Involuntary Sojourn

[Armand Temi]

​

On the planet of Virgillia sat a towering mountainside, and on the outside, one of nature’s typical, albeit majestic creations made of stone, rock and even centuries old magma. Yet inside was the Bastion, a subterranean fortress designed to house, train and mold the First Order’s both disciplined and deadly warriors who worked in liege to Sieger Ren, the Force wielded as their primary weapons.

Varas let out a weary sigh - some might describe as petulant - as she walked into the unadorned entrance and down the first large flight of stairs to meet the Master who would train her today.

While she had not arrived completely against her will, the visit today and for the weeks to come if the Master so deigned, was a punishment of sorts. The clone currently resided with her biological father on Mustafar, but he’d been away on travels to Iktoch and Halm and with little supervision, Varas had slipped into a lazy, practically non-existent routine, ignoring her training in favor of holo movies, Spacebook and playing hide and seek with her father’s personal Praetorian guards. They loved that game.

Ultimately her rogue behavior had reached [member="Kyrel Ren"]'s ears and after a furious argument, where Varas was almost giddy with excitement that she’d elicited such a passionate response from him as opposed to his normal coldness towards her, he’d promptly sent her off to Virgilla, this time flanked by the same Praetorian guards she enjoyed taunting in the castle.

And their strict and precise orders were to not let the enfant terrible run away again.

[member="Ara Zambrano"]

 

[Ara Zambrano]

Varas Kyrel.

Sarathiel Ren stood in the grand entry of the Bastion surrounded by stone and darkness, the name rolling around in her mind for a moment while she waited for the arrival of her disciple, however temporary the arrangement might be. Copper eyes fixed on the doors as they opened, blank behind the mask she wore, the figure as still as the pillars around her. Memories of her introduction to the Bastion and the man who became her own Master crossed Ara's mind as she waited, fingers flexing in anticipation beneath leather gloves.

Her attire mimicked that of so many other of the Ren, dark colors and armour hugging each curve, a mask obscuring her face, a metal hilt hanging from her belt, the crystal within still a mystery to the woman. In the cavernous grand hall she stood, not as the Arch-queen of Panatha, not as Ara Zambrano, but as Sarathiel Ren, a Master of the Knights of Ren. The warmth of Ba’Olin, her amulet, hung between her breasts, the glowing gemstone hidden beneath layers of armourweave and zeyd cloth. The Force imbued necklace masked her own aura until it was unrecognizable, the girl able to move through these halls without a second glance, another mask assumed.

An slight ache built within as she longed for the familiar whisper of her saber, one forged in the heat of Mustafar, the crystal claimed from the belly of her personal demons, a blade that served her well but was now too recognizable to accompany her in service to the Supreme Leader. Much had changed since the Zambrano had walked the same path she watched the young clone take now, approaching the mysterious figure of a Ren in the heart of their Order.

A slight tilt of the head as she stepped out of the shadows and took the slightly younger woman in, silent as she dismissed the guards who accompanied the girl, leaving the pair alone. So this was the clone giving Kyrel Ren so much grief. A smirk bloomed behind the mask, the thought of someone giving the egotistical Master of Ren the run around mildly humorous, even if she agreed that such behavior needed to stop. Which is why she was here.

”Welcome to the Bastion of Ren, Varas. I trust you are familiar with the reason for your visit?”

The vocalizer built into the mask distorted her voice until it was bereft of the warm undertones it normally carried, a hint of humor peaking out at the end of her statement.

”Your father has requested additional training on your behalf. I suspect he has been a bit lax in your training, but before I make assumptions, I would like to see for myself.”

Turning, her visor switched its focus away from Varas for the first time since the clone had stepped into the chamber, now drawing the disciple’s attention to a small selection of sabers. Blood thrummed in Ara's veins at the promise of a fight.

”Show me what you can do. Do not hold back.”

[member="Varas Kyrel"]

 

[Armand Temi]

While Varas had visited Bastion before there was still much detail about the place that had escaped her on previous trips. The stone columns and vaulted ceilings brought, not an airy lightness to the training facility, but a stately one. Her pupils constricted tightly until she finally entered the darker chamber where Sarathiel stood. Masked and armored, her imposing figure took on little of her own personal characteristics. She was a blueprint of the Ren except for feminine accents - the mask echoing her softer bone structure, ornate and intricate patterns on the garments, hinting at an aristocratic upbringing. She glanced down at her own simple dark robe and stretchy body glove underneath, constructed for movement and utility only.

So instead Varas pulled in the woman’s aura, expecting the same fiery blackness that had emanated from Mishel… but there was nothing. Quite enigmatic, demanding the brunette clone’s utter attention. In fact everything about Sarathiel did, and for the awkward ADD-inflicted daughter of Kyrel Ren, it was an impressive feat. Needless to say she felt utterly nude and exposed in front of this figure, which of course pricked her own hackles. Be on your guard, Varas.

And as though sensing it - and she probably did - the more powerful force user knew that she had something to prove. A soft, derisive snort escaped her nostrils at the mention of her father and her lax training, but as she followed Sarathiel’s gaze to the sabers, Varas felt relief that they might be sparring. Her telekinesis and other simple Force skills were sorely lacking.

She selected a training saber, the mechanical whoosh of activation displaying a humming crimson blade. Her wrist and arm moved fluidly, sending the blade into a practice arc before standing before Sarathiel, but instead of charging, her alto tone rang out into the chamber:

“But is it a fair fight if you are so… covered? So concealed. What are you hiding, Sarathiel?”

It was an elementary taunt, the natural Dun Moch that came from a damaged soul. She’d practiced it often on Kyrel who became flustered or simply ignored her.

[member="Ara Zambrano"]

 

[Ara Zambrano]

The masked and armoured form of Sarathiel paused as she reached for her own training blade, forgoing the challenge of her lightwhip for the time being. Gloved hand hovering over one of the simple chrome hilts, she cocked her head to the side, visor turning to glance back at the girl. There was a thread of power in her words, a taunt meant to strike a chord within, her expression behind the mask both approving and curious. Ara wondered if [member="Varas Kyrel"] even realized that there was more to her words than a feeble attempt to get under her opponent’s skin.

A dark, crackling chuckle echoed from the vocalizer as leather clad fingers wrapped around the smooth metal, and she stepped away from the table, a flash of purple igniting with a push of a button. The attempt at Dun Moch rolled right off the Master, the laugh brushing away any doubt dredged up by the Disciple’s words. A mixture of natural immunity provided through her Epicanthix blood and her own self-confidence served her well against just such an attack, but she had to admire the girl’s guile. Perhaps there was more potential to this child of Kyrel’s than she had first given him credit for.

”Are you afraid of an opponent you cannot see? Or is it a fear of an opponent that you cannot feel that strikes you so uncomfortably?”

A quick snap of the wrist sent her own blade spinning in a test circle, the Ren watching for Varas’ reaction, searching for the tell-tale signs of nervousness, the twitch of a finger or a foot, eyes that darted from one target to another. How much of a novice was the clone?

”You will find I am not so easy to distract as Kyrel is. Nor as hot-headed.”

Lips curled up behind the mask as she poked and prodded at the chip she’d noticed in the young woman’s personal armour, the small sound made at the mention of the other Master of Ren all the confirmation Sarathiel needed. How much pressure need be applied before it cracked completely? Locking gazes through the opaque visor, she let the weight of her scrutiny fall upon the girl.

”I am beginning to believe he taught his little mutt how to bark but failed to follow through with a bite.”

More laughter echoed through the chamber as her own taunt added to the mix, her posture relaxed, almost an insult by itself.

 

[Armand Temi]

Varas’s green eyes followed the saber hilt, however the questions from Sarathiel were far less easy to gain a line of sight on.

The mention of Kyrel broke her concentration for a moment. Was it a weakness to be exploited or just an easy lure? Either way, her own dark brows furrowed assessing the information.

She chuckled loudly, almost a full belly laugh. “My father’s easy to distract. Especially if you are a woman.” Perhaps this was a flaw that Ara knew already or maybe Varas had just exposed it. Either way, it was his daughter’s observation from residing in his home and having access to more intimate locales than others in the Ren might have - her father enjoyed the company of the female sex, despite any protest to the contrary.

Still the brunette Disciple had no qualms that she was indeed the weaker one here, that she would be punished with training as Kyrel had wished. Saratheil did not take the bait, but was there more she could scratch from the surface - like long and ragged nails on stone?

While her concentration was not at its peak, Varas ignited her own blade and leaped at her opponent with the vicious staccato of Juyo, almost Sith-like in its intensity. There would be no more words from the clone for a few beats - only banshee screams and grunts.

[member="Ara Zambrano"]