Another for the Fold

[Sinistra]

Sinistra had slept for two whole days after her return from Wild Space. She hadn't intended to, Darkness knows. She was riding off a low and she had nearly gotten herself killed on Nar Shaddaa. She could not afford such clumsiness again. Far too much was at stake for wrecklessness so she had put in for the transfer herself. At the temple on Coruscant, she would be forced into regimented routine. For now, she needed that.

Part of her wanted to sweep off to Gerrenthum but rumblings from the echelons of One Sith hierarchy had placed emphasis on checking in more frequently. Her loyalty had to be ensured. Sure, a couple of times, she was able to send Fela to be a proxy. The young adept had gotten imitation of the Sith Lord almost perfectly. She masked her presence, as Sinistra did. She was able to pass muster as long as she was only required to show up and croak answers through the vocoder.

However, those days were over. Her new assignment this time came in the form of apprentices. Two she chose, the other she was given. And so here she was, tired and dragging herself through the pit of a bad mood down to the training rooms, located in a wing of the temple grounds. The room was well stocked with anything she might need to put him through his paces, but Sinistra wasn't exactly leaping at the opportunity to double check the gear.

She leaned her back against the wall, her hood shrouding the masked helmet that disguised her from everyone and everything that should try to glean anything about her. Of course, there were some that knew what lay beneath the armor, however, for the most part she was a quiet enigma to the rest of the One Sith, save those who made a point to attend her training classes.

[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

[member="Sinistra"]

Talatheen sat, arms crossed - mood equally cross; it was a strange sensation, one so juxtaposed to his intent he could have damn well swore someone else had put the thought in his head. Despite the sarcasm of such a thought, he pondered it seriously for a moment before discarding it; no, he was just moody. It was a day of collective movement - he was together again, whole, unified beneath the trek that was the process of training. Real training; yes, he had run with pirate empires, plundered the tombs of ancient Sith Lords, been cast to the throes of drama - but none of that, that experience, compared to true tutelage in the path to become a Sith Lord: the ultimate milestone towards the completion of his goal. It took quite some initiative too; he had met plenty of Sith on his journeys, he had even befriended a good few of them - but, when it came to those who commanded true power, he was short on hand of potential masters capable of imparting upon him the opportunity to obtain real, tactile strength.

So, naturally, despite numerous potential leads that quite easily could have landed a vengeance-fueled strike of Force lightning upon his head (he had naturally made the assumption that, no, they wouldn't appreciate his rather destructive adventure on Korriban) he set sail to Korriban, forfeiting his duties for a brief moment (that's what officers were for) to friends and peers alike, and sought out to join the One Sith. It was both a simple and complex matter to convince them he was a worthy Acolyte, he had experience with a past master, one who had abandoned their ways, but once he thoroughly expressed his situation upon the threat of impending arrest, they seemed far more lenient to his strife and passed him on with only a few bruises. They were quite understanding. Yet, through all of this, he had neglected to consider what if, in the percentile chance lost within the realm of miracles and divine intervention, his master was an idiot? Surely, they had existed, asinine Sith Lord and all - the Sith, throughout history, had always, seriously lost at one point or another; but what if his particular master was prodigy of the brood of stupidity?

And, as always with creative minds, the whimsical current of overthinking, or as some would call it with much less finesse, paranoia, carried him away until his mood, in its entirety, soured. Oh yes, here he was on Coruscant, one out of a class of Acolytes - the chances were with him, he had experience, talent, a karkin' mask with horns, two consciouses in a single body, both strong in the Force - but, neigh, he had ruined his jolly decorum already. He now held his breath, waiting for some lethargic fool to drag their shebs into the room, the one he so patiently waited within, probably limping with clubfoot; damn, how did he get into this situation? He had gone entirely from excitement, negative speculation, to a full mental commitment to self-deprecation; he was certain that all his work was for naught, that, in fact, he would be so hopeless studying under this cretin he would be forced to kill himself. Now, upon such critical steps of concern, he became absolutely certain that this would be the only way out.

It was a damn good run, everyone. No light shines forever.

 

[Sinistra]

Sinistra had been waiting in the training room for several minutes, her patience dwindling until her com chimed with a rather ashamed steward informing her that she had been sent to the wrong room. Her new apprentice was waiting for her in a room on the next level. Frustrated with the complete lack of attentiveness, she passed up on choking the life out of the unfortunate messenger through the comlink. She would rather choke him in person anyway.

The correct location now found, she stepped into the room where the new recruit sat waiting. His appearance was rather odd, she could tell nothing about who or what lay behind the mask she believed to be covering his features. Not that she could blame him, as she appeared shrouded and masked herself. She did not offer apologies for the late hour of her arrival. She was here to assess him for training, not to have a polite conversation of the pitfalls of mask wearing.

She stopped before him, her crimson lenses looking down at him, the hem of her skirts and sashes brushing across his lap briskly.

"Rise and prepare yourself. I must know what you have learned."

She did not make an introduction yet. If he passed her tests and she accepted him, then he would be told the name of his new master. Otherwise, she only held stony silence.

[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

[member="Sinistra"]

Quickly and sternly she drew his attention away from suicidal ponder; was this the master? Likely, by the direction of the conversation it was an assessment; or perhpas this was an elaborate ploy? No, this line of overthinking had been stretched too thin, it no longer held the quirkiness that drove it to further heights. Talatheen's mind deflated, so he better perform with the expectant quality: he stood up, a bit uncomfortably close - perhaps the wrong move but he stood his ground. His cloak swished about him with vehement energy, his lightsaber hung, clinking softly against his thigh; he spoke, his voice metallic and deep, though moving with an air of a light tone - his moods were improving drastically at the sheer, imposing decorum of the figure - and quickly said, careful to deprive himself of contractions and fellow, cheap ilk: "Minor experience in lightsaber form one, Shii-Cho; proficient in Telekinetic skills, not from sheer training, but experience on the field; basic understanding of Force-augmented leaping, jumping- ah, and sense; skimmed over the concepts of Force-augmented speed and Mind Tricks, barely could be referred to as a poor understanding, if I do say so."

He straightened his poise following his silence; best make the greatest impression here and now, lest he blow his chance. Not an entirely unfamiliar concept, but those were troublesome thoughts for another day. Right now, he had best remain focused on the task at hand.

 

[Sinistra]

There was an arch to an eyebrow that could not be seen under the mask, and an errant thought that grated on her a little, but she could not expect him to be a mind reader. Listing off his skill level did nothing to help her understand what he knew, his assessment would be a practical test. She walked around him, sizing him up visually but also through the subtle read of the dark side. She could feel him through it, his doubt and uncertainty readable in his posture and his words.

"Where did you receive your training? How long did you study?" She rasped at him through the vocoder in her mask. It made her sound strange and otherworldly, certainly nothing about her voice sounded female, though her form and armor were shaped to a female form.

Next to the door of the room, there sat a low cabinet of metal that contained first aid kits, safety equipment, and various implements that could be used as instruments in exercises. She gestured to it, the light glinting red from beneath the edge of her hood.

"Use telekinesis to lift that cabinet and set it in the center of the room."

[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]

 

[The Talatheen Amalgam]

[member="Sinistra"]

Well, she (assuming it was a she; it could easily be a very feminine male) certainly seemed uneasy; or perhaps all full-fledged Sith were such. He was feeling a bit anxious, such that churned and contorted the unified form; such was the way with Daska, of the body - this needed to change. Definitive control was parted to the more intellect-aligned Hu, the form grew more rigid, though, primarily, its inadequacy in the depth of the Force remained apparent through the unpleasant display of lacked etiquette or mannerism: his voice absent the respectful titles departed upon the master of the dark side - his head not following her to signal he was listening - his body rigid and upright. Even with the more precise of the minds in direct control, he still fell below the standards of what was to be expected of himself, at least by his own standards in later review; he continued on answering her questions: "Lord Album Pruina, once Sith Lord, now Dark Jedi Master - an exile and fiendish creature drawn forth by her own greed."

His anger seethed, a sudden realization which caused him to pale; "Sorry," he apologized before he continued, "Eight years of training, primarily in knowledge pertaining to advanced educational standards in the history of the Force and its usage, as well as more specific niches such as Sith history; actual physical training would be crossed and implemented into these lessons - a poor tactic that resulted in my under-utilization." Yes, his voice formed stronger now - the deep echo which emanated from the back throat more distant and ragged, with a deeper lilt; "Most of what I grasp is what came through the necessity of survival. I've toned myself over the course of a guide's absence; behold as I do what you say." Yes, through the Force there is no size, but the precision of anger was of undone rage; picking it up was easy enough, their rightmost arm, that which was mechanical, grasped the cabinet through the tendrils of the Force; however, its movement betrayed his lack of finesse.

It levitated, easily so, but shook and move - not from the struggle of strength - but from the sheer undefined connection and, as he lowered it, he applied to much strength; it fell, hard. In the center of the room it slammed into the floor, the frame crumbling beneath the force of the blow. Medical kits, training equipment, general supplies spilt across the ground like giblets of gore - Talatheen winced at the sight; such was the nature of his usual usage - to throw, to shatter, to crush. Gentle was not a word which applied well to the Amalgam. "Ah, sorry; too hard, too hard," he apologized again in the once-more unified voice.

 

[Sinistra]

She cocked her head to the right, looking at the way the contents of the cabinet splayed across the floor. She shrugged, and with a quick flip of her wrist, the debris was swept aside.

"So you had a master who venerated the past without much thought on how to empower your future. Your lack of training in the more tangible pursuits can be remedied. You have knowledge of the Code, I would assume?"

She had begun to walk around the outer edge of the room, glancing at him as she spoke, but mainly walking with her hands behind her back and her eyes on the floor.

"Peace is a lie, and so it goes. We indoctrinate the newest into our house and give them a mantra to follow but what does it mean to you? Are you a thinker, can you be more than weapon the Dark Lord hurls at our enemies? What freedom lies in the Code for you?"

She stopped in front of him, her steely gaze piercing. Even behind the metallic glint and jeweled gaze of her mask.

[member="The Talatheen Amalgam"]

Spoiler

Sorry I'm behind on posts!