul cleaved the air with strange reverberations, his weapon singing with the promise of slaughter.

Satisfied with that choice, his maul hummed as he set the head on the floor and leaned the handle of his weapon against the wall. Need to sew some leather together for a proper sheath for that thing.

The other Sith picked short blades. Not a terrible idea for small things like them and not a terrible idea for Otho, either. He scanned the wall briefly and reached out with his secondary senses, the world calling out to him, beings swirling with power all around him. He distanced himself from those observations, focusing inward and outward through just this room, eventually divesting himself of any metaphysical awareness of his companions. It was him and the weapons. He saw single-edged blades of varying length, but dismissed them. One with two edges would pierce easier. A shorter sword for one of Lark’s size might serve as a dagger for him and he fixed his attention on a blade, two edges and tapering to a severe point. That would do. As his left hand reached for the blade, he noticed just how light it was in comparison to the maul and knew that if he wielded both for enough time they would be as light as the other and deadly to boot. The blade he stored at his right hip in his belt, before loping to the larger weapon and taking purchase of it once again. His hands hefted it over his shoulder, resting jauntily on the left, the hammer-and-spike head extending over the massive hump atop his shoulders.

| [member="Krest'] |​

 

[Darth Ferus]

"All so different. A whip, a maul, a dagger. And yet, all so similar. A side sword, something to counteract the weapons you originally picked. Covering the weaknesses." He chuckled before standing up himself. Holding out his hand he called over one of the more simplistic swords. A longsword with a simple hilt. "The Sith Sword is the ancient weapon of our people. It's not as powerful as a lightsaber but it has it's own strengths, and the Jedi don't normally deal with it. Surprise is your aid. Now, all of you, come at me with the weapons you've chosen. One at a time, or all at once. Matters little to me. Advice, do the unexpected, force me into a corner, and perhaps you'll win. Or, perhaps, you wont. Care to test it?"

A grin took over the otherwise emotionless face of the Sith Lord. He lifted the sword up in a single handed grip, pointing it to [member="Otho Rendoro"] , then to [member="Satia"] , then to [member="Lark"] . Who would be first?

 

[Korogum]

As Korogum walked through the temple, he noticed just how different it was in both design and architecture to the one he was used to on Alzoc III. Understanding that this was the difference between a band of cultists and a long standing empire's creation, he was glad to realize their sense of structuring wasn't nearly as elaborate and maze-like as the temple on Alzoc. Finding his way to the training center, he entered the room and looked around the extensive chamber, quickly noticing that it was already occupied by a group of Four, one of which he recognized to be [member="Krest"] , one of the leaders in the taking of Bastion just days prior.

"My apologies, I did not mean to interrupt."

Korogum spoke somberly, bowing his head informally, awaiting a reply to his accidental unannounced entry.

 

[Poe]

​I immediately attacked Lord Krest when the newcomer spoke, hopping it was enough to distract the Sith Lord. Dragging the whip behind me, then let it go to fall to the floor, opting to attack with the short sword instead. The room was big, but the whip would just get in the other's way; and we shared a common 'foe' in Lord Krest. I wanted allies, not injuries hampered by my attack. My long legs closed the gap with my cold eyes watching the form of the Lord, looking for any tension or muscle flexing in a hope he might tip his defense or counterattack me before I attacked.

​I had extensive training with daggers, not swords, so my attack was awkward and loose. Arching the short sword over my head with both hands to add momentum from my height, I brought the sword down in an angle from my left to right slashing at the chest of Lord Krest. Just as the strike grew close, I quickly stopped my hands as they were directly in front of me turning the slash into a lunging attack to pierce the stomach of Lord Krest.



[member="Krest"] [member="Korogum"] [member="Otho Rendoro"] [member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

As soon as [member="Satia"] ran at [member="Krest"], Lark did the same. If they each faced him one on one, they wouldn't stand a chance. They needed to act in unison as a team. Lark dashed towards the far side of Krest, running behind Satia and stepping over her discarded whip. He was quicker than [member="Otho Rendoro"], he'd be able to close the distance to Krest's right side quicker and provide support. Otho could attack his closer flank.

Lark reached his mark as Satia began her own attack. He held the heavier blade in his right hand, and the smaller dagger was held as a counterbalance in his other hand. He had to be careful in his swings, he couldn't risk hitting his momentary allies. But simple overwhelming force might not be enough to win, Krest had more experience than all three of them combined. If they could push him back against the wall, they'd have an advantage.

Satia attacked his chest, and Lark attacked his legs. As he approached his teacher he ducked low and swung his dagger towards his calf. Lark's hope was that running behind the pale cannibal would mask his approach, and when he emerged out from behind her he was already swinging from low to the ground. Misdirection was a wonderful ally. But he held his sword tightly, ready for a counterattack.

@Korogum

 

[Darth Ferus]

Krest continued to hold the disarming smile on his face even as [member="Satia"] and [member="Lark"] closed in with such beautiful lethal intent. It was smart for Lark to hide behind the cannibal so he could strike from the shadows, but the Sith Lord did not use his eyes to see his foes. Rather, the Force was his eyes now. And ears. [member="Korogum"] had not gone unnoticed in his approach, however he was a bit too busy to answer immediately.

Fighting against two people always had an advantage and a disadvantage to both sides. The advantage for the attackers was obvious, their numbers would often help overwhelm the defender by a sheer number of attacks. The disadvantage was the same. More weapons, more bodies, more to keep aware of. As Lark had thought about, endangering your allies was always something to keep aware of. And as Krest had learned, it was better to let allies hurt themselves than to try and take them both on at once.

A quick step backwards sent him closer to the wall, as he was certain the acolytes wanted. But this was predictable, and as he had stated prior surprise was the only true way to usurp those better and more skilled. As Satia's strike came for his chest his next step sent him to the left of the girl as her blade was thrust out. In just a simple step he had turned the woman into his shield from Lark.

His blade came around for the back of the woman with deadly speed. The smile on his face had faded to a neutral expression, and his eyes went from the kind blue to a hateful red. Yet before he would finish the attack, he would stop. "We have a guest." The hateful gaze was gone as fast as it had appeared, and the smile returned as he turned his attention to the new acolyte who had shown up.

"What's your name?"

 

[Korogum]

"I am Korogum, I arrived with Etheriud to assist in the taking of Bastion."

Korogum spoke quickly, after having observed the nearly instant exchange of steps and moves that made up the bulk of their sparring. Unsure of himself, Korogum gave another informal bow before the Lord and his disciples. Looking between the four of them, Korogum understood they were all leagues above him in terms of combative skill, and if they allowed him to partake in their training, he could most likely learn something valuable. Brandishing the long hilt of his saber spear, Korogum rested one end it on the ground.

"I assume this should not be used in here?"

 

[Poe]

​My thrust not only missed, it threw me off-balance; and I gritted my teeth together. I attacked with uncontrolled emotion, a lesson I learned years ago that could result in a bad defeat. Not only did I fail, Lord Krest managed to position me into a human shield. Before I could react, the ensuing attack from Lord Krest came, then stopped abruptly before piercing me. I opened my eyes upon hearing Lord Krest speak to the newcomer. I dropped my weapons to my side in defeat before turning to face the new arrival.

​I sized up the Sith as he spoke. He came to assist in taking Bastion, which seemed the planet had become a beacon of all Sith looking to earn prestige and recognition. But we needed the help, especially with the Force Hunters still wrecking havoc on our plans. "Greetings Korogum," ​I softly spoke now realizing this Sith witnessed my failure. ​"Another spear wielder?" ​I wondered how much better he was with that weaon than my former training partner, the Shard.



[member="Krest"] [member="Korogum"] [member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

[member="Krest"] deftly dodged both attacks, backstepping quickly and moving behind @Satia. Krest's speed and experience won out, even as Lark regained his footing and prepared for a second attack, the Zabrak had already placed himself in a position of safety behind his human shield. Lark heavily considered driving his sword through the back of Satia, impaling both herself and Krest. That might surprise him. He might have done so too, if Krest hadn't addressed the newcomer. Lark had heard him come in, but hadn't paid him any mind at the time.

Lark created a mental profile for [member="Korogum"], as he did for all those whose paths he crossed. The man's mask was the most curious feature, as was his clothing that shrouded his body. Such drabs weren't uncommon for many Sith, many preferred to keep their features hidden. Lark listened curiously as the others welcomed him, and Lark smiled politely and gave him a kind nod. But his main attention was still on Krest, and his posture did not betray this fact. He relaxed his muscles but was prepared for a surprise attack.

Krest had never called the battle to an end, after all.

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Lark"] had the right idea, for the second [member="Satia"] lowered her weapons the Zabrak reached around and sent a hard smack to the back of her head. It would only sting for a while, and the only real harm would be for the acolytes pride, if she had any. Krest had indeed never called off the spar, simply changed his attention to the new comer. [member="Korogum"] was polite, or perhaps cautious and fearful of punishment, but he did provide a new factor, something Krest could use.

"As you're not technically my apprentice, you're welcome to use any weapon you'd prefer. These three however have to fall in line with my rules, as is the custom of the relation between master and acolyte. Your entrance wasn't expected, but I can use you. I'll teach you all a new trick of the Force now, something simple to enhance your strength and speed. Then, you'll use it and try to overpower me as I said before. Understood?"

 

[Korogum]

"I see, then I shall use it, seeing as I have yet to master its use."

Korogum spoke somberly, his expression placid under his helm. Hearing of his induction into this training session, Korogum unfastened his cloak, leaving him in the plain dark clothing he had underneath, so as not to get in his way during the exercise. Brandishing his spear once again, he brought the end closest to the ground upwards into his awaiting grip, so as to be in a somewhat combat ready stance, sure of the fact that [member="Krest"] would be moving him shortly. As Krest spoke of what he would teach them, Korogum's thoughts raced as to what it could be, partial excitement hidden by cautious awareness of the fact that he was, first and foremost, the unwelcome one in the room.

 

[Poe]

​The smack to my head sent my blood boiling, turning my prideful nature into a murderous one. I bit down hard on my lip, tasting the crimson iron fluid first in mouth before it cascaded down my chin. I stole one glance at the Acolyte whom recently aided me in the attack, then to the newcomer. Lord Krest spoke of continuing the lesson, but my anger was focused on the previous. Gripping the blade tighter in my hand, sighting Lord Krest in my hate filled eyes, I plotting attacking again.

​When my next attack would come, it was not emotionally fueled but emotionally controlled. My last attack was born of pride, born of overrating myself, and born of stealing this Sith Lord's title. No, this attack was meant as a statement. Whilst my mind was plotting the attack, several concepts came to mind, but they involved calling upon the Force; and if I did that the entire room would be set to high alert. My attack was to ride the mists of surprise, not a bellow to be heard by all.

In the end, I went pit-fighter mode. I clipped the weapon to my sash and in the next motion threw a series of punches toward the back head of Krest, whom I stood behind. He was a few feet in front of me, but my long elongated arms would more than make up the distance between us.



[member="Lark"] [member="Krest"] [member="Korogum"]

 

[Darth Ferus]

"That sounds fair. Everyone here is new to this sort of combat, making it easy to teach you all equally." The Zabrak spoke even as [member="Satia"] had begun to plot her attack. Her anger had not been missed, and he planed to use it. "Emotion is what gives us strength as Sith. We control the very fabric of the galaxy by forcing our will upon it. And our bodies can be controlled the same way. We can infuse the Force into our muscles, making us stronger and faster than our opponents." It was then that the Force whispered it's warnings into the Lord's ears. So the young girl was going to strike after all? Very well.

The Force flowed freely through Krest's body and his eyes once again turned red. "As you will see." He spoke as he moved, turning his body to face the young cannibal as her first punch came towards his face. With unnatural speed his flesh left arm came up to grab her by the wrist in an iron grip. Should he grasp her arm, his mechanical hand would thrust out for her armpit, and with a powerful and quick tug he would use the same tactic he had to increase his speed to increase his strength and pop her arm clear out of it's socket. "Your reaction time increases, your power increases, and your opponents will fall. So, focus your emotion internally and try to strike me down."

[member="Lark"] [member="Korogum"]