No Target - [Open]

[Harukei]

The crimson blade hummed and whined as it drew arcs left a wake of ozone as it slashed the humid air of Dromund Kaas. Her hand was quick and precise like a surgeons hand was when wielding a scalpel. Plates of plasteel became undone and sundered, scars of molten slag slid over the smooth carapace before solidifying in the matter of seconds. A body tumbled inert and damaged, landing with a thud against the permacrete soil. 

She turned and saw the vibroblade falling, aiming to split her head. The assassin backed away, her lightsaber wielding arm raising not to meet, but to parry the transhuman blow that would have otherwise sundered her, using the momentum of her footwork, she spun and slashed with elegance, poise and deadliness into a single stroke. Her senses reacted, her skin prickled for a second as by a marriage of honed instincts and clairvoyance her hand guided the energy blade into a reverse as she ducked, with the same result as before. The sizzling sound, the low growl of binary, the hydraulics that lost power and thus allowed gravity to claim the mass of the body. 

Syrin finally moved out of the way of the falling droid, standing in hollow victory among a dozen. She huffed slightly, her skin permeated with a cold sweat as the deep red of her eyes saw the product of her mechanical slaughter. Slashed, dismembered and punctured. Indeed they had not landed a single hit with the only damage sustained being that of the training attire, her dark gray tank-top and formfitting black trousers suffering slight gashes, but nothing more. Her skills remained but, yet could not feel anything, not a thing of importance save for the need to escape the monotony that had befall recently. The human took a long breath of air as she felt how the burning fires of the dark side dimmed slowly, remaining as a still burning ember, her sight snapped to a serf, a mechanical repairer that stood in standby in this training arena.

"Prepare the next batch."

The Sith commanded with cold and relentless tone. She knew it would not matter, the droids had been meant initially for acolytes and apprentices. Even those that had been heightened for combat with Sith Lords, were of little consequence. She urged for an opponent, a spar, whatever it would be. 

[Rugs]

Always something that needed doing these days. Never enough time, it felt like. Surprisingly, the years since the wars’s end we’re just as busy as the war itself. If not moreso.

But that was what he’d earned himself, wasn’t it? Darth Aurelius didn’t get as much free time to laze about as Nieraan had. Not with an entire Order to oversee.

High Archon, he thought to himself. The title still amused, even after these years of wearing it. It was a far cry from prowling the slummy Streets of Metellos only a decade ago.

But today’s duties were nearly done, thank the Force. A few checks of activity around the Kaasi temple. Training programs, inventories, meetings with his hand-picked overseers who watched the Temple from day to day.

Boring shit, if you asked him. But important.

His path took him through the training yards, perhaps more by muscle memory than anything else. These, and their sisters on Korriban, had been his domain only a few short years ago. They still were, when he willed it, but he lacked the time these days to devote to tending to every Sith that needed shepherding to greatness. And for proving his own in random bouts with strangers.

The Force sang, subtly, as he walked by one training area. From the raised walkway, he could see a woman standing amidst an array of fallen training droids. A cursory touch of the Force showed that she was strong enough that those droids wouldn’t be much problem.

Then again, that was obvious enough from a glance at the broken droids scattered around her.

“You look bored,” Nieraan called. He had some time to spare. The lightsabers at his waist clinked against each other as he stopped. Scyllos, his Tuk’ata, looked back impatiently from a few paces ahead. “Surely you can do better than those,” he motioned at the droids with an understanding smirk. “Even the Knights grow out of them after a while.”

[Harukei]

She heard a voice and reality came back her. She felt a presence not unlike hers, tranquil yet beneath the surface more intense than hers. The assassin turned and found Darth Aurelius himself standing at the edge of the training arena. The menial that had just started to pick the scraps that she had made from droids stopped and sank to his knees in reverence and dread in equal measure, and for a second, Syrin considered to mimic the serf.

Before her stood the zenith of power just beneath the Dark Empress and the goal that had awakened the dormant hunger of power within herself. With features as solid as if they had been carved from stone, she made a curt bow to her superior in recognition of his station and domain of the Dark Side of the Force. The Tuk'ata behind him was barely registered, with the whispers of the same energies that came from his master and from herself, etched unto the beast.

"My Lord."

The Assassin replied after the nod in a solemn tone as she began to consider his words. The prospect of a duel, an actual challenge excited her, stoked the flames inside her. But a question lingered. What was a Dark Lord like him doing on this level of the temple? Surely someone of his stature and ability had access to greater, personal facilities? Another thought occurred. Irrational as the idea was, it was no uncommon for the Sith to dispose of minions that had become a liability, but even so she discarded it. She doubted that she would even get an answer to such query.

"Luck has not been on my side today with opponents. Could you indulge me on this?"

A thin smile hung over her lips as her hand gripped the smooth surface of her lightsaber with a fencer's touch. Syrin swept her hand in an arc, an a gentle wave of invisible energy pushed the droids over the untainted permacrete, leaving minor scratches on its surface, but a am ample perimeter for them to fight if she had understood correctly. The menial that had been collecting the droids scampered away the tinge of fear on his mind palpable through the whispers of the Dark Side but even so, his departure was barely noticed.

He took a final look at her opponent and her eyes shone red with resolution. His power was superior, but she would stand her ground in equal footing. Her blade came to life fiery red with a snap hiss as she made the salutatory flourish of Makashi and pointed the blade against the solid floor awaiting for Aurelius to strike.

[Rugs]

”My Lord.”

Nieraan hid a smirk. My, how far he’d come indeed. It felt like only yesterday that he’d arrived at the Korriban temple, some street urchin no one had ever heard of or cared to learn about. It didn’t feel like long--it wasn’t long, for a Firrerreo--but how things differed these days.

The servant caring for the droids sank to his knees. Nieraan did snort a laugh at that. Darth Aurelius, no doubt would demand such honor. Nieraan, however, still found it a bit weird.

“Luck is like that, sometimes,” he said. She started clearing the area, lightsaber bursting to life with a sanguine glow beside her.

Nieraan raised a brow. He supposed she took his comment for an offer to spar, though that hadn’t been his intention. Still, he considered it. There was a time when he’d jump at the opportunity to prove his superiority, but these days it was simply fact.

Yet the offer was tempting. He didn’t know much of the woman, but she was supposedly an assassin of some sort. Capable enough. He wondered how long she could last in a knock down, drag-out...

Ah, he thought, keeping himself from speaking as a familiar presence came approaching. This will be much better.

“What do you mean the training room is occupied?” A loud, annoying voice bellowed from down a hallway. “I reserved it for now! I don’t care who’s in it, that’s an abuse of authority!”

The Sith in question burst into the room like an overweight bull in a china ship. Ah, Rod, Nieraan thought. The bumbling apprentice had, somehow, worked his way to the rank of Knight. But the years hadn’t been any kinder to him--he was still disturbingly rotund and about as thick-headed as a rancor.

And somehow not dead.

“Lord Aurellius,” he bellowed, “is it you who have taken the liberty of stealing my training room?”


“No, Rod, I have not,” Nieraan said with barely contained amusement. His training room? “That would be her.” He pointed at the woman with the red lightsaber.

“You!” Rod’s yellow lightsaber ignited. “The servant did say it was a lord. Very well then. I will defeat and you and then I will finally gain Darth Solis’ eye!”

Nieraan, leaning against the railing, winked at the woman.

[Harukei]

The excitement that she had felt before, the prospect of facing one of the ruling Dark Lords of the Empire faded as quick as it came. It was instead replaced with disappointment at her opponent chosen by chance and consecrated by the subtle manipulation that had come from Darth Aurelius. 

It had to be a test or so she thought, for what purpose would it serve to fight someone as whoever this Rod was? Syrin took a brief moment to study her adversary. A quick probe through the Force offered only low hums of the Dark Side, his movement shared the same poise of a drunken and morbidly obese Hutt, and his temper made a Kowakian monkey-lizard look tame in comparison, but whether he was smarter than one, she would reserve a judgment for later. 

With his rotundness the woman could only think that his attacks were based on strength, if there was strength at all behind those flabby arms. With an accepting sigh, she turned towards Rod, crimson blade pointing to the floor of the arena as her opening stanza. She looked at the man with a stoic look, looking slightly at Aurelius as he winked at her. A thin smile appeared on her lips.  

"I'm sure Solis notices you, in fact we all do." The assassin replied with irony in her words. You're quite hard to ignore, after all. She thought. "Attack grease ball, don't make me wait all day."

[Rugs]

A half-smile touched Nieraan’s face as disappointment tinged the edges of Syrin’s presence. She had been itching for a fight, then—to test her mettle against the best the Empire had to offer.

And instead, she’d been left with Rod.

Scyllos,who’d taken up a seated position to Nieraan’s left, bristled at the sight of the round Knight. To say Rod and the Tuk’ata got along would be to lie.

“Steady,” Nieraan muttered as Scyllos’ venomous spines emerged ,”he’s not worth the effort.”

Let’s see how you fare these days, Rod, Nieraan thought, leaning a forearm resting against the metal railing. And how you’re not dead.

Rod, meanwhile, stared down the offending Sith Lady, if she could be called such with that rude attitude, with an iron-handed grip on his lightsaber. “You’re the same as all the others,” he growled. “Smelling your own ass for glory. I will be different. I will represent the forgotten people of the Empire. And when Darth Solis raises me up, you’ll regret every slight you’ve given me!”

It was still strange for Nieraan, even after years of dealing with the man’s headaches, knowing that Rod’s preferred form was Ataru. It was strange to see his massive form lunge skyward and bounce around like a rubberized nerf ham.

Yet that’s what Rod did, using the Force to propel himself into the air up over Syrin’s head with bizarre spin, lightsaber flashing out at her in a horizontal stroke as he landed.

[Harukei]

Syrin had thought she had seen many strange things through her travels across the galaxy. Strange fungi that changed colors to communicate on derelict worlds, mysterious temples that had not hosted life in eon in long forgotten places but nothing like what her eyes saw. She took the brunt of the insult and the innocuous threat of reprisal for she had heard far worse, from more threatening opponents.  

However it was the sight of him flying through the air as the force propelled him forwards that came in equally comical and dangerous fashion and it was only through her training that she didn't deign herself to snort at the sight of the flying hutt. She allowed the dark side to fill her, the fire and the focus as her unblinking red eyes shone and the mere instances of precognition guided her movements

Eyes following the trajectory, she shifted and spun as the man landed. A slash of searing yellow energy was aimed at her chest in an aim to cut her down. She took a step back and artfully flicked her wrist, the sanguine blade met its yellow opposite with the too familiar crackle of energy repelling each other, the parry would make the attack deflect to a side whilst the momentum of Rod's own movement opened a gap for her to exploit. 

With finnese and elegance she spun away and raised her lightsaber over her shoulder, only to aim a slash at the between rod's left shoulder and neck. 

[Rugs]

Nieraan had never found Ataru to be a particularly attractive form. It was so ineffective, with it's bouncing and bopping around all over the place. True, in the hands of a master it could be a chore to deal with, but that was the same for any form. He couldn't think of any other form, save legendary Juyo, that was so dangerous to the novice.

Yet Rod bounced along. His blade licked out at Syrin, but she turned it away and countered into a stroke that would separate Rod's head from his neck. Nieraan wondered if they were using the training setting on their lightsabers--he frowned on Sith killing their own, in most circumstances--but a ping on his personal comm drew his attention to a sudden, urgent message.

Rod, meanwhile, staggered back from Syrin’s counterattack. The tip of her crimson saber seared a line in his clothing and burned away some of his curly chest hairs. The heat from it stung, but the blade itself barely avoided contact with his skin.

“You think you’re so cool don’t you?!” he screeched like a wounded animal. He retreated, yellow blade flailing in his hands. He set himself and launched into a dashing attack forward. His blade thrust out, as if art Syrin’s shoulder but in an almost stunning moment of ingenuity, he actually feinted and sidestepped, thrust turning into a rising slash at Syrin’s torso.

Nieraan might have cried a tear of joy if he had seen it. But he was too busy looking at his comm. Reports of a Sith defector. A powerful Knight that could have been a promising Lord, with more time to get acquainted with the Order. She’d gone missing some months ago and had, if the report rushed to him was to be believed, recently turned up near the Republic border.

That had to be dealt with. Personally.

“Hurry up you two,” he called. “I’ve got business to handle.”

[Harukei]

Syrin found herself somewhat disappointed. Her strike had been adequate, it had the mean and the intention of forcibly enforce a detachment policy between Rod's head and body, yet she had barely managed to singe the chest hairs of the man as he recoiled and retreated. Perhaps, after all this Rod was not without his skill to save his own skin for his skills were rather crude, at least in what her understanding of Ataru could discern. 

The Assassin wrinkled her nose at the acrid stench of the seared follicles of hair that her blade had managed to cauterize and she simply stared at him, restraining herself from rolling her eyes after his screech. His attack came and the crimson glare of her eyes dawned upon the man as he made a foolhardy suicide charge intending to skewer her with his own lightsaber. The whispers of the dark side came again an in instinct she bent her knees slightly, shifting her stance in a subtle way. She heard the voice of Aurelius, distant and muffled against the nuances of the future that the force awarded. 

Rod's feint came at that last second, the harmless thrust had turned into a rising slash aimed to carve her like boar. But she was ready, as the yellow blade drew a pale arc towards her, Syrin would leap, the enhancing power of the force allowing her to somersault to avoid the blade, whilst the hand that held the grip of the lightsaber within her fingers flicked on a subtle and sudden move, aimed at the wrist of the shrieking and flying hutt of a man, aiming to sever the hand rather than outright killing him.  

The woman would land on her feet, blade on her hand and head turning over her shoulder as she awaited to see what had been of her move. Her mind drifted to Lord Aurelius for a second and wondered what was the business that merited such a hurry from a man like him. 

[Rugs]

It was the shrieking that alerted Nieraan to the fact that something had gone horribly wrong for one of the duelists. Rod’s hand went flying off, lightsaber still in tow, as Syrin leaped away from him. The Knight dropped to his knees, clutching his cauterized wrist with his good hand. Nieraan rolled his eyes and sighed.

“You bitch!” Rod yelled. “Just you wait! I am going to kill you!” He rolled over onto his side and let out some strange holler that Nieraan couldn’t quite describe.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he called, signaling and end to the duel. He should have checked to be sure they were using the training setting on their blades — not because he held any particular remorse or concern for Rod individually, but because the Order now faced dealing with fixing the idiot’s hand or a half-crippled member. Nieraan had half a mind to just shove him out the door with one hand, but that wouldn't do for strengthening the Order, would it?

Nieraan hopped down to the training floor, signaling for Scyllos to remain on the walkway. He pointedly ignored Rod’s blabbering as he found a keypad on the wall and pushed a few buttons to summon a medical droid. Only then did he glance at the Knight rolling in agony on the floor.

“I could’ve told you how that fight was going to go when you picked it,” he said. “But maybe you’ll learn now.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “But who am I kidding?”

Next, he turned his yellow-eyed stare to Syrin. “You.” The lightsabers at his belt clinked against each other as he turned to her. “Elar, is it?” He studied her for a moment, senses probing at her presence. He didn’t particularly care if she noticed or not. She seemed capable enough.

“Do you consider yourself the competent sort?” He pointed at Rod. “For dealing with worse than this?”

[Dutch]

Nieraan’s presence was what alerted him, but it was a familiar shrieking that drew him. With a hushed whisper the chamber door slid open, and Darth Solis entered the observation balcony. Glowing red eyes regarded his friend’s tuk’ata warily, as the zelosian had no love for most fauna. Arms clasped behind his back and presence a contained turbulence within the Force, the Sith stared down at the scene before him. Onin, a Sith Lady he could swear looked familiar, and the blubbering mass that was the infamous Knight, Rod. The Darth’s eyes stared searing down at the now one-handed Knight, and lips pressed into a pale line.

A slow disappointed shake of the zelosian’s head would be all that was given for a moment, a total lack of surprise obvious in his expression. Without a single word to the Knight Solis would turn his attention to the firrerreo, and the disappointed line would slide wide to a winning, toothy smile.

“That question seems rather rhetorical, brother mine. I’d say she handled him. Maybe even easily.” The Sith said with no apology to the obvious pun. A single baleful eye winked down at the human next to the other Darth, gaze otherwise unblinking as he watched her. With a smooth motion one hand would drift upwards, and with it Rod’s dismembered hand- still gripped to his lightsaber. Solis’ pointer finger and thumb would pinch together, followed by a dismissive wave of that same hand’s other three fingers.

The hairy-knuckled hand would flip to land upon Rod, while his lightsaber hovered towards the one who had taken it. An offering, a trophy, just another way to stoke the fires within these budding Sith.

“Yours now, little Sith.” Darth Solis said before he gestured with a chin towards Nieraan. “Come, Darth Aurelius, we shouldn’t keep Her Radiance waiting much longer.”

He let the lightsaber trophy fall towards the female’s hand, and his own gestured for the other Darth to follow him. With a smooth turn and swish of black robes his hands would be clasped behind his back once more, and the Sith exited from where he had entered moments ago.

[Harukei]

Her eyes stared down at the defeated Knight, if she could call him that. There were acolytes that presented even more of a challenge than the man defeated over her feet. Her eyes shone a coolly red as he lightsaber still hummed, the whispers of the dark side beckoning her, slowly seducing her into delivering the killing blow. Suffer not an enemy to live. The voice of her master slithered into her mind. Suffer not an enemy to live, or live with a blade looming within the shadows. Despite her vitriol to the Zabrak, there was a sound sense to it. 

But Syrin did not. With a snapping hiss, the sanguine blade extinguished and she hung the curved hilt lightsaber by her waist. The assassin heard the man cursing at her and promising retribution. It would not happen, the gap in their skills was so vast as if the distance between the ground of this temple and the heights of low orbit.  Her snapped as Lord Aurelius spoke, but before any word would escape her lips, she felt another presence, coolly, dangerous and then words that came as a cold knife escaping its sheath. She turned and saw Darth Solis slowly approaching them. 

"My Lord."

Syrin said with a simple nod, taking the compliment within the jest. She felt the male's eyes upon her, deep and penetrating as if he was trying to pry unto her mind, the man was Dark Lord and in many ways more powerful than her. But she did not flinch. As she watched the leader of the cult retrieve the lightsaber still clutched within Rod's grasp. With a flick he tossed the inert limb away and a lightsaber floated before her. She reached for it and for a second felt the cold slice of the Dark Side emanating from the man and fought every natural reaction to back away. But she did not. 

"Thank you."

She said to Solis before turning to Lord Aurelius that clearly had something in mind. Something that came with the question that Solis had answered before her. 

"I can handle myself Lord Aurelius." She turned to face Rod and continued to speak as he looked unto the tiny eyes lost into that fat of his face. "I held back. But I am at your disposal."

She said before nodding again, before turning again to the rotund Sith Knight. 

"Oh, and Rod." Syrin awaited for the man to turn and look at her with a winced look as he held his cauterized stump. "You are not worth killing."

[Rugs]

Jessoin’s — or rather, Darth Solis these days — presence was easy to feel spreading into the training area before Nieraan’s peer arrived. It was dark, oily; there wasn’t quite another like it in the Order.

Nieraan snorted a chuckle and shook his head at the High Inquisitor’s joking. “I would’ve held the fight if I knew you’d be gracing us with your presence, brother,” he said. His mouth twisted into a smile, showing the tip of a sharp canine on one side as he gestured towards Rod. “Your biggest fan is here.”

He shook his head again at Solis’ granting of Rod’s lightsaber to Elar. A trophy, though Nieraan would question whether it was a fine one. “He’s going to want that back, you know,” he said to both of them as Rod wailed on the floor. In truth, he didn’t really care. Rod could use some motivation to be... well, anything worth complimenting.

“Yea, yea, I’m coming,” Nieraan said at Solis’ prodding. He whistled sharply for Scyllos. The Tuk’ata bounded from his post on the walkway above and landed at Nieraan’s side. He still looked at Syrin warily and Rod with open hostility.

“Before I go,” Nieraan started, turning to Syrin. “We’ll see how useful you are, Elar.” He pulled datapad out and tapped on it for a moment. “I’m sending you some information about a Knight who went missing a few months ago. We’ve found her near the border with Republic space. I assume you know our policy on traitors.”

It was a simple one. They usually died.

“Meet me at nightfall ready to depart.” That said, he turned on his heel and strolled off after Solis. “I hope you don’t disappoint me,” he called back. The doors opened to admit the medical droid for Rod, who’d passed out from shock, and Nieraan disappeared into the Temple.

[Harukei]

The Assassin would inspect her new trophy. The lightsaber felt alien in her grasp, and oily as well. The grease of Rod's severed hand had imprinted unto the outer shell of the blade. Several lines that showed cabling and plating were caked in filth and dirt. And upon lighting the lambent yellow blade she would fine the shine to be sickly and filled with entropy. It disgusted her in so many levels that she almost wanted to destroy the so called trophy. But she did not. With a snap hiss, she would deactivate the blade and hang it from the belt around her hip. 

"I am counting on him wanting to reclaim his toy."

Syrin muttered softly. It truly made no difference to her, while still a part of her mind objected and claimed to take the bloated Sith Knight's head alone with the lightsaber, Rod was as harmful as a newly born nexu cub. She had to think that only the distant patronage of a Dark Lord of the Sith kept him alive, although whether Solis did it out of actual care or personal amusement was simply beyond her. In any other time, in any other world, away from the prying eyes of two Dark Lords, Rod would have been killed and the Sith Order would have been better for it. 

As the part of Dark Lords left, Aurelius spoke again to her and with a plan behind his actions, he provided information about a renegade Knight that had left the Order. When he inquired on whether she knew what to do with traitors or not, a smile appeared, perched on her lips as the thrill for a hunt softly came back to her. 

"I know my Lord, and I shall endeavor not to disappoint."

He watched Aurelius and Solis leave and made her own way out of the training arena, past an unconscious Rod towards her own residence, looking to ready herself up and meet a Dark Lord at the spaceport.