Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Maleus[The Joining]

Stood within the sparsely lit labyrinth of tunnels inside of Taris. The fractured sky-line was illuminated in vast clouds of green, a reminder of the dangerous happenings of the planet. It was in fact why he was inside, the air outside was utterly toxic, he had to wait for the next cycle to allow the planet to replenish it's supply of oxygen. Though, as more time passed he'd resurface from his sanctum of be met with the sight of flames which spun from afar in a fiery vortex of orange flame. The smell of burnt matter wafts into his nostrils forcing him to wince at this new sensation. But aside from that, something else lingered in the distance, a sort of.... enigmatic aura that troubled him to his core. "The force has yet to lie." He'd muse as he awaited to see if his assumption of another's arrival was true.
 
Ballen-Ist had wandered far from the Sith Academy, boarding on a transport vehicle that took him all the way to Taris. The cold empty reaches of space was something the Sith pureblood could not help but admire, basking in it's ominous shadow. He hoped one day to become as empty and powerful as it. Though, for now he would have to protect himself from it, travelling in the safe tunnels of the planet. The surface was harmful, not something one would want to be caught in. Glaring down the path, he would spot the Iridonian, his skin a black and red colour. Was he of the Sith? Stepping forward proudly, the pureblood would begin to examine the warrior, his dark Academy uniform standing out. Ballen-Ist was of the New Order, an Acolyte. His short sword hung on his waist, as he spoke out, "Who are you?"

[member="Maleus"]
 
Caught the glimpse of Ballen-Ist regal attire, his sartorial elegance made him out to be a pompous ass. He'd pull the shoal closer to his face obscuring his face in yet another ensemble of shadows. "I should ask you the same thing, I can tell by a simple observation you are not native to this planet." He'd draw his metallic hand towards the base of his chin, stroking it slowly as he spoke. "I suppose I should deal with formality, my name is Maleus. And I am the champion of Taris." After he spoke these words his form grew rigid as if he expected Ballen-Ist to react negatively to his comment . "And you?"
 
"A challenger, of course." Spoke Ballen-Ist, his waist-cape falling to the ground as he threw it off of his figure. Gripping the handle of his short sword, the Sith pureblood would draw the blade from it's sheathe. The young seventeen year old would point the blade directly at [member="Maleus"], his red coloured fingers gripping the weapon's base tightly. Examining the Iridonian, many thoughts would be rushing through his mind. This man was obviously a warrior. "Well, looks like I'll be claiming your title." He would say, speaking loudly across the tunnel. Running forward, the Sith's athletic body would propel him quickly across the rocky ground, his arm cocking backwards, the blade being drawn back. Once Ballenist was within striking distance, he would swing inwards, coming from an upwards arc, slashing diagonally towards the ground. If this attack were to be blocked, he would hop backwards, taking the brief defensive. Or so he thought.
 
The force does not lie, this man, no, this worm wanted to take what was rightfully his. The nerve of this cretin, he would taste defeat or Maleus would fall. Grabbing for his metallic pike he'd sling it's hearty frame in an arch allowing him to parry the attack with the soft of deft ability he had under his finger-tips. The clashing of the two objects cast a shower of sparks which lick the ground below lighting the velvety sands beneath their feet aglow in a red flame. Soon a fiery maze erupted twixt the duo. "The unbridled flames of Taris burn... Someone such as you could not fathom what it means to be a warrior." His metallic forearm glistened in the heat, his fingers locked into the base of it's handle allowing him to gain traction, he'd invert the base of the pike on it's end where he attempted to send the assailing object directly into the sith's collar bone which would in fact lock the joint of one of his arms, should it hit. "
 
Ballen-Ist began to examined the Iridonian's metallic arm, not having been aware of such a thing before. This proved to be a threat, for it meant an upperhand in strength for @Maleus. However, Ballen-Ist had lived his life on Korriban, of planet of constant conflict. A warrior that survived, was what he was. He prided himself on his survival on Korriban, it being infested by many dangerous beasts. To think this Iridonian would dare to question his authenticity. Eyeing Maleus' long pike, the pureblood Sith would continue to apply pressure against their weapon lock, their strengths creating a momentary pause. That pause was broken as the Iridonian's arm moved, lifting a section of the pike upwards in an attempt to stab into his shoulder. Leaning backwards, Ballen-Ist would quickly draw his blade back as his free hand planted on the ground, giving him balance. The sharp end of the pike would travel past his figure, just barely missing. The Sith's booted foot would sail upwards as he lifted his leg, attempting to plant it firmly into Maleus' stomach, before performing a backwards sommersault to gain some distance.
 
Felt his opponents boot lodge into his stomach, a sharp pain lingered under his breast, causing him to lose his breath. Though this momentary pause would not dis-way him from battle in fact it was just the opposite. He'd reach into the manifolds of his cloak wherein he'd brandish two daggers from the left and right side of his waist-band. The blades were denoted in the infamous Zabrakian red that to which he was accustomed to seeing day in, and day out. As he crossed the blades together an intricate web of sparks clicked against eachother. He'd align the hilt of his daggers on the incline of his fingers, and then, by exerting his arm downwards the blade would drive towards Ballenists position. His hope was to lodge the blade into his knee, which was another weak spot, because if it were hit it would become a truly daunting task to move. The second blade wasn't per-say aimed directly at him, it was angled slightly to the left which would lead with his target, should Ballenist decided to try to elude him to the left. All the while the pike rested on the ground towards the right of the battle-field just begging to be picked up.
 
Arching his wrist, the young Sith warrior would adjust his blade's trajectory, having it's aim pointed at the ground. Stepping forward, he would swing upwards, attempting to meet [member="Maleus"] half way in his attack. The Sith's short sword would clash against the Zabrak's knives, causing sparks to fly once more. There were many flames surrounding them as they fought, apparently. Fighting this foe was prving to be tiresome. Though, giving up was not an option. After striking upwards in defense, Ballen-Ist would once more twist his wrist, re-adjusting the blade to enable it to swing downwards. The Sith's legs would bend at the knees as he once more attacked, hoping to bring more force with it.
 
Noticed his Ballenist's advance, it was becoming more swift, more deliberate, more agile. He watched as his assailant moved in to strike, he'd force his form backwards towards the base end of the flames. With him being caged, he had no choice but to reveal his hand. In the short time span of his resurgence, he trained in the force with his master. She taught him to will the force, to call upon it when he needed it most, and it would not fail, not if he wasn't weak. And conjure the force he did, the paradigm of his focus where the daggers that he released, and the pike that was cast down. He called upon these implements and diverged their paths into one, all in the attempts to pierce Ballenist, to disable his will fight. He wished to do this, and he would use any means necessary to disable him from pursuing his course, lest he ended up the one whom was bested himself.
 
Ballen-Ist hadn't expected his foe to use the force. Watching as the weapons levitated, it seemed the Zabrak had been forced to show his trump card. Ballen's aggressive and offensive blade style had worked, yet it set him up in a bad position. After having drawn his blade close to him, the red skinned Sith would slash forward as he lunged, his blade colliding with the pike as he hit it from the side, making it miss it's target. However, the two smaller daggers would find a lace in Ballen-Ist, one lodging in his leg while the other pierced his torso. Stumbling backwards, the warrior would quickly pull the blades from his flesh, being unaware of any substance they may have been coated with. Bending down slowly to grab the pike, the Sith would begin to move forwards aiming to make a last attack. Lunging forward with cocked back arms, Ballen attempted to use the extended reach of the polearm in order to smack [member="Maleus"] harshly with it, before he crumpled to the floor do to blood loss.
 
Smiled as he saw his contemporary injured by his unexpected showing of the force, as the objects paraded into his flesh he'd draw his fists towards the young Acolyte, that is, before he saw him reaching for his pike. This was a problem, he was unarmed and he would surely be struck down if his opponent were to hit his body. It seemed he would have to sacrifice some portion of his body in order to try to deafen the impact of the pike away from his vitals. But bone upon steel, it was suicidal, he would never be able to resist the pikes entirety. And then, he realized his answer, as he followed the trajectory of the pike he'd extend his tasseled arm towards the object. As the two objects collided they screeched in theatrical unison, his metallic arm snapped under the obviously superior object, as Ballenist's momentum was carried through the base of the pike followed through into his abdomen. The blunt force impact was enough to knock him completely off of his feet and onto the tarnished ground below. Unable to catch his breath, most likely due to some internal injury he fell into a sleep. As the flames came ever closer it seemed he would be burned alive, the champion of Taris would be known as the champion of ashes.
 
The roaring flames was all that the Sith could hear as he lay on the ground, a small pool of blood quickly forming beneath him. The daggers had managed to cut deep, but it seemed his injuries weren't fatal. His vision was blurry though, and he often blacked out. He was doing all he could to stay concious at this point. Breathing steadily, the Sith pureblood would remain calm as he moved his arms, pressing his hands against the cold floor to push himself up. Grabbing his waist-cape that lay on the ground beside him, he would take his short sword, cutting it into sections in which he would use as bandages. Tying the large cloth pieces around his torso and leg, Ballen-Ist would struggle to his feet, stumbling forward to the downed Maleus. It seemed that he had won, ultimately emerging victorious in the end. The man was a worthy opponent, though rather cocky. His power was desirable though, he wished to possess it. Moving forward, he would scoop his arms into the flames, pulling him from them before putting them out by smothering them.

[member="Maleus"] would not be happy, for his skin was extremely burnt it seemed. Taris was not a wise place to pick a fight. Resting against the cold rocky walls, he would await for the man to wake up.
 
Felt his body being pitched inside of giant convention oven, his skin was fillet from his bone, excruciating amounts of pain caused him to whimper like a cur. He had been bested, his title stripped from his hands by an enigmatic Acolyte that desired power just as he did. He could see it now, that endless abyss of hell-fire, teemed with Ballenist, it had been him that pitched into the fire. It was him that reduced his body to nothing but a dried husk of singed flesh and bone that vicariously draped from his body in grotesque piles. He awoke from his stupor, to see that very man before him, and instantly he knew his nightmare was reality. His illusion, his nightmare, had only begun... But..... The force..... An insatiable amount of rage coiled from his innards, the force pulsed within him as he extended his withered hand towards Ballenist. And squeezed, so hard that his knuckles buckled under the intense pressure. His intent was to capture the young man in a grip like no other, the force would either aid him, or fail........ [member="Ballen-Ist"]
 
Ballen-Ist's blood covered back leaned against the cold stone wall of the Taris tunnels. Breathing quietly, the Sith would do his best to remain as ease, channeling all of his anger and passion into himself. The teen's wounds were painful, causing polts of agony to shoot through out him like an electricity current. Groaning would be heard from [member="Maleus"], who he had propped against the wall opposite to him. Watching the scarred Zabrak lift his arm, Ballen-Ist would sputter briefly as he felt a tight grip around his neck. It was something that would immobilize him temporarily, simply catching him off guard. This man was full of surprises, surprises that he would tear from him. Clutching his neck with one hand, the Sith pureblood would use his other to push himself to his feet, stumbling forward to his enemy who refused to give up. The long, sharp pike was still in the Acolyte's hand as he approached, his arm lift cocking backwards. Swinging harshly, the Korriban warrior aimed to slam the metallic pole into Maleus' arm, causing it to perhaps break, making him lose focus with the force.
 
The radius from his collar bone down to his right forearm was numb, he didn't even feel the pain of the metallic pike slide into his arm, just an intense numbing sensation. Even his hearing was dim, everything seemed to grow shallow, his mind yet again growing clouded. His battered body was damaged beyond repair, he would never be the same again. As he realized the damage that had been dealt to his body was in fact permanent he writhed in anger, his emotions almost seemingly rendered palpable as he did so. "KILL ME!" His body, although filled with anger was intensely weak and he knew that he would be nothing more than a slave if he were allowed to live. Knowing the fate of the fallen Acolytes he simply lost his will to live, at this point.... He would surely die. "KILL ME!"
 
"Worry not, friend. You still owe your life to me, in turn you will pay your debts by teaching me your secrets." He spoke, looking down at the defeated Zabrak, his own damaged figure struggling to stand. The Sith's head felt very light, almost as if he were to fall over. "We shall leave this place first.." Ballen spoke, turning to look further down the tunnels. It would be a long journey. Spinning on his heel, he would walk around the battle-field, eventually collecting up all of the weapons that had been used. His short sword, a pike, and two small Zabrakian daggers. Keeping them on his person, Ballen-Ist would move to [member="Maleus"], crouching down before extending his arms to him. Using what little strength he had, the Sith would heave Maleus' heavy body off of the ground, hoisting him over his shoulder as he began to walk slowly. Eventually the duo would arrive at a nearby transport, the crowd at the docking station becoming rather silent at the sight of them.
Looking around with an angered expression, Ballen-Ist would eventually spot some New Order officials, informing them of the situation. It wouldn't take long before the two were treated with medical care, Maleus receiving several pain killers, and also a rebreaking of his arm to help set it back in place. Ballen-Ist's wounds would further inspected, being dis-infected and patched up to a higher degree than he ever could have managed. The two were in moderate condition now, though still battle-damaged. "That will make you think twice before challenging a Sith.." He would mutter, casting a glance to the Zabrak as they relaxed at the medical center. "We'll be boarding the transport soon. Who taught you?"
 
Felt his limp body being hoisted over the young Sith whom had bested him, through the entire procedures he remained idle. Refusing to speak even to his commanding officers, despite their disdain for his obstinate behavior but they knew too well of the condition that he was in. Yet again he went under the knife, the medical staff attempted to piece together his damaged flesh with whatever implements they had available. Though he was held down numerous times for his attempt at dishonorable suicide, he grabbed the nearest object closest to him, in this case a pen. And continued to repeatedly slash himself in the hopes that he would meet his end. He was restrained yet again until he was at the docking bay with Ballen-Ist, he heard his question but chose not to say anything. He simply glanced at him with apathetic eyes.
 

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