Faction Ænema | Jutrand Academy (SO)

[Soldane Talon]

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Jutrand Academy​

902 ABY​

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The attack on Mijos had stirred the school into a frenzy. Almost every single student who had been apart of the trial was injured to some degree, short of the upper First Ranks. Tarsius Kur, as promised, had strode onto the landing pad with a partially eaten Jedi Corpse, with blood dripping from his lips. By all reports, the First of Firsts had killed Jean de Brichare - the supposed mastermind of the operation, and a Jedi Master tied to a number of domestic terror attacks in the previous months.​

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For all the other students, it had been little more than a slaughter. Dozens of students had been killed before security forces could intercept - and more than a few dozen executions had already taken place for the lapse in security. Now, word had already spread through the Empire of what had happened to the children, and more than that - a flurry of political pressure to fill the now open spots with new arrivals. The only condition; the ranks had to be consolidated first.​

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Every student capable of being outside of the ICU was brought to the Hall of Adekos, a great long room with opulent architecture framing every detail. Gargoyles stood on watch, and the keen would sense they were more than just stone statues, but living Alchemy. As the last of the students found their seat beneath the watchful gaze of the living stone, The Provost Darth Ognitio stood, dabbing sweat from his brow as he did so.​

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There was no doubt of all those affected by the attack, it would be the leader of the school. He looked like he had aged a decade in only a matter of weeks.​

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"Students, there has been a great upheavel - as you well know. In light of this, there shall be students inducted into the school over the coming weeks - but before that can happen, a reassessment must be done on your rankings. I will call you out so listen closely, beginning with First of Firsts... Tarsius Kur.", he said flatly, as though anyone was surprised by it.​

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Tarsius, sitting quietly at the First's table, did not seem surprised by this news at all.​

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"Second of Firsts... Alani Crake.", another expected announcement. Alani seemed to ignore the discussion entirely as she sipped on an odd soup.​

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Then, he continued down the rankings - one by one...​

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[Soldane Talon]

Soldane rubbed at a burn patch on his jaw. It was itching, but he knew it was the best way to make sure no scar formed. The lightning that Jedi had struck him with had managed to get through his barrier, but only barely. Still, the burns across his body told a different story. He wished he could say it was a way to keep expectations low as he had during the exams, but in reality - he had survived by the skin of his teeth, and only due to Irina Jesart 's assistance.​

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Adjusting the bacta sling his arm was in, he sipped on a soup made of more sawdust than anything else, and awaited his own name to be called. The Fifth's were given the caveat to receive better care for once, but their food rations hadn't changed much. It was a flavorless broth, but it was enough to get down. He just wanted the calories at this point.​

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"Rivan Dreadmoor.", Darth Ognitio had called. Soldane perked up, used to the pseudonym by now.​

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"32. For exceptional display of prowess in his engagement with the Jedi.", he finished, nodding to Soldane before moving on. Soldane, for his efforts, was more taken aback by even the subtle nod of respect he had received. He was thus far so used to the Fifth's mistreatment, to even have a tutor recognize him seemed to shake some solid foundation he had already built up in his mind.​

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"Fourth?", he said with a mixture of astonishment and fear. A whole new Cohort was good, but it was going to put a whole new set of eyes on him to jump so many ranks. He glanced to Lunaria Talon and clenched his jaw. If they were separated by Cohorts, it would be harder to collude, and much harder to protect one another.​

 

[Irina Jesart]

There had been so many moments in the swamp that Irina had thought they were done for. So many ways that it could have gone the other way, that she or Rivan or both of them could have ended up like many of the other students that had perished that day. Her dark eyes swept the room noting the spaces where students should have been.

Irina had lain awake for many nights since, turning the whole thing over and over in her head, a dozen questions running through her mind. Why had the Jedi been there? While she was not delusional to believe that it was not in a Jedi's nature to kill, it did seem odd to her that they would seek to eliminate students rather than convert them. How had they known to be there? Had there been a betrayal within the academy's security, or perhaps higher up?

There was a conspiracy theory running rampant through the cohorts that the proctors had let them in deliberately, that it had been their way of culling those that were proving themselves to be unworthy of their positions and weak.

Combine this attack with the assassination attempt that had been masked by the raid upon the fifth cohort in their early weeks and things were not looking good for their safety. Not that she ever truly believed they were safe in the true sense of the word, afterall, Jutrand academy was about creating the next generation of leaders, pushing them to their limits was a necessity.

She blinked herself out of her thoughts, her eyes snapping back to the podium on which Darth Ognitio stood as Rivan's name rang out. She turned to the Fifth's table and offered him a small smile of congratulations, inclingin her head. they had worked well together as a team, if she was to stay in Fourth she might have an ally in him.

Irina settled her attention back on her soup, sipping away as she patiently waited for her own name to be called.

Soldane Talon

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Open

'Brassius Zambrano' shifted uncomfortably in their seat as the numbering ceremony began. Their leg was still tender from the ruse of 'Tavis Ordel'. Every so often, phantom spasms from the shocking healing of Darth Callidus would run down their leg. It made for exceptionally restless nights. There was a benefit to the injury, though. The slight stumble that would catch them every now and then aided in keeping them blended with the masses of injured acolytes.

Adean would've looked at the bowl or soup - more like poorly mixed flower and water - with disdain had she anticipated access to anything else in the near future. Slipping out of the academy for training that lead to accidental ventures elsewhere had not quite spoiled her, only made it even more clear how rough the fourth had it.

The pit of anxiety that would have once been nearly all-consuming no longer sent nausea licking at the Epicanthix's throat and belly. The nerves were still there, her head still jutting up at anything that might sound like either 'Adean' or 'Brassius', though not nearly as severe as months previous. It seemed exposure (with a healing helping of exhaustion) had done well to deaden the nervous energy she was once ruled by.

The Adean of a few months ago might've been disgusted by what she had become. The Brassius of the present merely sipped at their soup as they settled in for names upon names.

 

[Aerik Lechner]

WEARING: xxx
TAG: Soldane Talon | Irina Jesart | Adean Castor

The unfortunate events on the planet Milras had not been something which the proctors at the Sith Academy on Jutrand had foreseen. It was something they may not have pushed forward with had they known their young students would be hunted. In the end it turned out the students proved themselves worthy. Several had taken their first life, and of those who had already killed, it was the first time they had killed a Jedi. For Aerik, it had been the first time he killed someone as the beast which took residence beneath his skin.

His father, Gerwald, had always told him it was part of him. They were not a human and a wolf, nor were they a wolf and a human. They were both at the same time. It was something the young wolf still did not understand. Time would allow him to discern what his father meant, but for the moment, Aerik did his best to adjust to his new reality. His change had not been so long ago that he was used to what it meant to be what he was.

All of the students had been gathered together, those that were not left in bacta tanks, or dead. They were assembled in their cohorts. Aerik studied the architecture of the room, his eyes landing on the gargoyles. There was something alive about them, even though they were nothing but stone. They were being watched, and the beasts themselves seemed to behave as the vigilant guards.

The announcement about the first of firsts and the second of firsts came as no surprise. Aerik had been there just after they had dealt with the Jedi. Irina Jesart and Soldane Talon were there as well. It seemed the Echani known as Rivan had made a kill of his own by the looks of it. His new rank was called… 32. He had been raised into the fourth cohort.

Aerik wondered if the proctors knew about his change and what took place on the planet. Would it handicap him or not. Whatever happened, Aerik knew it would still be a fight to the top. No one went from the fifth cohort into the first overnight. Maybe if he could kill one of the firsts… Aerik pushed the thought from his mind. That was the wolf. He had a bloodlust inside he had yet to learn to control. Once the gathering was over, Aerik needed to shift and hunt.

His eyes moved from the other students to the Head Master. As they went down the line it would take time to get to him with where he was sitting. At least he would find out where Irina would be placed. Aerik wondered about his siblings, and what it meant for Rivan’s twin, Artemis ( Lunaria Talon ). This was the first time since they had gone through the entrance exams that they were being reassessed. Maybe this time would be a bit more fair.

 

[Aspect of Passion]

One by one students stood as their names wer ecalled, only to sit back down with the binary joy or dissapointment. Some thought they deserved more, others were faintly excited to raise their ranks to a new Cohort, and the key among them were those who helped fill in the second and third cohorts that had opened up. Each was called, then each was returned to their seat as food was brought out. Some moved their seats to their new tables already, and began to devour the qualitatively better food.​

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Others, like Soldane Talon continued to sit where they were.​

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Eventually, Darth Ognitio had come to those eagerly awaiting the call of their names;​

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" Irina Jesart . 31st. For exceptional prowess on the battlefield in the face of Jedi.", he said with a nod towards her. She had been raised the to the Third, but a rank directly infront of her ally Rivan. That meant if he were to raise up to the Third, he would have to force her to join the Fourth again. The Sith tutors of the academy had directly made them at odds, in spite of their short alliance.​

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Irina couldn't see it, but Soldane grimaced and buried his head in the work of eating.​

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" Adean Castor . 26th. For remarkable skill in clandestine affairs.", Darth Ognitio had said, offer them too a nod before looking back to the scroll he worked his way through.​

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" Aerik Lechner . 64th. For their first blood, and all the reward that is due for it." Raised to the Fourth, Aerik was given the last of the positions - once more, a tenuous place that made him a target for all of the Fifth's, and looked down upon by the Fourth's who knew he would becoming for their own positions.​

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" Nouqai Veil . 17th. For exceptional performance.", and then he moved on - again and again as name after name was called.​

 

[Eira Dyn]

Location: Jutrand Academy
Attire: Casual
Tag: Open

The new placements were being called out, people who had killed a Jedi were moving up in rank and getting into the cohort above them. Shifting from 5th to 4th. Eira breathed in deeply, she could feel the nerves of chance to rise in the ranks. She had been working hard on her skills, killed Jedi in the exam, had disarmed and take the Lightsaber of another Jedi. She had even bled the crystal of the Jedi. Corrupting what was once light into darkness, as they should.

However, she had also failed to kill a soldier when defending the mining moon and she was aware that she was not coming from a highly respected family and with no real former training beside the brief time she had spent with Iuuna Talon before joining the academy. Right now, the Sith acolyte was calming her thoughts and attempting to reassure herself that she would rise in the ranks.

That she would be placed closer to where she belonged. Eira doubted that she would rise above the 4th but even that would be a greater achievement. It was a demonstration of progress and Eira would still be only moving upwards.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Jutrand Academy
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle.
Tag: Open

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Reicher Vax stood at attention near the entryway of the Hall of Adekos, his posture rigid and precise, as if carved from the same stone as the alchemic gargoyles that loomed overhead. The Empire wasn't going to let the pride of their new hopeful be left alone, even if their gargoyles watched. The Empire demanded its own presence, so he was flown in with his squad, the Decurion on the other side of the entryway next to him. His hands rested loosely on the hilt of his vibroblade, a calculated gesture that spoke of readiness without overt aggression. Despite his outward calm, Reicher's mind churned like a storm-tossed sea, his thoughts as sharp and precise as the blade at his side.

He scanned the rows of students seated beneath the opulent arches, the air thick with tension. The echoes of their whispered conversations mingled with the faint hum of the alchemic energy radiating from the gargoyles. It was impossible to ignore the smell of antiseptic and bacta emanating from the bandaged and battered students. These were the survivors of Mijos—the ones who had endured the carnage.

Endured, but barely, he thought grimly, his eyes briefly flickering toward Tarsius Kur.

The "First of Firsts" sat at the head of his table like a king, his aura as oppressive as the bloodstained reputation that preceded him. Tarsius was everything the Sith valued: ruthless, ambitious, cold and utterly devoid of restraint. Reicher could still see the fresh scars on the boy's knuckles and the faint smear of dried blood on his lip. Rumors abound that Tarsius had devoured a Jedi. Whether true or not, a statement as much as it was an act of brutality.

Efficient? Certainly. But reckless. It's no wonder our ranks bleed so easily.

Reicher's gaze moved across the room, lingering on the other students. Some were barely more than children, their faces pale with fear or exhaustion. Others, like Alani Crake, radiated quiet confidence, utterly unaffected by the carnage that had unfolded days ago. Yet, even among the confident ones, Reicher saw the cracks—hesitation in their eyes, stiffness in their posture. The Mijos attack had exposed them, shown the galaxy their vulnerabilities.

This is the problem with the Academy, Reicher thought, his jaw tightening. They throw these students into trials to weed out the weak, but what does it leave us with? Survivors, yes, but broken ones. We don't build strength; we scavenge it. The Empire demands loyalty and fear, but it forgets that fear without structure is chaos.

The Provost's voice echoed through the chamber as he called out the rankings, each name falling like a stone into the sea of murmurs. Reicher watched the students closely, noting the subtle shifts in their reactions. Some glowed with pride; others shrank in shame. These rankings were everything here—status, power, identity.

And yet, the system is flawed. The strong rise, but without discipline, their strength is wasted. Look at Tarsius—brilliant, yes, but impulsive. He's a blade without a sheath, a weapon that cuts indiscriminately. And when he burns out, as they all do, what will be left of him? Of the Empire? He acts intelligent, acts cold, but he simply hasn't learned yet how to scream his nature out into the world, does that make him more dangerous, or less?

Reicher's thoughts turned to his own training, years of grueling drills and missions that had forged him into the soldier he was now. He respected the Sith's emphasis on strength and power, but he also saw its inefficiencies. The obsession with constant competition bred paranoia and waste. Students killed each other over petty grievances; promising recruits were discarded because they didn't fit the mold.

What we need isn't more bodies to fill the ranks. We need discipline. Cohesion. A vision. But the Sith cling to their chaos as if it's a virtue, blind to the fact that the strongest empires in history were built on structure, not savagery.

The Provost paused to dab his brow, his exhaustion palpable. Reicher suppressed a scoff.

Even our leaders are crumbling under the weight of their own ambitions. This man, Darth Ognitio, looks like he could collapse at any moment. And yet, they call this strength. They call this order.

As the Provost continued down the list, Reicher's mind returned to the flurry of politics that surrounded the Academy. The Mijos attack had sent shockwaves through the Sith Empire, sparking a scramble to replace the fallen students. Nobles and warlords would soon descend upon the Academy, each vying to secure a place for their heirs, to ensure their bloodlines survived, this careless type of 'training' would just get more killed.

More pawns for the board. More chaos disguised as progress. The Empire claims to be the ultimate expression of strength, but all I see are pieces being sacrificed in a game without strategy.

Reicher's grip on his vibroblade tightened slightly, his thoughts darkening. He knew better than to voice these criticisms aloud. To question the system was to invite suspicion, to brand oneself as weak or disloyal. But deep down, he wondered how long the Sith Empire could sustain itself before its foundations crumbled beneath the weight of its own hubris.

Perhaps that's why I'm here—to watch. To learn. And when the time comes, to act.

For now, Reicher remained silent, the ever-watchful sentinel. The gargoyles above seemed to share his vigil, their alchemic eyes unblinking as the Provost's voice carried on, reshaping the hierarchy of the Academy once more.

 

[Darth Cringe]

TAG: OPEN

The Academy was rather grim, that was how Crin would describe it. Despite this he moved about the other campus with his usual jovial jaunt, snaping his index and thumb finger as he walked, his dark hair bouncing with each step. The hushed voices over slaughter were heard, that students had perished before they could even graduate. There were perils with becoming pupils in the ranks, the dark side he had heard at lectures "culled the weak," and "drew one to conflict, for only in conflict did one learn their place in the Order." The truth is Crin already knew his place, he was a Bombad Sith Acolyte with dance moves none could rival! As he kept the constant snapping of his fingers, he saw some fellow students, most of them hard at study or processing the recent loss. He came to a bench, we a lone Student with horns sat, their skin red as the sabers they trained with. Taking a seat next to this rather imposing figure, The Cringlord shot both of his index fingers at him saying,
"Hey! How is your day? Causing mayhem? Making em fear?"

The Daevaronian turning with his molten eyes made a gruff snort. It was how many of his kind tended to greet people like Crin, so he did not take it personal.
"I heard they are hosting a big Dance! Well the Big Wigs anyway, I should go and bust a move! What about you?"
The Horned Sith squinting,
"I don't dance.."
Crin had gotten some words at last, instead of another grunt.
"Think of all the ladies! All there to bask in the glory of me! As I turn that dance floor into a groovy place!"
The Devaronian groaned,
"You speak with a lot of..'confidence' I would rather impaled my enemies on my horns than set a foot at a dance."
That was rather dark and to be expected, they were Sith, Crin was just more.. loose and not so serious. Someone had to be, so that ones like this Horned Warrior could brood.
"What if you could be named Prom King?" asked the Cringelord.
The Red Acolyte looking at him said,
"There are no more Sith Kings.. they all perished and now the Lords reign."
Darth Cringe sighed,
"I did not mean a literal king my friend.. its elected upon."
The Devaronian scoffed,
"Democracy is the enemy! We rise beneath the power of our glorious Order and Hierarchy! It is the Jedi Scum and their Alliance that speaks of elections! They pick whom they choose, but as it is written, 'the Force has elected us!" (Darth Plagueis).

Crin could tell that he was not going to get through to his Serious Classmate.
"What if you came just to stand in the corner? You know.. maybe one of the Lords would see you or whoever is going to be there would notice and you might get sent on a mission or be picked as an apprentice!"
The Horned Acolyte turning to Crin shook his head,
"I am not worthy to stand in the presence of the Lords.. and I would not make spectacle of myself to garner favor. I shall through training, discipline, and applying the academy's lessons learn to become an instrument for the Order."
The Cringelord sighed, it was clear that they had very different methods of advancement. Crin found lessons to be rather boring, hearing about Dead Guys with immense powers who were now dust did not interest him. While he did enjoy saber training, incorporating his dance moves into the combat, his instructors found his unorthodox style to be.. what was the word, "lacking substance." In fact, the Cringelord was beginning to worry he was going to flunk out of the Academy, he had missed a lot of homework, and the normal path of garnering attention to graduate and be selected by a Master seemed beyond his reach. If he washed out, he had no idea what would become of him, the thought of it made him want to cry.. which he must'in, not now anyway, and so he banished his thoughts and told his bombad self would somehow make it through. He had one thing going for him, a word neither Jedi or Sith liked, luck. Somehow he was able to slip out of situations, ones that might maim or even kill others. He attributed it to his awesomeness, though in actuality it probably had something to do with the way he carried himself, he was loose and did not tense up, he had no angst, not anxiety, save for when the tears flooded and for some reason they gave him strength. He never shared this strange phenomenon, fearing an Sith Scientist might want to examine him.. and well, leave his head scrambled like parts of a droid...

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Sith Academy, Jutland
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle, Datapad.
Tag: Darth Cringe

The metallic ring of Reicher's boots echoed through the corridors of the Sith Academy, a steady rhythm that contrasted sharply with the chaotic buzz of energy the Academy always seemed to exude. The whispers of power, ambition, and survival reverberated through its darkened halls, and Reicher was no stranger to the undercurrent of tension that followed every footstep. He had been sent here on guard duty, a task he found tedious but necessary. After all, even a Legionnaire had to obey orders.

As he rounded a corner leading to the Academy's main courtyard, the distant sound of snapping fingers and an obnoxiously enthusiastic voice grated against his focus like sandpaper on steel. His crimson visor scanned ahead, detecting the source of the disturbance.

Crin.

Reicher sighed inwardly. That one. Always that one. The so-called "Cringelord" had become a notorious figure among the Academy's staff and enforcers—not because of his strength or cunning, but because of his maddeningly casual demeanor. To Reicher, it was a glaring contrast to the atmosphere of discipline and struggle that the Academy demanded.

When Reicher stepped into the open courtyard, the sight before him was both unsurprising and mildly infuriating. Crin was gesturing animatedly, a wide grin plastered across his face as he prattled on about dances and "busting moves." Beside him, a Devaronian acolyte sat rigidly, his molten eyes simmering with barely concealed disdain. Despite himself, Reicher couldn't entirely fault the Devaronian for his stoic composure—it was one of the few reasonable responses to Crin's antics.

Reicher cleared his throat sharply, the modulated sound amplified by his helmet's vocalizer. The courtyard fell silent, save for the faint hum of distant machinery. Crin froze mid-snap, his hands still poised in their ridiculous gesture, and turned slowly to face Reicher.

"Acolyte Crin," Reicher said, his voice cutting through the air like a vibroblade, "is there a reason you're broadcasting your lack of discipline to the entire Academy?"

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[Darth Cringe]

TAG: Reicher Vax

Crin was snapping his fingers as he was want to do, when in mid snap he heard a voice, it was muffled and as if it was in a metal container. Turning he saw Reicher, the Trooper who in his armor and armed with his blade was rather intimidating. The Cringelord took a moment to smile at him, and then consider a moment his words. There was that word again, "discipline," which he had been hearing from all the instructors. To this he decided to recite the Code, something they had to say before classes and before bed, and be able to say at a moment's notice.
"Peace is a lie, there is Passion.' Are we not to be passionate? Is that not how we gain strength?"
Standing up he almost skipped across the ground to come closer to his Reicher,
"Discipline.. is that not all the Jedi go on and on about? They have no fun, I though we were the fun team, and instead I think we should be called Grim Team."
Crin was on a roll, he felt it. He had applied the Sith Code in his case for why he was Cringelord. How could anyone question it? To question it would be to question the Creed, and well.. that lead to madness. The Code was one of few things Crin felt resonated, all its talk about passion, when he exuded passion and unbridled enthusiasm.
Looking at Reicher he gave a look with his mascara and said,
"You wanna see my epic pose? I have been perfecting it!"
He took his Staffsaber in hand and stood, his eyes darting beneath his black bangs that fell in his face, with tilt of his head, they flew to the side of his scalp, and he stood there holding the saber with on hand and taking a step, posing like some of the statues in the Academy. He was rather proud of himself, smirking as he gave a look of "don't mess with me!" In truth when he tended to do this pose his classmates often dispersed, and at the mess hall no one sat with him. He told himself that his empty table was because he was just too awesome, and needed the whole table to himself. In truth, deep in his heart which sensed what he tried to hide from in his antics, he knew he was not well liked. The loudest and most talkative of his peers was because deep down, even he knew that he felt out of place, and was waiting on the day that the Instructors sent him with his sack on a transport to either be rid of him or put him at front and hope his luck ran out...

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Sith Academy, Jutland
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle, Datapad.
Tag: Darth Cringe

Reicher's helmeted head tilted slightly, the crimson glow of his visor catching the flickering shadows of the courtyard. Crin's antics unfolded like a holodrama gone horribly off-script, a farce meant for an audience that wasn't present—or, if it was, had long since decided to stop watching. The staff saber pose, the theatrical tilt of the head, the flourish meant to intimidate or inspire… it was almost painful to witness.

Almost, because Reicher knew that if this was painful, than the current antics of the largest of the Sith were downright depressing.

"Acolyte Crin," Reicher began, his tone flat but cutting. "If this is your version of 'passion,' then it's no wonder you're sitting alone in the mess hall."

"You know why your classmates leave when you enter a room? It's not because they're intimidated by your 'greatness,' Crin. It's because they're hoping you'll disappear into the Force before you embarrass the Order any further."

"If I had a credit for every second you wasted trying to be the Academy's resident clown, I'd have enough to buy the Jedi Temple outright."

The Devaronian snorted quietly but quickly stifled it under Reicher's withering glare. The courtyard fell silent again after Reicher's onslaught, the air heavy with tension. Reicher allowed the moment to linger, let Crin stew in his own exaggerated posture.

"You recite the Code as if it were a shield against your own inadequacies," Reicher continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "Passion gives us strength, yes. But strength requires more than enthusiasm and theatrics. It requires focus. Control. The very discipline you so flippantly dismiss."

He gestured subtly toward the statues lining the courtyard, their imposing forms carved in honor of the Academy's most legendary Sith Lords. "Do you think they achieved greatness by prancing about like a court jester? By making 'epic poses' in the face of conflict? No. They understood the value of purpose. Every action, every decision, was a step toward mastery. Toward power."

Sadly this was a lesson that every Sith right now needed to be taught, even sadder was that Crin was the only one who might just listen. This was definitely a cathartic moment for Reicher.

Reicher's voice dropped lower, colder. "And you, Crin, are wasting both your time and ours with this... performance."

The Legionnaire's grip tightened slightly on the hilt of his vibroblade, though he didn't draw it. He didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to loom over the flamboyant acolyte like a storm cloud ready to break.

"You want to be 'passionate'? Then show it in your training. In your battles. In your actions that actually matter." Reicher's visor locked onto Crin's gaze, the glowing red light unyielding. "Because out there, beyond these walls, no one cares about your poses or your jokes. The galaxy is not a stage, Acolyte. It's a battlefield. And if you don't take that seriously, then you'll be the first to fall when the real tests come."

Reicher straightened, his posture rigid as steel, his tone sharp enough to cut durasteel. "You want to be the 'fun team'? Then perhaps you're better suited to an audience with the Jedi because trust me, you would fit right in with that crowd of hooligans. Here, however, you'll find that only the strong survive. And right now, Crin, you're looking very weak."

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[Darth Cringe]

TAG: Reicher Vax

The Trooper was endeavoring to break his spirits, and he had some success, inside the Emo Sith felt a pang, the words about his peers cutting. On the surface he shook it off their rejection, deep down he mourned that he did not have any real friends. The one before him liked regiment, and when he went on about those Dead Lords, Crin nearly dosed off. It was curious that this stalwart soldier of the Sith Order was bothering to lecture him, which made him come to the conclusion that he must care to some degree, sure he wanted to snuff out his zeal, that was all this grumbly sort did, though he knew the slaughter of acolytes was fresh and so some of this was self protection in guise.
"A Shield perhaps.. though does not each Sith interpret aspects of the Code as their own? The Elevation of the Self makes that invitable."
In regards to his classmates, and this Trooper he said,
"I wonder.. if I am the problem, or you all are. Tell me friend.. if I can become such nuisance, my cheerfulness and swagger such an impediment, what will you do when you face more charismatic souls in the galaxy? Hmmm? You speak of weakness, and yet you confess that I agitate you, and supposedly all my classmates, if all of you truly had strength, you would be able to cope. If my smiles, groovy moves, and undeniable charm is your downfall already.. I fear the Jedi have already won. They seem to be able to detach from being bothered, are we not stronger than they?"

Crin was rather happy with himself, he was a master at rebuttals. As he snapped his fingers he said,
"As for your esteemed Lords, they are all dead. I wonder.. did all of them obesses over the teachings of dead Lords? Did not Darth Bane break away from the convention, making the Rule of Two, leaving in the dust the old path of many Sith? Did not Darth Krayt get called a heretic by the dead lords and yet built The One Sith with him as head? Tell me.. are we not to evolve? To grow beyond those who came before, or are we to consult dead guys all our lives? Letting them puppet us from the grave? Was that not the folly of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma? They listened to some Dead Lords tell them they were great, yet their empire did not last.."
It seemed those history classes had stuck afterall, and now he was using them as a weapon as he snapped his fingers. That was the problem with Crin, he would seem the fool and next minute wax as a poet or sage. His enigmatic behavior made him hard to predict, and that was one of the reasons he made his peers uneasy. The Sith liked order, and yet he had made the point that some of most influential Lords in their history had not followed the structure imposed by those before them. This was Crin's life raft, that perhaps he was as they, at the moment a nobody, but potentially he could bring reform, a new step forward for the Order. Were there not sects already? The Creepy Undead Eternalists, the Cult of that Father with a harem of ladies and starship? Oh and the Tsis.. Ninjas who's master was stuck down and now had a Marr and a Masked Phantom leading them. Nothing about all of them struck him as following exactly in the path of the Lords that came before, three sects was not something he recalled in history, the Triumvirate yes, but separate cults at once within an Order? That was more a Jedi thing.

The remark about him joining the Jedi made his chuckle,
"Jedi do not know how to dance, and besides are you the definitive authority on passion? Is there only one passion or many passions? Hmm?"
Never had Crin been so on, wanting to show his wit and make this Trooper rethink labeling him a nuisance. In truth, he was just glade someone was engaging him at all, seeking him out to talk. Sure it was typical Sith put downs, they all were angsty folk who had to assert their greatness. Which was the rub, he did the same, boasting about himself, was that not very dark side? What if not pride was a path to becoming a true pupil of Bogan?

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Sith Academy, Jutland
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle, Datapad.
Tag: Darth Cringe

​

​

​

Reicher stood still for a moment, his stance unyielding as Crin delivered his rebuttal, snapping fingers and waxing philosophical like some self-proclaimed prophet of the Sith. The soldier's visor remained fixed, its crimson glow unflinching, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of flamboyant energy Crin exuded. When Crin finally finished, the courtyard felt heavy with silence, every word he'd spoken hanging in the air like smoke after a firefight.

"Are you done?" Reicher asked, his tone devoid of anger, yet carrying the weight of an armored battalion bearing down on an unprepared foe.

He took a step forward, the durasteel of his boots grinding against the stone with deliberate precision. "You make some points, Acolyte. Points that would impress someone unfamiliar with how this galaxy actually works. But here's the thing: none of that changes the fact that you're insufferable."

Reicher gestured with a gloved hand, sweeping it across the courtyard and toward the towering statues. "Yes, the Code is subjective. Yes, each Sith interprets it differently. But interpretation is not an excuse for mediocrity. Those you mentioned—Bane, Krayt, Kun—they didn't use the Code as a shield or a crutch to deflect their weakness. They used it as a weapon. They innovated because they had the strength to evolve, the intelligence to see beyond convention, and the discipline to execute their vision."

He stepped closer, his presence looming over Crin like a stormcloud. "You? You hide behind this idea of 'evolution' as if being unpredictable and obnoxious makes you a revolutionary. You think you're different, that your antics set you apart. But in truth, you're just noise. Empty, meaningless noise."

Reicher paused, letting the weight of his words settle before continuing. "You think you're the problem or that we are? Fine. I'll grant you that perspective. Maybe you're right, and we're all just too weak to handle your 'groovy moves' and 'undeniable charm.' But ask yourself this: when your classmates avoid you, when your instructors dismiss you, when you sit alone in the mess hall—are you really winning? Or are you just lying to yourself to keep from facing the truth?"

He gestured toward the statues again, his voice sharpening. "Yes, those Lords are dead. But their legacy isn't. Their strength isn't. They earned their place in history by understanding that the galaxy doesn't reward noise—it rewards action. Purpose. Focus."

Reicher straightened, his hands resting at his sides, but his presence unyielding. "As for me being agitated by you? Let's be clear: you don't bother me. You amuse me. You're a distraction, Crin. A sideshow in a galaxy that has no patience for clowns. And if you think for one second that the Jedi would roll their eyes the same way, that they would lambast you here and now just as I am, you are wrong. The clown carnival of the Jedi is open for you if you want to continue a mediocratic lifestyle such as you partake in now."

The Legionnaire leaned in slightly, his visor glowing brighter, the crimson light casting faint shadows across Crin's face. "You want to dance your way to greatness? Fine. Prove it. Prove to me, to your peers, to this Order, that your moves mean something. Because until then, Crin, all I see is a boy who thinks he can laugh his way out of the harsh truths of this galaxy. And let me assure you: the galaxy does not laugh back."

Reicher looked somewhat depressed now, he took a look at the sky and looked back down at the acolyte.

"You will go far, Crin, because all the Sith have the exact same issue, but you will never be a true Sith. Let us hope your unabashed attitude sheds light on their own faults."

​

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[Darth Cringe]

The Cringelord listened to Reicher Vax speak of the very things that he buried deep down in his soul. It was one thing to be as he was, and have talent, to demonstrate when it mattered that you could carve out a place in this Order. To all these words, which fell on him like ice in shards on his soul he said to Reicher, I am n
"You are right.. you are right."

Suddenly his loose disposition gave way to a cloud, a fog that covered his face, his eyes suddenly changing from their deep haznut to amber. A tear began to descend from one socket, as he pondered everything this Trooper had said.
"I am noise.. a gong clanging in the distance, while you and others are the sharp edges of a saber."
Another tear fell from his other eye, though strangely it was hot, burning the ground where it lay.
Looking up at the Trooper he said,
"I do appreciate that I amuse you.. that you take time to try and offer me reproof. The Instructors have given up, that you are right. I just.. this is how I am.. I cannot be a somber soul, though.." looking Devaronian and then at Trooper, "I envy that you are able to be so. That is why you are well liked.. you belong here.. maybe I do not.. and if I do not.. at least you have been honest, which is more than I can say for many Sith who still their tongues or use the art of deception."

He turned as he slung her Staffsaber on his back, he saw a storm forming, bolts falling at a tall Obelisk in the distance on a mountain. There he had many a morn had to march up to it, hiking in wee hours of night as the Drill Sargent shouted at how he was Wom Rat going to be sqaushed by his boot hill if he failed to make it around the obelisk in time and back down the mountain. He remembered when he was tied to it for failing, and bitter cold wind beat at him, and he laughed in defiance. There had to be an answer, that he could be himself and yet ascend, do as this Classmate had tried to spur him to do, become disciplined, and excell, to rise as the Darths had done for eons. He had to make a choice, keep being noise or back it up with action as this friend.. well he considered him a friend, who else would provide advice when he was at precipice of washing out. Turning to the Trooper he said,
"Reicher.. will you take the Sargents post? Promise to smite me with words and hold me accountable if I fail the Ascent?"
His mascara was running and his face which had been giddy with triumph now was marked by desperation. If anyone could chide him it would be a Sith Trooper. The Devaronian stood up and said,
"I will march with you to the summit brother.. physical discipline is sacred to me."
The Cringelord looking at Reicher had made his plea, he spun the words back to the Trooper,
"Let me prove to you in this first step that my moves mean something."

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Sith Academy, Jutland
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle, Datapad.
Tag: Darth Cringe

​

Reicher's visor remained locked on Crin as the acolyte spoke, his demeanor steady and unreadable. The transformation in Crin's tone, from defiance to desperation, was as loud as any battle cry. This was no longer the swaggering boy trying to command attention through antics. This was someone standing at a crossroads, unsure which path to take but desperate to find the right one.

The storm rumbling in the distance cast faint shadows across the courtyard, its energy crackling like a reflection of the tension between them. Reicher waited for Crin to finish, letting the silence stretch for a moment before speaking. His voice, still modulated through his helmet, was steady and low—not harsh, but carrying a weight that demanded attention.

"You think The Ascent will prove something, Crin?" he asked, his tone calm but edged with steel. "You think dragging yourself up that mountain, enduring the elements, will suddenly make you worthy of this Order? That it will transform you into the Sith you want to be?"

Reicher shook his head slightly, the faint hum of his armor punctuating the motion. "You've already climbed that mountain a hundred times, haven't you? Tied to that obelisk, facing the cold, enduring punishment. And yet, here you stand, still asking for validation. Still thinking you have to prove yourself through someone arbitrary standards and stupid tests."

He took a step closer, his presence looming yet not oppressive, the crimson glow of his visor casting faint reflections in Crin's tear-streaked face. "The Ascent is not the answer, Crin, because you don't need it. The truth is, you've only fulfilled the first part of the Sith Code: passion. You've embraced your base emotions—your need for attention, your defiance, your exuberance. But passion alone is not enough. It's just the beginning."

Reicher gestured subtly toward the statues surrounding them, their weathered faces eternally gazing down. "Do you think those Lords gained their power by stopping at passion? By indulging in their base emotions and going no further? No. They took that passion and forged it into something greater. Strength. Strength to overcome their limitations, their weaknesses. Strength to command, to dominate, to shape the galaxy itself."

His voice hardened, the weight of his words bearing down on Crin like a hammer. "You've failed, Crin, not because you're loud or flamboyant, but because you've stopped. You've let your passion burn brightly, but you haven't let it consume you, you look upon the lava of the volcano yet refuse to drop yourself into it. You haven't let it forge you into something stronger. You've mistaken noise for power, chaos for strength. And until you understand that, no amount of climbing, no amount of punishment, will make you anything more than what you are now."

Reicher paused, letting the words sink in before continuing, his tone softening slightly. "But here's the thing: you can still change. You can take that passion—the fire that drives you—and channel it. You can make it more than a spark that burns out in a moment. You can let it become the furnace that tempers you into something unbreakable."

He stepped back, his hands resting at his sides, his posture firm but no longer confrontational. "You don't need The Ascent to prove yourself, Crin. You need to prove yourself to yourself. Stop chasing validation from others. Stop looking for shortcuts or grand gestures. The Sith Code isn't about theatrics. It's about survival. Mastery. The improvement of the self."

Reicher inclined his head slightly, the faintest hint of approval in his tone. "If you want my guidance, I'll give it. But not as your Sergeant, not as your superior, and certainly not as someone who will coddle you. I'll guide you as someone who sees the potential buried under all the noise. But that potential means nothing if you don't start forging your own strength, besides I am set to rotate out of here in a couple days anyway..."

His visor turned toward the distant storm, the lightning arcing across the sky like the Force itself made manifest. "Through passion you gain strength. That's the next step, Crin. Show me—show yourself—that you can take it."

​

 

[Darth Cringe]

---

Crin listened to The Trooper, who went on about what his fault was, that he had come to a stand still at the first part of the Sith Path. There was truth in what he said, though he could never be as iron as his soon to be leaving classmate. The Cringelord would not banish who he was, at least not the jubiliant side, though he knew in the disciplines something needed to change, and he had asked this Crimson Armored Ritter to help him. He question the purpose of the Ascent, to which Crin replied,
"The Climb is not about the body.. it is about the journey within.. if I am to move past this stand still and not wash away with the rains.. I have to do this."

The Thunder Clouds began to crackle, and the storm began to brew above the mountain. Crin looking to Devaronian said,
"Brother.. will you tilt with me at the top? I need to move past theatrics, I feel it something brewing underneath.."
The Horned Acoylte gave a nod.
Turning back to Reicher Vax he said,
"Beware brother.. you observations about my deficiences have merit.. but if you are ever are to command.. some encouragement is warranted.. or else you will be consumed by the very ore that you wear. If you wish to tag along so be it.. I owe you for spurring this chance at redemption but my destiny lies in my own hands.."
Crin's tone was so serious, and snapped like the blade of a saber, nothing like before. He began to march towards the path that lead up to the Summit, beside him the tower Devaronian who seemed for some reason chosen to assist him. Snapping his fingers, he kicked his boots on the ground and said,
"It is now or never.. here goes nothing!"

He began to charge, sprinting, beneath his feet a wave of energy throwing up pebbles and debris, the Horned Acolyte keeping pace as the began to ascend, the rains letting fall their drops, so that Crin's black hair was soaked, and his robes slick, his black boots sliding on the uneven pavement, He took his Staffsaber and dug the hilt into the steep hill and began to row through the mud upward, letting out a cry, the Devaronianwas ahead of him, he made this look easy, almost at the obelisk. Getting up there, he ignited his end of the saber, the ruby blade cutting through a bush as this Cringelord waded his way to the summit, he made his way there, where the Horned Acolyte had ignited a purple blade, and without hesitation lunged at him with avalanche cut, the blade bearing down on Crin, who caught it with his blade as a polearm, his long hilt he poised with his body as he then stepped on to the thershold. Spinning his long shaft, he began to jab and thrust, his robes droppng small pools of mud mixed with rain water, his eyes aflame as he cried out. The Horned Acolyte spun his blade around in a sweep and went for his legs, Crin leapt over them in his boots in dance move, and bore hilt down on the arm of opponent and then took the deactivated in and bore it into her arm pit, he then went to ignite the blade, the switches near the emitter, when the Devaronian using his horns beat the Boy in the head knocking him back, he losing control of his staff weapon as he fell into the mud. The Horned Acolyte growled at he leapt into the air, a bolt of lightning falling and striking the obsidian obelisk next to them.

Crin rolled as the blade tore through the ground and disturbed earth. He pointing his hand, reaching out to his chrome hilt that was lying in the muddy water, it shook as he tried to call it to himself. The Horned Acolyte recovering swept around, his lavander blade swinging beneath Crin's throat line as he threw his head back in a move that looked like his dancing stance, he then began to evade a flurry of strikes, and moved towards the obelisk, the Diablo cutting at him, making molten streaks on the cinder-block base that turned black quickly and sizzled as grill. Moving around the base, Crin reaching out with his hand, his elogated hilt rolling on the ground,
"Come on! Come to me now!"
As The Horned Acolyte swept his blade around the corner, and lopped off his cape, Crin ran towards his weapon which leapt up into his hand and he snapped both ends to life the two blades of blood that burned so brightly, them crackling as rain drops fell on them, steam rising. He spun around as he let out a cry, and swept both ends in a flurry, of cuts that made the Devaronian go into a defensive stance, the Cringelord was lost in this frenzy, his eyes burning as he beat at the Horned Acolyte's blade, moving him into base of the obelisk, when the bolt from above came and stuck, it carried down with water and met the Diablo and made him spark and fly to the ground, there in mud he began to sieze up, contorting involuntarily. Reaching out with a free hand Crin felt something, he drew the Warrior's head up and pressed it against the concrete base, he took his blade and looking at his opponet said,
"What is my place in his galaxy?! What is my place in the Order?! Tell me!"
The threw the Horned Man into the mud, and drew up his twin blades as he let out a loud cry when he thunder roared above. Looking up at totem his eyes glared,
"Relics! We worship the dead! I am alive! I am here and now!"
As he spoke, the Diablo had recovered and took his black hilt and turning with a face painted with emotion, he was not pleased at this outcome. He then leapt, snapping his blade to life, as he dug it into Crin's shoulder, and into cinder-block.
Crin turning to look at the proud Devaronian gave a smirk,
"My friend.. never forget where the ends of a staff are.."
He then swept the blade through back neck, and pulled it through, popping the head of the Warrior into the air, and Crin then slunk down into mud as the purple kyber was gone and he laid with his back at the base. Sitting there with his now deactivate staff, cradling it in his arms, his wound had a puff of smoke ascend as incense.

 

[Reicher Vax]

Location: Sith Academy, Jutland
Equipment: Standard Issue Sith Trooper Armor, Vibroblade, Standard Issue Blaster Rifle, Datapad.
Tag: Darth Cringe​

Reicher stood at the edge of the path, his visor glowing faintly in the storm's dim light as the battle atop the summit unfolded. The climb had been grueling, but the true test had come in the clash of sabers, the fury of Crin's passion meeting the raw skill of the Devaronian. The storm roared above, its chaotic energy a mirror to the battle below.

The Sith Legionnaire hadn't intervened—this wasn't his fight to resolve. It was Crin's trial, a forge in which the acolyte could temper his fire into steel or see it extinguished in the mud. Yet, Reicher's disciplined demeanor betrayed a flicker of something rare: hope. Hope that Crin might find his strength—not the wild, unchecked frenzy of his theatrics, but something more refined, something worthy of the Sith.

As the Devaronian's head separated from his body, spinning into the air before landing with a wet thud, Reicher finally moved. His steps were deliberate, boots crunching against the soaked ground, splashing lightly in the pools of rainwater that had gathered in the craters of the uneven path. He approached Crin, who sat slumped against the obelisk, his twin-bladed weapon cradled like a trophy and a shield, the rain mingling with the smoke rising from his wound.

Reicher stopped a few paces away, his armored figure framed by the towering obelisk, now scorched and blackened from the storm's fury. For a moment, there was only the sound of the rain and the distant rumble of thunder. Then, Reicher's modulated voice broke the silence.

"You did it," he said, his tone even, neither condescending nor celebratory. "But don't mistake this victory for an end. It's only the beginning."

He gestured toward the fallen Devaronian, his visor reflecting the lifeless form sprawled in the mud. "He was strong. Disciplined. And yet, he fell. Not because he lacked skill, but because he underestimated you. He thought your passion was unrefined, a weakness. You proved him wrong."

Reicher's gaze shifted to Crin's bloodied shoulder, the smoke still curling from the cauterized wound. "But strength alone won't be enough to keep you alive in this galaxy. You've learned to channel your fire, but now you must learn to control it. To wield it as a weapon, not as a crutch."

He took a step closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. "You spoke of relics, of worshipping the dead. You're not wrong. The Sith Order has its flaws—its traditions can be chains as much as they are guides. But the past holds lessons, Crin. Lessons you'd do well to learn, not out of reverence, but out of pragmatism."

Reicher's voice hardened, the authority of a soldier and a survivor cutting through the rain. "The galaxy doesn't care about your theatrics, your defiance, or even your victories. It cares about results. Survival. You've taken a step tonight, but don't let it be your last. You've proven you're more than a jester. Now prove you're more than a moment."

He extended a gloved hand, offering Crin a way to rise, to stand once more—not just physically, but as someone who had begun to forge their own path. "Come, I am to depart soon. This storm isn't over. But you're alive. And that means you have a chance to decide what comes next."

The rain continued to fall, the thunder rumbling like a distant drumbeat, as Reicher stood unwavering, his outstretched hand a rare gesture of respect and recognition in a galaxy that so rarely gave either.

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[Darth Kovras]

The Master watched as the two acolytes titled, their sabers shaking against each other in sparks, and the two battle for supremacy. His eye was on the Horned One who had superior strength, he beat the one in Make Up with a malice, and showed promise when his tip made purchase in the shoulder of the Boy who had been spouting nonsense. Then that Lad turned the tables, or rather his staff and popped the head of the Devaronian as one might a cork from a champagne bottle. Curious, so this Cringe One had more to them than the typical angst of youth. Another stepped into the scene, clade in the armor of a warrior, offering a hand to the Victorious. He spouted his own dogma about survival, which was the path of failure, Sith do not survive, they win. Without the thirst for absolute success, you simply were playing at darkness, wearing its outfits and doing the dance, not becoming true champions.

As the two began to leave, making their way down the mountain, the saber hilt of Felled Acolyte levitated and floating over to the shadow, ignited its purple light briefly, causing a ring of flame and a puff of smoke, followed a consistent trail of the same cloud, the light illuminating a face riven with scars and age, that had seen many hopefuls crash upon the rocks before their time. Greatness was not given, it was taken, the sooner these students learned that, the better. Alas he was not here in an official capacity, the Academy Faculty had not instated him as a Sensei, a Master to teach these youths to "Strike with all their Might, and Show No Mercy." No, he was here looking for a potential disciple, he had his eye on the Horned One till his head was severed, now his attention was on the mascara running one. He had potential, though taking a wound anyone could, and decapitating a enemy of similar rank was nothing to boast about, no.. to impress you had to take down a greater opponent, one that did not yield or play by the rules. Only then could you stand and expect the Darkness to open its eye and take notice.

For now the Hidden Master would watch and consider, if one was to carry on his legacy, his teachings, he would need to see a lot more than adolescent rage. He needed to see the potential to grow stronger, and more importantly, win.. at all costs.

 

[Darth Cringe]

The Cringelord seeing Reicher Vax was relieved that his friend.. well he considered him a friend, had seen his victory. His first step from doofas to disciple. More than that he continued to lecture him on what it meant to be a Sith, and Crin appreciating this gave a nod,
"Survival.. that is my chief aim.. I do not want to wash out. I will not apologize for my bluster, though I will make amends for where I have slipped into indolence."
The Offering of a hand made him smile, as he said to The Sith Trooper,
"You will be greatly missed upon your departure my friend. I foresee you being as awesome as me!" He chuckled, and then added with a serious tone, "I think you will become a great Sith.. I only hope learn from your example while I can."
The Force worked in mysterious ways, as Darth Sidious had once called it The Great Mystery. So many who thought they understood it, when they reached the threshold, found out how little they understood.

Crin was completely unaware of the powerful presence lurking in the Dark watching them. Another thing, was to explain why he had killed a fellow Acolyte. While it did happen at Academy, they were Sith after all, the issue would be people believing he had done it and then secondly what was justification for doing so, it was not like the Academy wanted to have all their prized students turned into multch before they Graduated. Crin had to now face that probably people would not sit with him at the Mess Hall now for new reasons.

Turning to Reicher Vax he said,
"I am famished.. would you dine with me at the Mess Hall?"
There was hint of desperation in his voice, for seven months not a soul had sat with him and what The Sith Trooper had said was true, his fellow classmates were avoiding him. And since Reicher was going to be departing, seeing a Trooper with such discipline and devotion would help others to acknowledge The Mascara Wearing Acolyte that just perhaps he was worth getting to know.