Private First Trial

[Darth Caedes]

P R O L O G U E

The sleeping chambers of Kor'ethyr Academy were silent, save for the faint hum of air circulators and the occasional distant echo of Korriban's restless winds battering the Academy's stone walls. Leshanna , Naamino Zuukamano , and Haro Aven lay in the heavy stillness of slumber, each lost in their own dreams, each unaware of the dark shapes slipping through the doorways. Sent by their King and Father, the Jen'koshû Dreadlords moved without sound, filtering in to loom over bedsides, their presence suffocating, their toes dragging by means of levitation across the cold stone floors of Kor'ethyr. One by one, they hovered over the chosen students, looming shadows blotting out the faint glow of the chamber's wall sconces, silently drawing swords.

Abruptly, each student awoke, startled and quickly silenced thereafter by the press of a chilly-edged black metal blade against their necks, into the soft flesh beneath their jaws. The Dreadlords offered no explanation, only gestures commanding obedience. Simple robes were thrust into the student's hands, and bags—thick and heavy—were pulled roughly over their heads once they had changed. Like this, they were herded like livestock through labyrinthine halls, their bare feet slapping stone, the air growing heavier and colder as they descended down, and further down, and further down. Unable to see and guided only by icy hands lain gently atop their shoulder blades, each student was made to walk for what felt like hours, called to stops and made to wait, then shoved into motion again. All the while, the throaty breathing of Jen'koshû wraiths cascaded like dry ice to raise hairs along the back of their necks. By the time they were thrust into the underground chamber which was their destination, their breath was visible in thick plumes of fog.​

I N T R O

Caedes stood motionless at the far end of the arena, a silken statue draped in fine black robes trimmed with gold stitching. The dim, flickering light of braziers cast the chamber in a pallid, eldritch green glow. The students had arrived, their breaths sharp and frantic as the sacks were yanked from their heads, their Jen'koshû captors bowing to the King and withdrawing backwards to vanish in pitted shadows.

The King's presence filled the cavernous chamber like a miasma, the oppressive weight of his attention enough to make grown men whimper and muscles freeze up. Amber eyes burned from beneath his hood, golden spotlights, shrewd and calculating as they swept over the three figures opposite him.
Finally, his voice broke the stillness, low like gravel, the whisper of a serpent hunting atop dried leaves.

"You are here," Caedes began, "because you have risen above your peers. Because I have seen what you could become."​

As if summoned by his words, unlit *lightsabers clattered in from the shadows, rolling across the cold stone to rest at the students' feet. Caedes did not move, still as the stone around them.

"Pick them up," he commanded.​

​

The King's expression remained unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back. As he spoke his eyes slid from one student to the next, appraising them.

"Each of you are in possession of unique strengths. Strengths which set you above your peers and have earned my attention. Likewise, you are each burdened with unique weaknesses; however weaknesses which can be unlearned, or in the worst case scenarios, burnt out. Naamino Zuukamano, you are fierce, loyal, and focused. You have the bearing of a warrior—but the mind of a brute. Leshanna Dromar, you too are fierce, and strong willed, adaptable and able to wear many masks. Yet your past haunts you. It is an open wound; such that, despite your potential, you are unrefined, inconsistent, and unpredictable."​

His gaze fell to Haro and seemed to linger, to see through him.

"Haro Aven," Caedes said, reptilian-slit pupils quivering and condensing as they met with the youth's green gaze.​

"You are clever and versatile, subtle in ways absent of your peers, here. Though of the three, you are the most easily broken. You are frail, and guile is a fragile shield to hide behind. Moreover, before the sheer power of the Force, you lack the presence of a true warrior. Yet, here, you stand with two of the best."​

Slowly, Caedes unclasped his hands and spread them wide.

"And so you see," he continued, "that each of you is useful to the others for the lessons you represent. Subtlety and adaptability, for instance, excise rigidity. Focus will sharpen and refine. Dedication to the Dark Side forges the warrior none can stand against."​

He parted his cloak and retrieved a lightsaber, its hilt cracked and dented, seeming transfixed by it, as if regarding an old friend.

"Alone, you are formidable. However together, unified, the Sith could be unstoppable. It is a lesson too often overlooked by our kind," he admitted, forlorn.​

With a snap-hiss, the King ignited his blade—a sickly, pale green which seemed to sear the eyes and leave white marks even behind closed lids. As it moved, its blurry after image seemed to hang overlong in the air, muting the colors around Caedes and drawing in the light for consumption. He let the blade hang low, illuminating a series of grooves carved into the stone floor; a pair of interlocking and overlapping square *glyphs, slightly off-set from each other, 5 feet on a side, with Caedes at their combined center.

"Do you understand?"​

APPENDIX
The Lightsabers selected for this trial once belonged to slain Jedi Padawans. Some bear the tokens of their previous owners. Alas, their crystals have been fed upon by Caedes' wraiths, twisting their once vivid colors into pale, pastel, ghostly reflections of their former selves.

The Glyphs Caedes stands within are associated with a familiar form of dueling, called Shaash Dueling. In these duels, the defender's objective is to hold their ground, while the aggressor's objective is to push the defender out of the glyph's perimeter.​

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Outfit: Ritualistic robe, forlorn saber
Companions: Haro Aven Leshanna
Opponent: Darth Caedes

​

It was not the first time he'd been stolen from his bed in the night for training and he felt certain it wouldn't be the last. The zabrak was easily woken by even the smallest cues because of recent training and field experience, but this time he'd barely opened his eyes before it was too late to reach for Weal or Woe. It was clear his captor already had the upper hand. The teen rankled at the treatment but did as he was bid, dressing hastily as it made his skin crawl to do so in front of the thing which shepherded him.

The lack of shoes bothered him immensely, though he'd certainly gone barefoot before many a time it was an entirely different circumstance to be hauled from bed to an unknown destination without proper footwear. He pushed on however and despite the fact that he had no choice, he leaned in with the attitude that he would do what he must and make the most out of an uncomfortable situation.

"Surprise" at what he found upon arriving to his destination was an understatement. Shock, awe and utter intimidation might be more fitting words. He was just blinking ice blue eyes into focus when the unmistakable presence of King Caedes swept over him. The zabrak had stood right beside the man at one point, filled his wine even, but his presence here was concentrated and weighty with intent rather than diffused across an entire socio-political gathering. Naami felt almost as surprised when he realized who his companions were. The boy stooped to retrieve the saber immediately after being bid to do so, but his body language remained wary as the King continued on.

Naamino Zuukamano, you are fierce, loyal, and focused. You have the bearing of a warrior—but the mind of a brute.

Something within him rankled at that. How could he possibly know Naamino's mind? But caution and yes, even fear tempered his resolve. This was a test and if he allowed his emotions to get the better of him, he was as good as dead already. The teen unclenched his jaw and took a steadying breath before answering in a voice full of more confidence than he felt.

"Yes Sir."

Before he took a step forward to engaged though, he tested the weight of the hilt in his hand. Idly he wondered who it once belonged to. Solemn eyes rose from the weapon to consider the companions at his side and murmured to them.

"We ready?"

 

[Leshanna]

Tags: Darth Caedes // Naamino Zuukamano // Haro Aven

​

Leshanna had always been a light sleeper; her time in the orphanage and now in the Academy, ensured that she was at least somewhat aware of her surroundings, even while resting. But this particular night seemed to be different, tonight Lesh slept more deeply, almost peacefully. She hardly stirred, or tossed and turned. Her mind was filled with mundane dreams, fragments of her various days within the Academy walls - from eating, to studying, laughing and joking around with her friends and comrades. A faint smile flickered over her face, as the dream versions of Naamino and Micah had a sort of playful argument she found amusing.

But then something changed within her dream…dark shadows seemed to manifest and elongate themselves, and a chill seeped into her skin. Lesh shivered, unconsciously, her brow furrowing at the strange and ominous change. A perceptible, almost suffocating, sensation draped itself over the teenage girl, and she shifted restlessly. Nightmares were not uncommon for her, but this felt…different. Almost real.

Too real.

Sapphire blue eyes snapped open and instantly landed on the large and looming dark figure over her bed; a scream bubbled up within her chest - but the lethal edge of a sword blade against the soft skin of her throat made her freeze in place, her scream never uttered. Terror forced her heart to race unchecked, its thumping almost audible within the silence of her sleeping quarters.

She’d seen the undead servants that roamed Korriban before, and she’d learned about all of them in her introductory studies at the Academy. She knew exactly who, or rather what, this was. A Jen’koshû - a Dreadlord. They were powerful entities, commanding the utmost respect from all who found the misfortune of being in their presence. But what really caught her fearful curiosity, was that they were usually connected to the infamous Sith King. Where he was, so were they.

What was a Dreadlord doing in her room?! Why did it have her at the edge of its blade? Did she do something wrong??

Sensing that it had her complete and terrified attention, the shadowy entity ordered her out of bed - a command she didn’t dare disobey. A simple black robe was shoved into her arms, and the next gesture made heat rise through her cheeks as she was ordered to change into it. She hesitated for only a couple of seconds, before she ripped off her night clothes and hastily pulled the robes over her frame. As soon as she had completed that, the Dreadlord turned her around so she faced a wall - before a dark and heavy hood was roughly shoved over her head, taking away her sight and hampering her other senses like smell and hearing.

Leshanna was guided - shoeless, much to her irritation - from her room and in a direction she couldn’t make sense of, though she was able to ascertain that she was going down somewhere - the temperature became colder, the air heavier and musty, the only sound other than the frantic beating of her heart was the throaty raspy breathing of her dark captor. Occasionally, the chilled hand on her shoulder would pull her to a stop and hold her in place to wait, before pushing her onward. What felt like hours passed, her feet growing cold and achy from being on them for so long and without cover or protection from Korriban’s chill. Genuine fear trickled through her veins, as Leshanna still didn’t know what was going on, and the Dreadlord that had her within its grasp offered no explanation to ease her misgivings.

Eventually, the hand on her shoulder gripped her slightly harder before pulling her to a stop. A moment later, the hooded bag was pulled off of her head, allowing her to see for the first time since being taken away from the comfort and warmth of her bedchamber. Her blue eyes were quick to scan over her immediately surroundings - the large chamber she stood in, the dark robed figure on the opposite side to her …and two other figures beside her whom she instantly recognized once their hoods were removed as well.

Naamino and Haro.

The Dreadlords bowed to the dark figure beyond them, before they slipped back into the shadows from whence they came. Leshanna’s gaze landed on the figure beyond, and she felt a dark and powerful presence and aura emanating from him. She blinked, her eyes narrowing then when she recognized who it was beyond her. The blood froze in her veins as the coldness swept through her with the realization.

It was the King.

"You are here," he began, his voice filling the silence around the three acolytes, "because you have risen above your peers. Because I have seen what you could become."

Lesh swallowed, feeling a lump form in her throat. She wanted to look at her comrades, but she didn’t dare take her focus off the King. That was until objects seemed to appear from nowhere and land at each of their feet, the metallic sounds of metal hitting stone tearing her attention away briefly as she spied a lightsaber hilt coming to rest before her. She, and her companions, were ordered to pick up the weapons - which they all did immediately.

The hilt in her hand was cold, and strangely enough Leshanna could feel the energy of the crystal within - but it was dimmed, as if barely clinging to life. Her attention snapped back to the dark King ahead of her as he spoke once more to the trio before him.

"Each of you are in possession of unique strengths. Strengths which set you above your peers and have earned my attention. Likewise, you are each burdened with unique weaknesses; however weaknesses which can be unlearned, or in the worst case scenarios, burnt out.”

He continued, pointing out strengths as well as a weakness, within the Zabrak boy that stood next to Leshanna. She dared to glance at her warrior friend, who she noticed was also draped in the same simple robe she was wearing, and was bare footed as well - to see how he reacted to the Sith King’s words. His jaw clenched, but all he offered was a clear “Yes Sir” in response.

“...Leshanna Dromar,-” Her blue eyes snapped back to the figure beyond her, her gaze piercing when she heard her name spoken…not just her first name, but a last as well. Dromar. Surprise - shock, even - flashed through her. How did he know my last name? No one ever told me at the orphanage! What bantha chit is this?!

“-you too are fierce, and strong willed, adaptable and able to wear many masks. Yet your past haunts you. It is an open wound; such that, despite your potential, you are unrefined, inconsistent, and unpredictable."

Another flush of heat rose up from her neck and into her lightly freckled cheeks. She didn’t know if she should feel honored that the King had spoken aloud some of her strengths, or ashamed that he pointed out her flaws in front of the two boys she felt most connected to. Well that's embarrassing.

He moved on to Haro and once again, highlighted the strengths and weaknesses within the newest member of her group. She rankled a bit at hearing Haro being called frail, and how he could be ‘easily broken’. She thought the boy was tough, in his own ways. As much as she wanted to snap back in defense of her boys though, Lesh remained wisely silent.

"And so you see, that each of you is useful to the others for the lessons you represent. Subtlety and adaptability, for instance, excise rigidity. Focus will sharpen and refine. Dedication to the Dark Side forges the warrior none can stand against."

She frowned again, her sharp mind whirling as she read into the statement, and picked up on what was being said. Hints, more like, for whatever was coming. And judging from the lightsaber that now appeared in the King’s hand - along with the hilts in the acolytes’ hands - she ascertained that it would involve a fight. The lump reappeared in her throat, and her pulse once again accelerated within her ribcage.

They were expected to fight the Sith King? Surely he wouldn’t…kill them…would he?

Words of wisdom, of insight into just how they might prevail, were spoken. Unity. They needed to face this challenge as a united front…not fighting alone. It truly dawned on the girl then that in order to make it out alive, they were going to need to rely on each other’s strengths, big time.

Reality further settled over her like an icy shroud when Darth Caedes ignited the saber in his hand. Leshanna gazed at the flickering, pale blade in surprise. She expected it to be red - like all the other sabers wielded by the Sith. But his was…green. Jedi green. Though perhaps more pale, ghostly even - though no less bright than any other blade. The saber’s pale light illuminated carved grooves and symbols and shapes around the King, before he inquired of the three of them if they understood.

She wasn’t sure if she did, if she was honest with herself. Did they all mean something? Was there some sort of ritual that needed to be carried out that dealt with the sigils and glyphs? Her mind raced with scenarios and possibilities as she cast a wary glance over to Naamino, who seemed to ready himself for the fight to come. He looked from her to Haro, and asked if they were ready.

Was she? Force no. But she was here now and she had to face whatever trial that stood before her, before them. This wasn't her fight alone. She just really hoped she wouldn’t have to see the deaths of those she cared most about in her life. She shifted on her feet, which were oh so cold, to get a better look at the two boys, her stare intense as she looked between them.

“Ready? We can’t just jump into this, we need a plan! We will just get ourselves killed otherwise!”

 

[Haro Aven]

LOCATION: WILD SPACE >> KORRIBAN >> KOR'ETHYR ACADEMY​

OBJECTIVE: PASS THE FIRST TRIAL GATHER INTEL ON THE KING OF KORRIBAN​

TAGS: Darth Caedes | Leshanna | Naamino Zuukamano ​

Within the sanctity of his sleeping mind, Haro found himself back on The Little Minnow. The faint hum of the academy's air circulators became the ship's engines and the distant echo of restless winds became her ambient bumps and whirrs. Niynx Ioune sat across from him, a game of dejarik between them, a familiar peaceful bliss cradling the moment like some invisible forcefield of protection, but there was something wrong. A darkness stalked just beyond their sanctuary, malicious and predatory, unseen yet inevitable. Even here, in this dreamscape, Haro couldn't escape the undercurrent of anxiety that pervaded his waking life since being at Kor'ethyr Academy. So he tried to focus on the boy across from him–his heterochromatic eyes, the lovely smile that lit up his face when Haro made him laugh. Niynx moved his piece on the holo-board and Haro realized that they were not playing with normal dejarik pieces but instead little holo versions of people Haro recognized, except the one piece that remained on Niynx's side of the board–a cloaked figure, shrouded in shadow so that only the burning coals of hateful eyes shown through. Haro's side of the board included Naamino Zuukamano, Leshanna, and Haro himself. As soon as the shrouded figure was brought to his attention though, the room around him suddenly grew cold, all the shadows becoming oversaturated with a lightless darkness to the point of spilling out and consuming all in their path and somehow emitting a faint scraping, like bone against stone. As the shadows closed in, they seemed to steel the breath from Haro's lungs and panic finally took hold.

Haro awoke with a gasp, doused in cold sweat, and tried to sit up but stopped abruptly as the skin of his neck met cold metal. Wide eyes traced the black blade up to the visage of a nightmare looming over his bed. Haro willed himself to move, despite how his fear seemed to petrify his muscles, and accepted the robes from the Dreadlord with trembling hands. He dressed quickly in a daze, far too distressed to care about his decency beneath the scrutiny of the terrifying creature's undead gaze. Forcing himself to think, Haro ran through everything he knew about the Jen'koshû wraiths. He recalled learning that they were incredibly powerful Sith Lords of old risen from the dead to serve directly the King of Korriban himself and acted solely at his command. The dread that knowledge brought settled like a stone in the boy's stomach as the bag snuffed out his vision and he was pushed out into the hall. Had he already failed? Was he marching to his own execution? Would he be tortured first, or perhaps imprisoned? The spiraling thoughts threatened to overwhelm him with fear, his body beginning to tremble uncontrollably as the slaps of his bare feet echoed through the chambers. Absently, he felt for the ring on his finger with his thumb and thought of Niynx. Breathe. Just breathe. The reality was, he didn't know what was happening to him. Not yet. And he wouldn't know until this thing had led him wherever it was it was leading him. He instead focused on trying to map out the path he was being led down which proved to be extremely difficult and Haro soon realized that was the point. The creature clearly didn't want him to know where he was going. Still, the boy tried, as it was the only thing keeping him from devolving into total panic.

What felt like an eternity later, their apparent destination was finally revealed. Haro's eyes quickly adjusted to his favored terrain of dim subterranean light, his crystalline irises transmuting the sickly green that bathed the chamber into a vivid chartreuse, as if in defiance of its corruption. After an initial scan of his surroundings, his gaze pivoted to either side of him, both relieved and concerned upon recognizing the other two captives, but before he could say anything to either of them...

"You are here..." a shrouded figure across the chamber broke the silence, the low grind of his voice sending a ripple of fear through Haro which threatened to turn his knees to jelly "...because you have risen above your peers. Because I have seen what you could become."​

​

Recognition struck Haro like a Force blast and his breath caught in his throat. This was The King himself. A whirlwind of emotion swept through the boy but he schooled himself and locked onto the shrouded figure before them with the hyper focus of prey being cornered by a predator, sparing only a momentary glance for the lightsabers that rolled in from the shadows. He listened carefully to every word and soaked in every detail, making note of the King's assessment of his peers as well as Leshanna's last name. Then the King's gaze settled on him and Haro had to swallow the whimper in his throat.

"You are clever and versatile, subtle in ways absent of your peers, here. Though of the three, you are the most easily broken. You are frail, and guile is a fragile shield to hide behind. Moreover, before the sheer power of the Force, you lack the presence of a true warrior. Yet, here, you stand with two of the best."​

The King's words swirled around in Haro's mind, mixing with his emotions and anxiety like a nauseating soup. One thing was clear though: this was undeniably a test. Finally, the last of the three to do so, Haro bent to retrieve the light saber at his feet. There was something familiar about it. Too familiar. Sewn into the leather wrapped tightly about the hilt was a tiny charm–the continuous loops of an infinity symbol–that reminded Haro of something his friend had told him about the meaning behind such a symbol and how nothing is ever really gone but rather it returns to the Force to be made new. Anger finally boiled up in Haro, enough to push down his fear, and he leveled a defiant gaze at the King of Korriban.

"Dedication to the Dark Side forges the warrior none can stand against."​

We'll see about that, Haro thought to himself, clenching the lightsaber hilt in a white-knuckled grip. The voices of his companions brought him back into focus.

"We ready?"​

​

"Ready? We can't just jump into this, we need a plan! We will just get ourselves killed otherwise!"​

​

"Lesh is right. We need a plan," Haro said with uncharacteristic solemnity. He wasn't looking at either of them though, his keen eyes instead tracing the glyphs of the floor.​

​

"Dueling glyphs," he muttered as recognition dawned, leveling a determined glare at the King while he continued to address the others. "He wants us to push him out."​

​

He had the inclination to huddle them up and speak in hushed tones but quickly discarded the idea as foolish considering their opponent had just proven how insightful and omniscient he was.

​

"I say we stay close, but not so close that we trip over each other. Attack in waves to test his defenses, then re-evaluate."​

​

 

[Darth Caedes]

B E G I N

Caedes stood motionless, the amber glow of his eyes shifting lazily between each of the students as they spoke. His expression remained unreadable, even as the trio conferred and devised their plans. He allowed them all the time they needed, all the while observing with a piercing focus as they fell into combat roles. With a subtle whirl of his wrist, green blade arcing through a too-slowly dissolving afterimage, he positioned the lightsaber behind his back, humming, its glowing tip exposed above his left shoulder. The stance was reminiscent of a Blademaster giving a lecture, though he remained silent, the weapon held in a pacified duelist's grip such that he would first need to unwind and bring the blade back into readiness before mounting any kind of sword defense against oncoming attack. His posture remained statuesque—silent, unwavering—waiting.
​

Naamino Zuukamano | Leshanna | Haro Aven

Spoiler: Current Stance Visual

 

[Naamino Zuukamano]

Intense icy blue eyes never strayed far from the King even as his companions deliberated. The zabrak was already bristling with a combination of a desire to prove himself as more than just some aggressive idiot and, ironically, an intense urge to merely launch himself at the man who was momentarily open to attack. The others would surely follow... eventually.

“Ready? We can’t just jump into this, we need a plan! We will just get ourselves killed otherwise!”

But no, of course he held back from such fanciful notions of bravado. Leshanna was right of course, he could easily best them and discard them without so much as raising a finger. Naami had heard of Sith Lords who took digits or limbs to teach lessons- they must assume this summons was as dire as that. The man before them was King for a reason, he had a collection of defeated Jedi's lightsabers for a reason. So despite the urging of his pounding hearts and spiked adrenaline, the zabrak took a calming breath which he matched with just a single step forward. Taking a starting kata form as he lit the ghosly blue saber, placing himself just slightly ahead of his companions as if in defense of them but not yet making his way down to the dueling glyphs that Darth Caedes occupied.

"Dueling glyphs," he muttered as recognition dawned, leveling a determined glare at the King while he continued to address the others. "He wants us to push him out."

He grit his teeth, angry with himself for assuming it was obvious. A real leader ensures that their troops are clear on the necessary details. The best soldier plays to their own strengths and bolsters the strengths of their peers while covering for their weakest areas. Haro put forth a simple and solid plan, there was no time for petty competition so Naami wasted no breath and no time.

"Yes," he agreed and expounded, "I'm our heaviest hitter, dunno your skill with a saber Haro- my fault for not learning sooner. You're both faster than me. I'll aim for direct assaults, you two badger at any openings I create and cover each-other above all. Ok?"

Naami took another slow step forward and flowed into his next stance, waking up his body to its true purpose tonight: survive and defend.