Faction A Thousand Cuts | Tython Jedi Temple (NJO, Jedi)

[Roten]

A Thousand Cuts
Tython Jedi Temple
Tags: Open

Kiba no Shimai​

Roten's giant kunai cleaved through the final training robot, the machine falling to the floor in a heap of scrap and sparking wires. A heavy breath escaped his chest as sweat dripped off of his brow, falling out of his thinner face fur. His chest rose and fell heavily, labored as though he were supporting a great weight on his shoulders. Roughly twenty five destroyed training robots were scattered about the training room, each one sliced up with varying degrees of brutality.

The Bursantian dropped to one knee for a moment, his clawed hands gently releasing his blades to set them down on the floor. It was fortunate that his skin was covered in fur. No doubt, had he been a smoothskin like most in the Order, it would have been apparent that he was covered in bruises. It hardly mattered that the training sabers the sparring robots made use of were low powered. Getting hit with a stick still left a mark, and hot plasma was hot plasma. His arms in particular had taken the brunt of it, shaking ever so slightly from the force of the blows he had endured compounding with his energy slowly draining. Yet the pain didn't seem to matter. All Roten could really muster up is frustration.

He had to be perfect. He wasn't some mindless pirate who had been raised to be a brute, he wasn't some nobody trying to fit into a place he didn't belong. Roten was a warrior, and he was going to be the best in the Order. Matthew of Valendale seemed to assail him with unending support, yet so far Roten didn't feel like he had proven himself in any regard to make him worthy of such a thing. It made his stomach turn. The Galaxy was a violent place where someone had to fight to earn their keep. Struggle and bleed to survive. There was a compounding frustration in it all that bothered the young man to no end. It couldn't be that easy. Everything he had been through growing up had to be the truth. Hadn't he experienced the cruelty of life? Wasn't that reality?

If this place was going to be gentle and cushy, at least he could keep himself grounded in reality. Was it reality? Roten didn't really know anymore. He just knew that he wanted to be flawless.

He had to be flawless.

"Again."

Five more robots activated, all wielding two training sabers. Jar'kai, Juyo, ten blades in total. No sparring robot that the NJO had were constructed to perform Juyo, at least not intentionally. It was a reckless form that wasn't typically taught to padawans. Roten wasn't satisfied with that. Even if he wasn't going to use Juyo, especially since it didn't favor his fighting style, he wanted his opponents to hit the harder. Faster. It hadn't taken long to jail-break them and upload new code. He had always been an adept tinkerer.

The training machines surged into action, striding forward in unison towards the young warrior they were surrounding. Each swing was made in tandem with their ally to the left or right respectively. One blade ahead to attack the target, one blade back to parry any incoming blow. Roten took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment as he took in the scent of his surroundings... The salt of his sweat, the faint electrical smoke wafting off the destroyed sparring robots...

Five blades came down in an arch. Roten pulled his kunai up to his hands with the Force and spun in a flourish, knocking back the training sabers with one stroke of each blade he held. Then he lunged at the first, one black kunai blocking the off-hand of the robot while the other plunged through the torso of the machine. It was quickly cast aside so his large daggers could intercept the blades of the next, which came from either side like a pair of scizzors. Roten brought the Kiba no Shimai up between them and used his leverage to force them aside. Next opening to strike, which he swiftly capitalized on to shred the next. Three left, all ahead of him now.

The sparring robots pressed ahead, trading heavy swing after heavy swing. They traded position with each other to cover their flanks, using an overwhelming barrage to wear Roten down. Block after block. Their programming, of course, was near perfect, but not even a program could be run without a mistake. The right flank moved forward, the robot performing a thrust that would easily skewer anyone should it have been a real blade. It over-extended, however, so when Roten sidestepped the blade he was perfectly positioned to capitalize and sever the arm. From there one kunai blocked back the remaining arm while the other severed the robot's head. Two remaining. The Bursantian was quick to act, maintaining his flow-state momentum as he swung for the robot that had been in the middle. The droid blocked in an x-guard, something that was very familiar to the young man's large red eyes...

Matthew eased his blade downward, slotting it into the center of the cross Roten's weapons had formed. With a deft twist, he leveraged both of Roten's blades aside, inverting his own hilt as he rotated it counter clock wise. The maneuver likely turned Roten with it lest he release his blades, momentum pulling him off-balance.

Then came the nudge, controlled, deliberate, almost playful push to the blades. His sunsword blinked off and on again in a sharp pulse, breaking the lock cleanly. Without missing a beat, he snapped a flicking strike toward Roten's flank, more encouragement to keep him moving and firmly away from Matthew's position.

Roten followed suit, easing one kunai down into the center of the guard. He twisted his blade in a similar, though more brutal fashion than his Master had on him, forcing the droid to expose it's flank. His other kunai was already primed to tear the machine apart. As the remaining robot moved in to strike, Roten brought his blades up to intercept... but his footing was wrong. One kunai was knocked from his grasp. He brought his other up to compensate only to lose grasp of it as well. This was it. So close to finishing the exercise perfectly, only to stumble at the end.

But the Bursantain didn't faulter. The young man reached out and grasped the hands of the sparring robot with his claws, digging them into the metal. With a strained snarl he wrenched the arms of the machine apart, fighting against its powerful joints. Electricity sparked in his maw. As Roten's jaw opened, his fangs became coated in raw electrical energy. He surged forwards and bit down into the face of the robot, frying its insides.

The final machine fell. Roten let out a heavy exhale, wiping the fresh saliva from his lip. It still crackled a little, the water ever conductive. That was it. Perfection. He hadn't taken a single hit.

Satisfied, Roten let himself fall backwards onto the floor, his limbs sprawling out as he took a moment to breath. Thrilling. Positively thrilling.

"Chit..."

If he ignored the fact that everything hurt.

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roten ​

A dark shadow slowly shifted and loomed over Roten . A large winged man had been watching him from the edges of the room and he'd stayed quiet observing carefully. He had drawn closer upon seeing the youth collapse to the floor and leaned over looking down to those beady little red eyes. " Are you satisfied?" Matthew asked in a simple curious voice.

 

[Roten]

Tython Jedi Temple
Tags: Matthew of Valendale

Kiba no Shimai​

" Are you satisfied?"

"...For a moment."

Roten sighed as he turned his head away, his mouth curling downward into a frown. That was a sight that took the wind out of his sails, not that he had much left given how exhausted he was. Matthew was so strange. The Bursantian could go from feeling justified in his actions to thinking he was childish in an instant. Already his mind was racing with what lesson this was going to be spun into.

The expectation that a mistake was going to be pointed out was always in the background of his mind.

"It's hard to feel accomplished when you ask me that," Roten muttered. "It makes me second guess if I should or not."

His fur bristled in frustration. He was prone to such things, of course, so regularly resulting in tunnel-vision. The young man hated those simple questions. He couldn't accept that there wasn't more.

"How much did you watch?"

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roten ​

Matthew remained silent as his student spoke, listening intently. He didn't respond right away, weighing the young Bursantian's words with measured thought. But to the final question, he gave a quiet answer.

"Oh... I saw enough," he said simply, his tone as gentle as ever.

He straightened then, rising to his full and imposing height. From behind his back, he extended a single gloved hand, and with a subtle gesture, the broken, battered droids scattered across the room began to stir. One by one, they lifted into the air and floated toward him. He laid them out with a meticulous precision, the kind that bordered on unnerving, arranging them in an almost obsessive pattern with effortless control.

"Perhaps," Matthew said at last, choosing his words with care, "you can enlighten me; What exactly were you doing? Or hoping to achieve?"
He turned those icey cold blue eyes back to his student on the ground.

"I believe you and I should have a discussion about perceived rights and wrongs," Matthew said evenly. "But before I decide on that course, I'd like to hear your thoughts,and your explanation for what you were doing."

Hacking the droids to implement his own, more dangerous training regimen was one thing. Destroying them entirely was another. And truth be told, Matthew wasn't sure Roten was the type to think his actions through that far in advance.

 

[Roten]

Tython Jedi Temple
Tags: Matthew of Valendale

Kiba no Shimai​

"you can enlighten me; What exactly were you doing? Or hoping to achieve?"

Roten sat up, his eyes momentarily flitting about the remains of the training robots as Matthew organized them. His power seemed so effortless.

"I was training," Roten stated plainly. "In a real world scenario taking a blow from a lightsaber is going to likely be lethal. I was running the same program repeatedly until I could do it without getting hit. If we're preparing for the inevitable possibility of war, we should strive to for perfection, shouldn't we? Mistakes mean you die, and I'm not keen on dying."

The Bursantian lifted his hand an pulled a piece of scrap to his claws, gently grabbing hold of it. A frown was firmly plastered on his face.

"If you're worried about the bots, there ain't much going on with 'em," he noted. "They ain't droids, no brain or personality core. Run off simple algorithms. Nothing expensive is getting jacked up, and I've been rebuilding these ones after every time I've run this exercise anyways. Nobody's credits are gettin' ran."

Roten was many things: Brash, impulsive, irritable. He wasn't unintelligent, however. Everything he made use of now he learned trying to survive. Working with machines, forging weapons, hunting for food... Every action had to have a long term intention behind it. Purpose that compounded to extend one's survival. He was maximizing his odds while minimizing the resource waste to achieve it.

But then again, it all came back to survival. Increasing probabilities. Perhaps it was simple-minded intelligence.

"How are we supposed to come to an agreement on what's right and wrong?" Roten asked. "We come from different worlds. There's never been a point in my life where I didn't expect to be stabbed in the back, or given a square meal without fighting for it. I'm not ashamed of that either. I'm alive because I earned the right to be alive. There shouldn't be moral qualms about doing what you need to do to survive, yeah?"

His tone came off as defensive, carrying a slight edge. As it went on, though, it only managed to waver. Roten paused for a moment before continuing.

"But there are moral qualms," he muttered. "I'm not a good person. I guess if the agreement for expectations is that my morals are wrong and yours are right then we've already reached it."

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roten ​

Matthew considered his student's words carefully.

"There are many solutions to combat. Combat is often quick and decisive, over in moments," Matthew stated simply.

"I think... you need to ease up on yourself," he assured, voice calm. "You remind me of a younger version of myself. Always chasing the next fight. Trying to be sharp enough, fast enough, perfect enough. You know what I found at the end of that road?"

He approached slowly, gaze calm, though not pitiful. With a graceful motion, he threw back his cloak, letting it ripple behind him as his massive wings opened in a languid flutter. Matthew came down from his towering height, dressed in white, and settled on the floor of all places, to sit beside Roten. His wings stretched and fanned outward, carefully spread so no pressure pressed too hard against the feathers.

"More blood. More scars. And a boy who couldn't look in the mirror unless he saw a weapon instead of a person."

He reached over and picked up a single piece of the battered training equipment, turning it over thoughtfully in his hands.

"You are a fine young warrior. I see it. And you're right; this galaxy can be cruel. But surviving isn't the same as living." His words slowed, thoughtful. "I don't want to take your edge from you. But I do want you to know that you are more than the sum of your scars. You don't need to prove your worth to me with every cut and bruise. You're not a broken machine that needs rebuilding. You're a young man learning what peace feels like."

He paused, letting the words settle in the air, then set the piece aside with care.

"Let yourself feel it."

Matthew sighed softly and turned, trying to meet Roten's gaze through the fluff of purple fur.

"Roten, there's nothing wrong with wanting to survive. There's wisdom in preparing, and even more in seeing the gaps others miss. You're not wrong to train until it's second nature. You're not wrong to be wary," he said, voice low.

"But you talk about perfection like it's the only way to avoid death. Perfection isn't life, and it isn't living. It's a defense against fear. And I don't think fear deserves to be your compass anymore."

He let that truth linger.

"You rebuild these every time. You could have just used one and let it burn out, but you didn't. You made something last. That's not just survival. That's care. That's purpose beyond the fight. Whether you see it or not."

His voice softened.

"You say you're not a good person... but a man who wonders if he is? That's the best kind of start. You don't need to carry shame to prove you earned your place. You're already here. And that alone means something."

Matthew rose to his feet again and bent slightly, offering his hand, just to help him stand beside him.

"Let me help you remember. There's more to being alive than not dying.... I want you to clean up here and get washed up and changed. Come meet me in the gardens I have something to give you that might help. "

 

[Roten]

Tython
Tags: Matthew of Valendale

Kiba no Shimai​

"You say you're not a good person... but a man who wonders if he is? That's the best kind of start. You don't need to carry shame to prove you earned your place. You're already here. And that alone means something."

"I..."

Roten couldn't bring himself to argue. He was too tired. If he did, he'd probably say something along the lines of 'that doesn't change what I did.' It didn't, if he had anything to say about it. Sure, Roten had alwasy been clear that he only fought capable warriors, but he had still killed them. They could have easily been defending their homes, or their comrades. What had he been fighting for?

Just because? Did survival work as an excuse anymore?

I want you to clean up here and get washed up and changed. Come meet me in the gardens I have something to give you that might help.

"Understood, boss..." the young man finally sighed.

The young man got to his feet and shuffled off. One sentence kept looping in his mind, something that seemed to attack Roten on a spiritual level. "More blood. More scars. And a boy who couldn't look in the mirror unless he saw a weapon instead of a person." It was closer to the truth than anything he had expected to hear. It was terrifying. How could someone else have such a clear vision of how he thought when his own mind seemed to be keeping him in the dark?

It made him wonder what Kalrath had known... Perhaps he had been discarded for a reason.


Roten would shuffle into the gardens in a simpler variation of his attire. No armor, no sash, just the baggy pants and sleeveless top. His arms were wrapped up in bandages now, soaked in a pain-relieving bacta solution. His fur was mostly dry, but a little flatter after carrying the weight of the water. His red eyes didn't seem to be fixated on anything in-particular.

He just sat down in the grass. The young man was calm, at least. Maybe that was a blessing in disguise. He wasn't sure if he was ready to listen to his thoughts...

From there he would wait.

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roten ​

Matthew arrived carrying something rather... large. It was dark black and egg-shaped, with the texture of basalt stone. Cracks ran all along its surface, faint but distinct.

He walked over to Roten and set the massive object down in front of the purple-haired boy. Then he reached out and gently ruffled the wet fluff atop his head.

"You should dry yourself off a little more so you don't catch a cold," Matthew said simply.

"This... is for you."

 

[Roten]

Tython
Tags: Matthew of Valendale

Kiba no Shimai​

"An... egg."

Roten took the large egg into his claws. Sizable, heavy, and textured like a rock. His hair seemed to stand up a little, as though it carried a faint electrical charge. Was it really an egg, or was it some strange sort of rock? he was careful with it either way.

It was heavy, not too much so but just enough to be a nuisance.

"What, is this thing gonna hatch a Krayt Dragon or something?" he remarked sarcastically. "What infant creature could break out of a rock shell..."

 

[Matthew of Valendale]

TAGS: Roten ​

Matthew chuckled. " Well... it is a dragons egg but not the kind that burrows deep. " Matthew stated simply. " It comes from my home lands. Inside is a baby stormclaw. I want you to take care of it. It's just an egg and it can't defend it's self.... If you take good care of it it'll hatch... if something happens... well the baby inside will die... think you can do it? "