D A R T H . S I R O N
Kestri
The sound of air sliced by a metal pole spun freely between the Lethan's hands filled the void briefly. "Come on then. You're not going to kill me standing there looking embarrassed." Two warriors had already been dropped to the ground and dragged further off to the side. It was one of those days when the unmistakably red woman danced around an impromptu arena with a few hot-blooded Mandalorians eager to make a name by killing her.
There were rules to the sparring session of course. First, no energy weapons. Mandalorians needed to know how to fight with their bare hands and stay mobile on a battlefield. Second, participants had to set foot in the circle with the intention to kill the Totally-Not-Sith Twi'lek. Anyone that showed the smallest sign of holding back got an extra beating. Third, Zlova wouldn't kill anyone that didn't violate one of the rules.
Not that people died in her little training sessions. There had even been a few Mandalorians that came close to killing her, or pushed her to using Force abilities in order to survive -- those were good matches. Naturally, a nearly unarmored, and scarcely clothed Sith Tattoo covered woman dancing about and whacking people with various martial weapons stirred up emotions. Pretty much ensured new people would step up, and familiar ones would returned determined to plant her in the ground permanently.
Zlova never tried to hide what she was, even if officially she was Mandalorian by virtue of the Quartermaster's decree (which happened to be just prior to the Enclave's declaration of war on all Sith). Why hide it as though she were ashamed? Everyone knew what she was. It gave them an excuse to fight, and that was precisely what she wanted -- surrounded by people that wanted to fight but didn't have a galactic dominating stick up their asses.
"Alright. Break!" Zlova slammed the butt of the pole down on the ground signaling an end to that batch of fights. Time for people to rest, get patched up, and maybe even think about what it was they'd seen or experienced first hand. Unlike a real fight, these people got an opportunity to reflect and do better.
The red woman drifted off to the side and propped the pole up against the base of a statue. She reached down to lift a bottle of water up to her lips. Even a Force-wielding terror like her could use a good drink now and again.
Valerian Calore
The sound of air sliced by a metal pole spun freely between the Lethan's hands filled the void briefly. "Come on then. You're not going to kill me standing there looking embarrassed." Two warriors had already been dropped to the ground and dragged further off to the side. It was one of those days when the unmistakably red woman danced around an impromptu arena with a few hot-blooded Mandalorians eager to make a name by killing her.
There were rules to the sparring session of course. First, no energy weapons. Mandalorians needed to know how to fight with their bare hands and stay mobile on a battlefield. Second, participants had to set foot in the circle with the intention to kill the Totally-Not-Sith Twi'lek. Anyone that showed the smallest sign of holding back got an extra beating. Third, Zlova wouldn't kill anyone that didn't violate one of the rules.
Not that people died in her little training sessions. There had even been a few Mandalorians that came close to killing her, or pushed her to using Force abilities in order to survive -- those were good matches. Naturally, a nearly unarmored, and scarcely clothed Sith Tattoo covered woman dancing about and whacking people with various martial weapons stirred up emotions. Pretty much ensured new people would step up, and familiar ones would returned determined to plant her in the ground permanently.
Zlova never tried to hide what she was, even if officially she was Mandalorian by virtue of the Quartermaster's decree (which happened to be just prior to the Enclave's declaration of war on all Sith). Why hide it as though she were ashamed? Everyone knew what she was. It gave them an excuse to fight, and that was precisely what she wanted -- surrounded by people that wanted to fight but didn't have a galactic dominating stick up their asses.
"Alright. Break!" Zlova slammed the butt of the pole down on the ground signaling an end to that batch of fights. Time for people to rest, get patched up, and maybe even think about what it was they'd seen or experienced first hand. Unlike a real fight, these people got an opportunity to reflect and do better.
The red woman drifted off to the side and propped the pole up against the base of a statue. She reached down to lift a bottle of water up to her lips. Even a Force-wielding terror like her could use a good drink now and again.
Valerian Calore