Forward into the Dawn

[Serian Loria]

Serian woke up an hour or two before dawn going down stairs and seeing the boxes of the things he’d had the maid get for him. He took them outside and first laid down the chalk, then he set up the dummies, the next thing he did was take the fair walk into the forest and after finding the right couple of trees, felled them. He took each one to the chalked area and stripped one, making one end a point and the other flat before driving it point first into the earth. He tested it to see if it would wobble slightly and created smaller pillars as jumping points to get to the top of the first. He splintered the last into fragments, using the Force to shape it into a wooden blade. He tested it and felt that its total weight would be somewhat similar to a lightsaber, but that the real weapon would still end up being lighter.

The ground shifted inside the large square, becoming sand around the pillars to cushion falls, but not making them totally unstable. Around the dummies it hardened making it somewhat rough, but level for both sparring and private training.


The last thing he did was bring to the surface eight large rocks, he broke two, one till all the stones were ranging from the size of chicken eggs, to the size of peas. He separated the pea sized rocks from the rest, piling them, then arranged the eg sized ones, the bigger rocks he placed around the temporary training area for later use. With a sigh and a smothered yawn he walked into the kitchen and drank down some chilled water. Abel, wake up.

He walked into his room grabbing his own weapon, it would at first look like a long hilted Lightsaber. In truth it was a collapsable saber-staff, part of the way he fought showed the real trick to the weapon, something to surprise the one he was fighting and catch them off guard. Once or twice this had saved his life, ending a fight, other times it had given him distance from who he was fighting so that he could fight in his element.

He was dressed in loose grey cotton pants and that was all, the sun kissed his skin showing various silvery scars. On his back were lash marks, the same colored scar tissue as the ones on his hands, these he’d received as a child. The more recent one was a long silvery pink scar that ran from his left shoulder, down across his stomach and ended at his right hip. It was still several years old, but the scar was his reminder of the fight he’d had to avenge his lover and former apprentice. It was an occupational hazard to accumulate scars, he had others, but the ones on his back and the one across his chest were the most notable.

As he waited for his student to come outside he stood quietly, his hands were clasped behind him holding his weapon. His eyes were closed as he was using his other Senses to take in the coming dawn and watch Abel’s progress.

@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

It was almost humorous how being rudely awakened worked, for never was it in the midst of a horrid dream. In fact, Abel was lost in an amazing dream, easily the best he had in quite a while. This dream was a recollection of recent events; a story that he had not even told his master. He and @[member="Isabet Kote"], both intoxicated and rolling about the sheets. Though the way they had parted was beyond awkward, the Enforcer could not get her out of his head, nor out of his dreams. Part of him simply...missed her and he realized that he was quite taken with her. Of course, that did not stop the awkward wall from keeping them apart; and he had refrained from so much as sending her a holomessage over the course of the past week. Nonetheless, she characterized his dream this day, and Abel loved every minute of it...

Until Serian's voice kicked him out of the embrace of slumber.

An exasperated, grumpy groan escaped the Enforcer's lips as he begrudgingly shrugged off his sheets and arose from his bed. Stretching, he filled the room with a loud yawn and reached out with the Force. Having now figured out how to utilize telepathy, Abel did not have to struggle in order to send messages wordlessly to his mentor. As such, he left a message in the man's head whilst slipping on a pair of sweat pants. "Alright, alright, I'm up dammit." he said. Abel then left the room, barefoot and wearing only a tank top of gray besides his sweatpants. He anticipated some form of workout, and exercise was no enemy of the Enforcer, so he dressed accordingly. Trudging into the backyard, Abel rubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked...then gaped.

"Holy...How'd you do all this??" he inquired, striding over briskly.

It was amazing to say the least, for what had been an open patch of land in the backyard had been cultivated into a decent training field. Abel came to a halt only a few paces away from his mentor and folded his arms over his chest, regarding him with a nod. "Mornin', by the way. How's it going?"

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

He didn’t say a word as he marveled at his work, he didn’t think it was anything spectacular, but the praise was appreciated. He extended his hand and the wooden sword flew towards his waiting palm, he handed it yo Able hilt first “You’ll need this. I forgot to ask if you had a weapon of your own, so I made this for you just in case.”

He set his weapon down on the table and motioned to the field “You and I will be taking a jog to the edge of the forest and back, I suggest you take in some water and any necessities before we start. After the jog you and I will be doing a warm up exercise, its designed to help flexibility, focus and above all, still the mind.”

It would stretch muscle in all sorts of ways and help his body deal with any strain. His first days of doing this routine with his master had been hellish, he’d thought he was in good shape, oh how he paid that next morning just to do it all over again the next. It would also force the man to breathe deeply and because of the vice he had inhaled for so long he was willing to bet he’d need a short break after the warm up. Then again the man had a lot of pride, he might not, he’d have to see.

Once he was ready he started to run, an easy jog that took them a full mile after they reached the house again, one way was half a mile. He then started the movements, it was a slow martial art, but one who became as familiar with it as he did could also fight with it if need be, though it was an unarmed form. As far as he knew it was something that had been passed down in his old master’s family, he’d only taught him because he was suited to it. He of course taught all his students, it was never a bad thing to train one’s body so. The best part was the movements were simple, easy to mimic, though he had a higher degree of flexibility due to his familiarity with it.

After he was done he nodded “Go get a drink of water, then bring me a piece of clothing that you won’t mind being torn, a shirt preferably and yes, I will replace the loss. After that you may rest for thirty minutes.”

He needed a blindfold and he’d have to improvise, he didn’t tell him the reason why he asked for something of his was because the cheaper cloth would be easier to tear with his hands. He didn’t want to have to fight and as far as he could recall he didn’t have any scissors, cutting cloth with a knife was a bad idea. It reminded him that he’d have to set something up at the local bank for Abel so he could have money for himself. He could do that later after they were done for the day, he’d leave it in his room as a gift. Not to mention he had to finish furnishing the house, but he’d have him help since they were both living together.


@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

Just in case.

The words echoed within the Enforcer's skull as he took the wooden weapon in hand. It was feeble in comparison to the man who had created it; and so too was the man who now held it in his hands. For reasons beyond Abel, looking into the crimson depths of Serian's eyes caused his heart to quicken and his fingers to curl around the hilt of the sword tightly. He knew his thoughts were beyond foolish and regarded them as the frivolity that came from being rudely awakened, but there was something else to it: a divide between what Abel knew to be true and what his heart felt. The Enforcer was well aware that Serian had nothing to do with the destruction of his former happiness, but knowing this did not help the floodgates of angst which arose whenever he looked the Sith in the eye. Former Sith, current Sith, the title mattered not; for he could now smell the stench of his black aura with the new perception he had learned.

Just in case. Abel would remember that indeed. "Thanks." came the curt response of the Enforcer, coupled with a slight nod of gratitude. Though a storm raged in his mind, his words would never betray it. Not now, at least. He nodded along with the words uttered by his Mentor and did as bid, briefly returning inside the house in order to indulge in some cool, refreshing water prior to their jog. Then, when the run commenced, Abel stayed in stride with the former Sith along the way. Running a mile was not something that the Enforcer was a stranger to; for moving illegal substances whilst the authorities gave chase was an excellent form of physical conditioning. Upon returning to the house several minutes later, Abel took a moment to mop the sweat from his brow and then began to follow the strange, martial arts forms displayed by Serian. It was awkward for his body to move in such ways and occasionally difficult to hold certain poses, but Abel loathed that his shortcomings were able to physically manifest themselves before those crimson eyes...Ever watching, akin to the serpents, for any sign of weakness.

The Enforcer despised giving the former Sith the satisfaction of seeing holes in his armor. When the exercise was complete, Abel said nothing in response to Serian's words and gladly returned to the house. Trudging along, he entered his room and fished for a shirt that he did not have any particular fondness for before returning to the kitchen. Here, he refreshed himself and caught his breath before approaching Serian once more. With the shirt in hand, Abel then gripped the fabrics with the Force and sent them skidding through the air in a telekinetic toss. Serian would easily be able to catch something thrown that way, but displaying how quickly his skills were progressing came as a great source of pride for Abel. In his mind, each day removed time from the veritable clock and brought the count down closer to completion...

"Alright, now what?" he said, folding his arms about his chest.

@[member="Serian Loria"].

 

[Serian Loria]

He caught the shirt and smirked at the man “Now comes the part where you truly begin to taste the emotions boiling in you towards me.”

If he thought he could hide them from him he had other things coming, he’d seen it plenty of times before and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. He wanted to strike at him, that would come in time, just not yet as he wasn’t sure what would happen. He rent the shirt in pieces, taking the longest strip and handing it to Abel “You will go to stand at the top of that pillar and use this cloth as a blindfold then you will stand on one foot with your other hooked behind your knee. I will set an egg sized rock down at the bottom and you will lift it to you, if you manage to make it rise to your face, you will hold it there. During all this I will be trying to break your concentration and cause you to fall, if you fall you will get back up and repeat the lesson till I say you are ready for the next.”

He flashed him a mischievous grin, a rare sight of true emotion for he was intentionally egging him on. “You think you are angry at me now Abel, you have just begun to taste your training. You will succeed or I will break you, you will get no mercy, just as I didn’t give it to my other students in the past or was shown myself. You hunger, but now you will prove to me just how much and no, I am not sorry or ever will be, regardless of what happens.”

I want you strong, I want you to succeed and I want you to rise past my expectations for you. I will push you as hard as I can because at the end of it all, you will be better for it. I want one of my students to finally succeed and finish their training… I want you to survive and not end up like her, even if at the end you truly hate me. Better to hate me and live than to be close to me and die, at least if you despise me I won’t taint you with my ill luck. He thought these things to himself, even as his eyes carried hints of those feelings, but none of it escaped his careful shields.

He moved away his one bladed saber-staff Asha coming to life with a snap-hiss, the blade a silvery grey, he would have to move through the two sword fighting forms and refresh himself. However he would be keeping his senses trained upon his student “A way to save yourself bruises will be to also use Push to break your momentum or halt it altogether.”

He wasn’t totally going to be an awful person, he would have figured it out on his own eventually, but he threw him a bone. It didn’t make that task any easier, but the test of the pillar will also teach him to keep from panicking when he fell. He’d once been thrown off the roof of a building, through keeping calm he’d managed to change his momentum and crash into a window and into the room behind it. If he had fallen to the ground he could have died or at the very least broken plenty of bones. His Master of course then went about seeing just how far he’d fall before he didn’t fall at all, he’d never forgotten that levitation lesson.

He could ascend and descend at will, but he didn’t have to tip off the man to that little insight, he wouldn’t leave him a trail of breadcrumbs. If he couldn’t figure out how to keep himself aloft after losing his balance, he’d keep falling. The trick was building up one’s strength to actually keep all that weight in the air, Force abilities were like weight lifting. The more one spent at it, the more and more one could do, one had limits that followed along with experience and knowledge, but everyone started at the bottom. He didn’t have the deep reserves of power just because he’d been given the rank of Master, he’d gotten it from the very training Abel was suffering through. He was just going to make it slightly less life threatening than his own Master had.



@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

Former Sith...Uh huh.

As the words burned through the air, the Enforcer reached out and took the blindfold in his clutches. Suddenly, the shirt that he had no particular fondness for became the source of additional animosity; for dammit, a Sith tore his shirt! The feeling was petty at best and paled in comparison to the moment of clarity that caused a finite scowl to characterized Abel's face. Serian promised no mercy, for the very concept of leniency was foreign to wielders of the Dark Side. They showed no mercy when they utterly decimated three worlds in the current era. They showed no mercy when they massacred innocents within the Outer Rim. And they damn sure did not show any mercy when they butchered a good man and left his remains strewn across an alley on Nar Shaddaa.

At the sight of the mischeivous grin forming upon Serian's face, Abel looked away and turned on his heel, marching off in the direction of the pillars. Though he ascended them quickly and with a huff, his arms came up in order to prevent him from stumbling and causing a premature fall. Abel sincerely did not desire to see himself plummet to the earth, but he silently accepted the fact that his mentor was going to do everything in his power to make it happen. Under the pretense of training, he would be a subject for the Sith's desire to cause pain...but the Enforcer had true grit up his sleeve. If he could butcher the lackies who had taken his father apart alone, then he could play a Sith's game and learn his power. He could become greater than any man or women whose aura reeked of death.

Silence ruled him for a moment as he lifted the torn fabric to his eyes, suddenly annoyed that the shirt had met its demise at the hands of the Sith. The shirt was karking ugly too...

Once the blindfold was tied and in place, Abel inhaled a breath in order to steady himself before reaching out with the Force. His hands balled into fists so tightly that his veins erupted upon the surface of his skin whilst he focused, commanding the enigmatic energies to bend to his whims. They did, manifesting in a display of telekinesis. He sought out the stone that was laid upon the ground and hoised it into the air, releasing a grunt of effort whilst he lifted. Though small in stature, lifting the stone that high was a daunting task for a new telekinetic; but Abel was stubborn. The fact that his hands shook at his sides as he lifted the stone ticked him off to no end, for this was just another shortcoming on center stage for those crimson eyes to oogle at.

However, shortcomings and all, he succeeded in hoisting the stone. Now came the "fun" part. "Hit me with your best shot." he growled.

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

Unlike Abel Serian’s gifts didn’t include an affinity for Empathy, but he could use the ability some. What he Felt was at odds with what lay between them, that much anger wasn’t from something he did. So then, what was he holding in? He started to move through the Shii’cho form first, slowly, while at the same time he lifted a small pea sized stone and had it flick Abel once in the back of the neck, the second time on his bare heel. It was hard enough to sting, maybe leave a bit of tender flesh, but not enough to cause lasting damage.

While there was a skill that one can use to ignore pain, even serious pain, he chose not to learn it or teach it. Instead he had learned to push past it, the stinging was a replication of the signals of minor pain one could get in a fight, the more serious could be tough though by doing what one did for minor pain. In this way one is still aware of the injuries of the flesh, but not as detached as to leave one to over estimate what their body could be pushed to. That small display was to test, to see his tolerance, but if his apprentice had been paying attention to the rocks he’d see he had plenty more he could include.

He didn’t enjoy causing pain, but some pain was needed, there was a point however that he didn’t cross. He also chose to punish in creative fashions, he’d had one student who had been a spoiled rich brat. For her he’d deprived her of everything, stuck her in the dungeons in rags, minimal food and on the on the occasions he let her out, made her work with the common drudges she’d thought herself so superior to. He ended up breaking her pride, nearly breaking her spirit too, but when she finally gave in and was willing to set aside her status, she’d been a good pupil. She’d eventually earned all those things back he’d taken from her and he never again caught her being cruel to those poor souls that slaved in the temple.

He’d been raised a noble, but unlike her he’d never had the luxury. Tooth and tail, through pain and cruelty, he had endured, but he could certainly play the part of a villain. He made the decision to push his apprentice into snapping by the end of the lesson or, perhaps sooner, because whatever was making him angry was not good to let fester. The only way he knew how was to use some very underhanded means and a few lies afterwards he would let him know the truth and the whys if he was in any condition to hear them. “I want to make sure you are aware of this now, before you slip up, our servants...are slaves. I bought them because I don’t want some worthless maid gossiping about and causing trouble. I’ve altered their minds to make sure that if they betray us, they will kill themselves. Moreover with a slave I need not provide a paycheck, just shelter and meals.”

He had looked at him like he was something unclean, while this was true, it wasn’t for all the reasons he might think just because he had been Sith. While he had used his abilities to assure their silence outside the estate, they were not slaves and they would not end their lives. However he had heard one, now long since dead, member of his old Order make such a claim himself once. He even used the same tone, but then he was a Master for the precise reason that he could create a mask, wear it and own it to the point that one never realized it had been false from the start. He wanted him to charge off the beam and start attacking him, to let loose all his pent up rage. “If you succeed with this lesson, I will let you have the girl for your own, to do with as you wish of her. You’ll have earned a...diversion, as far as I know she’s a virgin as well, but I’ve no interest in finding out myself, she’s too...submissive.”

Perhaps that was just enough.

@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

Before the former Sith opened his mouth, there had been but a flickering ember within the Enforcer. Its existence was fueled by the knowledge that his mentor and the murderers of his parents shared a single trait: Sith. However, he rationalized that the man had nothing to do with their killings and did his absolute best to keep that ember under control. As the session of training went on, the ember began to glare brightly in response to Serian's methods. The stones that were telekinetically hurled through the air stung, but not enough to cause any true alarm. Abel did his best to keep that ember under control and to maintain focus on the task at hand. He tried to block out the aggravating waves of stinging pain that reverberated across his skin...and was actually succeeding...

Yet the former Sith had to open that large mouth of his.

Now, it wasn't the fact that Serian had supposedly purchased slaves that caused a vein to appear on the Enforcer's brow. It wasn't the fact that he had bewitched their minds into making suicide the price for betrayal that caused his teeth to bare. It wasn't even the fact that he had been offered one of the slaves as a reward for success in training that caused Abel to tear the blindfold from his eyes. No, it was the totality of it all. Serian had the gall to claim that he was no Sith and that he had not been affiliated with them for centuries. Yet, despite this claim...despite this outright lie...he was standing there speaking in a manner that'd make the former Emperors proud. Abel was no stranger to how slavery worked and how sordid they were treated; he grew up on Nar Shaddaa for kriff's sake...

But to hear so-called former Sith run his mouth? Oh, that was like dropping the ember into an ocean of fuel.

"You. Motherkarkin'. Liar." came the growl from Abel's lips as his eyes descended upon the form of his mentor. Part of him knew that what he wanted to do was pointless, for a Master could obliterate him where he stood...yet the burning inferno that rippled within him caused him to smother those logical thoughts. His fingers gripped the hilt of the wooden sword tightly, so firm that he could feel a cramp encroaching upon the muscles of his hand. His teeth grit against one another as he bit back a tide of insults and curses; and restrained himself from that which he wanted to do. However, the burning inferno only spread with each passing moment; and glaring into those blood-crimson eyes sent Abel over the edge. He utilized the fire within as fuel for what happened next: launching the egg-sized stone as hard and fast as he could at Serian's torso before bending his knees.

He then sprang off of the pillar and raised the wooden sword over his head, bringing it down in the deadly arc that was a foundational tactic of Shii-Cho. As he sailed through the air, praying that the stone would serve as enough distraction to earn him a successful blow, a wrathful bellow tore from his lips.

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

His fury was something of a surprise to him, yet his words had inflamed him, now came the point where he had to draw it out. The rock fell in two with a flick of his lightsaber, but when his student came at him with the wooden sword he disengaged it, letting it go inert again. The man would collide with solid air, mere inches from his face, his lit ruby gaze blazing. His earlier expression of taunting superiority was gone, replaced with a neutral expression. He folded his hands behind his back, the air once more just that, air, the barrier dissipating as suddenly as it had come.

He shifted positions keeping just within striking range, he wasn’t worried about getting hit, but being present for him to strike at. It told him much, that the man had kept with the form, he was a strong fighter and with the skills he could teach even stronger. Don’t just scream unintelligently at me Apprentice, you have a mind and the ability to speak, use them, by all means...tell me what’s on your mind.

His concern for the man might very well translate through the link, but in the face of that fury he knew not if it would register. He couldn’t understand what he did, except for the intentional only moments before, that sparked what what he’d seen. The only thing he could think of was that it had to do with him being a former Sith. Was his father killed by those of his former order? It fit, that could very well be that, his words at the start of their training had only made things worse, then the words that sent him over the edge. Yet he wanted to hear the man, to have him spit forth his venom.

Only then would he know for certain and he could dispel the illusions he had in regards to himself, only then could this matter be buried and gone.




@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

Of course, the former Sith had tricks up his sleeve...but the Enforcer could care less, for the inferno urged him forward.

The distraction that he had attempted to make was rent in two with ease, a testament to the fact that Abel was dealing with a Master. What epitomized this point more was the fact that both he and his blade collided with an unseen wall. Abel knew enough that this invisible barrier that prevented him from going upside the man's head was born of the Force, but did not register the fact that it was composed of air. Of course, the details mattered so little to him right now; all he wanted to do was take the blunt, wooden weapon and make the man bleed. The inferno blazing within him was seething and ran deep, saturating each and every fiber of his being. Upon his feet settling onto solid ground, he immediately lashed out again, staying with his Form as best he could.

The wooden saber sang through the air in a horizontal arc, poised to collide with Zone 3 of the former Sith's body; in particular, the right rib cage. He then danced forward two steps and turned, giving his body a spin before launching a mirror of the strike at Serian's Zone 2. From there, he continued to rely upon the "unpredictability" of Shii-Cho in order to chain together his flurry of attempted strikes. He brought down his sword, attempting to bash the man over the head: a Zone 1 attack, followed by a sudden squat and a downward slash at his legs; Zones 5 and 6. Abel was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a master of the form, but he was knowledgeable enough to at least utilize it properly. Whilst he moved, Serian attempted to coax the source of his frustrations out, which only added to the wildfire brimming inside.

There was no finite mental or verbal response, save for the wrathful grunts of effort that escaped his lips with each swing. Instead, Serian was greeted by a chaotic influx of images and emotions which bled from Abel's mind. He was not exactly aware that he was thinking all these things at once, nor was he mindful that Serian could see them all. They were simply fuel for the inferno; fuel for the flurry of strikes which he launched against his Master. Abel was replaying the scene of discovering his sire's death at the hands of the Sith and remembering that pain. He was recalling exacting revenge against the acolytes with his father's blade. All that fury and pain then had a single target, one cut from the same cloth as those he had rent down himself: Serian.

"You. Are. Sith."

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

It was enough, he’d seen plenty, the images and what he spoke gave him all he needed. He let him attack, the force of the blows stayed the same, the attacks all hitting with precision. Now, this could just be his fury, anything was possible, but he planned on sparring with him, so far he didn’t see anything that he needed to correct. At the end of the assault he used his mind to halt his hands, keeping them immobile, it was a lot easier holding his extremities than his whole body. “You will go inside, you will take a cold shower, you will stay in there till you cool off and at that point you will meet me in my study so that we can talk. And, before you protest, I lied about the servants, you will get a better explanation after you chill out. If you attack me after I let you go I’ll knock you out and try again. I suggest you do this the easy way...”

He started to walk away, letting him go only after he disappeared into the house. He didn’t want to leave his back unprotected and he certainly didn’t plan on continuing their training till they had out what needed out. He went upstairs and pulled on a shirt, setting his weapon on his desk and going to the study to sit and wait. He told the maid to make him some tea, somewhat of an afterthought, but it mattered little to him once he sat down.



@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

Futility.

The cold reality of the situation was that Abel was making not a single scratch against the former Sith. Though his blows were well-placed and agile, his wooden blade could not penetrate through his force-born barrier. It infuriated the Enforcer to no end, but even then he continued his onslaught. That is, until the Force gripped his limbs and held them at bay. Abel thrashed against the unseen bonds which held him in place, attempting to fight his way free for Serian's telekinetic hold...but there was simply nothing he could do. The Sith was too powerful. His best effort was concluded without so much as scratching the bastard...a fact which caused Abel to relax his grip on the blade. His eyes glared into the crimson pools of his "master" as he spoke; and it took every ounce of restraint to prevent him from spitting right in his face.

When Serian had retreated into the house, Abel was relinquished from the telekinetic hold and was left standing there. He seethed for a moment before dropping the wooden sword, taking a moment to inspect his hands. There were scars and other marks, earned from brawl after brawl in the name of the Black Sun Syndicate. Abel was strong, of this he was absolutely sure, but even that strength paled in comparison to Serian's. Sure, he wasn't the absolute strongest in the Syndicate, but dammit he could give any man a run for his money one on one...yet against the former Sith, he didn't even stand a chance. Abel couldn't deal with this inferiority, especially not against someone cut from the same cloth as those who had murdered his parents.

"MOTHERKARKER!" he growled, kicking the sand about his feet angrily. He then turned on his heel and did as bid, taking some time to "cool off" in the shower. Upon emerging and re-dressing, Abel strode into the study and leaned upon the doorframe, glaring at the man. He said no words and simply stood there, arms folded across his chest.

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

Serian motioned to a chair, whatever he maybe accused of, uncivilized was not one of them. “First, I want to tell you this, I have never killed anyone who has been innocent. I have only, truly, killed nine people, one...the man on your home world and the others, all Sith. I have only tortured someone once.” He paused to let that sink in before he continued. “I was not the shining example of the Empire. I didn’t trade my loyalties about, I didn’t crave power, I didn’t betray those around me, for the most part I kept to myself and moved in the shadows so as not to be forced to choose what circle to follow. I was content to teach, to care for the archives, I wanted...to build monuments, not destroy or dominate worlds.”

His lit ruby gaze was filled with anger, he could still hear the taunts and jeers. “Every day I was forced to put up with taunts, I had to be wary of attacks and anyone who challenged me, I had to smack down because if I didn’t, they would see it as weakness. Most within the Empire were not gifted as I was, my lack of further growth as a sword fighter was...mocked. The only sanctuary I had was the Archives, for no one dared to bring violence there. It was just I and a host of droids and drudges, I had been the one of my generation to take to the place and care for it all. I tried my best to save those that had intelligence from the pack of starving, squabbling mutts.”

He fingered the amulet around his neck “Then Telara arrived, was tested and chose me as her Master. She...wasn’t strong in force power, she was a physical fighter, the only reason why she chose me was because I did not vie for the pleasure of teaching her. She wanted someone who was her opposite in skills to teach her the nuances of her less than spectacular abilities. At first I turned her down, but she stubbornly insinuated herself into the archives, I got used to her presence. It wasn’t long before her questions got advice, that advice turned to action and suddenly...I was teaching her as my apprentice.”

He looked at Able “The only beauty that I saw in the Sith, was because of her. She got me to see those fools as people, to see what lay under their motivations. She struggled in the Empire because I was her Master and because of that...she was killed. I’d gone off-world for only a few hours, we’d fought...she wanted to come, I didn’t wish it, I returned and found her body. I don’t really remember much after that, just finding the one responsible and attacking him. I woke up next to his body with a drudge holding me down as a medical droid tended to the wound across my chest.”

He sighed “When I arrived at the Sith, all I had wanted was to just piss people off so they could end my life. I strove to make use of my gifts, once I found I had them, to serve the Empire. I devoted myself to my studies, I sought knowledge and brought it to the temple, I was happy. Then, the council changed, the focus shifted and one after another those who’d stood with me were killed in battle, petty squabbles, all that I had wanted to achieve was spat upon and laughed at. An archivist wasn’t ‘Sith’ only glory to be had was in battle, killing and claiming grisly trophies to lay at the feet of the Masters.”

He closed his eyes “So, I abandoned them. Telara was my only link, the only one who managed to make it all make sense. The rest, you know. I learned to wear a mask, to change faces, to keep my intentions hidden while using lies as my weapons. I’m not perfect, I’ve stained my soul with death and I’m sure more bodies will lay at my feet before I die. However, I have never killed without reason. Not once. I am NOT how you accuse me, tainted though I am, I have never done anything monstrous. Can you honestly look at me and tell me anything I’ve done for or two you has been more than what a teacher would desire from their student? I took you from a bloody planet you should have had the balls to leave before to seek a better path. I brought you into my home, promised to train you, I’m willing to help protect those you love, other than the lies I spoke to find out what was in your heart, have I given you any reason to doubt me?”

He stood up from his chair and looked down at him “What have you given me in return? What have I asked from you except one measly shirt, yet you stare at me and are blinded. I am not Sith and…” He looked away “Perhaps I never was. It was them or the Jedi and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my self, a soul...well, those are easy to trade. So maybe I am the monster you see me as. They used to be more than what I’d had as a family, I used to have a place, now? Now I am on my own and free. I won’t wear a collar around my neck and bow my head, I will not serve another’s will, other than the Force and you…”

He walked away “You can go to hell if you can’t see me for the actions I’ve shown and the man I am.”

He walked to his room closing the door, the sound echoing in the near empty house. He’d explained all he planned to, if he still couldn’t see him for who he was, then he’d wasted his time. He hoped the man was better than that, he really didn’t want to cut his ties to him.




@[member="Abel Denko"]

 

[Malok]

When the former Sith motioned for the Enforcer to take a seat, the young man simply shook his head. Abel was nothing else if not stubborn, a fact that Serian would come to know quite intimately over the course of their relationship. With minimal intrigue, he hearkened to the words uttered by the man and found his eyebrow raising here and there in response to certain sayings. When it was all said and done, Abel had to make the conscious effort not to say the first thing that came to mind: 'Shall I play you a song on the World's Smallest Violin?' Instead, he kept his mouth shut and let the man brush by. He stood there for a moment, quite awkwardly, before stepping into the study and slumping into a chair. He kicked his feet up on the ottoman that accompanied the rather comfortable seat and took a moment to digest the literal dissertation that the man had spoken. "By Dista's Beard." he swore, shaking his head whilst rubbing his temples ever so slightly.

After collecting his thoughts, Abel reached out with the Force and gave Serian a solid nudge telepathically. "I've met Sith before, of all sorts and mannerisms. I've met gentlemen whose hospitalities rival your own, and animals that rival the great warmongers of history. My time within the Syndicate brought me in contact with many Imperials; so you'll have to forgive me for not seeing your charity the way you do." he said, twiddling his thumbs. Instead of continuing, he put up a mental image of a face he had not thought of in quite awhile: a Sith garbed in a three-piece suit. "This man was a liaison between the Empire and the Syndicate. You remind me of this smug bastard sometimes. Put a saber to my throat and demanded I learn from him...You can imagine how peachy that turned out."

Rising, Abel began to pace the room, switching the image in his mind to one that still caused his stomach to flip-flop with nausea and grief. 'Twas the alley he found his father in...on the night of his murder. The majority of the man's body laid at Abel's feet, only identifiable by his dumbfounded face. The rest...coated the walls and street..."And this is my old man. This is what the Sith did to him. Organized by a gentlemanly, moderately decent Sith who didn't conduct himself like an animal. You see, there are numerous types of Sith in this galaxy, and my initial impression is that you were just one of the 'classy' ones. You told me, time and time again, that you weren't Sith; however, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Yet the things you do, and looking you square in the eye...I can't help it when this scene pops into my head." He was, of course, mentioning the scene of his father's death.

"So, yeah, I'm sorry for misjudging you. You're not a Sith, I get that, but you need to get where I'm coming from. What you did outside today? Lying to push me over the edge? That was karked up and you know it. That's the sort of thing the guy who killed my father would have done. That's the sort of thing the Imperial Liaison would have done. You can't expect me not to react when you're picking at scabs, got it?" he said. "And another thing, Nar Shaddaa is home. It's a poodoo hole, of this there's not doubt, but it's my poodoo hole. I don't expect you to understand but all I've ever loved, it's been there. Hell, it's where I met Isabet."

And Abel left it at that.

@[member="Serian Loria"]

 

[Serian Loria]

Serian had been standing in front of his window looking outside when Abel mind-touched him. He listened without interrupting, taking in what he showed him. When it was over he sighed, though not mentally. I wasn’t born to your present, I did not rise in the Sith in this age. There is a large distinction between me and them, even if I were one of the Sith still, I ask that you keep that in mind. As for your training, when did I ever lie to you and tell you it would be sunbeams and rainbows? What, pray tell, gave you the impression I was soft and planned to cater to your soft spine? It could be a lot worse…

He would get the image of standing on a pillar, levitated over a ravine, lifting a stone the size of a large melon, of feeling blood trickle down his arms and legs as shards of stone nicked his skin. Total darkness, no sense of hearing, just the yawning emptiness below. Be glad you have twelve feet of wood, of sand, of being able to hear and simple cloth around your eyes with simple somewhat bruised flesh. Now, as for your home world, I’ll try to be nicer about it, I forget that there are those that grow attached to where they were raised and how. I will start your training again tomorrow, we’ve both got plenty of things on our minds and I don’t wish to be distracted.



@[member="Abel Denko"]