Honor Dictates

[Valcor]

How droll.

Another day of waiting.  How long had it been since Janse had been given an actual direct order?  Too long.  The Sith Acolyte could barely remember the last official training session he was directed to undertake.  It had been years with no official master, and in spite of Janse's abilities and completion of his basic induction into the Sith, no higher ranking dark sider had deigned to give the young noble boy their tutelage.  So Janse occupied himself this day, the same way he did every day.  He dueled.

The day was a particularly hot one.  Fresh air was littered with the grit of sand as it whipped through the blonde locks of the boy, yet in spite of the mild irritation, it was welcome coolness for Janse as he strode from his morning meal to his sparring grounds.  With freshly dry cleaned clothes on him, the youth was as egotistical as ever.  He gave none he passed even a sidelong glance, save if they were of higher rank than himself, in which case he offered them a traditional and polite incline of his head.  Yet, even they would not keep him from his destination for long.  He was too eager for some kind of entertainment to distract himself with.  All Janse lived for anymore were these short opportunities to display his good breeding and talent.

With a belly full of breakfast, and the dry air of Korriban at his back, Janse walked to the sand covered dueling rings of the Sith Academy.  Most of his fellow acolytes had bored him by now, there was no sport in besting them if there was no challenge to be had. Perhaps a new wave of recruits had arrived, or an apprentice had returned from a long mission that Janse had yet to meet.  This had been his hope for weeks, as his regular opponents now often tired him to the point of daydreaming during their matches.  Sometimes the young man even left mid-fight to relieve himself or acquire food, without even recalling that he still had an injured opponent in the ring.

Perhaps today will be different.

This had been his mantra for the past few days, even if it was proven wrong each time.  It was the only way the white and purple clad Sith could keep himself sane.  So he walked brazenly back into his familiar turf, Lightfoil in hand, and eyes predatory.  There were a few young recruits training together in the yard, none worth Janse's notice though.  As he continued to scan, the Tarkan Noble began to lose heart.  No.  There was no one new that he could see.

With a sigh, Janse sank down to sit in the middle of his little box of sand, and retrieved his datapad.  Perhaps he at least got a message from home.

[Rugs]

Time was said to heal wounds. Karn Albrecht was having a hard time finding this to be true. The slender Sith acolyte pushed pale hair from his eyes as he stepped out of the Sith Temple and into the sand-blasted desert. He detested the heat; it seared his pale Arkanian skin. Yet he’d been transferred from Dromund Kaas and its wet jungles to this Force-blighted rock a few weeks ago. Right around the time everything went wrong.

His master, a Sith Knight, had answered the Empress’ call to fight the Archeri Chorus at the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. He’d gone along as well, of course; though he was just eighteen, he didn’t fear battle. Or he hadn’t. Even though he was barely into his nineteenth year, a Sith couldn’t fear battle. When the Empress called them to crush the Republic, he had to be ready, to drive all foes from before him. To break them, crush them, to make their undoing his gain.

That was what he had thought.

But the battle had been a nightmare. To his shame, he’d faltered with some of the horrific monsters closed in on his master. She’d died trying to fight them off. He’d only survived — only found the opportunity to flee — because the Coalition destroyed the Spire before the Archeri could run him down.

No other Sith knew his shame. They knew only that his master had perished, but he wasn’t the only student to lose a master in the Battle. Two of the Inner Sanctum — the Pillars of the Empire itself, below Darth Renata — had fallen in the battle.

And yet he, a coward, lived.

No one knew Karn’s shame, but he did. It ate him alive. Every day stuck waiting, hoping that another master might choose him, seemed a punishment for his sin. Every week that passed without improvement saw his outbursts of anger grow more fierce.

“What are you looking at,” he hissed at another acolyte as they passed by him, on the way inside from the training grounds. For a moment, the other Sith ruffled up, as if preparing to retort, but Karn’s withering stare drove them away in silence.

His lips peeled back in a snarl as he trudged to the sparring yards. They would see. They would all see the greatness within him. His master had. He was greater than his fellows, greater than this forgotten rock of nothing at the edge of the Galaxy. One day he’d stand above them all.

But I must prove myself, he thought, eyes scanning the training grounds for a foe. I must purge my weaknesses.

“They’ll all see.” Karn didn’t notice he’d said the words aloud in a low growl.

“You,” he said to a human crouching in the sand with a datapad. Karn narrowed his eyes. The man was finely dressed, to be stuck on this worthless planet. I’ll show him. “What are you doing just sitting there? If you need an opponent,” he unclipped the long-handled lightsaber hanging from his waist, “I’ll take you on.” The crimson blade flared to life.

They’ll all see, he thought, casting glances around to see who was watching as a hot wind tousled his shoulder-length hair. The trek to any summit started with a single step, and he meant to take his first.

Right here. Right now.

[Valcor]

Janse snapped back to reality, the soft sounds of a gizka video emanated from his datapad indicating how he was occupying himself.  A quick scan revealed to him that he was, in fact being addressed.  This spurred a rush of excitement within the young noble.  Almost giddy, Janse leaped to his feet, wobbling once as the force of the jump threatened his balance.

Yes... Finally.

Just as quick as he lost it, Janse righted his stance, hands both silenced and tucked away his datapad just as a small creature poked its head out from a tube on the screen; this was likely the punchline of the short clip.  Then with a bit of dramatic flair, Janse spun on on one heel to face his newest challenger.  In classic Janse fashion, he turned his nose up and regarded the new addition to the ring down it.  This one seemed young, perhaps an apprentice or acolyte whom the noble had yet to meet.  This was given little thought by the noble though, who was far more occupied readying himself for the upcoming conflict.

As Janse continued to assess his opponent, he frowned at Aldrecht's cadence.  Sure, he was accustomed to this kind of barbarism from the new recruits, those eager to prove themselves; but the fact this new face held a certain steel to his gaze told the fancily clad acolyte that this man was no recruit.  

"Show more couth, cur.  If it is a contest you desire, the least you can afford me is formality." Janse said with an air of frustration.  In a small display of what he was referring to, the noble retrieved his foil from his hip, and gave a small bow.  His hands extended out to his sides, palms and eyes pointing towards the new arrival.  One familiar with formal traditions would recognize that this one was given with a bit of sarcasm; as the incline of the head, and show of hands was typically performed from one of significantly a lower status to one of a remarkably higher one.  This was likely lost on Karn though.

Rising back up to look down his nose once again, Janse ignited his own blade without ceremony.  

"There.  Now yooou..." Janse said with now verbal sarcasm to compliment his previously subtle display.  Even if this challenger could not back up his words enough to give Janse physical entertainment, the human could still glean some verbal contest at least.

[Rugs]

“Show more couth, cur.”

Karn’s pupilless eyes narrowed as the Human initiate made a show of ceremony, of bowing and extending his arms, as if a show of decorum would save him from the coming wrath. His four-fingered hand tightened on his lightsaber as his lips peeled back into a snarl.

Every lithe muscle tensed as he stood on the edge of motion. How dare this Human — of all species — insult him? “You’ll learn,” he hissed at Janse. “I will show you nothing but pain, fool.

Karn started to motion, steps slow and smooth as he circled ‘round Janse, despite the crackling fury rippling through his presence. The tip of his lightsaber dragged along the sand and left a glowing trail in its wake. “What are you, human?” he asked, acid on his voice. “Nothing. You were below me from the first time your father laid eyes on your mother. If you were lucky, you might be good enough for a test subject in Father’s lab.”

A cruel smile twisted Karn’s face, though it didn’t touch his snow-white eyes. “But don’t despair. Your base blood isn’t your fault. Some of us are destined to stand on the mountaintop, and others below. Your evolutionary failings should at least prepare you for your proper place beneath me, once I ascend.”

They’ll all see.

An expression of sorrow flashed across Karn’s face. Pity, for Janse, as he frowned slightly and his brows drew down. “It’s just the natural way of things.” He flourished his lightsaber. The crimson blade whirled through the air, cutting a figure-eight as he stopped and brought it to a ready stance. “So let’s get started teaching you your role in life.”

[Valcor]

Janse rocked forward on his feet in disbelief, as if leaning closer to hear the words better.  The noble turned his head to one side, giving a single ear a better angle to hear the speech as it came.  As the self important insults came, Janse could not help but crack a smile; then a laugh. What started as a mild chuckle, quickly grew into full blown, chest aching, laughter.  Lightfoil sizzled the ground as it was lowered, and a free hand came up to hold aching chest, as it rose and fell quickly.

My lord, was he serious?!

Janse wiped a tear from his eye, this was simply too much.  "I'm-I'm sorry.  Are you implying I am of low birth?  Compared to... you?"  Janse said, his words constantly interrupted by aftershocks of laughter.

"By the-you are serious aren't you?  You aim to talk down to me.  But-but you have no pedestal to stand on!  Look at you!  I don't even know what you are mutt!"  Janse said with louder rumbling laughs.  Finally, the haughty shows of amusement calmed, and Janse righted himself.  With a leveling of his Lightfoil, the human returned to his stance, albeit with a horribly contemptuous smirk on his face.

"But... if it is a test of skill you desire, well, sometimes a mutt can at least provide sport." Janse said settling into his stance.

[Rugs]

Karn’s face twisted with a crooked smile at the human initiate. “I should have expected as much. Your station means nothing. Your blood is as worthless as the lowest peasant from whatever backwater hole you crawled out of. Leave it to one of you to flaunt your own stupidity as a point of pride.”

Inside, he boiled. He was an Arkanian. He stood atop an evolutionary mountaintop, while this Human — this nobody who stood in a canyon’s depths by comparison — dared to imply they were anything near equal.

No, he said worse; he dared say that he was better than Karn.

I’ll show you, he thought as he began to move again, slowly to the side. A few other initiates and acolytes were glancing their way; Karn hadn’t exactly been quiet in his challenge. I’ll show you all.

He opened himself to the Force, drinking in as much as he dared, to the point of pain. It was easier when he was angry. It flooded into him, sweet as life itself and searing as fresh lava.

“It’d be foolish to expect more from you.” Karn stopped suddenly, body coiled to spring as he raised his blade. His voice was steady to his own ears, despite the turmoil raging within. “You’re just a Human.”

He sprang forward, abruptly, the Force surging through him as he closed the distance between Janse and himself. All of his fury at the self-important Human, all of the hurt and pain and anguish that’d ravaged him since Nar Shadda — he drew on all of it as he rushed forward. His lightsaber flourished--spinning through the air as he closed in and struck high, then low at Janse.

There were no teachers around at this time in between training classes. No one to stop him. He didn’t mean to just beat this Initiate; no, he meant to hurt him, to prove his superiority for everyone to see.

They’d all see.

[Valcor]

Janse made no overt shift, only subtle ones.  His upturned nose finally lowered, eyes now peering up under his brow at his approaching opponent.  His feet shifted in the sand to soft grinds into a more formal stance, and his blade raised up in front of him.  Even his grin changed, with the ends of his lips uncurling into a calmer more focused expression, but more than that, internally the noble changed.  Janse, ever the practiced duelist, even from his time before the Sith, knew how to isolate this moment.  The world melted away as hands began to tingle from adrenaline as all else, save this Arkanian, and his blade, left Janse's eyes.

Time slowed for the noble, every motion made was noted, sometimes even before they were made.  Then they were met, with foil and footwork, not power or fury.  As the force washed into him, Janse was an island of concentration and determination.  In this fight, the purple and white clad fighter might even spark curiosity as to how he even wielded the dark side of the force.  He showed no signs of anger or emotion in his movements, save inside his own mind.  For within, he let himself fall to the one emotion that ruled him.  Survival, but not of the physical self preserving kind.  Janse lived in a world far gone from the one filled with carnal necessities, and strove to survive in the world of high society, one where honor and lineage is all that mattered.  And he would dishonor himself and his name.  Janse would maintain his worth to the collar he wore, to his ancestors both living and not.

With practiced motions, he met the incoming strikes, first high, then low, feet in constant motion all the while.  Janse was no brute however, and spent no time tying his blade with Karn.  Instead, once the threat of his attacks were dealt with, Janse slid his feet back in a shower of tan grit.  Once distance was once established, the noble returned to his calm neutral position, as if no contact had been made.  He was watching, learning this savage's patterns, and waiting.  No more words would come from Janse now, his heartbeat occupied his ears far too much for banter.

[Rugs]

Crimson met crimson once, then twice. A flash of blue light sizzled each time Karn’s saber met Janse’s lightfoil. The smell of burning ozone lingered as their blades separated. Janse retreated, returning to an open stance and waiting, no doubt, for Karn to come at him again.

“Coward,” Karn growled, lips peeled back in an angry rictus. He settled his weight, watching Janse. The Force surged through him yet, agony and wonder all at once. A part of him wondered if the cocky human was up to some trick; the Dark Side raging in his veins urged him to action.

His opening strikes had been simple things. A strike at the legs. A sweep at the chest. Karn felt no surprise that they’d not landed. Oh what a treat that would have been, but no he wanted more; dominating a hapless foe impressed no one.

“Alright then,” he said, flourishing his long-handled saber again so that it left glowing lines in the sand to either side of him. “If that’s how you want it.” Karn took an entirely different stance than his earlier one, flourish completed. His blade leaned forward, and his slender body with it, as if frozen on the edge of motion.

He’d opened with Shii-Cho, but anyone who knew how to use a lightsaber likely knew some of that. But if his foe, who’d promised to test his mettle, wanted to run away, well...

Karn’s grin was no longer a forced thing, and it dripped malevolence. Juyo was a rare enough thing among seasoned lightsaber duelists — let alone among the Order’s Acolytes.

You’ll see.

The Force flooded into his body, giving him strength he yearned to let free.

Then he exploded forward, and was upon Janse. His attacks came fast and furious, with a broken, erratic grace that seemed to have no consistent rhythm propelling it. His blade lashed out at Janse’s right shoulder, then licked again toward his forearm on the same side. These attacks, for all their ferocity, were more testing moves to probe Janse’s defenses.

Karn’s first true attack came as another strike started on Janse’s right side and suddenly died, as he whipped the lightsaber around behind him, using his body as a fulcrum for the long hilt, and brought it in on the other side for a hard blow at Janse’s thigh on his left side.

And if Janse retreated again, Karn had every intention of pressing on, to overwhelm the human acolyte and prove his superiority.

For all to see.

[Valcor]

Janse could feel the force behind Karn and Karn's blade.  He could feel the fury washing over him as it flowed into the motions, even before they struck home.  So... it's on the table.  Fine.  The young noble had no intention of using the force in this fight, using such a tool in combat would belittle Janse; but if Karn opened the door, then Janse would follow.  

With careful, trained steps, Janse worked back away from the flurry of strikes, batting away the simple ones before the third came, channeling his own focus every inch back the whole while.  When the assault finally committed to a real attack, he was ready.  The first two swipes were sloppy, rage fueled, and even probing if Janse was being honest, but this third one was what he had been waiting for.  He felt it approach, he felt the earnestness in it, the Force driving it home, and he met it in kind.

This was no swing Janse could simply swat away.  No, this had strength behind it, accuracy, Janse could even feel where on his body it was to land should he do nothing.  His clavicle felt quietly hot, as if the blade was already invisibly upon him; so Janse met the strike.  For a moment he held it at bay with his foil, only the power of the Force giving his one hand the strength to withstand the might of two.  Vigor filled his body, like a drug, Janse could feel himself grow quicker with every moment they remained tied.  Then in a flash, foil rotated about saber, feed slid in sand, and heat pierced towards Karn's shoulder.  Moving with the motion of his riposte, the noble maneuvered himself into the attack and simultaneously out of the path of Karn's own saber.  Slides and rapid steps carried Janse around his target, even as he withdrew his prod, ensuring position and distance was maintained.

As quickly as it had begun, Janse pulled from contact and returned to his guard.  Once again, he was several feet away, clothes settling back down after feet stilled.  This single second had moved the finely clad human fully around the aggressive Arkanian, forcing both to rotate to face one another.  When Janse's eyes returned to his opponent, he quickly searched for signs his counter had landed, unsure in the heat of it all if he had been as accurate as he had hoped.  Force Vigor was a finicky thing to the Acolyte, whom had yet to match his mind with his body in the motions.

[Rugs]

Red and red clashed again, with bright flashes of white and blue between. Again, Janse fended off Karn’s probing blows, but as the third came ‘round, their blades locked. Karn pressed against Janse’s foil. So close, he could feel the Force flowing into Janse — he could feel it lending strength, just as it did for himself. If he could pull more, he could overpower Janse’s one-handed grip.

If he could drive Janse’s own lightsaber into his leg...

A shift in the Force, two quick to react to. Like a striking serpent, Janse’s foil twisted away from Karn’s and licked up at his shoulder. His Force-aided reactions, more than any deliberate choice, made Karn lean back, twisting his body away from the blade.

Janse’s lightsaber still made contact, a stinging, singeing bite as he clipped the front of his shoulder. And then Janse retreated again, waiting for Karn to attack again.

Karn, despite his plans, held back, watching his foe through narrowed eyes. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. A saber on training setting wouldn’t maim or kill, but they could still leave welts or bruises. More to the point, the blows were still quite painful

He was lucky Janse’s blow had been a glancing one — shiim — instead of something that might have knocked him out of the fight. It could have easily been a blow through his shoulder or worse, were their blades set to full strength.

Parry, retreat. Karn’s eyes narrowed as he swung his saber around to his attacking stance, poised on the verge of bursting forward. If Janse wanted to give him time to think, he’d take the offering. Maybe with a counter. You better be more creative than that.

---

It had been some time since Aurelius paid the Korriban academy a visit. Here, the Sith took their raw recruits, and bathed them in the rigors of the Dark Side. Here, the Sith took broken men and women, and unformed youth who yet knew little of the Galaxy, and began the work of turning them to them to Sith, in name and vision, to make the Galaxy anew to Renata’s will.

It had been near a decade ago that he came to this dry, forgotten world past the edge of nowhere. He was not the same man he’d arrived as, all those years ago. Nor would the Sith who eventually left this world, for Dromund Kaas or to do the Empire’s work out across the stars, be the same as when they arrived.

The Galaxy was unstable now. The fragile peace that’d held for three years between Republic and Empire seemed on the edge of shattering. The Empire could not afford weakness in its recruits. Not ever, and especially not now.

Aurelius walked out to the Academy’s main training grounds — his hunting grounds of old — to observe the Sith acolytes. Perhaps, if any stood out, they’d find themselves with a master. That was so often the hope, that proving mettle for a passing Knight or Lord would open the door to further training.

With Zexva’s... unfortunate end, Aurelius found himself considering taking another student under his wing. Perhaps.

Only if one impressed, however.

He knew the commotion unfolding in the center of the training grounds before he saw it. The dueling acolytes left ripples in the force, one of raw emotion, the other of steady, willful determination. Other acolytes stopped what they were doing to watch the two cross blades.

Aurelius, clad in a simple black coat with gold accents, with Ascension’s golden chevron upon the chest, and dark pants and boots, watched from an elevated walkway, leaning with his arms against the railing.

---

Karn lunged forward again at Janse. His lightsaber whipped out in a blur, striking at one side, then the other. His strikes came hard and off-beat, testing to see how long Janse could fend him off with one hand alone, to see how well his defense responded to Juyo's uneven pacing.

Karn wound up for a big strike, blade a whir of crimson, with an obvious opening. In this, he hoped to draw a counter from Janse. For it was all a ruse; the strike never came. The attack died as this time Karn, danced back, but his open hand launched forward, using the Force to try to tug at Janse as his own feet set in the sand, ready to burst forward again.

If he could just catch Janse off balance...

[Valcor]

In the stillness after their first bout, Janse caught a familiar smell, even before his eyes fell upon the source.  It was one he was quite familiar with, even before his time on Korriban.  That sour scent of burning skin, unique every time, but with some core familiarity that told Janse his strike had landed.  Then he saw it.  The shoulder wound was smaller than the noble had hoped, but it was a wound none the less.  After all of this, there would be a lesson here, perhaps about focus or accuracy, but for the moment, any blow landed was a win for Janse.

Slowly the pounding in his ears dulled and his stance relaxed.  There was time now.  This single wound, first blood as it were, was always an important moment in any duel.  Janse knew this, he had fought many an opponent on his home of Tarka, with duels forming the foundation for settling disputes of honor there.  First blood was always the moment when the initial winner and loser analyzed their strategies, and reformed them.  So Janse, with poise and politeness, planned to disrupt Karn's thoughts.

"Well done, well done.  Your footwork is lacking though.  You should keep your balance rather than put your weight into me, otherwise you're open to counters."  Janse said earnestly.  He had no need for sarcasm or jeering, he knew the more genuine his words came across, the more upset they would make Karn.  So his advice was as honest as he could manage.  When he spoke, his blade gestured towards the feet of his opponent, then at his own.  With a small smile, and a nod, Janse settled back into his Makashi position for the continuation of the fight, eager to see what happened next.

What followed was most unwelcome to the highborn.  The third blow Janse had been forced to block earlier, was originally thought to be a sloppy and enraged strike... but now it was clear. 

Juyo... Why did he have to specialize in Juyo?  Janse thought to himself as the new blows arrived in rapid succession. 

He was quite familiar with this style, it being the bane of Janse's own.  The first strike was blocked easily enough, but the experienced duelist knew it always was.  Strength, speed, and pressure were Juyo's specialty; and Makashi's weakness.  Then the second strike came, equally as hard; Janse struggling to match the power behind it even with the Force fueling his might.  His foil arm quivered under the strain put on it.  Then the third was telegraphed to arrive, and Janse lifted his foil.  

In his mind, he had planned out how to counter this, he knew he could not match the power of this swing.  Feet shifted, and the noble prepared to slide away from the strike and riposte with another stab to a limb... but the swing never came.  Baffled, Janse stopped mid-dodge, waiting to continue with his counter until he felt the Force wrap around him like a rope.

Oh no.

He braced, hurriedly shifting his feet in preparation for what was to come.  He could follow through with the direction of the pull, and get more distance after, but the strike that would hit during the pull... Well... Janse would need luck.  Readying his blade, and allowing himself to be pulled in, Janse's mind raced.

[Rugs]

Karn saw Janse start to lean forward as the Force pulled at his body. There was, perhaps, a moment of resistance as his foe realized what was happening, but it was too late. Gotcha. With Janse ensnared in his trap, there were any number of things Karn could do.

He had planned, as it began, to draw forward and strike him with his lightsaber. That’d pay back the burn to his shoulder and probably end their duel besides. But Janse’s words still burned in Karn’s ears.

“Show more couth, cur.”

“Your footwork is lacking...”

Karn scowled as Janse staggered forward. In a split instant, he chose to prolong their fight. He chose cruelty instead.

As the human came towards him, pulled along by his tugging in the Force, Karn twisted, anchoring himself in the sand. His hand, clawed from pulling Janse, closed to a fist as Karn set his weight and turned.

Right as Janse was passing him, Karn slammed a punch to the side of Janse’s face. In this blow, there was no Force backing it. No tricks; only Karn’s strength alone, and as much of his weight as he could put behind it.

Karn danced back on light feet after the strike, saber low but ready, and let the force of his pull and blow carry Janse where they would. A cruel, cocky smile twisted his face as he shook out his knuckles. A rush of satisfaction took him. Let Janse think their earlier exchange meant anything; Karn knew his own superiority as fact.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did that hurt?” he cooed mockingly. “You shouldn’t keep doing the same thing over and over,” his tone echoed Janse’s from a few moments earlier, with a jeering edge, “otherwise you’re open to counters.”

He spit in the sand and kept that selfsure smile. The Force pulsed through him as he flourished his lightsaber and settled again into his ready stance. “I bet you’ve never been in a real fight in your life if that’s the best you can do. But maybe the Dark Lord won’t be too disappointed in you,” he motioned with his head toward Aurelius, watching them from the elevated walkway.

“You are just a Human, after all.”

[Action against Janse taken with Valcor 's permission]

[Valcor]

Even when fist was telegraphed to strike, Janse still held his foil in the direction of Karn's own saber. He could not believe his opponent would give up an opportunity like this for such a primal attack, and up until he was hit roughly on his cheek, Janse still expected the saber to close in. For a few moments, Janse was dazed and disoriented, he stumbled back a few steps, blindly lifting his weapon to meet attacks that never came. All that did arrive was a slew of insults, Janse still struggled to believe were not a feint of some sort.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

Janse righted himself and shook off the pain of the punch. First he took their respective positions upon the arena back in; Karn had not closed the distance to capitalize on his assault, and was instead... stroking his ego? All of Janse's experience in one on one combat had left him sorely unprepared for this emotion laden kind of conflict.

Janse expected calm calculation, the same kind of precise machinations he handled fights with himself, and so he struggled to really comprehend what Karn was even doing at first. Now it was clear. Karn cared more about cruelty, causing pain both of the physical and mental varieties, than winning the fight when given the chance. Janse would not give Karn the same leeway.

With a huff and a squaring of his stance Janse let the Force fuel him once again. As the insults continued to come, the noble could not help but grin. It was not an evil, or malicious expression, but one that came from the recognition of a tangible advantage held.

"You are just a human, after all." And Janse was upon him.

No longer watching and defending himself, the highborn boy pressed the attack. He had learned much in the blows they had exchanged. He had learned of Karn's Juyo specialty, he had learned of Karn's emotional state, and he had learned of Karn's low opinion of Janse himself. All of these Janse now used to launch a surprise offensive. In a blur of Force infused speed, Janse shot strike after strike forward.

Each stab was as precise as Makashi demanded, dead center and hard.  The first was probing, easily retracted and morphed into a second a bit higher, baiting Karn's guard further and further up, until a third came. This stab began high, only to coil back moments before landing and flicking down towards a foot Janse expected to be overextended.

Yet even this onslaught was even a feint itself, a mask for Janse's true plan. To a practiced eye, a latent awareness of the force, and a level head, his tactic was all too obvious, but the noble fully expected Karn in this moment was few of these things. With each increasingly threatening blow, the air around the pair grew oppressive. The sand seemed to slow as it was kicked up, and for Karn, his mind would begin to feel under the same pressure Janse put his saber under. The Force pressed into the Arkanian's thoughts, hunting deeper and deeper for those primal terrors every creature bore.

[Rugs]

Janse offered no response to Karn’s taunting. Karn started to open his mouth again, to tell Janse that he was no fun, as the lordling launched an offensive. This caught Karn slightly off-balance; Janse had, so far, been willing to wait for the fight to come to him instead of taking it to Karn.

Still, Karn figured it made no difference — he was certain that his victory was only a matter of time.

It quickly became apparent that something was different now, though. Janse moved with newfound haste, bolstered by the Force. Karn had picked up on the Janse’s agility already — it wasn’t surprising, with a finesse form like Makashi — but this, he had not expected. The mask of cocksure self-assures faded quickly as he focused on fending off Janse’s attack.

The first blow, a thrust, was easily enough dealt with. For that Karn was thankful, he’d set himself again into his opening stance to attack, not to defend. He gave ground as Janse attacked, trying to get his feet set under him. Janse’s lightfoil retreated almost as soon as Karn’s saber made contact with it, and another thrust came in, higher than the last.

Karn batted it away with a flaring twist of his saber. He retreated again, still on his heels and trying to find breathing room. Karn had always, always preferred to attack — he was aggressive by nature, and Juyo’s principles engrained that mindset further into him. Now forced on an unexpected defensive, he found himself abandoning Juyo and reverting to the safety of Shii-Cho to keep Janse’s blade at bay.

As he peeled away, he felt the Force shifting around him. The air grew heavy, or seemed to, as Janse did... something. The crimson lightfoil flashed out again. Karn lifted his blade to meet, it expecting another high strike, but Janse’s thrust died and shifted, dipping low at his feet.

Karn yelped in surprise and attempted to twist out of the way. The motion saved his foot, at the expense of a burning slash along the front of his thigh. The Arkanian grit his teeth, determined not to let Janse hear him cry out in pain and kept moving back.

Even in this, he found no refuge. A presence, cold and searching like icy hands, pressed into his mind. Memories of Nar Shaddaa, of the Archeri swarming around him and Lady Colubus, rose unbidden to the surface.

Karn shook his head, trying to press them down, as he realized with clarity what was happening. “Don’t you go digging where you don’t belong,” he hissed at Janse. Anger distorted his face to a scowl as he pressed back, trying to push the presence out and finding — to his horror — he lacked the strength to evict it.

At least, in meeting it on its terms.

Karn attacked suddenly — willing to take a blow from Janse if he had to — with a renewed vigor. He struck hard and fast with an overhead slash at Janse’s head, not caring if it struck home or not. Juyo returned as he withdrew his blade, spinning it around behind his back and striking at Janse’s side, then at his leg.

With much of his mind occupied to trying to keep the Force at bay from his thoughts, Karn could no longer call on the Force to lend him physical strength or alacrity, nor to dull the pain in his shoulder and leg. Nor could he focus too much on his blade, lest he doom himself on the silent battle raging within. It was all he could do to alter the timing of his blows just slightly, hoping to catch Janse off-balance.

Hoping that he could force Janse to withdraw with a wild, raw assault from all directions before the creeping terror filling him took hold.

[Valcor]

This was always his favorite moment in any fight, that instant he could feel his opponent break under his machinations.  Janse would spend a long time after this conflict reminiscing on every single second spent picking Karn apart.  Within the Arkanian's mind he could feel that memory he so searched for, and even got a verbal confirmation from Karn when he locked his telepathic powers around it.  

"Don't you go digging where you don't belong.", yet Janse had no intention of stopping.  Without a word he pulled harder on the memory, drawing it further and further out of Karn's mind into the world around him.  Janse could not tell what it held, he only felt the layers of fear that lined it, and the resistance that Karn put up to keep this little nugget of the past deep in his mind.  It would not stop Janse though.  With oppressive telepathy, he finally overcame the obstacles and let the memory fill the arena around his opponent.

To Janse, this scene of the past was invisible.  He could not see whatever Karn was about to witness, but he could feel it.  He could feel the dread that came with this tragedy, the terror that Karn bore both then... and now, and Janse was elated.  He did not enjoy his opponent's suffering, but he did enjoy when a well executed plan fell perfectly into place, and that put a shameless smile on his face.

Then the feverish blows came.  The noble boy had expected this, some kind of last ditch effort as the Arkanian tried to fight the inevitable.  The struggle of the mental battle had drained Karn's connection to the Force though, and had left Janse calm and controlled over his own powers.  When the flurry came, Vigor, more than technique or strength, decided the outcome.  Janse, high on speed and strength granted by the Force, blurred to meet each attack as it arrived, and deliver his own in return.

The first upper strike, Janse sidestepped, ensuring his blade was between him and the incoming one.  When the second came for his side, the Makashi specialist met it in kind, tying his blade in a shower of sparks, all the while waiting for his moment to riposte.  When the third arrived, the opportunity presented itself.  Janse, knowing the power he now held over Karn, met the low strike to his own leg with his foil.  For but a moment, the locked red blades held in place; until Janse pushed back.  With his strength augmented, he drove both of them back at Karn, letting the Arkanian's might buckle under the pressure of a single imbued hand and foil.  With deliberation, foil aimed for Arkanian ankle; slow, determined pressure delivering this blow instead of a lightening fast counter.

All the while, Janse grinned, more pleased with himself than trying to embarrass his opponent.

[Rugs]

Warm rain fell onto Karn’s bare shoulders.

He stood in the heart of Dromund Kaas’ jungles, stripped to the waist. His crimson lightsaber hummed before him, hissing with steam as the light, steady rain fell along its blade. Karn didn’t move, save the subtle trembling of the blade in his hands.

“You have not grasped the Force.” Lady Colubus, his Mirialan master, perched in a tree to observe her student from above. Her voice was calmly melodious, even in disappointment. “Why?”

Karn gulped silently. A massive Tuk’ata, one of the Sith hounds of legend, stared him down. It paced in a wide, slow a circle, body held low as a rumbling growl filled its throat. Muscle rippled under its hide with every motion. Karn felt its eyes on his back as it circled ‘round behind him.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered. Tuk’ata were supposed to be myths. He had no clue that one existed, let alone that his master could command it. “I call for it, but...” He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head. “But it does not answer.”

Colubus pfawed loudly. “We are not Jedi, to ask the Force to lead us on, Karn. We are Sith.” Lightning crackled above, illuminating the jungle floor. Thunder crashed across the sky. “The Force is yours to command, boy. It is a tool, to bend and shape to your will, not some blessing to beg for. You’ve had no trouble with that before. Why now?”

Karn squeezed his eyes, wishing that he was in some dream. “I’m...” he started slowly, sheepishly, “I’m afraid.”

Silence. When he opened his eyes, the Tuk’ata stood before him.

“So you are,” Colubus said. She lifted her hand, fingers splayed wide. “Fear comes for us all, eventually. It’s no different than the rage you command so readily.” The Tuk’ata crouched, red eyes focused solely on Karn.

“M-master?” Karn tightened his grip on his lightsaber.

“You had best learn to use it now, boy, or the war will tear you apart.”

“Master?”

Colubus closed her hand to a fist. Karn screamed as the Tuk’ata leapt at him.

—-

Karn’s lightsaber met air as Janse stepped smoothly aside. He felt panic, frustration; he longed desperately to repay Janse for the pair of saber burns on his shoulder and thigh. Karn stumbled forward a step; he’d expected to meet resistance, whether in Janse’s blade or his body.

Still, he planted his uninjured leg forward to right himself and pivoted to another swing. This one, Janse met with a flash and hiss as their blades collided, and more of that all-too-familiar smell of burning ozone. I can’t get him, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not like this.

It took everything he had to try to keep Janse’s probing of his memories at bay, and that was a losing battle. The dark, cold presence in his mind spread like a fog, snaking through holes in any defense he tried to offer. Where there were none, it simply beat his defense back, in a staggering display of strength.

He felt it taking hold of something, prying it loose, no matter his resistance.

His third attack, a wild swing at Janse’s leg, met the lightfoil again. This time, Janse forced their blades to a lock. Karn pushed with all his strength, groaning with the effort, muscles aching as he tried to force Janse’s lightfoil out of the way, but it would not budge. To his horror, his own blade began to tremble and retreat as Janse forced it back.

“How?” Karn’s voice was a disbelieving whimper. He shifted his grip on his lightsaber, trying to use its long hilt for extra leverage. It made no difference. He glared at Janse, for a moment, face flushing with color as a vein throbbed on his temple. I’m stronger than you!

If only he could find the Force. But conceding the mental struggle to call upon it would allow Janse free reign to his mind.

Yet if things continued unabated, Janse would best him on both fronts...

—-

A blast shook a nearby building. Karn ignored it, panting as he tried to keep pace with his master. They ran through some ruined sector of Nar Shaddaa, to a warehouse where the Archeri built a crystal nursery.

He could see it, in the distance. The branches of one of their strange trees, bearing violet crystals that glimmered in the long twilight, had burst through old warehouse’s windows.

“They are coming,” Colubus said suddenly. Her green lightsaber burst to life as Archeri came swarming from the roofs of the buildings lining the narrow avenue. Karn’s lightsaber was in his hand with a tug of the Force as he jumped, meeting one of the creatures and slicing two of its arms off as it fell toward them. He met the wall, jumped off of it and landed with his blade cutting the Archeri in half.

Its brothers did not care. They descended on Karn, Colubus, and their band of soldiers in a frenzy. Karn fought furiously, cut them down as quickly as he could, but could not stay untouched. One knocked him to the ground with a blow that shattered his armored suit’s mask. A blast of lightning from his master’s fingertips saved him.

As he tore a pockmarked, faceless head from another Archeri with his lightsaber, another one hit him with a blast of the Force, sending him careening into a half-broken wall. As he struggled to stand, it descended on him, battering his armor with its huge limbs until he cut one off. A follow up strike split the beast from neck to waist and it crumpled to the ground.

Karn ran to Colubus, who was surrounded by the creatures. She cut through them mercilessly, her lightsaber a green whirlwind around her, but even he could see the dents in her armor, the blood that leaked out between the light plating on her shoulder and side.

“Master!” He yelled. He started to run, but thump, thump, thumping behind him drew his attention.

A Conductor—one of the large Archeri tasked with guarding the crystal nurseries—charged at him. Karn hesitated. It was just for a moment—here and gone as fast as a heartbeat.

It did not matter.

In that moment, the Conducter threw him aside with it a long limb and barreled past him. Colubus’ scream as it stabbed her through the back echoed along the avenue.

Karn lifted his head to see his master driven to the ground, surrounded by the beasts as they turned their eyeless gazes to him...

—-

Karn’s lightsaber and Janse’s lightfoil left twin trails of glowing red in the dueling sands as Janse forced them back, ever closer to Karn’s ankle. He struggled and pushed with all he had, but he could not stop them.

It was too late to try anything else.

His skin lit with fire as Janse forced his own lightsaber into his ankle. Karn yelled out, finally failing in his effort to deny Janse the pleasure of knowing the pain he was causing. Janse’s blade made contact as Karn’s strength failed and his arms gave out, leaving a second burn that crossed the first at an angle. He yelled again, in frustration and pain.

Karn stumbled away, breaking contact as he tried to put distance between Janse and himself.

He fell on his back in a shower of sand and felt his defense against Janse’s intrusion crumble.

As he landed, trying to struggle back to his feet before the human could visit more blows upon him, he saw Archeri rise out of the sand around. They screamed at him, thrashing as they tried to grab him and drag him under.

Hey yelled and swiped at them, leaving more glowing gashes in the sand. As he turned, he saw the onlooking acolytes were gone. In their place, lining the circular dueling arena like statues, stood the bodies of the Sith soldiers from Nar Shaddaa.

The soldiers his master had led in that ill-fated attack.

The soldiers he’d gotten killed in trying to take up the command after she fell to the Archeri.

“No....” he said, voice a whisper. “No, no, no, no...”

He turned again and there was Janse, crimson lightfoil still ablaze in his hand. An impossibly-huge Archeri towered over him, throwing them both in shadow.

Colubus lay at Janse’s feet, dried blood caked along her chest and her mouth. Her face was fixed in a final, soundless scream.

”You,” Karn growled at Janse. He stepped back, limping for the injury to his ankle, and raised his blade. “This is your fault.” Karn’s lightsaber shook as he lifted it, but he refused to surrender to that grinning bastard. “You did this.”

Karn’s face twisted with emotion as fury and terror warred within him, until he screamed at Janse. “I should kill you!”

[Valcor]

He had it!  Janse could feel the gem of pure terror finally snap free from Karn's hastily assembled mental defenses.  In that moment, Janse could not help but let his eyes and mouth go wide in the wake of his success.  A small "Aha!" escaped his lips in a moment of satisfaction, before his jaws clamped shut at the dishonorable nature of this apparent gloat.  In spite of this reservation, the fight had been a challenging one for the noble, and a victory like this had to be savored.  It spelled the end of the conflict long before any finishing blow was even contemplated.

So Janse let Karn retreat, content with the wound he inflicted, and the hold on Karn's mind he now had.

What happened next was curious for Janse.  He could not see what the Arkanian did, and could only guess as to what the pale boy feared so much.  He watched Karn flail at first, perhaps it was some kind of insect or rodent, those were common fears.  Then he watched as his opponent spun and looked wildly at the surrounding acolytes with... regret?  Perhaps it was a loss of some kind, those too being common.  Yet what surprised Janse the most, was when those pale eyes returned to meet his own.

"You."  "This is your fault." "You did this."

For a moment, the Tarkan highborn was silent, his grin and amused gaze lowering to an expression of confusion.  Tilting his head to one side, Janse could only ponder what it was this Arkanian saw.  In the end, it was no matter; with a flick of his foil, Janse steeled his guard, and began to close the distance once more without a word.

With another hard lunge forward, Janse renewed their fight, driving it ever closer to its, now, inevitable conclusion.

[Rugs]

No words. No taunting or mocking. None of the same gloating that Karn would have delighted in, were their positions reversed.

No, Janse offered nothing but a quiet smile, amusement dancing in his eyes as Karn suffered. But even that faded to a look of confusion — of pity, as Karn saw it — as he watched the Arkanian. That tore at Karn, more than the insults might have. You don’t even know what you’re putting me through, do you?

Janse lifted his lightfoil. Karn tensed, tightening the grip on his lightsaber. He still trembled, slightly. The visions faded to a haze as his focus narrowed on Janse, but the feeling — that gut-wrenching terror that filled his every fiber — lingered. He could still feel Janse’s presence in his mind, content to linger, too strong for him to evict.

No matter. There was fighting to do. He’d not surrender to Janse.

As Janse lurched forward, lightsaber darting out, Karn sprang to motion. He was playing at a disadvantage, and he knew it, but a white-hot fury tightened his focus and offered a weak, tenuous touch on the Force. The first blow, a quick thrust at his injured shoulder, he knocked away and pivoted into a counterassault.

He beat at Janse’s defenses, hoping to slip an attack through, yet nothing connected. Swipe, slash, thrust and stroke low — all failed. And then he was on the defensive again.

For a time, he held out. A thrust, a biting cut that nearly took him at the neck, a feinted poke that twirled into an elegant swipe at his arm; he fended these attacks off.

Yet with every exchange, he felt himself slowing. With every clash of their blood-red blades and shower of sparks, he felt Janse pushing him just a little further, searching for the point where he’d snap.

Karn poured everything he had into focusing on Janse, on focusing on the fight, on searching for some weakness he could exploit to pull back from the brink. His awareness of their surroundings dimmed, of any sound but of their feet on the sand, of their thrumming lightsabers and the sound of his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

I can’t do it, a voice whispered at the back of his mind as he barely kept Janse’s lightsaber away from his side. Janse, with the full weight of the Force on his side, was too fast, too strong. He was implacable and coldly relentless, unmoved by the same emotions that visibly propelled Karn. I can’t beat him.

There was a certain terror, worse even than what Janse had dragged forth, in knowing he struggled in vain — in knowing that he was going to lose, in this fight he’d picked, to this boy he’d been so confident he’d outsmarted only a few minutes ago.

Then it happened.

He saw a hole, a rare opening in Janse’s form. Desperate for any chance he could find, Karn lunged forward, saber biting like a viper-

-and screamed when he felt Janse’s lightfoil light up the side of his knee as his own blade met empty air. His legs nearly buckled as he landed awkwardly on his injured ankle, but he willed himself onward, barely turning away a follow-up attack.

The next, he could not stop. Another line of fire along his arm, just above the wrist, then one that bit along his hip as his awkward defense failed to fully stop a thrust. Yet he fought on and earned more burns for his trouble.

A final blow came thrusting out for his chest. Karn lifted his saber to engage and found it twisting awkwardly in his hands as Janse’s lightfoil looped around. Then it was free, blade dying as the hilt spun through the air, and landed, emitter-up, in the sands.

Karn crumpled, clutching at his leg as his momentum put more weight on his hurt ankle than it could tolerate. He looked to Janse, breathing hard as he struggled to catch his breath. The human was shorter than he, but he seemed to tower over Karn, now kneeling in the sands.

He glared, anger and pain plain on his sweat-dampened face as he panted. He would not say the words, no matter how obvious the outcome or thorough his defeat.

It wasn’t supposed to go this way. He was supposed to triumph, to show his worth after the disaster at Nar Shaddaa.

Instead, he’d been embarrassed. Humiliated.

For all to see.

[Janse actions with Valcor's permission]

[Valcor]

There it was.  The finishing blow, and it was perfect.  All the preceding attacks had led up to this moment; an elaborate series of predicted strikes and follow-ups had finally risen to this twirl of his blade.  As the saber flew free of Karn's hand, Janse let his eyes leave his opponent in a moment of pure enjoyment as he tracked the silvery cylinder through the air and finally into the sand.  The moment of impact hung in the still air, and the noble's eyes lingered upon the lost weapon almost against his will.

When his gaze was finally torn free of the saber, it snapped back to the opposite pair of Arkanian eyes that were beneath.  There was no need for gloating, or taunting; everything that needed to be said had already been exchanged in the sand.  No, now was simply the unceremonious end to a test of skill, and Janse would handle it with the upmost courtesy befitting his opponent.

Possibly due to the lingering pleasure of his own prowess on his mind, Janse let his guard down and lowered his foil.  His training weapon retracted back into its hilt, and what took its place was a simple hand, offering assistance.  It was not affection for Karn that produced this hand, nor a sense of respect.  It was simply the honorable action, and Janse would follow his code to the letter.

As the hand hung alone above the pale skinned acolyte, the Tarkan boy took no insult if it remained unwelcome.  Honor demanded Janse win with grace, not that Karn lose with it.

[Rugs]

Karn watched, as Janse’s gaze shifted to his lightsaber. He braced himself for the insults, for the gloating and mocking that so often accompanied defeat to another Sith. Karn was no stranger to such losses; he’d grown into a capable duelist under Colubus’ tutelage, but his early days at the Sith Temple had been rough. Thraken, a slightly older bully of a Sephi, had liked to beat Karn until he begged for the pain to stop.

Yet this loss stung more than any he could recall in recent memory. I had him, he told himself, thinking back to that turning point, to that fateful decision in a moment of elation. If only he’d struck with his lightsaber instead of fist...

I had him and I blew it.

For all that he was prepared for it, Janse offered no insults. He said nothing, but Karn could see the pleasure on the Human boy’s face. He could feel it as Janse’s presence withdrew from his mind. Instead, Janse put away his foil and extended a hand. Karn stared, bewildered by the gesture for a long, wordless moment. And still, Janse said not a word. But what was there for him to say? He’d embarrassed Karn, in front of anyone who wanted to see it. And he’d said plenty before their bout began.

"But... if it is a test of skill you desire, well, sometimes a mutt can at least provide sport."

Fury bubbled in Karn. He’d done nothing to throw Janse's words back at him. Nothing to back up his own claims of superiority. His face twisted in an angry sneer.

Lightning crackled around a four-fingered hand, pressed against the sand to keep his balance.

“I don’t need a fucking hand,” he growled, using the other to angrily slap away Janse’s offer of assistance. The Force, for the first time since Janse began his mental onslaught, poured into him like a river rushing over a broken damn. I’ll fucking show you, he thought, eyes narrowing. The lightning crackling around his fingers intensified. I never said I was done fighting.

“Look, Albrecht,” a voice called from behind him. Karn was suddenly aware of a weight, an overpowering presence in the Force bearing down on them. “Far be it from me to stop you if you want more of a beating, but I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

Karn looked over his shoulder to see Darth Aurelius. The High Archon stood at the edge of the dueling sands, arms folded over his chest. He seemed amused.

“I don’t stop fights unless one of you is about to kill the other, but you’re beaten, boy,” Aurelius said. “For all the emotion running wild in you, boy, you’ve still got a long way to go. Learn from this. Get stronger and challenge Fashad another day.”

“Or don’t.” Aurelius shrugged. “Prolong this humiliation, if you want. The choice is yours. But you won’t be endearing yourself to any new masters.”

Karn’s shoulders slumped. He let the Force go and felt a weariness wash over him. It took all he had to keep from groaning as the pain from his injuries rushed anew to the center of his attention. “I’m not done with you,” he said quietly to Janse, glaring at the other acolyte. “You hear me?” He pulled his lightsaber to his hand and stood slowly, awkwardly, with pain obvious on his face. He started to stalk off and staggered, falling to one knee, halfway to the edge of the sparring circle as a lance of pain up his leg overwhelmed him. He closed his eyes, ignoring the ripples of laughter he heard from other acolytes, and limped away into the Temple.

As he went, he swore silent vengeance on Janse Fashad, whatever it took.

---

Aurelius watched the Arkanian limp off. “Too bad,” he muttered, half to himself, half to Janse. “There’s potential there, if he ever gets out of his own way.” He empathized with Karn, in a way; he knew all too well what it was like to keep pressing on in a fight that was lost, against a foe he could not hope to beat.

“And you,” he said, turning to the victor as he stepped onto the dueling sands, “Janse Fashad.” He was an outstanding duelist among the Acolytes, by any measure — he had certainly dominated Albrecht — but had yet to be chosen as a student. That was odd, to Aurelius; even Albrecht had a master, before her untimely end.

“I assume you’ve still got gas in the tank after that,” he said. He gave a lopsided smile, showing the tips of his fanged canines. “Wouldn’t matter if you did. You won’t always get to work on full rest.”

He turned abruptly, motioning with a hand for Janse to follow him. “Come with me.” It was not a request. As they exited the training yard, Aurelius barked for the rest of the acolytes to get back to their own training exercises.

He led Janse around to a speeder bay and, after picking a small, quick model, motioned for the acolyte to get in. As the engine roared to life, he regarded Janse with his yellow eyes. “Tell me, Fashad, why don’t you have a master?”