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Even as the Linnorm screamed at being devoured, Solus felt his body regain the energy needed to move. As the necromancer pulled the dying man’s soul, Solus wasted no time in using his rejuvenating body to move. Darting between ice walls and columns, the Shard made sure he was nowhere near his original position. He needed to do better than just a straight-forward attack. But without his lightsaber… 

 

It was hard to focus. Splitting his attention between keeping his own presence in the Impossible Geometries limited while also planning an attack was mentally taxing to say the least. The startlement of the implosion of ice from Innmortos’ attack only made the situation more stressful. Had the shard been where he was before, he would’ve been killed on the spot.


Solus peeked around an ice wall.  His spirit sank further at the defense that the necromancer had conjured. The orbs were clearly dangerous, and swirling in such a way that there was no clear opening. Solus regretted everything he said to the necromancer. This thing was in a league of its own. The Lord of Rage was correct in respecting this dark master, as decrepit as the old man was. 


Solus began to worry. If he didn’t win this, would his master disown Solus? Even now, Solus could see his master observing from a safe distance. 

 

“No…No I will not be weak. I am not weak, for i am strong in the dark side…” Solus muttered softly. His rage surged violently. His action was clear. His victory was still in sight. 


Solus broke out of his stillness in the Impossible Geometries and reached out. Just as he had done so with the Gungan Captain, he pulled at his lightsaber that had been frozen and abandoned on the opposite side where Innmortos was facing. With the violent energy building, The lightsaber and the ice encasing it broke from the ground and flew towards the necromancer, blade activating mid-flight. 

 

But Solus’ attention did not remain with the blade. As soon as it flew, Solus left his hiding spot. Solus deserved the respect and honor that Lord Akheron showed Innmortos and here was his chance to gain it. His envy-fueled anger flowed throughout his body. The Impossible Geometries around Solus surged with the energy, filled with one sole intention. To give Solus speed.


 With a blinding movement, Solus dashed towards Innmortos’ backside. Hopefully, the combination of the flying lightsaber and Solus’ enhanced body would be enough to strike a finishing blow. True, the lightsaber may get destroyed, but Solus didn’t care at this point. All that mattered was proving he was no slave, and that he was powerful. 


There, Solus saw a spot for a potential opening in the Necromancer’s vortex. Without wasting another thought, Solus’ force-fueled body leapt forward, pulled back a fist, and threw a punch aimed at the decrepit head of Innmortos. 

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Tros offered up a smile, which was a lost gesture as he already had put his buy'ce back on. He turned his head ever so slightly to see the one who called himself Shard/Solus. The duel or sparring match seemed rather irrelevant to him, up until he let his hand drop and feel the baskad at his side. He had never had any formal training with such melee weapons. If he was to engage with someone who did, he would lose whatever advantages he normally carried into battle. Maybe this Akheron could indeed be a benefit to this. He then turned his head to look at Akheron. 

 

"I guess there is a lot I could learn, especially when it comes to melee combat." Tros took his beskad out of the sheath and displayed it before the Sith. "I was recently gifted this by a fallen mentor. I must admit, while I know what it is, I have no idea on how to use it, outside of my natural instincts of course." He then placed the blade on the table. "If you are willing to teach me, I shall teach you what you think you could gain from me and the Mandalorian ways."

 

Beskad : Mandalorian sword

Buy'ce : Helmet

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Inmortos’ senses piqued at the  resurgence of the apprentice in the force. A wicked looking smile of glee crossed the wizard’s face.

 

The force surged as Solus used his emotionally charged power within the force to wrench his pinned weapon free; tearing the saber hilt and the chunks of trailing ice from the ground spinning towards Inmortos. The blade illuminating midair, as if born by a chaotic unseen wraith. The echoes upon the force clashed with the absolute chillings molecular stillness of death that exuded about the necromancer even as his whirling orbs carved centuries of undoing into the stones and air about him

 

Like an unseen ripple in the force, as if a beast plucking a bird from the glassy surface of a lake, Inmortos struck. With precision, he moved but once as he faded back into the ethereal nothingness of beyond. With a wave of his hand, a single orb of unmaking zipped to intercept the cataclysmic whirling crimson-bearing weapon. They collided midway from where the weapon had been wrought free and Inmortos. Quickly the energies began to devour the external casing of the hilt, entering  the haft itself within milliseconds. Delicate relays, safety mechanisms, and more all destabilized in an instant. The contained energy loop of the the lightsaber lost integrity and without guidance and energy still pouring through it erupted in a blinding explosion of fiery red plasma.

 

The concussion of the blast shattered the ice and echoed off the remains of the devastated structures that surrounded the square. It was, quite literally, like a bomb going off.

 

The concussive blast was enough to easily circumvent the vortex of destructive energies that streaked around Inmortos. It knocked him backwards, falling to the ground, a surge of pain emanating from the frail magician. His protective orbs shot out, uncontrolled as the necromancer’s concentration was broken. 
 

From his place on the ground, Inmortos was offered but one advantage, he saw the airborne predatory form of Solus falling at him from the sky; his fist reared back to deal a skull crushing blow at unnatural speeds.

 

Even as unnatural as his connection to death, dying, and beyond was, Inmortos was still a mortal being, controlled by thoughts and reflexes. The instinctual response to imminent pain and injury about to be inflicted by the heavy metallic fist-les charge of the Sith-bot had the decrepit man moving without thought. He was a man of flesh and blood; and yet, he was more. Like a dark pool of unfathomed depths, murky to the eye and gnawing to the soul, Inmortos instinctually tapped that same energy as well. With a howl breaking his lips sounding like a torched fel beast, he raised his hands. Instinct and the force convulsing as one. In his hand he still clasped his weapon, the signature weapon of a Jedi corrupted by his own dark magics. The blackened blade erupted towards the imminently inbound Solus, pulling light and warmth from the air. Like the dance of gods the world seemed to shimmer and stand for an instant before the great metallic chassis crashed into Inmortos, driving his blade into the apprentice and crushing the Sith sorcerer beneath his weight. A surge of dark side energy erupted outward as Inmortos blade found it’s mark and Solus fist his own. Plumes of dust, debris, ice, and mist billowed from their contact, obscuring the view of onlookers for a few seconds. In that moment, Inmortos blade flickered and died having found it’s mark.

 

As the dust cleared upon a single gust of icy wind, one could see Solus’ battered and sliced chassis atop Inmortos’ crushed frame. Neither moved. In that moment, the pain that radiated from the reaper’s bent and broken form stilled. His body went slack as a death-like state overtook the man.
 

A cold wind blew, and a single snowflake landed squarely atop Solus’ cracked photoreceptor for a moment before vanishing on the wind. In that instant, a cold ethereal hand passed through the apprentice and a disembodied voice spoke to the crushed being’s soul. It was a voice carried on the force, One that could not be heard by any other. “So you think you have won? Death is my ally; my weakness made strength.”

 

And then one of the orbs of unmaking, still bound to it’s master’s dying wishes, crashed into the fallen sorcerer’s cursed saber hilt, the process of unbirth beginning anew.
 

And the life of Inmortos was snuffed out.

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In the fight, Solus didn’t feel the blade piercing him at first. His entire attention was focused on one task: Crushing and killing the necromancer. If he was a human, he would’ve been experiencing an adrenaline rush. If he was a pure droid, he would have had no pain receptors. But as a shard, he was just solely focused on one task that everything else didn’t matter. Only victory mattered. 


And Solus had achieved that.


The silence that filled the air in the moments after the blade flickered out was legendary. For that one moment, it felt like even the Force went still; that all of the shapes and forms in the Impossible Geometries had been frozen in time. That life and death were briefly intertwined like young lovers. 


Solus smiled inwardly. He had done it. He had fed the Fanged God with a worthy adversary. One who tainted life and deserved death. One who had escaped it for so…


Solus shivered instinctively as the necromancer’s voice spoke one last time. Confusion and anger swirled in the Shard's mind. He had not done it! The necromancer still lived! Beyond Solus' limited understanding, beyond all the impossibilities of it all, Innmortos lived! Was the necromancer that powerful? Or was the Fanged God that weak? 

 

While these questions wouldn’t bother Solus at the moment, in his meditations Solus would possibly begin to question the true power of the Fanged God later. 


Pain brought Solus back to reality. He nearly fell limp over the body as his shard-mind finally realized what had truly happened to his body. The impalement of the weapon was nearly a lethal one. A few inches closer to the right would have struck the chassis battery and caused an irreversible explosion, or in the case of the necromancer’s blade, a complete energy drain of the entire chassis, including his very Shard. Instant death, with no form of recovery.


What damage the blade had done however, was still crippling to say the least. Solus realized that as he attempted to stand up. The motors to his left arm had been disconnected entirely, making it fall limp. The cut the blade made downwards ruptured several cooling tubes, and the mixture of pneumatic and electric leg motors were damaged, meaning Solus would be limping until repaired. And the cracked headpiece meant that he had a 30 degrees blindspot. 


Still, Solus could move. With what little strength his motors could apply, Solus used his one good arm and grabbed the crushed corpse of Innmortos, and dragged it towards where his master and the armored one watched. 


“Get away from me you lackwits…” Solus commanded the Linnorms who attempted to come help. They believed that Solus had truly killed Innmortos, and now couldn’t help but view the Sith apprentice in a new light.  The Linnorms backed off as Solus continued to grumble almost silently.

 

"If anyone had anything to show for this, its me. If anyone else gets any praise for this, I will end them myself and earn more praise. And if any kriffing idiot thinks that this entire thing was stupid and needs to abuse me again in front of everyone..."


The limping towards Akheron, the armored one, and now Tear as well, was long but determined. Eventually, Solus stood before the group, and dropped the body. Behind him in the plaza, Innmortos’ blade exploded with dark energy, killing the Linnorms who had been curious about salvaging the weapon.  The draining energy from the explosion in the background, as far as it was, had a visible effect on the Shard. The robotic being’s leg motors finally gave in. The shard fell into a kneel, out of both respect and an impossibility to do anything else. 


“Have I earned some form of respect back from you Master?”  As much as Solus wanted to speak words of venom to being who abused the Shard in front of the Empress, Solus kept his voice monotone, and his presence in the Force quiet. The battle with Innmortos had taught him how to do that much.  


Solus then turned his head to indicate his next words were directed towards the armored one.  “And perhaps this was a demonstration of my skills for the upcoming battle? Does this please the both of you?” 

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An encrypted communication was relayed from the holonet for Akheron and his apprentice:

 

The pale blue three-dimensional image of a scarred lizard being with an eye patch appeared, filling the screen, a bloody knife held in his hand. His priestly robes belayed a dark religion with skeletal ornaments hanging in a heavy breastplate down his. “My master invites you to come and partake in the Baptism of Blood during the Feast of Souls on the necropolis world of AARIS III before the upcoming slaughter.” Screams of pain and dying echoed behind him before the transmission abruptly ended in a scramble of static. 

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Fiochmar stands beside Mavanger nodding as he watches what had happened. Off doing his own thing and exploring for a bit before returning to his masters side he looks to Mavanger with a smile.

 

"Yes Master Ill bear that in mind so as never to suffer a similar humiliation. Ill not put myself in that situation ever, to command respect and not give it is a fools errand yes?"

 

He looks about the room so much to pay attention to so much going on. So much to learn so to stay alive and further the glory of the Sith, his eyes darting around the room landing on each person in turn his gaze appraising their threat to him and knowing that here and now hes out of his league and just how much there is to learn still. He sighs and looks to Mavanger the look in his eyes couldnt be more clear, a thirst and lust for the power that the others have and Fiochmar has yet to achieve.

 

"I will learn from you Master and I will become better, stronger and more valuable. I want that power and strength and the respect and fear earned from having it!" 

 

He says firmly and passionately rapidly closing his fist to accentuate his resolve and commitment to this and his training, and above all the order.

 

"I wont let you down and the order Ill prove to all here that I belong here and am not a bad choice."

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Mordecai scoffed. One lesson had been learned, only for his newest apprentice to stumble into another fallacy. He motioned for the young Sith to follow him. There was a time for philosophy, and a time for battle; He would leave this boy with one last lesson before he taught him ones of more martial value. He tilted his head to Solus as the droid left, looking at the apprentice at his own side.

 

"He seeks to be valuable as well. Stronger, more powerful. But power for what purpose? Valuable to who? Me? I do not need you. I have nearly broken my chains. The Dark Lord? She doesn't need you either. She has an empire. Value is in the eye of the beholder. You will not learn to be a slave under me, you will not learn how to kneel. You will learn how to be your own man. You will learn how slay those that stand in the way of whatever your goals are, whether it be as small a goal as killing someone or as large as owning an empire. You will be valuable to the Sith by being what Sith were always meant to be- Free of your chains, and with the entire galaxy at your fingertips."

 

He picked up a vibroblade from a fallen defender. It was lighter than his blades, but heavier than a saber. He could use it easily. He thought back to his own start as a Sith. With a similar blade he had made his first blow, and he'd been thrown to the red sands of Korriban to either become Sith, or die trying. Valinore had forged him into a weapon, but he had made his own path. He thought to Kuat, where Lord Xahl had fallen. His crusade had changed then from one of fealty, to one of vengeance. To stamp out the Rebellion while it was still young. His thoughts drifted to Geonosis, the last time he's seen Jarvus. And to the storm of rage and fury that had come with his death, that had left Naboo in ruins.

 

His fight was no longer borne of fealty to the Dark Lord, or of patriotism to the Sith Empire. They were a price to be paid. His life in servitude to the Dark Lord, and in return, he had been granted what he wanted. Kill the Empress, or die trying.

 

They were back in the courtyard now, and he turned to face the young Sith before him. He lifted his blade.

 

"Draw your weapon. Your test begins now. Strike at me with everything you've got."

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Fiochmar nods his head listening and what Mavanger said makes sense and plenty of it if he was being honest with himself. He had used a very broad term and that never is good for a goal no no it has to be narrow, focused a fixed point and very specific. He continues to follow Mavanger as he speaks and absorbing it all he waits for his Master to finish before he himself says anything.

 

"Valuable to myself and the Empire. Stronger for myself to be able to take down larger game, to go after bigger targets. To bring glory and fear to myself and my name, to cut a bloody swath through those that destroyed my home and killed my family or to die trying. The glory and strength I bring out and earn in myself brings my people back to our former place in the Universe. But I want the name Ragnos to continue to inspire fear and respect in this galaxy and all others. I cant do that if Im to weak to take it!"

 

He's firm he's sincere the desire for strength power respect and fear blazing in his eyes like a bonfire flame with starship fuel thrown over it. He does indeed follow Mavanger out into that court yard. Fiochmar's own mind flashing to the destruction of his home, the death of his parents and siblings the sadness, rage and anger, the fear he felt. Than those years on Onderon hunting tracking killing relishing in the hunt and the fear the beasts must have felt. But than Mavanger is speaking to him so Fioch looks up and nods drawing his vibroblade and Vibro axe.

 

"Be careful what you wish for Master. You may just get it!"

 

With those words spoken he starts to channel all of those years of pain, anguish and hatred, started channeling how he felt knowing that the beasts he hunted were that afraid. He charges forward no leaps this time, he learned his lesson on those. Once close enough Fiochmar swings the axe down in an arc coming downward from the left as he swings the sword upwards from the right with a malicious smile upon his face.

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The boy was cocky. Overconfident. He swung wildly, with no regards to tactics or his opponent's defense. He jumped back, letting the blades connect in the middle of their trajectory before dashing back in, his vibrosword moving in a swift upwards motion. The blade, while deactivated and not a lethal threat, still had the weight and the impact of a weapon. It struck the hilts of the weapons, knocking them out of the apprentice's hands and onto the stone pavement of the courtyard. He came closer, grabbing Fiochmar's collar with his free hand and pulling him close, driving his knee into the boy's gut before throwing him to the ground. He stepped past, turning calmly. There were troopers watching now. Good. The shame would fuel the boy's powers, and if it proved a hinderance, then it was one he could beat out of the Tsis now.

 

"When you use two weapons, you make sacrifices for the sake of offensive capabilities. You can strike from many angles, with many cuts, and you can strike fast, as a one handed blade is lighter and more easily maneuvered. When you strike with both like that, not only are you exposing yourself to a counter attack, but you are striking along the same plane. It takes minimal effort to block or dodge both blades."

 

He pointed the tip of his sword at the apprentice before him, his face an unreadable mask.

 

"Get up. Pick up your weapons. Strike me."

Edited by Mavanger

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Fiochmar growls out his anger and embarassment clearly rising within him. He rolls back away from the blade and than quickly picks up his axe and sword. Snarling he charges back in, this time though his axe goes to attempt to hook Mordecai's blade and pull it down if not away. His own sword coming in from another angle completetely.

He smiles thinking this time, yes this time for sure hes got him.

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With a deft flick of his wrist, Mordecai's blade avoided the axe that would have otherwise tried to disarm him. He stepped to his apprentice's left, ducking past the blow with a speed belied by his heavy armor. His foot shot out, tripping Fiochmar. To his credit, the boy kept his footing, stumbling forward and only falling once Mordecai used the pommel of his weapon to shove him from behind. He held his arms out, not caring for the spectacle himself, but he knew that the feelings that it would elicit from his apprentice were crucial.

 

"You have raw skill. Perhaps you were one of the better fighters in your clan. Maybe even the best. But you're overconfident. Archaic savagery and un-tempered emotions will not carry you to victory on the field. It will lead you to your death. Master your emotions, your movements, or you will find your head beneath my boot."

 

It was a lesson he had learned the hard way. Facing off against Raven's bodyguards over Borleias. The scars that marred his face pulsed with an old pain, a memory of the Excorcist's fire, his reckless charge costing him victory. And again on Kuat, versus the Imperial Knight that had looked to kill him then and there. A victory within his grasp, stolen by his own overconfidence. These were not the teachings of a rambling drill instructor- Mordecai had seen countless conflicts. Countless battles. He'd killed millions, either by his own hand or by his orders. These lessons were lessons best learned here, in a courtyard full of troopers on cleanup duty, so that the only loss would be pride, rather than his life.

 

"Again."

OOC Note: Try to put more description into your attacks. Your first post was better with this- the angle of the swing and when it happens. How fast is the swing? How much force is behind it? From a narrative standpoint, this helps the readers keep track of the fast movements of melee combat. From a dueling perspective, it gives your opponent and the mod a clearer picture of your attack and what your intent is.

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Groaning Fiochmar stands again his rage and anger, his fear and self loathing, his embarrassment and now hes being lectured again on his failings does the shame never end? He adjusts again and readies those weapons sword and  axe in hand.  He stares at Mavanger and breathes the rage in his eyes burning like the hottest of fires. Focusing his anger and rage, his humiliation and self loathing, channeling them, the world seems more clear, more in focus. He can feel the muscles in his body pulsing with more energy  and he grins. 

 

"You are trying to piss me off Master. You're pushing me to see how Ill respond, I see your methods now. But again I say be careful what you wish for!" 

 

Growling as he pushes off his right foot behind at first, he's charging in at Mavanger though now it seems as though everything is moving in slow motion for him every thing seen and heard more clearly. Axe in his left han he brings his arm down to strike with the axe  with a strength and force that could shatter or cleave bone. Coming in at a diagonal angle with a speed surpassing most ordinary people comes down at Mavangers sword in a curving arc from the left side.  In rapid succession his foot comes out kicking at Mavanger's knee with a force and speed that if it were to hit its target would buckle the knee. Smiling almost Sadistically as he brings the pommel of his own sword down from the right angled to connect with the temple in a blur of speed and savagery.

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Mordecai surged forward. This child thought he knew anger? That he knew his master's mind? The pain that he'd experienced, the method to his madness? He threw his blade to the side. He would teach this mewling cub what it meant to be truly beyond the ordinary. To be a master of combat in a warrior society. He caught Fiochmar's wrist in his hand, yanking him forward off his feet. A foot impacted his knee, but his knee, supported by armor and his own rage, refused to buckle. His blade bit into Mordecai's shoulder, but he just laughed. Pain was an old friend. With his spare hand, he grabbed the Tsis's neck, lifting him off the ground before slamming him back down on his back. He kneeled, his knee pressing into the boy's ribcage, his hand still gripping the neck, all but cutting off the airflow.

 

"You think you know rage? You think you know fury? You think it knows what I drive you towards? You presume to claim knowledge of my design, without having learned?"

He looked into Fiochmar's eyes, anger and hatred burning just beneath the surface of his measured guise.

 

"Look into my eyes, child. Look what it means to lose yourself to fury. To rage. To grief. Your anger is but a pittance. You rage against those that ruined your people, but they were not your people. They were your ancestors'. Your rage has been diluted through the generations, a morsel of rotten promise, passed down from generation to generation until you forgot what it meant to lose someone. What it means to die and return to life through sheer wrath and will. What I want is for the fall of the rebels. Nothing more, nothing less. What you do is your own concern. I am merely teaching you how."

 

He stood, taking a step back, his breaths heavy. The troopers weren't laughing anymore. There was a thick silence in the air as the two Sith caught their breath. Darth Mavanger removed the blade from his shoulder, letting it clatter to the ground. Twice, the boy had embedded his blade into his shoulder. This time, however, it had tasted bone. He was improving, albeit slowly. But an apprenticeship would last longer than an afternoon.

 

"Return to the Raven's Bane. There will be a trooper waiting for you- she will show you to the medbay for any injuries you've received, and then to your quarters. She will give you a communicator that you will use to stay in contact with me while I am away. She will remain until you dismiss her. She will be your personal aide, and will help you learn of the Empire and our teachings."

OOC Note: Let Fiochmar meditate, practice on his own. Figure out where he fits. The trooper is at your command- she's your NPC to do with as you wish. Name her, control her, use her as much or as little as you'd like for the next few posts.

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Akheron listened as Tros made a request, one he was happy to oblige. He both respected and admired the Mandalorian ways, as such a rare opportunity to learn from a true Mandalorian and add to his already considerable skillet was more than welcomed. Indeed there was much they could learn about each other from co-operation like this.

 

Looking at the weapon and feeling the man in the force, his choice was made. Bowing his head in respect he spoke.

 

"You do me much honour by asking and in proposing such a generous offer. I would be honoured to learn the Mandalorian ways and teach you. Long have I admired your people's fighting prowess, to learn such would be most appreciated and a gift I can only repay in kind. I would not only teach you of melee training as is your desire but I would repay such a offer with that of additionally proposing to teach you the secretive martial arts of my own people. A gift for a gift."

 

Moments after and Akheron observed his apprentice, Solus had somewhat accomplished what he had set out to do. He only hoped he learnt the lesson being taught. As he noted the body, he knew the performances would return soon enough, even if he had left a husk here. Looking to Solus, Akheron nodded with tacid approval.

 

"You have done we'll my apprentice, and yes while you have regained some respect for this accomplishment....do not be too overconfident in your success. No doubt, Darth Inmortos shall return, such is his way. For a Sith Necromancer has a special relationship with the Darkness and the Fanged God. One that allows them to return and achieve a state of quasi-immortality but at great cost to themselves. As you have seen.

 

That said your performance was admirable for your part. You show promise as one with the shadows...that of the Assassin. And you have broken your second chain by using your own Strength to claim a Victory. Now take this vial, claim some blood from the body of your fallen foe. You shall use it to help create your lightsaber crystal. One attuned only to you and in part bonded with you. A crystal worthy of a Sith. We shall begin as soon as you are repaired, use the opportunity to make adjustments as necessary, to one suited to your newfound skills. Go see Stitch-Mouth for this. 

 

As you see Stitch-Mouth contemplate the Sith Code. Think upon it, look inwards and ponder what the words mean to you. Return to me with your interpretion. Then we shall find a wound upon this planet and you shall begin the ritual of your saber making."

 

Moments after and Akheron found his comlink chimming, checking it, he found the message:

 

On 11/10/2021 at 2:02 AM, Krath Inmortos said:

An encrypted communication was relayed from the holonet for Akheron and his apprentice:

 

The pale blue three-dimensional image of a scarred lizard being with an eye patch appeared, filling the screen, a bloody knife held in his hand. His priestly robes belayed a dark religion with skeletal ornaments hanging in a heavy breastplate down his. “My master invites you to come and partake in the Baptism of Blood during the Feast of Souls on the necropolis world of AARIS III before the upcoming slaughter.” Screams of pain and dying echoed behind him before the transmission abruptly ended in a scramble of static. 

 

It appeared that Akheron's words as rung true. It had not taken long for Darth Inmortos to return, albeit now he was on the other side of the galaxy. The strange festival mentioned in the communication sounded intriguing. He decided he would partake, out of curiosity but also with caution. He sent a reply informing the lizard man to inform his master that he would be coming soon.

 

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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Tros offered up a nod in the direction of Akheron. "Akheron, I do believe that this is fully acceptable to me. A gift for a gift." Indeed the exchange of what both offered to each other was worth the small distraction and break within the grand scheme of battle planning. Standing up now to fully prepare for this exchange of gifts, he called up his comms within his buy'ce and connected with Sutu. "Sutu, belay the holoconfrence with the clan leaders. Instead have them rally and assemble. We will need them as we head to war." After he sent the message, he picked up his beskad and looked at Akheron's apprentice for a slight moment before responding to both. 

 

"It shows me that you are indeed strong and willing to do what it takes. But skillswise, it does not show what you may think it does. The heat of battle is far different from training. Even as I prepare to learn melee, it will not show you anything other then potential. Skill can be lost if the mind is not strong enough for the onslaught that is presented before." Tros slowly tilted his head to his left. "But do not think that my words are to put you down. Training is something that is a worthy cause and well worth the effort put into it. And today within your training match that you had indeed showed skill. I hope that when the heat of battle is upon you that such skills become stronger and more refined." He now looked at Akheron. "I am ready to begin such training upon your word."

 

Buy'ce : Helmet

Beskad : Sword

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Mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore.

 

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Fiochmar growls at Mavangers words and looks into his eyes.

 

"Not my people? Just my ancesters. It was my kriffing parents and brother and sister that were killed when our world was destroyed! So don't tell me about pain and anguish, anger and hatred I know it all!  So with all due respect Master, you don't know what you're talking about."

 

And with that he turns and leaves heading off to the ship. Once back aboard the Raven's Bane he spots the trooper. And nods to her.

 

"You, you the one who's to be assisting me?" 

 

"Yes sir I am. I'm Leona sir, how can I assist you?"

 

Listening he nods thoughtfully  as she adjusts her weapon and snaps a salute.

 

"Medbay first than somewhere I can meditate and train up my skills. No need to call me Sir Trooper, now lead on."

 

Leona does as instructed and leads him to the medbay where his injuries are beginning to be treated and seen to.

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Solus nodded at this praise and reached out with his working arm to retrieve the vial. It was about time that his master recognised Solus’ abilities, and the fact that Akheron had given his talents a name was enough to make him slightly giddy.


Assassin. What a word. What a lovely word.  Solus mused to himself as he slowly stood up. One smart linnorm saw the struggle of solus moving his near broken motors and gears and decided to hell with the comments from the shard and helped him up.


Soon Solus stood before the corpse of the necromancer. An air of uneasiness emanated from the shell of a being. Death had not fully claimed the being. Akheron had said as much. Solus didn't feel like he had truly succeeded. Perhaps this would help him feel some accomplishment?


Extracting the blood was easy enough. Solus merely grabbed the smashed head and dribbled a mixture of darkness blood and Grey brain fluids into the vial until it was overflowing. Solus smirked to himself, wondering if the necromancer could feel his head being used this way.  If so, then the necromancer should be enraged, as Tear was going to consume the body after the Shard was done with it. 


Afterwards, Solus, with the help of the Linnorm, made his way back to stitch-mouth. The alchemist had fully recovered himself from their training session and was busy preparing for the upcoming task. 


Stitch-Mouth gestured to a make-shift seat of rubble. Solus stumbled and sat down. 


Without waiting for permission, the alchemist started his tedious work by suddenly, and unceremoniously ripping off the broken arm. Solus groaned slightly, but didn’t notice too much as his mechanic got to work extracting the broken motor and replacing with a new one. 


Unlike Faleen, the entire ordeal was irreverent. Stitch-mouth occasionally used the force to modify some parts or to help weld some metal together, but the appearance of tools and other, less trained hands showed that this was just a job and not something special. Still, it wasn’t painful. When the alchemist began to work on a part, he cut off some of the circuits in the area like a well trained doctor giving morphine to a patient. The bedside manner was completely absent, but it gave time for Solus to think and speak to himself. 


Peace is a lie, there is only passion” Solus started, staring into the impossible geometries. The shapes that moved about him were still strange and fascinating, but the clouds of red anger and the energetic lines of envy. He smirked slightly to himself, and watched the cloud slowly thin out and get replaced by a more green aura, albeit thinner than a wisp. 


A slight gaze towards Stitch-mouth revealed a deluge of colors, some never seen before to mortal eyes. 


 "Through passion I gain strength. And through strength I gain power" Solus mused and nodded. These lines were getting easier to understand. In his battle with Inmortos, Solus felt more attuned with the force when he was enraged and jealous. When he was passionate, he could do more, and make the force do his will. For someone like his master, being passionate was as simple as breathing, and thus strength came naturally to them. 


Time. That’s what Solus needed. Time to focus on his emotions. To build on that emotion that Lady Sirena taught him so long ago. 


“The force shall free me” Solus nodded to himself. This much was true. 


Stitch-Mouth grunted for the shard’s attention. The arm was complete. Solus took a glance over it and was truly surprised. It looked more like the skeletal surrounding of the arm than the actual arm. It looked less life-like and more robotic. There were some fine improvements, like an extra thumb and a double-jointed elbow. Wires were wound and spun together between the bars of the frame like shoulder and biceps, looking like veins around bones. 

 

Solus couldn’t help but admire how his hand looked like a skeletal one. A fitting attachment after killing a necromancer.


Solus then noticed that at the wrist joints, there was a familiar attachment. 


“My scomp-link!” Solus exclaimed. Without waiting for permission, Solus activated his newly furnished arm and flexed it. True to its appearance, it felt lighter and, for lack of a better term, bony. The scomp link extended and receded over and over, like a new muscle being tested. His previous scomp had been torn off during his first fight on Korriban. Solus knew that this device would have future use as an Assassin. 


“Come then!” Solus stood up suddenly, gripping his new hand into a fist. “It’s time to tell my master my interpretation! Ha ha! Yes! Come Linnorms! With me! You too my beloved mechanic!” 


With that, Solus made his way to where Akheron and Tros were beginning their own training, rehearsing to himself what he would say. Stitch-Mouth followed alongside, carrying the discarded arm pieces from the fix-job.


“The meaning of the sith code…the meaning is..hmm… passion. My passion, my raw emotions, my very being, gives me my strength. I am my strength. Restrictions on myself restrict my passion, and thus, my power. I do what I want, and what I need to do, and damn the consequences, for only I can give myself the freedom I desire. Yes, that’s good. Restrictions limit power. To be unrestrained is to be powerful. That is what that necromancer did say after all. My imagination must not be restrained, nor my anger and envy. Haha, yes this will do nicely. Can someone record that? Yes, Akheron will be pleased…”  

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  • 2 weeks later...

Fiochmar stays in medbay for as long as it takes to heal. Once fully healed he'll get dressed and follow Leona to a makeshift meditation chamber near his own quarters. Fiochmar, gets himself seated and closes his eyes.  Focusing not on peaceful or tranquil thoughts. No he thinks of the embarrassment and shame he felt being so easily defeated. He is the best warrior and hunter, in his clan in their clan and village.

 

Now here he is each attack that always worked for him failed. Its as if he were a young trainee in the art of combat.  What was going on here. He wasn't that weak he wasn't that easily tossed around but what had gone wrong. He focused on the scenes in his head, and starts focusing, each passing second his anger, his embarassment, his self loathing and he starts to feel the power course through and strengthen his muscles.

 

Looking further back he focuses on the destruction of his world and the murder of his whole family. He growls standing up and pacing about. 

 

     "THEYLL ALL SEE WHAT I'M MADE OF. LEONA GET IN HERE!"

 

Leona enters and looks to Fiochmar standing at attention as she awaits orders.

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Akheron listened to Tros, what he said was true. The heat of battle was a unpredictable beast of many moving parts, not everything could be accounted for. As the Mandalorian stood up, Akheron placed his own masked helmet back upon his head, concealing all but his eyes. 

 

He spoke, motioning to the bladed weapon being held before him. 

 

"Very well, consider this just the start, I will use what time is available until we leave here, where possible to teach what I know. You can accompany myself and the Shard to find a wound on this planet, for he must construct a lightsaber and crystal. As part of his training. If you so desire, you may bare witness to the true power of the Darkness of the Force....few ever get the chance. It shouldn't be far from here, such a area would also provide the space we need to move about freely and I to impart what you desire to learn."

 

Moments after and Solus had returned, Akheron turned to face his apprentice. Looking upon his improvements, he found them sufficient, it was then he spoke. It was time to see what he had to say, and if he found the meaning of the Sith Code. 

 

"Ah my apprentice, you return. I see you took up my suggestion, very good. Now tell me what have you learnt of the Sith Code. What meaning did you define from it. Answer truthfully and openly, there will be no repercussions. The Sith Code contains a different meaning for all Sith."

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"The universe started in darkness at a time when light didn't exist, and that is how it will end. Chaos and suffering is what brings us together. In chaos a man or woman will show who he or she really is and in suffering they will speak the truth. We are darkness incarnate, we are the evil. This cannot be denied, even by me. But without us there is no redemption, passion or order." - Darth Akheron

 

I survived the Great JNet Outage of 2012

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“Answer truthfully and openly, there will be no repercussions”

 

Solus almost flinched at these words, recalling how similar ones were spoken earlier, followed by an embarrassing beating in front of all of his peers. Still, Solus contained himself and raised his newly forged hand as if to add to his words.

 

“The meaning is to be unrestricted. In my fight with Innmortos, my power over the force only became useful when I gave into my passion, and let my envy and anger be unrestrained. And in that, my power was unrestrained. Much like you with how your unrestrained rage literally flows from you, when I have unrestricted myself and all of my sins, I am powerful.” 

 

“And if I may add master, and to you of House Solus…” Solus snapped his skeletal-looking hand as if to emphasize a point. “It's not just limited to my passion, but my imagination as well. In the battle with Innmortos, I only truly began to gain an upper hand when I began to let my imagination loose. The idea to blend in with the ice, to use the blade and myself as separate weapons, to make noises through the dark side… only by unleashing my passion and my mind was I able to succeed.”

 

Solus pulled his hand back and gave a bow to the two, to show he was concluding his thought process. 

 

“I, master, must continue to practice my rage, my envy, and my mind so that it will be unrestrained by not only myself, but all others who will seek to use and restrain me. Through this, I will attain victory and free myself from the chains of this world of worlds” 

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