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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jan 10, 2021 10:24:01 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 10, 2021 10:24:01 GMT -5
The dark power crept into Moor’s body, setting in motion a reaction that all but assured Karn’s victory. His smile grew broad, twisted as he adjusted his grip on his lightsaber. Now it was time to finish Moor off. Now it was time to claim victory over his hated foe, to cement his superiority over Darth Aurelius’ chosen boy.
He decided as he stared at the cracks spiderwebbing across it, that he’d peel that stupid mask off Moor’s face once he knocked the other Sith out. Moor would no longer hide as a faceless entity visiting frustration after frustration upon him.
Karn began to lift his saber. A sudden surge in the Force caught him off guard. He hesitated, pale brows knitting as he wondered at what was going on.
That was a mistake.
Moor lunged up at him, so fast that Karn couldn’t even react. The mask slammed into his face and shattered, but Karn could not see Moor’s face as he reeled back from the blow. Another blow fell on the headbutt’s heels — a knee driven hard into the wound on his side. Blinding pain overtook Karn as he let out a half-gasp, half-yell. Moor vaulted off of him, just barely avoiding a wild, hard swing of his saber as Karn fought for breathing room. The pain in his side was nearly unbearable — it might have dropped him to his knees, if not for the Force raging within him — but it was the shock of Moor rising so quickly that put Karn off balance.
How?!
Moor gave him no quarter to consider. The thought barely crossed his mind before the assassin unleashed a furious assault upon him. Karn struggled desperately to regain his advantage, but Moor burned with a fury, with a power that he could not overcome. His defense held, but began to falter as the smaller Sith overpowered him. A lightsaber strike sliced across his chest, another dragged down his lower arm. A twirling slash from an overhead leap nearly lit a fire from one side of his back to the other. Karn caught the blow at the last possible moment with an awkward, out-of-position deflection as he turned around that forced a brief, uneven lock.
“How?!” He demanded. “You should be-”
A hard knee rose to his stomach by way of answer. Karn doubled over, gasping breathlessly with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. An elbow to the back put him on the ground. His vision swam as he struggled to breathe. Moor’s lightsaber began to move.
Nonononononono NO
The Force erupted from his hastily-extended hand and Moor went backward. Whether the assassin landed gracefully or crashed into something, Karn did not care. It was enough to buy a moment’s respite. Enough to pick himself off the ground.
Karn gripped his lightsaber tightly as he stood. His breaths were starting to come heavy. Affliction, even if not his ace, was a powerful ability that required no small amount of effort. Coupled with the drag-out fight, Karn knew he was getting close to his limits. He was athletic — quick on his feet, and stronger than his slender frame suggested — but his aggressive nature did not lend itself to prolonged engagements without breaks.
I wasted too much time at the start. Karn regretted, deeply, the strategy he’d come to the fight with. I should have gone all-out from the start. It was too late to take that back, though.
Moor began to advance. Karn began to move to meet him. He had to find a way to end this. The battle had to be taking its toll on Moor, too. Karn just had to push him over the edge.
What ensued, as the two Sith met once more, was a hateful back-and-forth affair. If one gained an edge, the other was quick to take it away. A foot to the face was answered with a lightsaber strike at the hip. A push at the wall, retaliated against with a blow from one of the pieces of stone scattered around the dueling arena.
Whatever satisfaction Karn should have felt at withstanding the horrible assault Moor had turned against him was dragged down by nagging dread, knowing that the longer the fight took, the worse his position.
He could feel himself slipping. With every exchange, it grew harder to turn Moor back, harder to keep him away from the vulnerable saber wound aching on his side. With every shift of momentum, it took more effort to force Moor back onto defense. I’ve got to do something.
An opportunity came, as Karn was backpedaling away one of Moor’s renewed assaults. Moor’s lightsaber bit out at Karn’s side. It was a feint. This time, Karn recognized it for what it was and took a gambit as Moor’s blow diverted into a fast, one-handed downward strike at his shoulder
Karn stepped forward into Moor’s attack, and into the assassin’s guard. The Force began to surge violently with him as he moved, preparing for what was coming. He dropped his lightsaber. The blade died as it left his hand, which shot out to grab Moor’s saber arm with an iron grip. Karn kept forward, using his leg to sweep one of Moor’s out from under him while the assassin was still off-balance from the mid-strike interruption. His hand gripped violently onto Moor’s face.
From there it was a simple manner of leverage. Karn slammed Moor down hard onto the ground, using his size and strength advantage — and his positioning — to pin down the smaller Sith. Unexpected pain tore through his hand as Moor bit him, and the weakened-blade of his saber fell onto Karn’s back and side — even onto the agonizing wound left behind earlier in the fight.
Karn’s grip held, ropes of muscle straining along his exposed forearm, in spite of the pain. His face, slick with sweat and blood, hardened with dark determination. For once, he said nothing as the Force coalesced within him. He simply released it.
A terrible surge of lightning exploded from his palm, directly into Moor’s face. It was not as powerful as the earlier deluge — that would draw Pervigil’s ire — but it lasted longer, as Karn dumped nearly everything he had into Moor.
He couldn’t let the fight last any longer. It had to end, and now.
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Jan 11, 2021 15:48:19 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Jan 11, 2021 15:48:19 GMT -5
The Dark Side flowed through Moor, infusing him with equal parts power and pain. Agony etched into his flesh, into his bones, his very soul. He was burning. But that fire maintained itself, consuming the stored negative energy that the knight had been collecting throughout the entire duel. The look of shock on Albrecht's face as he saw his efforts shrugged off without any apparent hardship would play over and over in Moor's mind for many years to come. A testament for his hate against this foe.
The few words the pale man spluttered out were ignored in favour of bringing further pain and humiliation. The price of burning all of this energy promised a thousand pains tomorrow; something that Moor would gladly pay to attain victory today.
The assassin took the Force blast as he was about to deliver the coup-de-grâce, sending him flying backwards. It was not as powerful as the one that had sent Albrecht smashing into the wall, but it was a desperate, unadulterated attack nevertheless. Moor hit the ground rolling, stabilizing himself and skidding to a stop in a crouched position. He could smell the fear and despair rising up in his opponent, almost making the lithe Sith drool. With his energy beginning to run low it was like an oasis to a traveller in the desert, and Moor wasted no time inhaling the emotions Albrecht was releasing.
Albrecht was growing weaker with each new assault, his blocks and deflections sloppier, his strikes less powerful. But any beast backed into a corner would launch one last, all-or-nothing attack, and the acolyte's caught Moor off-guard. Fingers dug into his face and he was slammed backwards and down into the ground.
Pain flared up throughout his entire body, but that did not stop Moor from retaliation. He opened his mouth and sunk his teeth into the hand holding him in place, while his lightsaber struck at the pale man over and over again. If this confrontation had been life or death, Albrecht would have very likely have been dismembered.
All thoughts were briefly driven from Moor's brain, however, as the lightning drilled directly into his skull. It was an unfortunately familiar sensation, albeit one that he had not experienced in a long time.
THE MASTER- it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts- This is nothing, the master made sure of that-
Moor suddenly bit down harder, piercing the flesh deeply. He tasted the warm tang of blood in his mouth as his teeth held the hand on his face in place as the electricity coursing through him all but locked his jaw. Dull, yellow eyes glared up at Albrecht between the fingers, twisting upwards as the assassin grinned in a rictus of almost insane glee.
He felt for the sickening current of anguishing energy passing through him, and then drew upon his pain and hatred to redirect the flow of that current. Then, with a savage strike, Moor struck his hand against the lightsaber wound on Albrecht's side and let the lightning being channelled into him pass back into his opponent's body.
Those yellowing orbs bore into the white eyes of his foe's as Moor shared his pain with him, as if saying I'm prepared to cripple myself in order to kill you. Are you?
"Enough."
The words of the proctor went unheeded, the blood from Albrecht's hand beginning to sizzle and boil from the charge of the lightning passing through both the knight and the acolyte.
"I said ENOUGH."
With a sudden, irresistible tug, Albrecht and Moor were both violently pulled away from one another. There was a sickening, tearing sound as a lump of flesh came with the assassin, reluctant to let his prey go, and the knight skipped off of the floor as the Force shoved him up against a wall. The pale acolyte was in a similar position on the other side of the sparring arena.
"The next time you ignore an order from me, I will ensure the both of you are unable to move a single muscle for a fortnight. Do I make myself clear?" Pervigil stated, his eyes switching between the pair. "I said: DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"
Moor spat the raw flesh out of his mouth, the lopsided grin pulling at his mangled features as he stared at his opponent, his teeth stained red.
"Yes, Lord Pervigil," he replied, a trickle of foreign blood leaking from the torn gap in his face as he spoke.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jan 12, 2021 12:06:38 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 12, 2021 12:06:38 GMT -5
That’s it. Karn could feel the pain ravaging Moor’s small body as he unleashed the lightning into it. His only regret was that Pervigil stood watch, preventing him from frying Moor’s brain and putting him down for good. All the better — he’d not have employed the strategy if there was a real threat from Moor’s lightsaber.
The blade still hurt, though, as Moor slammed over and over into him. So too did the assassin’s toothy grip on Karn’s hand. Karn snarled as Moor’s teeth pierced his skin and dug into the flesh of his hand. You can’t stop me. His face twisted into a determined glare as he poured more lightning into Moor. You’ll never stop me.
A hateful blow to his side made Karn gasp. The lightning skipped — just for a second, like flickering lights after a power surge — as blinding, terrible pain made Karn’s vision go blurry. There were two Moors beneath him, then three, drifting drunkenly as they rejoined to a single form again.
Then the real pain began.
Moor was doing something. Channeling Karn’s lightning back into him, through the raw wound at his side. Pain wracked him. A million ants crawling over him, biting him. A million little spots of fire merged to one. His grip on the Force began to slip.
No. No. No. NO. Pain is fuel.
Karn snatched the Force as it drifted away and held onto with a stranglehold grip. His grip on Moor tightened as the pain grew worse. The more he turned up the heat, the more Moor returned it to him in equal measure. This could not last. One of them had to fall, or they both would.
I’ll show you. Karn began to laugh like a man at the edge of sanity. Drain. It was the last card hidden up his sleeve. Moor could not turn that against him, and with his had crushing the little shit’s head against the ground, he’d have a direct conduit to siphon the energy out of him. Not just the Force: he could steal away the very life from Moor’s body. Heal his own wounds, restore his faltering strength.
“Enough.”
Suck the life out of him. A hateful grin spread across Karn’s face, despite the all-consuming pain. Sparks of blood-red energy began to mix in with the violet-blue lightning. Kill him.
Then he was airborne as a voice roared for them to stop. Karn’s perception of his surroundings faded as something slammed him into the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. He slumped to the ground, or would have if the Force wasn’t holding him upright.
Karn sort-of paid attention as Pervigil scolded him. It was hard to focus, with new pain flaring over his hand. That little fucker bit me. He glared hard at Moor, who was grinning stupidly at him.
Now that he got a good look at the assassin’s face it was hard not to feel a wave of disappointment. Moor-the-entity had been terrifying, in his own, annoying way. Moor-the-entity was a faceless being, with traits and talents uniquely suited to Karn’s frustration. Moor the Sith was nothing. Another broken man. With a fucked up face.
And I couldn’t beat him. No. No that couldn’t be right. He could have done it, if they hadn’t been dragged apart.
Karn’s glare turned to Pervigil, anger swelling. “I had him,” he growled, balling his good hand into a fist. “If you hadn’t gotten in the way, then-”
“You would both be dead,” Pervigil said, throwing Karn against the wall again with a have of his hand. The Lord kept his hand extended, and Karn groaned as the Force pressed his battered body against the unyielding stone. “Darth Viren may have selected you, boy, but you are still an Acolyte. Toe the line further and I’ll send you back to your master without a foot. Do you understand me?”
“Yes... Lord Pervigil,” Karn muttered weakly. It was hard to breathe with the Force nearly crushing his rib cage. Pervigil released him and Pfawed loudly. Karn thought he heard the Archon muttering something about “leaving the Jedi Temple to get away from stupid shithead kids” but didn’t press the matter.
“Nice face, Klairn,” Karn called to Moor as he scooped his lightsaber hilt off the ground and walked over to retrieve his coat. “Really nails the speeder crash-survivor chic look. Bravo.” He was too damp with sweat and blood to put it on, so he folded it over his arm and turned toward the exit.
Karn finally released his hold on the Force... and nearly fell to the ground as his fatigue, as the unfiltered pain from the duel washed over him at once. He put a hand out to the wall to steady himself and managed to keep his feet with grit teeth. He refused to let Moor see him struggle out.
So he began to move for the exit, stubbornly forcing his body on. “So that's it huh?” he said, looking at Moor. “That's the best Aurelius' golden boy has to offer?"
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
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Jan 13, 2021 13:22:04 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Jan 13, 2021 13:22:04 GMT -5
Moor's twisted grin widened as Albrecht attempted to whine at the proctor, only to be squeezed like an orange by Pervigil for his impertinence. By the time the Sith Lord had finished admonishing the pathetic worm and looked over at the assassin, his face was schooled back into neutrality.
"Now get out of my sight," Pervigil snapped, wiping some rock dust off of his sleeve. Moor bowed, ignoring the weak quip of the pale fool, then immediately turned and left. Albrecht followed suit when he had collected himself, and the pair found themselves once again travelling unwillingly in the same direction. Like his opponent, Moor was utterly unwilling to show any weakness, despite his body screaming at him to lay down for rest, and he walked forward in his usual loping manner.
Still, he could not help but feel a sneer rising on his face as Albrecht spat out his words. More bravado from a flickering candle unable to face the storm of reality. Perhaps one last show?
Moor rolled his shoulders and neck as he turned to face Albrecht, and the burn marks and blackened skin of his face rippled and healed as he burned the last stores of dark energy in his body. It was unnecessary and would cause him to collapse soon enough, but it was important to let this little shit know that he still had some fuel in the tank, while the acolyte was running on fumes. Even if that state of affairs was temporary.
"My best would be slitting your throat in your sleep and never being caught, acolyte," Moor said, that hacking laugh bubbling up from his chest. "Direct confrontation is not my strong suit. You could even say that I was at a distinct disadvantage from the moment I agreed to your attempt to salve your wounded pride. You had all the cards. You had every chance to succeed."
The assassin paused as they reached a branching pathway. Hopefully, this will be the end of things, and he needs to go elsewhere to die in a corner or something. His gaze travelled up and down the acolyte's wounded, limping form.
"And yet still you lost! Even you cannot be so dense as to think that you achieved anything close to a victory today." Moor's lopsided smile pulled up further, his tongue wetting his thin, broken lips as a thought played in his mind. "Ahh. The fear and relief you felt when Lord Pervigil showed up and stopped me from making you a permanent fixture in that wall..."
That hacking laugh echoed in the hall, causing a passing student to grimace and hurry away.
"Thank you for that gift, acolyte. That is a memory that I will carry close to my heart for a long time."
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jan 15, 2021 11:18:46 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 15, 2021 11:18:46 GMT -5
Tension rippled through Karn as Moor stopped, finally, to respond to his jabs. It seemed unlikely that they’d renew their fight out in the corridor after Pervigil expelled them from the sparring room. More likely, Moor was going to bite back. Karn’s face settled into cocksure condescension before the assassin even opened his mouth.
But it was words that came from Moor--not at first. The Force shifted around the assassin and Karn watched, eyes widening slightly as the knight healed the burn marks the lightning left over his thin, ruined face. How... How can he still do that? Karn’s mouth worked silently for a moment before he schooled himself to stillness. “Whatever,” he muttered.
He drew on the Force. It came, slowly, his grip on it weakened by the exhaustion clawing at him more and more with each breath. He held barely enough power to produce a spark of lightning, let alone heal any of the myriad injuries. As much as he hated to acknowledge it, he could not replicate Moor’s actions. Even with bacta, the saber wound on his side would likely scar. AT least the bite wound on his hand would be easy enough to fix.
Karn released the Force, frustrated, and winced slightly as the lightsaber burn pulsed with renewed pain. But that wasn’t the worst of it.
Moor began to speak, with hard words that dug into Karn’s psyche, into his pride. The Arkanian’s dismissive expression turned angry. His good hand balled into a tight fist. Fury at Moor. Anger at himself for taking such an idiotic approach to the fight’s opening. Rage at the terror he’d felt after Moor’s brutal push put him into the wall, when he’d felt death’s jaw’s about to close shut around.
“Oh please,” he spat back, stepping in toward Moor. So close, Karn had to look down to see the assassin’s face, but he could not shake the feeling that the true power dynamic, for the moment, ran the other way. “A child could drag a knife across a sleeping man’s neck or slip a blade into his chest. You’re not special.”
He turned away from Moor, pacing back a few steps until he rounded on the assassin again. Karn’s ire took him so fully that he didn’t notice the whisperings of a familiar presence’s approach. “And you got lucky in the end, Klairn. You think I was just gonna let you shock me back until we both keeled over?” He barked a laugh at Moor as if the Knight was stupid. “No, assassin, I had something special in mind for you. I was going to kill you, and whatever punishment Pervigil could concoct wouldn’t begin to take away from that pleasure. So-”
“Well well well!”
Karn stopped, mid-rant, mouth ajar. His blood ran cold in his veins. Raw, pure fear overtook his face, and for once he did not care that Moor could see it.
“To find myself in such illustrious company!”
Not him. Not now. Karn closed his eyes and smoothed his face, Moor temporarily forgotten, and turned to face the new arrival. Thraken Sato. An old nemesis and unwelcome addition to his current company.
Thraken was a good-looking Sephi with neatly trimmed dark brown hair framing a pretty, slightly feminine face. His pointed ears poked out through his hair, and the floral tattoos of his former clan, working up his neck and along his arms out to the back of his hands, somehow looked threatening on him. He stood a few inches taller than Karn, similarly slender, though a bit more muscular.
He walked with a self-assurance that could give Karn’s arrogance a run for its money on its best day, and Karn seemed to wilt a bit as Thraken approached. Years of domination had the effect, even subconsciously.
“Karn it is good to see you,” Thraken said, his voice thick with feigned friendliness as he looked Karn up and down. His gaze shifted to Moor, who he plainly did not recognize. “And your... friend? But ah, you...” Thraken returned to looking Karn up and down, “you look like shit, if I’m being honest.
“Pity,” he added, almost under his breath but loud enough for the other two Sith to hear, “I was just looking for a training dummy.”
“Thank you Thraken,” Karn replied flatly. He managed to fold his arms across his chest, though he winced as the wound on his side ached burning protest. “As happy as I am to see I was just-”
“Oh, it has been a while, hasn’t it?” Thraken smiled darkly as he interjected. “It’s not ‘ Thraken’ anymore, Karn. Not to you. I am Knight Vis, of the Cult of Strife, and you, will refer to me as such.” He laughed as surprise rippled across Karn’s face. “Come now, there’s no need for despair, Karn. Surely Darth Viren will raise you any day now, right?”
Karn’s eyes narrowed. Thraken was trying to goad him into doing something stupid. Normally, it’d probably work. But he was too weary now, wanted no part of another embarrassment at the Sephi’s hand in front of Moor, and desperately wanted to get to a medbay. “Whatever, Thraken,” he muttered angrily, moving forward. “I don’t have time for this right now.”
Thraken stood intentionally in Karn’s path so that the Arkanian had to weakly shoulder his way past. He let Karn go a few steps, then spoke. “No... No, acolyte, I don’t think you were paying attention.” Thraken smiled wickedly at Moor, before turning a hand extended in Karn’s direction.
Karn stopped suddenly and clutched at his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He gasped for air but none came as an invisible vice tightened around his neck. It took every ounce of self-control he still possessed not to panic, and that was a failing effort.
“Now, let’s try that again.” Thraken dropped the bullshit friendly act; now his voice was dark, threatening. “What is my name, acolyte?”
The Force pressed down on Karn as Thraken, not satisfied with merely strangling Karn, forced him to his knees. Karn still clawed at his throat, to no avail. He reached frantically, desperately, for the Force, but found nothing as panic clouded his mind.
“You can say it,” Karn heard Thraken say as the edges of his vision began to darken. The grip on his neck tightened. “But you are running out of time.”
Karn struggled on for a few moments more. “Kn-Knight...” he managed weakly, voice barely breaking above a breathless whisper, “Vis.”
Thraken released his hold and Karn fell forward onto his hands, gasping desperately for air as if he’d just come up from drowning. Fresh sweat damped his brow as he gulped down breath after breath, and he didn’t realize Thraken had moved to kneel in front of him, watching him with false pity, until he looked up. “Good boy,” Thraken said quietly as he patted Karn’s cheek. “Keep that up, and you might just make it in the Order.” He stood with a laugh and continued on past Moor toward the training rooms, leaving Karn on hands and knees.
“Oh, and Karn,” Thraken said, stopping a few steps past Moor to look back over his shoulder. “I heard you got your master killed at Nar Shaddaa. Do a better job watching Darth Viren’s back, than you did with Lady Colubus, won’t you?” He laughed and carried on, disappearing around a corner.
Karn balled both hands to fists as he stood. His injured one leaked fresh blood onto the stone floor. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he turned his attention to Moor. There was nothing he could do or say to hide what just happened.
Even so, his stare was a challenge, daring Moor to say something.
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
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Jan 18, 2021 12:53:00 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Jan 18, 2021 12:53:00 GMT -5
The words had the exact effect he had hoped they would. More anger and shame roiled inside of Albrecht as his sore spot was hit yet again. Moor drank from it carefully; small, measured sips from the essence of the acolyte's emotions, like a man drinking water after days stranded in a desert. The assassin knew that if consumed as deeply as he usually did, he would collapse where he stood, his body unable to handle the shock of the energies he took into himself. He was too weak.
This will make me stronger.
As the pale man got in his face, Moor looked up at the sweating, drained fool. He could not stop the wicked smile that began to creep across his broken features. That's right, come closer. Get mad. Lose control. Give me all the excuse I need to-
“Well well well!”
The change in Albrecht was fascinating to observe. The sudden tensing, the switching of emotions inside him. It was like everything that he was feeling about the assassin was swiftly melting away in the face of this newcomer, and Moor intended to revel in every second of it.
He inclined his head by the merest miniscule as this Thraken noticed the lithe Sith's presence, before stepping back to lean on a nearby wall to watch the show. It was delightful. Albrecht's arrogance, already bruised by their sparring match, was utterly shattered as Thraken choked and pushed the pale man to the ground with the Force. A hungry look bloomed in yellowing eyes. Yes. This is what I should have done the moment he used my old name... or would he have had the strength to fight this Thraken... or Vis... off, if not for our fight?
The little nugget of information that the other Sith Knight threw out as he egressed was much appreciated, an extra titbit to use against the pompous acolyte that was struggling to stand. Evidentially, Albrecht still had enough energy left to glare at him.
I need to make an example- He's weak now, strike now!- He needs to learn his place-
Moor's head twitched.
"I know what you're thinking," Moor said, his raspy voice echoing in the now empty hallway as he slowly approached. "What's he going to do now? I was made to look so weak, so powerless, in front of someone I was so desperately trying to intimidate! Well, have no fear, acolyte. I won't spoil this moment by saying anything other than this one little thing."
The assassin came closer, leaning in. With Albrecht hunched over, Moor's face was able to meet his ashamed, furious gaze eye to eye.
"Who. Am. I?"
And the Horror was unleashed. It smashed down onto the tired acolyte's mind, sudden and unforgiving. He was burning what little fuel he had gathered from Albrecht's interaction, and would need to leave within the next ten minutes to avoid collapsing in the hallways. But it would serve his purpose.
He would ensure that this arrogant fool would not be able to so much as think the name 'Kol Klairn' without fear stabbing into his mind.
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
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Jan 20, 2021 10:37:07 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Jan 20, 2021 10:37:07 GMT -5
"I know what you're thinking."
Moor began to approach. Karn’s glare, only a second ago burning with the fury he lacked the strength to turn against Thraken, turned tepid, unsure. His expression softened as worry rose from within. Though long past his ability to actively use the Force for any significant means, he could still hear its movements and read its warnings of others’ actions. Intent had a way of touching the Force around a person, and Karn felt a dark intent swelling up from Moor.
”Well, have no fear, acolyte.”
Karn took a step back, then another, until his back pressed against the stone wall. No retreat. His injured hand trembled, so he pressed it against the wall to steady it.
Fighting any other Sith was, in Karn’s mind, a game of holding his cards away from the other’s view until the right moment came to strike. He’d expended many of his best tricks against Moor. There was one the assassin had not used during their fight. One that Karn was all too wary of, from their brief spat on Agamar, and from seeing Moor’s full fury unleashed against Syko.
The one ability he feared the most.
"Who. Am. I?"
Before Karn could speak, the horror was upon him. There was a brief, vicious struggle as he fought to resist Moor’s power from piercing his mind. But he was too tired, his willpower broken from the exhausting fight and Thraken’s humiliation. Even if he’d been at full strength, it would have been a losing struggle.
After a token resistance, Karn felt his defenses crumble and everything in the empty hallway, save Moor’s yellow, glowing eyes, faded to obscurity.
—
“Who. Am. I?”
The Voice boomed like thunder as Karn tumbled through darkness. On and on he fell, head-over-heels-over-head, until he found himself seated in a chair. Restraints snapped into place around his wrists and ankles, and suddenly the back of the chair felt back so that he was staring up, into the darkness.
“Who. Am. I?”
The Voice boomed again, shaking Karn down to his soul. Sickly yellow light fell onto him from a pair of eye-like fixtures in the ceiling. This was one of Ascension’s interrogation chambers. How Karn knew that he could not say, but he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. Karn struggled, frantically, desperately — fruitlessly — to escape from the restraints. To escape from what was to come.
“Who. Am. I?”
A door of swirling shadow rose from the floor. Through it stepped Moor, cloaked in the robes of an Archon. His yellow eyes burned with hate, burned with power that Karn feared. Power that he envied.
Power he could never have.
“Get away from me,” Karn protested, voice cracking. “I haven’t done anything!”
Moor advanced without pause. He extended an arm, and a slender hand came from beneath his robe’s sleeve to press Karn’s head back against his seat. Karn trembled. He thought he saw a cruel smile spread on Moor’s face — or at least, the side that could move.
The assassin spoke. The Voice boomed.
“Who. Am. I?”
Moor’s presence surged suddenly into Karn’s mind. Karn twisted in his restraints, struggling to keep the onslaught at bay. It felt hopeless, like trying to hold back a tidal wave with sticks he’d found washed ashore.
He screamed as Moor broke through, pillaging through his every fear, his every deed. Even so, he tried to squirrel away the darkest secrets — things Moor could not know.
But Moor, drawn like a ravenous beast by scent of Karn’s fear, searched deeper. He felt a knifing pain as his last resistance failed, and the memories came tumbling out. Memories of Kathar — the Jedi he’d met on Khar Delba — and Karn’s longing for him. Knowledge of secret holonet messages exchanged with the Jedi. All of it.
Moor’s laugh filled Karn’s ears, even as a scream tore at his throat.
“Who. Am. I?”
The Voice boomed again as the shadows rose, consuming all.
—
When the shadows parted, Karn found himself as a sort of disembodied consciousness, watching Moor. The assassin, clothed, as ever, in his body suit, departed from a small ship in one of the Sith Temple’s hangars. He emerged with a box--one with flickering lights and a panel of buttons on the side--in tow.
Karn watched as Moor stepped onto an elevator, rode it into the Temple proper and made his way through the hall. With each step, he felt growing terror, but he could not understand why.
At last, Moor reached his destination. A seat of power within the Temple. He knelt before a figure shrouded in shadow. Karn heard a muttered “My Lord” as the box hissed open.
He saw himself, badly beaten and dismembered, his face locked in a rictus of pain as machinery kept him alive.
Moor’s laugh filled his ears. Karn screamed-
—
-and realized he was back in his body. Back in the empty hallway with Moor. He hunched over, head clutched between his hands. Cold sweat dampened his brow and fresh tears misted his eyes.
He drew heavy, ragged breaths as he regained his footing. The shadows were gone. The glowing eyes were gone. There was only Moor, battered and bloody, watching him, expectantly.
“If you fucking do that to me again, I swear Kla-” A sudden spike of fear, so powerful that Karn nearly felt nauseous, overwhelmed him. His stomach churned as he instinctively protected himself as if expecting a blow to fall at any moment. None came.
Confusion crossed Karn’s face as he looked at Moor again. “What was that, Kl-” The fear struck again. Karn recoiled.
He heard the laughter and Voice, echoing in his mind. “Who. Am. I?”
Karn rounded on Moor, furious. He grabbed the assassin by the soldiers and shoved him against the wall, weakly. His body screamed for rest, but Karn was so enraged that he did not care if he passed out in the middle of the hallways.
“What,” he demanded, voice tight with anger, “did you do to me?”
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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Feb 14, 2021 18:36:49 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Feb 14, 2021 18:36:49 GMT -5
When he unleashed Fear onto a person, it was usually in a high-stakes combat situation. A way to distract at the mildest, and to break them at the most extreme. He had never employed it in such a situation as this before, and it was a... different experience. Though he remained aware of their surroundings, the assassin felt himself pulled into the prison of nightmares that the Horror had erected within Albrecht's mind, seeing what he saw.
And it. Was. Exhilarating.
In the acolyte's mind, Albrecht was strapped to an interrogation table and his interrogator was none other than Moor himself; a more powerful version of Moor. Moor as an Archon. The idea thrilled him, especially as the Horror had exposed the man's fear of the assassin being stronger. This was tangible proof of the pale man's fear of him, and the lithe Sith revelled in it.
This scenario in this moment was as real to Albrecht as the air he breathed, so the desperation that the acolyte felt when the conjured image of Moor began to dig around in his mind was curious. Something shameful to hide, Albrecht? Moor thought. As he was an Archon whose purpose it was to hunt down traitors, this brought an interesting thread of investigation to light.
Moor continued to watch as the torture went on, then the scene switched to a familiar one; a scene that had played out not half an hour ago. Seeing the dismembered Albrecht caused the assassin's ruined face to break into a lopsided grin. He had never considered himself a sadistic person; another person's suffering brought him little joy. But if this was the result...
Though he would have loved to continue to torment the arrogant idiot, Moor could feel his energy swiftly draining. If he kept this up, the Horror would collapse on its own, followed immediately by the assassin himself. Choosing to end things on his own terms, the Knight of Ascension withdrew.
Albrecht gasped as the visions of torture and humiliation melted away, his face contorted in a mixture of pain, misery, and fear. His eyes, clouded by tears and the temporary divorce from reality, began to clear once more, and he looked up at the assassin. When Moor saw what was within those eyes, the crooked smile grew wider.
That shiver. The instant the old name was about to drip from Albrecht's lips, the man's form shuddered, flinching from a strike that was never there. The acolyte tried again, only to almost gag on the syllables. Moor's hacking laugh echoed in the corridor.
He did not even fight back as the pale man pushed him against the wall, snarling words into his face. There was no real danger left in Albrecht at this moment. Only the embers of fear causing the fire of hate to burn stronger.
And if I try to fight back now, we might both die.
"I," the assassin stated simply, "am Moor. Knight of Ascension. And in every way, shape and form, your superior."
The lithe Sith shoved Albrecht back. While Moor did not have much strength left, the fight and his subsequent humiliations had left the pale man in even rougher shape.
"In the Order, respect is not earned, acolyte. It is learned. I simply expedited your lesson. Though I honestly don't care to accept your respect, Albrecht; it is worthless. But your fear will serve well enough," Moor continued, wiping off some blood from his bodysuit. He turned and began to walk away, confident that even Albrecht would not be fool enough to attack at this point.
The thin figure of Moor paused at the entrance to a new corridor, however. His head turned back slightly, his unmoving face showing the exposed teeth beneath the torn skin.
"Secrets have a way of being dug up, acolyte," the assassin finished. His steps gave no sound as he went on his way, his form flickering and fading from sight.
"And I cannot wait to tight my grip around yours."
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Rugs
The ring-dang-doo, now what is that?
6,347 posts
1,102 likes
Friendly neighborhood CEO
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last online Oct 25, 2024 21:09:17 GMT -5
Administrator
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Feb 17, 2021 10:36:18 GMT -5
Post by Rugs on Feb 17, 2021 10:36:18 GMT -5
"I am Moor.”
The embers of Karn’s rage seemed to go suddenly cold. His eyes widened slightly as a cold, icy sensation — unlike any other he’d felt while dealing with Moor so far — worked down his spine. The Arkanian didn’t need to meditate on the feeling to know what it was: terror.
“...in every way, shape and form, your superior.”
Moor’s shove took Karn by surprise. Were he in better condition, Karn could have resisted or at least quickly steadied himself. But their furious battle had taken its toll. Thraken gave no respite, and he still reeled from Moor’s violent intrusion into his mind.
So rather than resist, Karn stumbled awkwardly back until he fell on his ass in the middle of the hall. He winced as the impact against the hard floor woke a jolt of pain in his side. There he stayed, unable to look away from Moor, as if transfixed, as the older Sith lectured him.
Karn raged, in the furthest depths of his beings, at this humiliation. He wanted nothing more than to stand and punch Moor in the mouth as the stupid little fucker dared lecture him about respect — as if the weirdo deserved anything like that. But he was past his limit. His body ached, and even the burning knot of anger his chest could not break through the fear that lingered from Moor’s Horror.
The assassin began to leave and Karn, recognizing that their encounter was finally over, if not content with its outcome, began to slowly, weakly push himself to his feet. Moor was not yet finished, though, and Karn froze, eyes going wide as Moor tipped his hand.
He can’t know. Can he?
If fear stayed Karn’s hand earlier, he now felt cold, unrelenting dread tightening like a noose around his heart. Letting his secret slip to Visarion had been bad enough, and they were friends. A Knight of Ascension, who hated him, sniffing around for signs of wrongdoing.
He can’t know. He wouldn’t have left if he did.
Karn stood, clutching at his side as pain flared again from the wound. His vision blurred. It was time to leave. He was unsure if he could make it to his room without passing out and so begrudgingly, began to limp off toward the medbay.
—
Lady Anahita strolled through Sith Temple’s medical wing with a folder of flimsies tucked under her arm. A pair of narrow glasses framed her dark eyes. Something always needed doing in the medical facilities, and she ensured that they ran like a well-oiled machine.
Despite the Order’s tendency for infighting, Anahita ensured that the Academy’s medical wing was one of the best in the Empire and that its staff — those were Force users and those were not — were deadly serious about their work. They were there to preserve the Body — to ensure that it could carry out Her Radiance’s will as efficiently as possible.
She was passing through the wing’s main entrance and on the way to her office when the double doors slid open. And in came acolyte Karn Albrecht. The acolyte was no stranger to the facilities — he seemed to have an unsavory knack for picking fights, though his visits had at least become less frequent since the Praetor Magnus selected him.
Today, it seemed, Albrecht had decided to make up the drop in his visits’ frequency by upping the severity. He was in shockingly bad shape; he looked like he’d decided to go fight a Krayt dragon by himself and come limping back after facing his own folly.
“Acolyte,” Anahita said sharply, “what have you-?”
“Need...” Albrecht said weakly, “help...”
He collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Anahita sighed. The boy was a mess and now he was bleeding all over her clean floors.
Yes, there was always something that needed doing.
—
A few hours later...
Karn winced as he sat up on on the narrow bed in his room in the acolyte quarters. The drugs from the medbay were starting to wear off; and the dull, throbbing ache of his injuries was starting to get hard to ignore.
Lady Anahita had wasted little time scolding him when he finally regained consciousness. She’d somehow tracked down Pervigal and gotten a full report of Karn’s fight while he was unconscious.
That woman scared him.
He glanced at a flimsy laying atop the desk at the small room’s opposite wall. He’d been in worse shape than he’d realized, with the Force and adrenaline keeping him going. The wound from Moor’s lightsaber would scar, and the assassin’s savage blows to the injury had left Karn with hairline fractures on two of his ribs.
Being thrown in the wall had nearly broken his arm, and he’d suffered a minor concussion from Moor’s kick to the head. To say nothing of the bruises and training saber welts that still marred much of his body. The medical staff had taken care of the worst of his injuries, but left the smalle — and still quite painful — ones to heal on their own. A reminder of his failure, and a warning from Anahita to “quit picking stupid fights.”
He leaned over the side of his bed, grunting as his still-tender side protested. The fight with Moor had been a disaster. Pervigal ended it before either of them could put down the other, but it was hard to feel like he’d come out ahead.
"And yet still you lost!”
“Weak.”
“Utterly mediocre.”
Karn gripped his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force out Moor’s taunting voice. Why am I so weak? He felt hot tears in his eyes again, as frustration at his own failings overwhelmed him. Why couldn’t I beat him?
“I am Moor... in every way, shape and form, your superior.
The mirror overlooking Karn’s desk cracked loudly as the Force stirred through the Arkanian. He looked up, staring at the ceiling for a long, silent moment. Things could not continue as they were. He could not grow complacent--not with Moor lurking and surely all too happy to capitalize on any slip-ups.
That was to say nothing of... whatever Moor had done to him. He couldn’t even think the name “Kol Klairn” without feeling sick. After finally arriving in his room, he’d attempted to say it to himself and nearly vomited.
Karn laid back on his bed with a sigh. After a few quiet moments, he reached for his datapad. The screen flashed to life, and after passing a biometric scan, he opened up his holent account. It was risky writing to Kathar from the bowels of the Sith Temple, but with some encryption and bouncing the signal around so that it appeared to be something else, Karn felt confident enough.
The Jedi had a way of soothing him when they talked. If he was even around to talk — Kathar had his own life and things to do, after all. Karn sighed and began to type.
Hey Kath...
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