Dark Tidings [Training, Kyrinov]

[Vilka Pharro]

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Source: Cold March, by Andreas Rocha​

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A FROZEN MOON - DAY

Black ruins cast long shadows along the snow. By day, those fallen arches had become a vast ribcage, forced between the cliffs. It was as if a great titan had fallen, and Vilka supposed this was hardly far from the truth; there were no kings left here. Only their rotting works, carrion to the howling wind that sung through the canyon, and the heavy snowfall that came by night. It was as if world itself sought to cover what had once been; Vilka smiled at the thought. There was something sharply beautiful in the total collapse of such prideful things. Part of her yearned to show them, those fallen kings, just what had become of all their struggles, the result of their hapless labours- that dark shadow in the mountains.

She guided a rusting freighter through jagged canyons, slipping between snow-capped cliffsides and barbed peaks. Her hands were freezing already, even wrapped about the control stick. The engines burned orange, spitting as the ship swung low into sharp turn, rattling through a vast cave beneath the mountains; a storm of icicles flew loose crashing upon the cockpit's transparisteel. The freighter shuddered back and forth as Vilka struggled to adjust, blinded, as she heard a sharp thud behind her. She gave a darting glance; a pale body rolled back over as the ship began to level out. The ship's previous owner had not proven susceptible to her clumsy attempts at mind tricks- other measures had been necessary, though now she questioned her efforts, cursing as the ships engines fluttered again. She brought it to a heavy stop on a gentle slope that lay close beneath the ruins.

The hiss of the landing ramp was drowned out under the screaming wind. Vilka took slow steps, snow crunching underfoot, and pulled her cloak tighter, gazing upward. For all the bleak irony in its desolation, it was rumoured a dark power had taken hold of the ruins. It was easy to imagine- the pale sun faintly peered through the ranks of lowering statues, an army of stone that ran deep into the distance, peering from darkened archways and fallen spires. Vilka shuddered; she had felt a cold disturbance for some time, but now she felt it grow stronger, burning at her mind- was there another presence here?

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

Kyrinov’s lips curled at the corner to as The Emulous came to a landing in a ridge.The hatch opened its durasteel maw mutely and planted its tense jaw against the bitter, unforgiving, and temporary home in the snow and rock. This was one setting in which he was glad, happy even, to have leather on. Personally, he didn't care for the cold. It didn't suit him but it made for great preservation and torment, if exposure was long and harsh enough. It was a method that he'd used on more than one occasion in the past two years.

His boot clanked against metal and reverberated exactly three times before crunching against hard packed snow. He stood for a moment, arms outstretched and hands splayed, as if displaying or offering himself to the consuming frozen wasteland around him. Now, he allowed his presence within the Force to leak and ooze from every pore in his body to contaminate the air and land within his immediate vicinity. For now, he had no reason to mask himself. There should only be one other person here, and even she was here by his design.

The two communicated for weeks over via transmissions abroad their respective ships as well as letters sent back and forth whenever she was planetside for some time. To say the least, this particular Acolyte intrigued him. Whenever they spoke, he never gave his name. He always referred to himself as The Exarch.

His most recent transmission read:

"Hello, Vilka.

I suppose that it is time that we meet if this... engagement of ours is truly something that interests you. Meet me here [▬▬▬▬▬]in approximately one week's time. Bring any weapons you wish with you, if you feel so inclined. If you choose not to, that will simply be on you, dear.

Remember the number, darling. You'll need to know it for when we meet

451.

Have a pleasant day. We'll reconvene in a week.

With pleasure,

~ The Exarch"

So, there he knelt on the edge of the small cliff that stared down into the valley below. He could see her there, a black robe encasing her slim body, walking away from her ship. He placed a hand on a crumbling archway, his touch as light as a simple feather. The tug of a small smile on his lips grew into a wide grin as he reached out and forced himself into her mind. He gave her a simple message.

>"I am the Exarch. I see you. Now, look up and find a way to me. You have five minutes. Do not use your ship as a means of transportation. Tick tock, little one. Tick tock."<

And then, with a primal hunger radiating in his steely gaze, he withdrew himself from her mind. He waited for their game to commence and for the timer to begin ticking down.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Like a stone through a window, Vilka felt something force its way into her skull- the icy whisper of Exarch's voice, crawling upon the sides of her mind. Vilka was no stranger to the invasion of minds- truly, it was all she had been trained to do, thus far. In an instant, she let herself drift away with the Force, passing between insects, birds, rodents, looking for something greater- someone. For all his deceptions, it seemed the Exarch had made no attempts to disguise his presence; the thrum of his existence, heartbeat, breathing, nervous impulses- she saw it all.

With fierce eyes she met his gaze- she stretched out both palms, reaching out with her mind, until:

"You." Her voice was stern. "I expected someone taller. Older." Five minutes? So be it. Gritting her teeth, Vilka's fingers twitched, fists closing slowly. Yes- she felt it. She felt every vein, every fault, in the black rock upon which the Exarch stood. She slammed her fists closed, the telekinesis taking hold, until at last she tore his perch from the cliff, hurling it towards her with a furious shriek.

Let the game commence.

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

Under any other circumstance, he would have shielded his mind with an ease that was now second nature. But, he let her into every fiber of his being, including his rather tormented mind. He smiled as she seemed to already have a grasp of communication and entering minds, however forcibly it may occur.

He smiled as he felt his body plummet down
down
and further down.

His heart raced at the thrill, his stomach was in his throat, he could every nerve throb and every hair on his body stand on end. He waited. Patiently. He waited until he reached terminal velocity and then he unsheathed Amnesia and fell towards her, cutting her arm with four small flicks along the length of it. Her robe now partially shredded in one area, he oriented himself with his feet down. He crashed into the ground, using the Force to dissipate the force of his fall into the ground beneath him.

He reached out again and this time he remained within the back of her mind, a sharp existence that she could not cast out.

<"If that is all the potential you have to show me, I may reconsider and search for another, more worthy Apprentice to teach.">

That twisted laugh of his echoed in her mind as he paced about five feet from her, stalking her with Amnesia drawn and held close to the blade. His eyes locked with her back as his distorted voice rang through her skull in a deafening cacophony.

<"Don't waste my time, dear.">

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

The cold wind tearing at her skin, Vilka stepped back with a grimace. "If all you boast is swordwork, then I scarcely trust your mastery. Telepathy is but a parlour trick, Exarch, if all you will use it for is to talk."

If the Exarch sought to invade her mind, then it seemed wisest to act where he held no sway; recalling her training in the Art of Movement, she touched the Force once more as a rush of endorphins thundered through her body, until her pain was but a whisper. As her metabolism accelerated, cortisol flooded her veins, her muscle fibres twitching as her heart thumped faster and pupils dilated, the world widening, brightening, and sharpening before her eyes. Now she swept backward, lunging aside and away from his blade's range.

"You would call yourself a Sith, and yet bear such a crude weapon?" Vilka herself bore no weapons, at least not of the physical kind. Still, she wondered why the Exarch would wield such a blade, when a lightsaber held so many more advantages; for example, an immunity to telekinesis. Now she too began to pace, moving parallel with her opponent, her entire body seemingly electrified with newfound strength. Through heightened senses, Vilka could perceive every twist and turn of the breeze, felt each snowflake land upon her flesh. Now the Exarch's every step, and blink, and breath had become as plain and clear as the snow around them.

She felt her fingers twitch, and closed them in pale fists.

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

He cracked a small smirk at her first comment.

<"Yes, a trick as most things are, dear. I can do much more inside this tunneled mind of yours, but it would be a waste to lose much a promising source of inspiration. I could hold you by a thread, if you truly wish to see another trick of mine.">

He extended his right hand towards her, lifting her into the air and holding her fast, every limb and appendage pinned by an invisible assailant. He pushed into the depths of her mind, he'd done his research on the girl, he knew which strings to pull first. As he began to twist and conjure up images of her own fallen glory of her former life, his fingers danced in arcane patterns to produce the motion picture within her mind. The smirk transformed into a satisfied toothy grin as he delved deeper, allowing images of her people clawing and scratching at her as she left her ruined palace, images of them holding her down as she watched her private dynasty burn, looking on as they burned the ashes of it all, reducing her legacy to nothing.

Through all of it, he watched as well, except he enjoyed the carnage ten times more than the revolting masses.
He held her mind in an iron grip, ensuring that she did not go tumbling off into horror-induced madness. The Exarch's eyes shone brighter than those brillant, consuming flames that roared within her skull, setting her whole body aflame in sensation. Her vulnerability was delicious.

<"If you can still focus enough to hear me, I prefer this sword because of the way it exposes every sense when it stabs or cuts or flays. I'd rather feel a victim give way under my own strength, I'd rather them be aware of the commotion of consciousness that pain brings. Quite like the pain you may feel now, it is not invigorating. It is simply agonizing in its prickling embrace. But, the weapon does not define a Sith, little one. You, of all people, should know this.">

He had a final push into the fears that she kept locked away in her mind, away from the prying eyes of the public who would twist them to their own advantages. Then, he was gone, the tendrils that probed her faded into nothing as his hands slowed to a halt at his side. He was still within her mind, albeit on a much smaller scale. He pinned her against a rock face, staring at her with eyes still burning with pleasure.

For the first time, he spoke to her, his normal baritone voice little more than a whisper.

"That took you exactly seven minutes, Apprentice. I expect more from you in the future. Now then, do you remember the number that I instructed you to commit to memory?"

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Furious eyes looked up to the Exarch. Vilka spoke slow words, hissed through gritted teeth. "Four. Five. One." Her blood was fire, her heart iron. All the hateful passions of the Dark Side, a thundering stampede racing through her mind. Each newly opened wound was but another pathway for the Force.

"All pain is invigorating, for those who know how to use it. And it is certainly more than the touch of a blade." Her gaunt face was a jagged grin. "Crawl through my mind as you like; seize my body if you will. I have been a slave before, Exarch. It only made me stronger." A terrible scream burst forth from her lips as at last all the pain, all the fury, the Exarch had inspired at last flooded forth from her lungs, like the rush of blood; with a thunderclap his bonds were broken and she fell away from the rock face, a swirling storm of tattered robes with wild eyes.

Her pale face was still leering, a mockery of a smile. "Now," She started, breathing ragged, "if we are done with pleasantries and courtesies, I thought you were a teacher, not a deviant; let us be on with it." The pain was as fresh as ever. Good. Best keep sharp. "And for a change, perhaps, use our real names instead of self-appointed titles. One exudes power. They should not simply state it."

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

The man's pale head nodded as she grunted out three numbers through clenched teeth.

He smiled as he watched her and listened to her. Before meeting her, he wasn't so sure about her. She seemed volatile. Rash. Unwilling to bend to any authority except her own veil that she seemed to fervently believe was hers. But, now, he saw that he was correct, to an extent. She was volatile, but she knew when to hold back to play with her opponent and spur them into action if need be. The girl did bend to her own authority but she was slowly learning that hers was, perhaps, less than she previously envisioned at this moment.

She would make a lovely piece of clay to fashion from.

His hope was that, in time, she would grow and see what he could teach her. Perhaps she would even grow to distinguish a true Sith from a false one. But, as always, all in good time. Patience is still a virtue that they practiced.

"Yes, four hundred and fifty-one. Remember that number. Think on it for now."

"Crawl through my mind as you like; seize my body if you will. I have been a slave before, Exarch. It only made me stronger."

He smiled and spoke, "I am aware of your past, Vilka. How do you think I was able to twist you so effortlessly? Know the fear, the true fear, of another and their mind is a toy in your hands. You may either shatter and break it or you can play nicely and leave it in tact for another go around. The body is a fragile thing, easily broken and twisted upon the slightest altercation of a whim. The mind, however, can be fortified or it can be even more delicate than the physical body of a being. Break a person's mind, force them to believe something you have enforced upon it, and they have no further defense. Once the mind truly believes in something, it is fairly hard to change that train of thought. Yet, that is what you did. Now... you have more pressing obstacles, mental and physical and emotional and psychological, to overcome."

Then, she broke past his grip on her, falling off of the rock face into the snow that crunched beneath the weight of her body. Good, she was learning quickly. That would help her in the bear future. The scream she let out moments prior was intriguing to him, brought on no doubt by the culmination of the pain and raw, primal fury of what she'd been subjected to.

"Of course. Something you seem to have picked up keenly on. My name is Kyrinov. Now, tell me, is your given name Vilka Pharro?"

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Think on it? Kyrinov was, perhaps, more unhinged than Vilka had first thought. A number was a number, void of character, utterly nondescript. But in some ways, so was the man himself, revealing as little as possible, always probing for more. There were limits to this, alas, and it would seem he did not fully comprehend. She cocked her head at his words.

”You forget that there are frontiers beyond the mind, I wonder. Battle-grounds of the soul, where the Force is not an idea but an ocean. You cannot rule the tides, Kyrinov. Even if you take their mind.” She gazed out to the frozen ruins, where dead kings loomed. You cannot rule the tides. Even with a hundred thousand soldiers, kingdoms from pole to pole- time and wind will eat away at your works like maggots to a corpse until naught but dust remains. Names and men were wind. All that was eternal, was the Force.

”What does it matter? Birth name or not, it is my name now, and tomorrow, it might not be; I am not who I was yesterday nor whom I will be tomorrow. Why else would I be here?” As she said the words, she felt the cold chill eating at her wounds stronger than before, white hot burns on every limb. It could only steel her further, prepare her for further horrors. This was the way of the Sith, so she had told herself a thousand times.

”What first, then, if you do now find me worthy?” She chuckled, dry voice cold as the mountains. ”No doubt, your martial skills are to be renowned, particularly against unaware, unarmed, underweight, wounded girls. You’ve seen to that, as with your talents in the Force.” Her pointed teeth gleamed as her grin spread wider still.

”Where do we start?

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

He shook his head slowly

"I have not forgotten about those areas of a being's overall willpower. A mentalist such as myself has no use of them, but that does not mean that I will not delve into areas which are yet available to me. However, a sorcerer must focus on those areas in particular. You must be well-rounded and keenly aware of all functions, purposes, and capabilities of said areas. You must be strength enough to twist them and wise enough to know when to hold and be still. Even the Dark Side of the Force requires balance, Apprentice."

He walked forward four paces and reached to his left side, detaching Dirge from his belt. He glanced over the lightsaber before handing it to her. Then, he turned and took four steps back to his original spot across from the girl.

He turned to face her as he began to speak.

"First," he unsheathed his vibrosword and held it in his left hand with his right splayed out towards her figure. "Get familiar with the blade in your hand. Swing it around and get used to the weight. Begin to gauge the amount of force necessary to wield it. Once you've done that we will begin learned Shii Cho, and after, we will move on to a form of your choosing. Keep in mind that the form you select will be your primary martial focus."

He stood there, in the harsh, terminal wind, watching her carefully. He would examin every move she made, every shift in stance and weight distribution, every arc and slice of her arms as she began to get accustomed to the weapon.

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Wherein does the Dark Side seek balance? Is it not the pursuit of excess, in all things?" Vilka cocked her head, brows furrowed.

A lightsaber? She gladly extended a black-gloved palm, clasping the cold durasteel tight in her palm. It was all she could do to hide her smile, to betray her emotions; such an ancient symbol, true power indeed. She met Kyrinov's eyes with an unchanged face, turning the weapon about in her hand. It gleamed in the pale sun. She shrugged a shoulder, passing the hilt from left to right hand. Left. One finger crept toward the igniter switch. Now. The cold air parted with a hiss about the crackling blade. Pure energy, bright as she had ever known, and weightless in her hand; she stepped back to swing the blade, gauging its mass, or rather lack thereof.

An unfamiliar weapon indeed, and yet it called to her, singing as deeply with the Force as it sizzled with furious light. A great power seemed to wash over her body, and so, smiling, she looked out towards the crumbling ruins ahead. Yes. She cast the blade forth with a burst of the force, sending it into a wild spin. Flaming disc, it shot through an ancient statue without the slightest resistance, stone head tumbling into the snow, glowing. Thin coils of steam rose as it hit the ice. Now her palm became a claw, turned inward; the lightsaber stalled in the air, screaming back towards her. She could quite easily take her own arm off, and yet everything felt... balanced. A perfect alignment, perfect weight, not one presence or anomaly to disrupt its course.

The hilt shot back into her grasp, blade vanishing with a woosh. Now, she smiled.

There, perhaps, was the balance.

[member="Kyrinov"]

 

[Kyrinov]

He said not a word to her in a reply.

She would see in time. In fact, she was about to see one such balance.

The pale man crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes now followed her left hand, the hand that grasped the lightsaber with a sense of oddity about those slender, curved fingers.

Left hand. Left. The same hand that he held his weapon in, the hand which seemed out of place to most of the galaxy. It was simply wrong when most held a weapon in their right hand. It was backwards to them, yes. But, it had its advantages nonetheless.

He nodded as the saber flew past him and cut through the ice then careened its arching path back to her waiting claw.

He smirked as she caught Dirge and her eyes lit up with what appeared to be satisfaction. She saw it, part of the balance he spoke of. Good.

"Make simple cuts with the blade. Wide strokes. Act as if you're slicing straight through something, if that gives you a mental picture. This will be the beginning of Form One, Shii Cho." Even as he spoke to her, he brought Amnesia up to demonstrate. The vibrosword hummed slightly as it carved through the air in a quick motion of his arm. With the way he held the sword, his entire arm went into each crude movement he made. The difference for her to discern would be that only her wrist and lower arm would be utilized in the visible movement of the saber while her forearm would be used to apply force behind the blow.

"Now," he demonstrated the same movements a second time, but now they were connected and fluid in motion. First, the sword made a quick slice to the right. Then, it arched up with his wrist facing him, as if he were a fighter who'd just executed a uppercut and knocked out his opponent. Finally, the blade craved downwards to his waist and it was brought up to a standard blocking position. "...connect that sequence together. It should feel and look smooth. Right now, there should be no strain. Let the movements flow into each other and focus on the course that your arm draws."

[member="Vilka Pharro"]​

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Vilka's eyes affixed upon Kyrinov's blade.

The curl and twist of its steel, and the symphony of human movement that enabled it; how each muscle moved in perfect opposition to the other, contraction and extension, until the weapon's point moved like a bird in flight, arcing and twirling and banking, all with the utmost control. There was the balance. Before, she had failed to understand- to her, the Dark Side was the essence of imbalances. Virulences. Abhorrences. A plague upon the Force.

But a lightsaber? That was an impartial tool, driven by motion. Those motions might have answered to the Dark Side, but in isolation, there was nothing but harmony. This was a sentiment Vilka had always accredited to the Jedi. Now she understood. Her body had become an equilibrium; not still, not stagnant, as the Jedi were, but in constant flux, all systems moving in perfect synchrony.

All that was left was to strike.

She raised her blade. The lightsaber hummed. Her muscles twitched. Now. A rapid cross-cut shot into an upward swing- her weapon was naught but arcing light, the broad angle of a handmaiden's fan. Fury took hold, the blood-lust that so often walks in hand with a sense of absolute power. She brought the lightsaber down with a shriek, and siezed it back to herself just as rapidly, taking the low guard-stance. She was shaking, and yet so in control.

Her lungs burned, gasping. Her eyes fell back to Kyrinov's.

"This is good."

[member="Kyrinov"]