Larkoon takes another stroll.

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

As always, the air was thick with the darkside, something that was ever empowering to the child Zabarak.

Though there was something longed to be desired. More...There most be more! The boy hungered for more power..More darkside energies.

Larkoon finds himself in a dark area, with a thick fog coursing past his thin ankles. His body garbed in ceremonial sith clothing. What was going on? A dream? The boy's head filled with random loud screaming. Children running. The background behind him played various events he could not under stand.

Was it the force? Was it telling him something. The boy dropped to his knees inside of this dark abyss, clinching his ears. His face scrunched in pain.

"Agh!"- The young teenaged acolyte grunted. It was at that moment a thunderous voice shouts;
"CLAIM YOUR DESTINY!"

Suddenly, everything goes silent. Larkoon's eyes bolt open. Small streams of sweat run down his exposed, tattooed chest.

"A dream...?"

Larkoon grunts to himself, as he sits up in his bed wearing just his favorite red shorts with the one sith symbol on it. Larkoon places the opened palm of his hand over his face as he contemplates what just happened. After a few minutes, he chooses to disregard it.

The child stands up, goes through his daily routine of grooming and washing and goes on his way to train.

Yes, the daily ritual of sith training, woo. Lars travels the corridor, allowing his eyes to wonder the archaic walls of the area. Various training sessions happen around him, blood splatters. Excellent...

The boy continues to his favorite area, until...Something catches his senses.

It must be another master...

Lars turns his attention to the room the darkside energies radiated from. His arms behind his back. The child sported a spacers outfit with black boots, grey jacket and black gloves. His twelve inch saber hilt dangles on his left side of the hip.

The boy approaches the being in question with his hands pocketed. His glaring expression daggering at the lord's figure. The man would most likely be in the library, reading scriptures and old sith journals.

"Hello there..."- Lars says in his cool and creepy voice.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The pages flipped, one after another, the cursory glance the Sith Lord gave the young man was precisely that. He thumbed through the pages, nonchalant and somewhat disinterested, occasionally licking his digit to allow skin to grip old parchment. Parchment, the template of old, the method of communication that preceded holopads and holocrons, when animal skin was stretched thin and hammered out before being totally flattened, all concept of animal derivative gone. With the exception of the smell, that took time to rid oneself of. He pondered, for a moment, and came to the conclusion that there was likely human parchment and even Zabrak in the hallowed library, festering with dust and non use as acolytes sat on their hands and expected tutelage to be given, instead of earned. All written word, ink and blood that looked alike, important for the purpose of knowledge. But knowledge would only get someone so far.

Since teaching the basics of Makashi in the courtyard, Gabriel had taken to more pragmatic practices, diving into scholarly work and assisting the One Sith. Invasions, causing mayhem, testing the powers of an Exogorth. All were falling into his purview and he deemed such things appropriate as they met his conquest, the death and the destruction of the stagnant, strength and fortitude burned from the ashes. The One Sith were, indeed, the best vehicle to carry such purpose in the galaxy. The Sith, in their numerous congregations, had always been so.

"They say that Darth Vader was capable of destroying several soldiers at once with the power of his mind..." He began, not lifting his singular crimson eye from the book that he flipped through, effortless and seemingly without a care. "Abeloth, a being of pure darkside power, could level a whole city with the physical power that steeped from her..." He closed the book and stared at the boy with an almost curious gaze, a mixture between high expectation and irritation that his reading was being interrupted. "Do you believe such power exists in this universe? That with the wave a hand, someone could bring down entire buildings are destroy countless numbers of life?"

He reached out, the aura around the child was not without talent. But he had not been given the tutelage he needed, a life as an acolyte for the expanse of a year had left much to be desired. Such things were beyond the young boys fault and laid at the feet of his instructors. Gabriel could appreciate such experience, having not truly blossomed in his life until after the death of his family and his work as a mercenary. Upon the road, upon the hard path, upon pain and desperation, he built his power and endurance.

[member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

The boy softly smiles, while shutting his eyes for a second. His arms cross against his chest. Very mysterious, this man. A inner darkness that sent chills through the young zabarak's back. This man, something was quite dark about him..... But then, anyone over acolyte is very impressive to this child. Ominous sounds of the child's boots pound the marble ground underneath him, as he begins to walk towards the sorcerer.

Lars stops his approach once he hit a better lit area, so that the man could get a better look at him and so that the child could view him.

"Lord Vader..."-Larkoon said aloud.

"Weak."
"A fool." Larkoon thought the next statement.

The child thought to himself. Giving everything up because of a love child between Vader and a some bearucrat woman was sickening. It made him weak and allow the petty jedi to win. Larkoon could not understand this sacrifice that the fallen 'chosen one' took.

Still at his power, Larkoon had to admit;

"The man was very powerful...It was admirable at best..."
Larkoon moves to answer the older gentlemen's question.

"I believe there is a greater power than Lord Vader's in existence..."

The child releases his sinister smile and looks to [member=Reverance] with his icy gaze. A crimson glow dimly emitting from his Zabarak eyes.

"It just has to be strife for and we can all achieve better than Lord Vader could even hope to imagine....."

 

[Reverance]

"He was weak...and a fool...and powerful?" The Sith Lord spoke with a sardonic smile, taking a jab at the young boys logic. It was true, Darth Vader failed in the greatest ways imaginable. And while he was truly powerful with the force, that man squandered his powers on needless sacrifice and compassion and mercy. These are things that cannot stand and regret and remorse are the greatest limitations a Sith can face. Perhaps, in his own way, the young man was right. "From the mouth of babes..." He said quietly as he placed the book back on the shelf and removed another.

"I have chopped down mechs with the very will to do so, relieving the men within of their crutches. I have broken men into pieces because they weren't willing to improve themselves. I even once, while a man laid dying, killed his subordinates in front of him, to end a country wide rebellion." He said as he began thumbing through the pages. He wasn't looking to brag or show that he was more powerful than Darth Vader. It was merely a roundabout way of agreeing with the words previously spoken by [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]. If Gabriel would have met Darth Vader, he would have likely sensed that weakness in him and attempted to remove him from his metallic shell. "I held no regard for those men, I had never known them to hate them. But they were weak, they didn't strive for something and because of that, they fell before me."

Holding out his hand, he levitated the book and sent it floating over to [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]. "What do you strive for, boy?" He crossed his arms, black armor weave Sith robs not giving revelation to the armor beneath. The scar against his right socket left him partially blind, but even with the robe, it was fairly obvious that this man was a warrior of muscle and bone. His crimson gaze was long and piercing, cutting through the meat of the boy to discern truth from 'big words.'

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

The man's story of what he accomplished was quite interesting. Larkoon has read such reports while doing research on missions. His left hand slides into his pocket, as he rests his body on a support beam next to him.

"Unity."

A quick response from the child. His right hand clutches the book as it floated to him. His icy glare slid down to the rather heavy book. A very interesting piece of literature it seemed like. Lars opens the book and starts sorting through the pages, looking for the histories of great sith lords.

As he looked on, he continued with his explination. His gloved index finger strikes the pages apart.

"I wish to rule this galaxy and unify it under one mind...My mind..."

This statement retains a child-like response in the way that its so selfish. Perhaps it's the young zabarak relapsing to being a kid again?

"I strive to be the strongest and show no one will stop me and anyone who tries to do so...Shall meet my blade.."

Larkoon stops his search on the page relating to 'Darth Plageious'.
"The force will serve me..."

[member=Reverance]

 

[Reverance]

Ambition, force of well, fortitude, perseverance. Each word spoken was built upon such intent, such desire, such passion. Even if passion could not be heard in the voice of the boy, Gabriel could sense it within him. A stone plucked from the river still speaks depth of the current, that eroding a powerful thing. The Lord of Pain couldn't help but smile, that grin that could only come from someone so aptly named after the Angel of Death, so wrought with vision and the strength to bring it to fruition. It wasn't a smile of pleasure, it was a smile in the anticipation of pain to come. This little one could not accomplish such tasks without in, pain and suffering the greatest catalysts for growth. As a chisel strikes against a statue, so will pain and torment lash against this one, if he was to endure, to become that thing he sought. The apex, the powerful, the menacing and the feared.

"The force will serve you? How can it, when it bends so easily to my will?" He yanked the book from the child's hand with the pull of the force, coiling around the thing of archaic lore, basically tugging at the child should he not let go. As the binding hit against the Sith Lord's hand, he looked with an unblinking gaze upon the Zabrak, searching his body and mind for the ambition that laid beneath. He sensed promise, he sensed potential, but most of all, he sensed drive. Someone could overcome any obstacle, even the lack of talent, with the proper motivation. And he appreciated that [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"] shared similar philosophy towards the force and the darkside. Too many times had he spoken to Sith, slaves to the force, bowing to it's power in pursuit of it, becoming nothing but servants to that which they did not understand. The force didn't respect that, it was a thing to be abused and to be mistreated. And in it's mistreatment, it afforded all the rewards one could hope to achieve.

He placed the book back into the shelve and propped a foot atop a chair, his elbow resting against the knee. "A blade can only do so much, what of the force do you truly understand?" He spoke in words of hypocrisy unbeknownst to the child. The blade was something Gabriel cherished as much as the force, if not more so. To forsake the brush for the inspiration that wields it, well, one could hardly consider themselves a man of the art in such low state. But for the boy, the force would be his greatest asset. Gabriel could discern that from just the few words he had presented.

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

The book was snatched from the unsuspecting child's hand, prompting him to look down at his now emptied palm. His trademark glare digging into his own hand. This old man, he certainly held power. To snatch away something from this well built child as if it was nothing? Lars already could tell the sorcerer was no one to trifle with.

Since the use of the force( much like his body) was still maturing, his senses where still untailored. However, Larkoon could tell this would not be easy--at least if the old man taught correctly. Such power, but like most people stronger than an acolyte, it seemed like they where damn near almighty to the kid. The young Zabarak looked up to the being, slowly blinking his eyes.

"I will conquer the force...It will be my own slave soon enough....Give it time..."

The child said with a small chortle.

Still, that crimson glow faintly emits from the young acolyte's eyes. His arms move behind his back, enforcing better standing stature in respect for the older sith lord.

"I have but learned simple telekinesis...A little sensory...And how to channel force into both my emotions and body to increase my strength and speed..."

[member=Reverance]

 

[Reverance]

"You have learned nothing..." He spoke in certainty, absent anger or hatred or frustration. It was the truth, in his mind. The spectrum of powers was cut wide and ran the length of the planet. They might as well be on different hemispheres. But, he found a certain longing, a certain boredom, pulling at his intentions. Where he would normally just cast aside the child, not yet ready to learn from a master of his level, he felt a sense of necessity in it. As if there meeting in the library was something beyond his own plans, a knot in the tethers that drew plots further down the line. Something beyond his own manipulation. A squint of the eye, a draw of the lips to corner of his mouth, he cracked his neck and walked past the young Sith. "Follow me..."

Leaving the library, the walked for some time, his black sith robes drifting in silent chorus with the silence to which he treated [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]. There wasn't a need for words now, there was a need for display. Display of powers. One must know where they exist to understand the path before them and Larkoon was hardly in the position to deny Gabriel. A turn of the corner, a squeak of the boots, a wave of the hands, and they entered a testing facility. Gabriel motioned to a red target in the middle of the metallic room, gray steel turrets formed in the points of hexagons not ten meters form the point, all around it. The Sith Lord brandished a Corellian Apple, rubbing it's red skin hard against his forearm. The lift of the cloth revealed the hint of tattoos and scars beneath, from battles long past.

"Computer...start the telekinetic deflection exam. Level: Intermediate." He bit a large chunk from an apple as he hopped up on a spectator chair. While chewing, he spoke to the young man to whom he would assume would be in the appropriate spot now. "Those turrets..." He pointed with the hand holding the apple, chomping loudly. "Are going to fire metal balls at you...about half the size of this apple, in random order. On your command..." He smiled and lifted his eyebrows. "Show me something impressive..." He leaned back in the chair, scooting so that he could lean comfortably against the wall. This was a test for higher levels than what stood before him, but pain and desperation were necessary for growth. Even if desperation was a poor man's anger. And this laid the foundation for true understanding of telekinesis, the ability to assess multiple targets at once and handle them accordingly. Splitting the intention, in such ways, would lead to telekinetic lightsaber combat, ballistakinesis, and force rend. They were ambitious goals but not entirely out of the child's reach, with the proper devotion of time.

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

It sounded as if this old man was very displeased with the knowledge the boy has been given. But it meant nothing. Just as long as he is going to get taught more. It disappointed Larkoon as well, his lack of training. It felt like nothing was moving on here in the academy. All the Telekinesis training and endurance training got boring and redundant.

Though they still needed polishing.

Larkoon looks down in embarrassment at the older gentlemen's statement.

"Indeed..."-The boy grumbled under his breath.

Gabriel give an order that cannot be refused and was translated to the boy as 'come, you seek knowledge I will show you'. His cold gaze returns to normal, as the dark lord passes him. Again, the man's strength sent shivers up the boy's spine.

It was almost like he was compelled to follow the older gentlemen. He follows [member="Reverance"] with both hands held behind his back. Ah, the walls of the academy, much bloodshed and violence filled the hallways. The crimson rugs hiding the blood of -most- beings.

Larkoon finds himself inside of a dark chamber of sorts. Deja vu? It felt all too familiar to the young zabarak. But that's what sith training is all about. Once the command was given, Larkoon prepares himself by taking a few breaths and holding his arms adjacent to his body.

This is gonna be tough, and Lars expected the worse.

"I am ready..."

 

[Reverance]

"Your fate is your own boy. The commands are ready, ready for your instruction..." Crimson eye glared towards the child, gesticulating in a method that would assist in the physical manifestation of telekinesis. That was good, but it was a crutch as well, a habit that would be broken with practice. A true master merely prepared the mind, the body moved with habit, not in defense, but in assertion of will. He would learn soon enough, Gabriel's gaze shifting up to the intercom, to the built-in microphone ready to accept [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"] command. The commencement of the test, the process of understanding where the boy currently stood.

It was important for him to inflict the training upon himself, not from the hands of a man removed from the benefits. Lessons learned of ones own condition, pain willingly endured, was the most powerful basis for growth. As Larkoon met against this temporary foe, he would remember that what drove him wasn't the desire to please Gabriel, but the desire to survive, the desire to thrive. It was an important aspect of training, one often left for the birds by the instructors of the academy. Oh, did they ever enjoy hurting their disciples. Hardly a proper method of training, as muscle grows back much stronger when strained instead of ripped. He mentally shrugged, these beings were cemented in their ways of tutelage. Gabriel tore out another piece of the apple, his eyebrow raised at the child as he emphasized that the signal to begin was in his hands.

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

A sigh excapes the boy's breath, as he prepared himself and started to focus himself mentally and physically for the 'pain' that may ensue for this training. Assuming this device has been tailored to handle zabaraks, Lars prepares for the worse. He looks to the Sorcerer, with a small bit of doubt, but casts it aside to start the regiment.

His hand raises, and extends the index finger to poke his chin. Using telekinesis at this point was easy to him, but now it was about speed and size, more like a 'feel the burn' kind of thing.

The machine jerks and clinks, four turrets slowly emerge. The computer speaks:

"INTERMEDIATE MODE, ENGAGED."

Lars grips his hands into fists and holds them to his side. Two balls shoot over to him running extremely fast! They stop in mid air in front of the young zabarak abruptly and float in front of him. The soft ball sized metal balls drop to the ground as this time three more shoot out.

"So fast..."- the boy thought

A grim smile emerges on the child's face. This was the type of training he asked for. Another round of three balls rush him and he stops them, just inches from his raised hands. Large beads of sweat run down his skinny shape as more shoot to him.

"Heeeyah!"- The boy exclaimed as he tried to stop them, only to have one of them actually hit and send him flying into the wall. It hurt, big time! The boy laid hunched over as he clinched his gut in pain. It wasn't enough though. He had to strive harder! Lars stood up, grinding his teeth and using his rage as a weapon to refresh his powers.

The three balls shoot out in a almost star formation and Lars raises his hands again to have his midichlorians make a wall before him and stop the balls.

[member=Reverance]

 

[Reverance]

"Computer...pause." The turrets angled upward as the gears froze, filled and ready to be fired. As he looked upon the young Sith, Gabriel smiled and tilted his head, before chewing the rest of the apple and tossing the core into a mesh trash bin. It rimmed and landed softly in the bag. He was happy to see that the boy had learned to use Telekinesis for barrier purposes and he had an endurance for pain. Being hit in the chest with one of those was likely enough to crack a rib, if not cause internal damage. And for a being so small, he would need to learn to mesh his powers with his physical capabilities. Something of a marriage, a commitment to the silver lining, as it were. Where there was weakness, there was a strength to overcome it.

He approached [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"] and pointed at the barrier formed between him and the three balls suspended in air. "This..." He said, with his raspy voice laden with a sense of knowledge that traveled the metes and bounds of the universe. "...Is an issue of economy. You see..." He stated as he shifted his crimson gaze from the barrier towards the youth, fiery and resilient in his exertion. "This barrier is not something you have formed in habit, but in volition. It's costly, as you have protected the body in it's entirety when in reality, you need but three specific points of deflection." He motioned towards the three balls, counting off with his fingers to three. "You have given 100 percent when you but needed 10."

He shoo'd the young child out of the way, pushing him over to the spectator location. "Watch, learn, do as I do." He spoke as he quietly approached the center of the room. Looking up to the communications mic, he spoke with an aura of nonchalance. "Computer: Level Expert. Begin now." As he did, his hands both extended from the folds of his robes, his chest rose as he breathed slow and deep. He would combine his sense of hearing, the smell of fuel cell ejection, his force sense, and his telekinetic expertise to form a barrier between him and these turrets. One of dynamic status, constantly revolving around him and changing with the needs of defense.

The first three shot in unison, his left hand met the first, deflecting it away, the right met the right ball and dealt with it in the same manner, and his left met the third. The barrier was formed in but an instant and was gone as soon as it was done, only to allow the creation of another. A man who appeared to be fighting an invisible foe, the Sith Lord moved his feet in steady circles as all 6 fired upon him in assorted rates. Panic didn't show, and neither did hatred, though it did flow out of him in his utilization of the force. The room gave sound of ricocheting metal against metal as the balls hit walls and rolled into a respective drains. The Sith Lord was apparently playing pool and doing a decent job at it. As the exam finished, well over 50 balls fired, he dropped his hands and looked to the Zabrak. He wasn't trying to show off, though it may have come off as that. No, he was attempting to show that there were a multitude of ways to deal with such threats. And while this may have been an advanced form, it was something to aspire to, something to train towards. It took a calculated mind but such endeavors would monopolize on the cost-to-benefit aspects of the utilization of telekinesis. "The barrier is but a lazy form, one that should only be used when entirely needed. Trust your mind, trust your senses, trust your anger, and trust your pain. It will show you where you are weakest and force supplemental knowledge. Remember, only through our greatest pain, can knowledge be obtained."

He moved away, motioning back to the circle for the child to begin again. "Computer: Resume intermediate exam."

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

Lars tightens his fists while he struggled onto his feet, grunting slowly. Now was the time to prepare for the next round. His blood red eyes glow dimly as his gaze is aimed to the spheres of death. But, before they could move, Gabriel gives the command.

"What is the meaning of this...?" The child thought, as he turned his eyes to the older sith before him. Heavy breaths could be heard from the child, as his ribs creaked from his injury.

As [member="Reverance"] approached, the breathing got calmer. His recovery kicks in. The old sorcerer speaks more words of wisdom to the young zabarak, his crass voice scratching against Lars' eardrums.

"Smaller more efficient way of guarding...?" Lars thought to himself as he nods to the statement.

When given the signal to move out the way, the white zabarak walks out of the way, still clinching his gut in pain. The child ventures onto a lone chair and sits up in it, sighing as he sits in it.

"Expert level..?"

Such words made Lars shiver a little. The balls at the level this young acolyte trained was barely manageable, but this old man is about to do harsher training? It just shows their gap in strength. Lars paid attention and kept his senses on the max to better feel what was going on. The boy was always good at paying attention to his surroundings so it should not be any trouble detecting whatever [member="Reverance"] was doing.

As the old man deflected the steel spheres of death away, Lars' face remained in a sinister scowl. The boy dares not show how impressed he was with such skill this master shows.

50 balls...Lars bites his bottom lip, until it bleeds. What is this old man!? [member="Reverance"] 's voice leaves little time to comtemplate, as he motions for the kid to continue training.

"Just deflect...No more barriers..." Thought Larkoon as he postions himself and takes small, controlled breaths to make it easier to control his midichlorians. Suddenly, three balls shoot out, and Lars tries to replicate what he saw.

Sure the steel balls moved slower than what the master was working with, but it was still rather fast to the undertrained sith in training. He holds up both hands, creating small barriers through the force on his palms. His hands slap away the three balls headed his way successfully, but at a cost.

Maintaining such control of the force was a tad harder than normal, but was not as bad as the training on needles exercise he invented for himself. More balls shoot off his in direction, causing him to protect himself in the same way.

"Use your rage...and focus..!" Lars thought as he continued.

Slowly, he steps backwards, showing himself starting to loose the grip on the controlled guarding the young sith is learning. ( about 20 spheres at this point have been stopped) until one finally breaks hand's barrier--it's momentum is cut in half--and pushes Larkoon across the floor with his hand straight out holding the ball. His teeth grinds, his head sweats more as he is pressed out of place. After a few seconds the ball stops and lands in front of him, the boy out of breath.

"Have...To keep...Going..."

 

[Reverance]

Pleased wasn't the word for Gabriel. It was hardly an emotion that surfaced upon the man's face, as it was an emotion of mediocrity. A settling, an appeasement with the way things were going. So to say Gabriel was pleased, that would be an inaccuracy. Behind the gaze of glass crimson conjuration in his eye, his lips parted in a draw that favored the right corner of his mouth, the slightest expression aimed at positive reinforcement. That is, if it could be interpreted, which would be presently difficult at best. Nevertheless, since the machinations paused as [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"] left the circle, in an effort to instill some sort of sense of safety, Gabriel took this time to expand as he folded his hands in his lap.

"There is no limit to the force. As many lightyears span the infinite blackness of space, so can the force be manifested in such ways. You focus on barriers..." He lifted one hand, an index finger pointing to the ceiling. "What about re-direction?" He opened his hand, digits spread out in a reverse five, and he slowly closed the hand into a fist. "Do not look to stop the balls, merely look to avoid them. Nudge them, as it were, away from you in an effort to clear the wake. Picture, in your mind, grabbing each ball and gently tugging at the forces that push it along. Do not look to impact the ball, look to impact it's momentum through interfacing your presence with it's own. Impress upon it the calamity associated with touching you, the desire to remain separate must be shared."

He could have just told the kid to grab the damn ball with the force and toss it away, perhaps even reversing the momentum to flick them back into the oncoming metal assailants. But this was the stage where power must be drawn through the mental picture painted by the mind, an instruction manual for the implementation of the force. But most of all, he wanted to see that this kid could progress beyond lessons. That he could take these words and formulate his own path, his own methodology on how to dispatch such ballistically stubborn objects. This was from where true mastery originated. And it was something that wouldn't manifest in a training room, but out on the battlefield, where life and limb were truly on the line. But it couldn't hurt to practice.

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

Beads of sweat ran down the child's tattooed skin, as he lent his ear to the old sith sorcerer. His seething glare bore crimson, glowing eyes.Hardwork is what it took to become a great lord of the sith and to accomplish his long sought dream--unify the universe under one mind, his mind.

"Re-directed...."The boy said as the ball dropped in front of him with a loud metallic slam.

The boy clasps his hands together, while drawing on his own rage to replenish his energies, as taught through training. Truly impressive, this Zabarak's recovery rate. After a few minutes, Lars takes a sigh and drops his hands to the sides.

Darkside energies lurked around the young acolyte as he prepared for the next round. He holds out his limber arms and licks his upper lip in anticipation. Another round fills the turrets in front of him.

Using what [member="Reverance"] said, Lars finally deflects the ball--using subtle misdirection. The force was as infinite as space it's self, but Lars' mind refuses to except that--now at least at his current understanding. It's not like he chose to not believe, it is like a subconscious feeling.

More of the young blood inside Larkoon. The fact he was still young made him hesitant and lack full understanding of the force. Causing him to use the force in such a sloppy and under developed way.

"Concentrate on reflecting....Not barriers...."--He murmured as the balls are redirected with his hands.

Lars got it, his energies just pushing the balls out of the way and sending them flying some meters away. Strange, but it felt so much easier than the previous method. Less stress, less power, but still as effective. It's no surprise the young dathomirian would have trouble learning less brutal methods of fighting, considering his heritage in being trained as a Zabarak warrior.

The boy continued to deflect the steel spheres, until 50 of them laid strone about around his feet--his subtle grunts rumbling softly in the air. They still came rather fast, and just learning to focus on a new, more effective method still took it's toll. The boy hadn't trained seriously like this in a while. After the last ball, the Lars dropped in place with a smirk on his face.

"More...."

 

[Reverance]

The Arkanian hybrid jumped from the stool, kicking the seat back against the wall. With a wave of the hand, a motion sensor fixed on his position, the machines stood up on their wheel base and recoiled back into the wall. The doors slid in front of the turrets, leaving the room empty except for the two participants. With a single punch forward, a solid ten feet from the child, Gabriel aimed a projected right punch to the zabraks left temple. His other hand leaned forward and gripped the young sith tightly, pushing him hard against the wall, pinning him against the cold metal. His recent exertion would prove this a more devastating attack, despite the lackluster effort that Gabriel put into it. It wasn't to beat the kid up, the Sith Lord was above such practices. But sometimes it took more for understanding, for instruction to place print against solidifying cement. Inspecting the nails bed of his right hand, held out just from the folds of the robe, he approached the young man who would have found cool comfort in the coldness of the steel wall.

"You depend on this..." He pointed to his single crimson eye, tapping the skeletal portion of the socket with his right hand. "It's a crutch, a weakened thing given to you to permeate your weakness, to perpetuate it. Your mind is distracted by it. Distracted by barrel, distracted by the turrets, distracted by my appearance, distracted by the contours of the room. These are statics things, noted and stored, never to be considered again." He motioned outward to all the shiny things, everything that would have once drew the eye from purpose. "You cannot grasp what is truly significant with such dedicated dependence to weakness. Your eyes betray your mind." He released his grip on the young man. "Tell me, boy...What is the difference between those projectiles and my telekinetic push?"

It had potential to be a trick question, begging the answer and knowing that one didn't exist. Both things were threats, things to be considered. The eye deceived the mind into thinking that one was of force and one was of physical nature. But the force touched them both, creating ripples in time that progressed forward all the same. The force clung to both like lice, there to stay without the defacing of it. It was necessary, often, for acolytes to train with eyes closed in order to understand this, to truly appreciate the ubiquitous nature of the force and all things it resided within. In the halls of the Sith, such tactics quickly led to injury and damage...sometimes a necessary thing.

[member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

Lars looked to the older gentlemen's sudden movement with small shock. What was going to happen next? The young Zabarak took small breaths and sat back, as he watched the old man approach. This young Dathomirian hybrid couldn't help but start running through his thoughts for a few seconds.

"I'm getting stronger..."

But this would be interrupted abruptly [member="Reverance"] slugging him in the head, narrowly missing the sharp perturbed horns on the side of his head.

"Gah!"

It is true he was a little wasted from the training, however his zabarak blood didn't allow the pain to travel too far. The boy sat back up, his left gloved hand on the side of his head where he was hit. His face bore a glaring expression that tightened as he awaited the meaning of such a outrage.

Weakness? Lars thought he buried that with the rest of the dead bodies along time ago. Perhaps he still had much to learn? The boy aims his glance away to the wall for a second and turns it back to Gabriel's position.

As the old sorcerer spoke, the boy struggled to his feet, while dusting off his shoulders. His mind clouded by what he could only see with his eyes...Perhaps that was true, or perhaps it was just over thinking, which is rare in his culture since they where bred to fight, not think.

Lars remained quiet for only a minute, still aiming his cold glare to the older sith sorcerer. The boy needed a second to think about his answer, since it seemed rather odd. Must've been a trick question. Nevertheless, he considers options for the answer before speaking.

The immediate answer made him cringe, as this may call for another punch to the face, alas, the boy strengthened his posture to prepare.

"If I had to guess...I'd say one causes more pain...?"

With that said, Lars tightened his fists next to his hips.

 

[Reverance]

"You're angry..." He said, a smile upon his face, as he clapped his hands together. "Good, good. The Jedi like to teach of the capacity for anger to cloud judgment..." He said as he slowly backed away from the young man, intent on teaching him as far as the Zabrak would allow. So long as the Sith Lord felt his words pushing through in osmotic surges, he would continue to speak. "But you don't believe that...do you? No, I can see that now. You know as well as I that the body is iron, but anger...that is the point, the tip of the sword." He paused, thinking that perhaps, in the future, he could push this one to his limits with actions and words. Tones of condescension, tones of animosity, tones of belittlement and tones of aggravation. All tools to the trainer who knew just the right buttons to press. But this wasn't a lesson on anger. Another time, he thought, as he began to answer his own question with a story.

"One day, you will have the opportunity to fight in all sorts of terrains and environments...space included. In such situations, you use an environmental suit. The biggest weakness being...that the suit can depressurize if punctured or damaged. Makes one cognizant of such weakness, weary of the threat." He began to pace, brushing off the young mans anger as if a mere discomforting humidity. "People will come up with all sorts of ways to go about it. Crushing is the obvious choice. But what do you do in these situations...if you can't see the attack?" He pointed again, to his single crimson eye.

"The difference between those metal balls and my force push is simply how you interpret it. If you, in your mind, see them as different...then they are different. But if you can accept that both are dealt with in similar fashion, through an exertion of your telekinetic power..." He held out his hand and released a force wave that pushed out from his body but six inches, hardly anything substantial, but enough to rebut assailants force endeavors, such as a push or pull. "Then you will be capable of dispatching both with pure instinct. The battle will always be one of economy, your mind is as much a resource as anything else. Learn to think, learn to use it, to trust it beyond your eyes and what they see. With time...it will become as much instinct as your desire to breath."

This was turning into more than just a lesson on telekinesis, the old Sith felt the shift in the subject and was looking to work it back into his main philosophy of fighting. That everything was important, but only in it's initial experience, and that static and unchanging things do not warrant further consideration. One should remain vigilant of dynamic conditions, and the mind can be taught to catalog and reference everything else.

"The difference between a kinetic attack and a telekinetic attack is but in the words of it, the origins. It doesn't change how it impacts you. I can cut you with the force just as easy as I can bludgeon you with it, and the same can be said of kinetic munitions. So...block my attack." He released a simple force push that, should it not be blocked or avoided, would slam the kid against the wall once more.

[member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"]

 

[Larkoon Darkmat'r]

Lars stood up straight, as he listened to the cryptic talk the sith lord gave out. He tightened his fists with slight anger towards the old man. A small grow could be heard in the young zabarak's voice. He rubs his neck, trying to compose himself after what just happened. Though, this was the first time he felt like he met a man of true experience, one who could actually teach him how use the force in it's truest form.

The way [member="Reverance"] spoke, the philosophy he offered reeked of years worth of experience. So far, the people who have been teaching Lars have been nothing but rage-filled with no meaning to their actions and ex-Jedi. As embarrassing to admit.

Gabriel's words are trapped in Lar's mind. The man's index finger points out the silver balls on the ground.

"...How I view it...?" The acolyte thought to himself as he turned his glance back to the sith sorcerer.


Before Lars could ask any questions, he feels movement in the force around Gabriel. The boy immediately looked at the older gentlemen and waits his gestures. It seemed as if he was making a force push! The child had little time to gain his strength back, but he was still able to protect himself---somewhat.

The young acolyte holds up his arms in a defending gesture, making a small barrier that was instantly shattered as he was knocked off his feet and on his ass.

"Ugh...."

His glowing red eyes shoot open in his now anger-filled expression. The child jumps to his feet and holds up his own right arm. Lar's optics now a luminous yellow, he was full of rage. Only so much this boy could take, despite his maturity. A small, basketball sized bubble of force shoots out, intent on hitting [member="Reverance"] in his chest to knock him down.

 

[Reverance]

Larkoon was so busy listening to the Sith Lord that he had failed to think for himself. Gabriel wasn't interested in someone who listened as much as in someone who could think for themselves. Who could read between the lines and realize that for every action that existed in the world, an infinitesimal amount of reactions existed. Hanging, just waiting to be brought to life, in the threshold between what would occur and what wouldn't. The boy didn't need to block the attack, he could have easily stepped aside to allow focused blast pass him. But instead, he clung to the delineation between what could be seen and what couldn't. It was a hard habit to break, Gabriel acknowledged, some spending the entirety of their life trying to discern the differences that he wished to emphasize. He could spend an eternity lecturing on this very topic and it would still fall upon deaf ears, the words echoing across the mind but never truly diffusing into the membrane. Nevetheless, he would show him what he meant.

The anger within the child was almost a stench of it's own, a fruit not yet fully ripe but begging to be consumed. Even the eyes shifted in tint, practically waving a banner that an attack would ensue. As the force was released, Gabriel closed his eye, already moving, seeing with the mind and nothing more. He stepped to the right, tilting his body, as the force passed by him to hit against metal like wind blowing open a loose barn door. He tilted his head, the blast of wind knocking his cowl back to reveal the haggard face beneath, as he straightened out. His crimson eye twitched as his stare pierced down upon the young Zabrak, his armorweave robe settling down from the gale.

"You're not listening. Perhaps, your failure to grasp at training lay not at the feet of your instructors...but instead at the one in which their efforts were focused." He intentionally mocked the boy, knowing that his anger now ruled him, a weakness that would need mending. Gabriel stepped back and gathered the force to him, radiating out in sickly crescents and crescendos, as the room began to rattle from the pressure. "I tell you to block and you block. I tell you to dodge and you dodge. A Sith does not lay upon the foundation set before him. He endeavors to break it apart and build anew. The stepping stones provided by the Sith that came before you are not something to aspire to, but instead a weakness to avoid. Use your mind, use your eyes, use your body, use everything!" He was a collected calm but even the patience of an ancient Sith Lord could be pushed to it's limits in the face of adversity. He stepped back once more, the distance of the entire room now between the two, as he held out his hand in nonchalance. The force manifested in a brutal force push, nearing the power of a blast, that rushed out from his palm towards the acolyte. He gave no words, no biased instructions of what Larkoon should or shouldn't do. It would be up to [member="Larkoon Darkmat'r"] and his instincts to survive the attack.