Log:Sith Empire: Training
Training
Location: Sith Outpost
Participants: Aryn Cortess Bors Thul Qar-Duun Alys Zapal Kol Goren
The Death Troopers often work as covert assets under Sith Intelligence. Likewise they've historically been utilized as a protection detail for individuals of significance within the Palpatine's Empire and even the remnant that followed. The resurgence of the Death Trooper divisions has likewise resulted in a renewal of their origin purposes and mission statements. Today there are at least a pair of rather important figures within the overall Sith command structure present, pitting themselves in a test of skill and will, against one another.
DT-X10 is one of those present. Not necessarily to observe, but to provide an added layer of security to an already formidable personal security. The carbine that he carries his kept at a low ready position, as it so often is. Today X-10 plays the part of the sentry, putting himself into use as the protective detail for a training exercise that needn't be interrupted.
By contrast, Ban's style of swordsmanship displays an utter efficiency of movement; closely resembling the stances and maneuvers used in mundane steel dueling, he alter ates between statuesque stillness and sudden lunging steps, torso swaying and twisting with each deep advance, or step back in recovery. The flurries of movement as he parries and ripostes are punctuated by sparks and screeching blades. Throughout, the gentleman wields the blade in his left hand, keeping the right composed at the small of his back, for balance.
Qar-duun, only burnt cosmetically in their last 'group display of Sith power and control,' moves like a transparisteel latrine around the current melee-- perhaps his brush with injury has compelled him to pick up new techniques? He merely watches, silent behind his Sith helm, analyzing the combatants' styles...
It's not terribly often that one gets to see a Sith in a duel. The Jedi are weak and in hiding, and therefore the art of the duel is not as common as it once was. Still, it's a skill to be learned and honed, though Alys's own skills tend far more towards a knife in the back.
Hopefully someday soon, a lightsaber in the back.
The Acolyte's gaze is fixated upon the dueling Sith, watching them move with inhuman speed and grace, savoring the clash of lightsabers. She may be a murderer and an assassin, but this is -quite- thrilling.
The fight concludes with a shower of sparks as Aryn is repelled, and both are left back where they began, lightsabers at the ready and refined stances. "Perhaps one day," Aryn says wistfully, though hardly serious. She recalls the 1.4m length of her crimson blade the screeches reluctantly and disappears within its hilt. "It appears we have an audience.." Her voice carries with it age, but the accent belongs to high society, flowing easily and measured in some poetic cadence.
The fight concludes with a shower of sparks as Aryn is repelled, and both are left back where they began, lightsabers at the ready and refined stances. "Perhaps one day," Aryn says wistfully, though hardly serious. She recalls the 1.4m length of her crimson blade that screeches reluctantly and disappears within its hilt. "It appears we have an audience.." Her voice carries with it age, but the accent belongs to high society, flowing easily and measured in some poetic cadence.
Ban Iskender draws his blade vertically before his face in salute, before deactivating the saber, and bowing straight-backed from the waist, with the right boot forward. "So it seems." Her 'some day' quip had drawn the ghost of a smile to his solemn expression, before Ban turned his eye to the others present.
This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.)
More bodies begin to enter the training arena and this results in Exten stepping forward and away from the wall where he'd posted himself. He doesn't move to mingle among the Sith and their training, but at least keeps himself on-hand and prepared to respond to any necessary orders. Such is the life of a trooper; even the elite. They are best forgotten until called into action. Qar-duun *takes a knee* at the word 'audience,' gaze averted. "Empress." He awaits recognition, one supposes, or merely displays fealty. Alys's eyes flicker towards Qar-duun as he moseys, then as he drops to a knee. She does not follow suit, merely bowing deeply to both of the Sith Lords, but remaining silent.
An early lesson for her was to not speak unless spoken to.
Still, she does not straighten until she's bidden to do so. She is, after all, only an Acolyte.
"Rise, Acolytes." Aryn bids, using one hand to gesture up lazily. The clip-clop noise of her boots announces her pace around the taller Knight and Sith Lord. "I sense you come seeking wisdom. Very few have survived my Knight of Tears, and even fewer have had the pleasure of learning from him. Take up arms and train against him. I suspect there is a lesson in it somewhere, even if it is in humility."
Aryn shares a subtle look with Ban, departing his side with a gentle, "Ser.." before moving past the pair at a casual clip.
Ban Iskender inclines his head once to the Queen's proposed practice. "As Her Majesty likes." Shoulders squared and head high he regards those assembled, recognizing two faces, and noting the featureless trooper as a third. "Any present who may gift me with a scar shall have my thanks. Tell me whether it is your wish to take trial in duel or skirmish," he invites the others. The choice is theirs: one by one or all at once. This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) If X-10's attention drifts toward either Acolyte, he's at least trained well enough not to turn his head to do so. The black clad commando watches on impassively. He maintains his statuesque position; no doubt intrigued by how the acolytes may respond. Qar-duun rises as bidden, igniting his weapon before he turns to Alys and inquires: "... as one, or alone?" Qar-duun depresses the metallic button on his cylindrical Stunsaber's handle and with an electric snap-hiss a bright white beam leaps forth and hums with a subdued quietness, unlike that of a lightsaber.
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The violet eyed woman straightens when bidden and glances at the Zabrak. "As much as it would entertain me to watch you fail with every ounce of enthusiasm you can muster," she starts wryly. Because she's kind of mean like that. She reaches up, unclasping her cloak before tossing it aside dramatically, pulling her stunsaber out from behind her back. Her pair of electro-whips hang at her belt still. Because she's just like that.
"We should try this teamwork thing I've heard so much about."
With a flick of her thumb, the blade extends and ignites in a depressing facsimile of a true lightsaber. Alys Zapal depresses the metallic button on her cylindrical Stunsaber's handle and with an electric snap-hiss a bright white beam leaps forth and hums with a subdued quietness, unlike that of a lightsaber.
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Aryn settles nearby upon a seat, one leg lifting to cross over the other so her booted foot might idly rock. She watched on, hands neatly clasped in her lap. No words of encouragement from her.
Ban Iskender inclines his head to the acolytes' decision. "So be it. Take your favored stance, and hear this, ere all: any being what would hazard their life against your skill commands your respect. First salute," he ignites his blade and draws it vertically before him, composes his empty right hand at the small of his back, and settles into a statuesque guard. "Then attack me."
Ban Iskender depresses the black button on his cylindrical metallic lightsaber hilt and with an electric snap-hiss a crimson red energy beam springs forth!
Qar-duun *salutes,* as instructed, before his 'saber becomes a whirling strobe of streaking plasma around an inevitably-advancing tower...
Exten watches on with only the vaguest sense of interest. The Death Trooper is there to perform a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. It is the surroundings of those Sith currently at training that seems to occupy much of the trooper's attention. While there is some redundancy in the notion that the Sith would require a protection detail; the fact is that when it comes to security, added precautions are rarely a poor investment.
The short woman watches Qar throw himself at the Sith Lord. Her eyes narrow slightly in thought as she considers her options. She's not at all surprised that the Zabrak went for the frontal assault. This seems to track with what she knows of him. She hefts the weight of the hilt in her hand and strafes to the left, moving like a hunting cat. She gauges the rhythm of Qar-duun's attacks and then lunges at what she thinks will be an opportune moment. Her first strike is a thrust, using her small size to her advantage, or so she hopes. She pivots after the thrust, taking a sweeping, backhanded swing, swinging the bar of white.
Ban Iskender holds his ground, granting the initiative to the acolytes. As Qar assaults him with ferocity, Ban deflects the first rush with a powerful shift of his hips and shoulders. It is a small movement, but enough to bring the blade in a strong guard. He ripostes in a thrust intended to drive Qar-duun backwards, and only barely leans back to let the white blade miss his cheek. His second blow is a slash that knocks Alys' sword aside and threatens the younger woman, before thrusting back at Qar with his third, stepping around to bring both opponents back into his front.
Qar-duun continues *whirling,* clearly hoping to create or exploit some moment of hesitation or weakness? Whether he'll tire or distract Ban is unclear, as neither seems to be able to yet hit the other-- there is only *crackling,* *snapping* and *popping* with low-frequency WHIRRR and THRUMMM without a break!
The Acolyte feels frustration bubble and lets it simmer, using it to fuel her connection to the Dark Side. She starts to actively use the Force, or at least she tries to, but sometimes she just can't get it to do what she wants. This just makes her more angry, but, well, if it's not working, it's not working.
The intercept of her blade makes it go wide, nearly clipping the spinning Zabrak. She growls a little, kicking down on the floor with one foot and skidding backwards to buy a little space.
She takes her stunsaber into both hands, bringing it up to a high guard before she stutter steps in again, still trying to use Qar-duun as a distraction. She pulls on the hilt, flicking the tip upwards sharply before her wrists twist to let her swing it downwards in a heavy slash.
Ban Iskender steps smoothly and precisely, feeling attacks through the force and managing to make his defensive movements seem slow and unhurried with the flow from block to counterattack. This time, a pair of surgical blows thrusts batter Qar's guard, one coming near enough to the younger man's cheek that the angry warmth of the glowing blade can be felt. Then the third is sent in a wide slash at Alys' to keep the lady honest. Once again he steps between the pair of acolytes and turns, stepping to try and place Alys' between himself and Qar.
Qar-duun sends the Force, via rage, into a different part of his consciousness as a novel strategy while Ban batters his wrists-- he spins the hilt, twirling and switching to direct strikes, attempting to batter Ban in return! The criss-crossing of his stunsaber comes to nought!
Qar-duun reaches his limit, or perhaps Ban does, as Iskender's strike sends his stunsaber flying into a disused corner and the Acolyte into wretched oblivion! For all their valiant and honorable striving, the Acolytes are eventually turned aside in a display of skill and/or rage that carries a terrible lesson within!
This is going about as well as she thought it would. She is no match for a true Sith Lord. Her strikes are battered away, leaving her wide open to retaliation. She tries very hard to move her blade back into the path of the incoming lightsaber, but she's not fast enough. She wrenches her body back at the same time and manages to evade a lethal stroke. It still hits her, and she hisses in pain as a line of seared flesh erupts on her pale abdomen. She's fighting in a tube top. Leave her alone. It's for range of motion!
Qar falls, whether it's exhaustion, actual damage or he's wussed out, she can't tell. She keeps her eyes on Bab, stunsaber humming in her fist as she touches her wound, using the pain as fuel.
Though the fight might be over, she's not sure.
Darth Durandus is a Sith, the swordsman's shadow in the Force is vibrant with the Dark Side, yet he does not radiate the same rage that consumes many Sith. He is precise and controlled, imposing his will through the scarlet blade of his sword. As the younger pair swell with anger and send their most ferocious attacks at the Knight of Tears, Ban allows Qar's momentum to overextend the sith dervish, disarming him with surprising physical strength.
Next, Alys' assault is knocked wide and Ban's blade hums dangerously close to the flesh of her bared abdomen. With both Acolytes downed, he smoothly draws his blade upright, salutes them both, and deactivates the saber. The pieces on the metaphorical table fall and DT-X10 continues to watch on with the same interest as observing the drying of paint. As a veteran trooper with a few decades under his belt; it isn't the first, nor the last time that the Death Trooper has been witness to Sith training methods. Or worse.
The Acolyte, almost on reflex, returns the salute of Darth Durandus before she switches her training weapon off, secreting it away to the small of her back. She hasn't decided if she will keep the scar yet.
"Thank you, my Lord," she says, keeping the pain out of her voice as much as she can. There's a hint of strain there, but she does a halfway decent job of pretending. "This was most enlightening."
She hesitates briefly before adding. "Where did your crystal come from? I am ... hunting one of my own."
"A potent display of skill.." Announces Aryn from the back, her voice gentle but loud enough to be heard. "There is a saying that comes to mind; an adage of wisdom my late father once shared with me. Odd the memory has not surfaced till now, but time is its own teacher. -- He said knowing what tool to use for a specific purpose yields the best results."
Rising from her seat, she approaches the Dark Lord, her hands occupying the small of her back beneath the confines of her fancy cape. "In context, this is a situation where anger was not the tool to use. We have the greatest gift of all, and it does not come from the Force. It comes from here.." Aryn raises one hand, two fingers, and places them against her own head.
"Anger is a double edged sword. While one cannot argue its .. liberating potential; it is also intoxicating, and blinding. You possess brains capable of thought, strategy, and growth. Your emotions are not the gatekeepers to knowledge and power. The code says it shall set you free; but what it does not say is that if you let it, those emotions will enslave you, too."
"Think. Learn. Grow."
Ban Iskender inclines his chin slightly to Alys as the acolyte speaks. "Be wary of taking the sword in both hands. With a blade so deadly as a lightsaber, any touch can cripple, and exerting strength through the blade can hobble your attacks against a mobile opponent. It makes for a stronger defense, but.. such comes at cost." As to his crystal. "It was captured from one who was my enemy."
A bow of the head and shoulders is given to the queen. "Keen wisdom, your Grace."
Alys, coming down from the flow of battle but still in pain from the slash of the lightsaber, listens to Aryn's words, doing what she can in the moment to actually -hear- them. To listen and learn. The Acolyte is almost eternally filled with fury, but she does her best to balance it with rationality and cunning. It was not enough for this fight. Though she feels like she may have come closer to striking than Qar-duun.
"Of course, your Grace," she replies, bowing a bit stiffly. She's going to need to put some bacta on that. "I will...control it." There is no doing one's best. There is no trying. There is do, or fail. Only one of these is acceptable.
Back to Durandus, she inclines her head, accepting his wisdom as well. "I have been learning the basics of all of the combat forms. I haven't chosen which to specialize in yet, but I will keep this lesson in mind. Thank you for teaching me, my Lord."
"What is your name, Acolyte?" Aryn asks. Her hands return to the small of her back and she stands beside Ban, distinctly shorter than the tall, refined soldier. Aryn's expression was largely neutral, no judgment with compassionate eyes. It may not have surprised Alys to know Aryn was a doctor, though largely out of practice now. Politics and parenting had seen to the conclusion of her medical career.
"Alys Zapal, your Grace," she replies. She doesn't duck her head this time, but instead meets Aryn's gaze with her own. It's not defiance or ego, but confidence and directness in her gaze. Plus a little pain, plasma burns are terrible things. It's probably only her training keeping her upright and coherent. The wound isn't bad, for a lightsaber anyway, but it makes a blaster burn look like being hit with a warm stick.
She can't even say she's had worse. This is the first time a lightsaber has struck her. Hopefully the last time, too.
Ban Iskender nods once again. "In the future, consider this: the pride of victory burns brighter than any rage. I look forward to seeing your growth, Acolytes." He includes the unconscious Qar-duun in the sentiment so that later, Qar can be told about it. He goes silent when the Queen steps beside him and addresses Alys'l.
"Alys Zapal is a pretty name," Aryn responds before stepping closer. Bringing her hands forward, she places them over one of Alys' hands as if sharing a handshake, though slightly more intimate. Due to the insight Alys and Ban possessed in feeling the force, its power rippled the moment Aryn's gloved hand touched Alys' and a warmth indescribable transferred from one woman to the other. Its properties were soothing in every sense of the word, spreading like a comforting blanket and embracing Alys' presence holistic and all at once.
One could argue that this feeling could be a drug, intoxicating, alluring, and healing. As they held each other's gaze for a moment, Aryn smiled. "There are other emotions to draw upon for strength; I have returned yours." Aryn pulled her hands back slowly and returned them to her back to clasp. "You have the honor of meeting Darth Durandus and I am Darth Kalus. Should you insist, we may be convinced to supplement your training with further wisdom. Until then, reflect upon Lord Durandus' words, and my own if you would do me the honor."
This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) Alys seems slightly guarded, but then again she's almost always guarded. Whether it's from the sheer brutality of Sith training or some other past trauma is hard to tell, but this one doesn't let others in. Which would explain that despite the gentleness of it, despite the warmth, the Acolyte flinches ever so slightly at the touch. Even though as the wave pours through her and her pain fades, the wound fading from an angry scorched mass to a thin red line, she still seems a little uncomfortable. She manages to keep it off of her face, at least.
As the effects fade, she peers down, eyes widening slightly at the almost miraculous healing. The Force can do many things, it seems. Even though she is being trained to skulk and kill with it. Her gaze sweeps back up to meet the Queen's, her voice quiet. "Thank you," she says, bowing her head in both thanks and respect. "I will think on your words, continue my training. Thank you for sharing your time, and talents, with me. I will come when you call for me, regardless of the task. Both because it is my duty as an Acolyte and to repay your kindness."
"Be well, Alys Zapal." -- Aryn took Ban's arm, committing the soldier to escort her away, though her gaze followed Alys until the pair had moved on in solemn silence. With nothing more to say, they sought the sanctity of privacy and the company of their kinsmen as summer games were due to begin back home.
