Not All Mountains Are Covered in Snow

[Progflaw99]

Lethargically the girl's footsteps guided her across the uneven ground, the heat pulsing through the soles of her worn boots. In the moment she had unknowingly been staving off the intense temperature of Oricon but now she felt the unbridled warmth pressing in around her like a smothering blanket. Continuing to use the respirator, she plodded onward, following several meters behind the robed man. Secretly she wondered how far they had to go, unsure of herself and how long she'd be able to continue on. Already she felt the fatigue of dehydration, her skin dry and warm to the touch. Lyra's eyes flicked from left to right at every sound and crack of sheared rock as the magma flowed gently from the moon's surface. *It's so... hot, and barren. Why would anyone choose to live here?* The girl had grown up on Telos IV, born into the busy streets and shuffling city, this was such a drastic change.

Her eyes had tracked the man but been diverted by a sudden expulsion of super-heated magma and released gasses from the flow just several meters to her left. Looking back to where the man stood she watched in amazement as a section of the rock face appeared to retract, opening to what looked like the interior of a turbolift. Hesitantly she followed, stepping in through the door. Silently at first, they stood, the door closing and the lift beginning its ascent. As soon as Lyra had taken her first step into the lift she could already feel the cool air - it sent a shiver down her spine. The abrupt change in temperature sent goosebumps rippling across her arms, the residual heat held in by her clothing quickly dissipating. Nothing was said by either of the pair as the lift rose, though Lyra took the opportunity to examine the face of the man she'd followed. Older, certainly but there was a youthful energy about him despite his calm demeanor - she'd seen it herself when he'd exerted his power on the hapless miners intruding upon his home. She listened attentively, searching for any emotion that might make itself known across the man's features to no avail, he was harder to read than a Trandoshan sabacc player. She contemplated his words, her eyes still searching.

Not overtly friendly, not as hard and harsh as some men Lyra had seen, he held himself as a man who was confident. In truth, she would later say that he had an air of importance about him, and while somewhat arrogant, not to his own detriment. The power she had witnessed, tasted, it was but a small measure of the man's true strength; that she knew just by looking at him. With a sharp clunk the lift stopped on its way to their destination, the gentle hiss of the hydraulic door echoing in the girl's ears. *We are utterly alone.* She had no doubt his words were true, the surface of Oricon was not one that was remotely inviting, and at best, only somewhat inhabitable. Her eyes darting to the room beyond the lift, she stood for a moment while the man moved into the room. It looked almost comfortable, not lavish but certainly not the dregs she'd grown up in - no this was sophisticated in its own right. It was a lot to take in. Just moments ago, the sight of bubbling earth and thick acrid smoke had filled her vision and now within the rock itself existed this little respite in the guise of a home. The transition had been jarring.

Nervously, she stepped into the room after the man. The other thing he'd said.. choice. He wasn't wrong. As it stood, the two options available to her had been survive or die. Now removed from the equation of the hostile moon's surface she found her choices were no less favorable - survive, or die. Lyra had always been a survivor, finding ways to strive where others might simply let themselves give in to the call of death. Her undernourished body spoke to her propensity to survive in circumstances that were less than favorable. Greedily her eyes tracked the man's motions, the glass of clear liquid calling to her on a primal level. Water? She knew not but she presumed such a rare commodity amidst their current setting would warrant a decanter as ornate as the one he poured from.

Forcing herself to slow down, he reached out with both hands and clasped the cup. As the clear liquid touched her lips she tipped back her head, draining the emptying the glass' contents rapidly. Lyra brushed away the dried skin at the corners of her lips, taking a deep breath of the cool air. Holding awkwardly onto the glass her eyes returned once more to the man whom had stumbled across the mining vessel, she was beginning to understand that he hadn't simply stumbled upon the vessel, in fact she had a suspicion he had gone looking for it. She certainly hadn't gone looking for this place, she thought as the man raised his voice again. Purgatory, hell, all terms she'd heard among the miners but she had no frame of reference for them. Despite her relative knowledge of the streets and how to survive in them, she'd had precious little formal education and that showed in her vocabulary. Carefully watching the man, she replied to his question.

"I'm Lyra.. Naerys." Nervously she played with the respirator she'd hung from her belt. "Um, I'm from Telos IV, but uh.. Who are you? The way you just lifted the miner and.. that blaster.."​

​

Her words had grown quick, spat out almost as a statement as she tried to rationalize it all. No doubt she'd felt the pulls and whims of The Force, and even experienced its untamable power but this man had controlled it. She paused, realizing she'd started to ramble and speak to herself. It was all so much to process, so instead she re-stated a question as she hurriedly silenced her most frantic thoughts. There was really only one that was on her mind, but she had given the man her name, and so she asked in turn.

"Who are you... and why did you let me live?"​

​

​

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

Such an amusing child. Silence had served as her ally throughout her journey here, since she must have known the consequences of stowing away aboard a ship uninvited, such that remaining concealed had been the clearly sensible choice. Neither had she spoken during the rigours of combat that had awaited her on landing, had kept her reticence evident even when taking lives, protecting herself with a natural instinct for self-preservation that gave her credit. It almost seemed unnatural to see her now turning vocal.

It was evident enough that she had survived on the streets, not the type of child that had been subjected to the privilege of a studious education, unlikely to have been tutored in history, philosophy, the arts. Her education would have been the type that resulted in skinned knees, bruises, lessons learned that burned childhood out of a being and pushed them into desperate acts that only an adult should ever be forced into. That much he had recognised from the outset: she might be trapped in a child's body with a child's education, but standing before him was an adult that had been forced to make too many bitter choices.

Still, it was evident that she had encountered neither Jedi nor Sith before, unsurprising, since she would not likely have found herself exposed to galactic politics, and was clearly wily enough to escape Jedi attentions, since she was on Oricon and not sequestered away in some serene Temple undergoing what they termed 'training'. The others gone, it was evident that she was a sensitive, her power clearly untapped but not untouched: there was awareness there, if nothing further.

"I did not let you live," he noted calmly, watching as she fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable in a setting where she had no doubt ever found herself subject to close scrutiny. "You decided that for yourself. Had they killed you, that decision would have been made for you, but you chose to kill rather than be killed." It was an impressive choice: acting on primal instinct, no doubt, but so many faced their ends in submission to that fate, rather than opposition. "I simply chose to even your odds a little."

He nudged the tray holding the jug of water towards the young woman, suspecting that she would probably still be thirsty: the environment of Oricon was not the hospitable kind, and she did not have sufficient grasp of the Force to be able to deal with such minor nuisances as temperature variation or basic physical needs like thirst and hunger. Such things require discipline you do not yet have. Truth be told, she looked like she could use a solid meal and a bed to sleep in, but the deprivation she had suffered so far would place her in good stead for training: she already knew what it was to live without.

"My name is Tirdarius," he continued, offering the Sith moniker he had adopted decades ago, the name by which much of the galaxy knew him. "I am a Sith Lord, which doubtless means little to you." He chuckled softly, knowing that this was true for many, for whom the word 'Sith' was either entirely meaningless, or the beginning of a bedtime story designed to frighten children into behaving. "Like you, I have powers that most do not, and I have spent many years developing them, something you have yet to do."

Perhaps she didn't realise what she was: so few did. Even so, he suspected she knew that she was different, something above or at least beyond the mundane nature of those around her, given insight and strength that they could not draw upon, understanding even though her education had not provided her with the tools to apply it. That much he could correct, if it was a path she sought to walk. She had taken hold of her destiny, and now she had to decide what she intended to do with it.

 

[Progflaw99]

Once more in silence she nodded as Tirdarius spoke. The realization of what she'd done had washed over her in the moment, almost consuming her but as she'd walked, as she now stood here before this Sith Lord, she felt a strange calm about it. Living on the streets of Telos IV, Lyra had met many a veteran of various space wars between governments and forces too numerous to name. Each one had been broken in a way, some seen too many horrors, others physically wounded themselves - but one thing had remained constant. It seemed no matter how many she'd talked to, they always spoke of that first kill, the first time they'd taken another life be it human or alien; the experience changed a person.

No doubt Lyra too felt this, but she hadn't killed in war, in a conflict sanctioned by made up rules - no. She had done what was required to survive. It was different wasn't it? A question for another time. Lyra pushed the thoughts and images rushing back to the surface down. The here and now was all that was important. She'd always done a fair amount of planning ahead, but ever since her escape from her homeworld she'd lived moment to moment, planning ahead was not a luxury she could afford. As such, the girl brought herself back from her thoughts, from her musings, back into the present.

At the word Sith Lyra's eyebrows rose. *Sith... what a strange title to be called.* "Like you, I have powers that most do not, and I have spent many years developing them, something you have yet to do." The words were foreshadowing, that much hadn't escaped Lyra's notice. Had she any notions of leaving this planet before, certainly they were no longer a consideration in the face of what she had stumbled upon. The way the man's words had been phrased, it almost sounded like an offer. *An offer of what?* she mused. Scrunching up her face, she reached for the jug of water, taking a step closer to the tray where it sat. Gently lifting it she poured the water, glass only a short distance from its brim. Replacing the jug, she sipped at the water this time - attempting to show some restraint.

The cool liquid was refreshing, slowly replenishing that substance that was so essential to human life. Lyra gave the man a half smile, a nod in thanks as she took one step back. Even now, here away from the danger of Oricon's magma flows and threat of death at the end of a blaster barrel, she could feel the strange power emanating from the man, just as she felt a modicum of that power within herself. Questions, she had so many questions - but there was one she had that consumed her thoughts. With power like she'd witnessed, she had only one for the man sitting behind the desk. As she worded her question, Lyra found her voice, a decided tone of confidence filling the air.

"Will you teach me?"​

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

Such a simple question, asked innocently, without the sort of guile that an adult might have approached it with: there was no thought to consider allegiance, reciprocity, nor to ask what such a thing might require. And, truth be told, girl, you haven't the faintest idea. Not surprising, of course: after what she had already experienced, perhaps she would consider Sith education to be a simple continuation of her deprivation, but few could comprehend it without experiencing it for themselves. Jedi would call it immoral, Sith would call it necessary, but no others would understand the reasoning for it. But they do not wield the powers we have at our command. How could they?

The real question, though, was did he want to take on an apprentice? He had offered lessons to others, true, passed on snippets of knowledge and encouraged certain actions, but that was all standard fare for the type of Sith he had been trained to be. Manipulations and machinations were his bread and butter. Taking on a student and teaching them to be a Sith from the very start was a very different challenge: it required breaking them, and then slowly allowing those breaks to shape them into something more resilient than they had been before. Was he willing to do that again?

Her age, of course, was a factor: Sith did not train children, as a general rule. They were too innocent, too lacking in experience in the nature of depravity, cruelty and pain. So many of them looked to face a bright and optimistic future, so to be granted one of pain, deprivation and possible death was not something many could understand. And, frankly, they do not understand the need to be hurt to gain power. For them, such a process is an entitlement, not something you must work for. The Sith taught adults: cynical, broken, in need of building up again, with a sense that their suffering was all for a reason. Did the girl qualify as such?

True, he had seen her kill, noticed that her actions had been born of necessity, and clearly her own survival was a strong priority for her: an essential quality in any Sith. Certainly she had that much going for her, but beyond that? What was her background? The nature of her prior education? Did she understand anything of the politics that constituted the Galaxy? Did she know anything of the Force, or was she entirely a neophyte, aware only that she wasn't quite normal?

"You ask a complex question," he said in reply, observing her steadily, curious to see how she might react to an answer that was not a straight 'yes' or 'no'. "There are many things you could learn: how to understand your talents, and use them; how to manipulate people to get what you want; how to be invisible if you wish." He offered a slight shrug, dismissing such things with a gesture: truth be told, they were all rather irrelevant, but perhaps appealing to someone as innately powerless as she. "Such things come with a cost, and nothing as petty as credits."

Raising a hand from a resting position on his desk, he gestured towards the now half-empty glass that the girl had set before her, wrapping invisible tendrils of energy around it in a firm grip, tight, but then of increasing force, pushing beyond the boundaries of the delicate molecular bonds holding the crystal together. Small jagged wrinkles appeared and suddenly it shattered, delicate shards firing across the room, collapsing under the weight of a force she could not see.

"All things are formed of a delicate balance between forces," he remarked softly, looking absently at the shattered remnants of the glass and the liquid that it had once contained. "The glass was useful while whole, able to contain whatever you wanted. Such a thing has restrictions placed upon its nature. But an egg...that would only be useful when broken." A faint smile curved his lips, grey eyes reflecting his internal amusement. "Such is true with students. If they are the glass, they will only ever contain but a little. If they are the egg, then broken, they might be used to become something better."

 

[Progflaw99]

The girl let out a held breath, eyes curiously meeting the man's gaze. As she did so she began to feel something, a conviction perhaps. A complex question. Yes, she had thought little about the true meaning of what she was asking for. A cost. Lyra saw the world in a muted shade of gray, sure money had its vices, but not everything could be acquired by money, credits, or even bartering - at least not with objects. As he mentioned the abilities one could learn, she noticed a subtle flippancy with which he spoke each word. It made her wonder, if these skills were not the end goal, there was more? Casting a wary eye around the room, she surmised there must be much more than simply being powerful or obtaining these abilities most would consider outside the realm of belief. The man, Tirdarius, practically confirmed it with his shrug. What more could there be? Already she'd seen more in the last three weeks than she'd seen in her lifetime - admittedly short by human standards - on Telos IV. Telos IV, Telos IV. It seemed like such a world away now, here on the surface of a volcanic moon.

Lyra's eyes fell to the man's hand as it shifted, his fingers gesturing towards the glass. She'd drank her fill, in fact her stomach protested. She could feel the hastily gulped water pooling in the pit of her stomach, the unease she'd felt as she'd killed resurfacing. With a sight wince she forced herself away from those thoughts and instead chose to focus on what he was doing. Effortless. That's the word she imagined as he shattered the glass into hundreds of shards. It was almost pretty in a way, something that had felt so solid in her fingers now cast into something meaningless through the exertion of force. Water splashed to the floor as the glass lost its shape, no longer capable of holding water, nor anything. The puddle expanded, water trickling as it dripped from the edge of the desk.

She tried with difficulty to follow his words. A cup was useful, but it was limited. Surely she understood that, and now in its broken form it was useless. As he turned the metaphor to the nature of an egg, she narrowed her eyes, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. An egg must be broken before it could be eaten, or used she supposed. What use was an egg other than to be eaten though? Perhaps she was taking the metaphor too literally. Audibly letting a hmm escape her lips, she gently scratched her head. It was only logical that from an egg, a chicken could be hatched, perhaps that was his intention. Regardless of her lack of formal education, she began to perceive his meaning - and that sent a shiver of anticipation and fear up her spine. Broken - she knew what it meant to be hard pressed, to survive, but to survive what lay ahead?

From the nature of his musings, it seemed like there was much more to learning these powers. More than just the powers themselves even. Tirdarius had mentioned that he was a Sith Lord - what did that mean? Questions began to press against the confines of her mind, so many questions and yet she held her tongue for a moment longer. To ask questions sporadically, without thought could only serve to annoy the Sith Lord, perhaps it was simply a matter of asking the right question. And even with that thought, she held doubt. It seemed nothing was truly simple, the man had been right when he had said she asked a complex question. A smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, she nodded as the man finished speaking. Eyes rising to meet his, Lyra spoke with a renewed confidence. Deep inside her, for a split second she could feel.. something. Something more compelling than a simple voice instructing her to do something, a feeling more primal in nature, one of instinct. No - even that wasn't right. She could feel it within her very being - and it was with that conviction that she spoke.

"Teach me." No longer an innocent request, but a determined statement. "Teach me what it means to be Sith"​

​

The words fell strangely from her lips. The title of Sith Lord could have meant anything to her, but the feeling, the gut instinct she felt told her all she needed to know. Never had she believed in fate, other than that carved of her own initiative but now? There was no longer any doubt in her mind that this is exactly where she was supposed to be. As she gazed into the man's calm eyes, she wondered if he believed the same. Taking a half step forward, she lowered herself to one knee. Perhaps somewhat clumsily, she thought, but this was what happened in those holo-videos where ancient warriors welcomed a member to their ranks. It was a sign of subservience, hadn't the Sith Lord spoken about Servitude to the Sith out in the heat of the magma and volcanic landscape? Looking up at him for but a fraction of a second she bowed her head, eyes looking instead to the floor - looking at the shattered glass. She would not be the glass. There was more, and she wanted to learn it. Pressing her luck, she searched for the words, deciding to use the ones that had already been uttered though in different form.

"Let me be your student... Lord Tirdarius..."​

​

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

Ah, to be Sith. What a question that was, a thing he had long puzzled over and, even now, was never quite sure he had an answer to. Many of the others would undoubtedly assert their superiority as being the only natural quality of a Sith. Others would cite merciless pragmatism, recognition of strength, the cold-blooded desire to dominate. These were all true, but only part of an answer, not the answer itself. And therein remains a mystery that none will ever solve. They could but encompass part of the learning, understand a small piece of the entirety, much as he could himself. We do little more but glimpse shadows of a grander darkness, yet believing we encompass the whole.

Lyra did not truly know what it was she had asked of him, though it was not truly his burden to bear. Certainly teaching could be a bother, a hassle built on top of all the other responsibilities he had claimed as his own, but the lessons he would offer could rarely be pleasant ones, the type that had to be endured rather than merely experienced. If she felt she had proven herself a survivor, she was mistaken: yes, she had certainly lived through trials and tribulations of her own, but those had been meaningless, another plodding move in a game she did not understand the rules of. Among our kind, each step has true direction, but therefore also cost.
Perhaps, if she understood that reality, she would have felt herself better off had she allowed herself to die this morning. It might prove easier than enduring what he knew would have to come now.

"We do not choose our students," he remarked calmly, standing up from his seat and heading past his desk to the turbolift that remained quietly concealed at the entrance to his penthouse office, the door opening at a touch of the controls. He stepped onto the platform, and beckoned that she should follow, as she had done earlier. "We leave them to choose themselves, in many respects."

The door sealed behind them and the platform upon which they stood shot downwards with stomach-turning speed, though no discomfort showed on the face of the Sith Lord. The speed was appropriate to allow him to move around the fortress with little time wasted on descending to the lower floors, and he had long since ceased to care about the sensation of it. It was but a short moment later when it slowed to a halt, another set of identical doors sliding aside to permit them entrance to a different floor, this one little illuminated at all, beyond for a broad circle that rested in the centre of what was clearly a sizeable room.

Stepping out, he gestured towards the circle, a depressed platform that sank into the floor, such that the remainder of the room was elevated in staggered tiers, as if others might stand or sit upon them and observe what would occur in the centre. The circle itself was broad, many metres in diameter, constituted by a firm padded material that was unyielding to the touch, and did not bow when stepped upon, but which might cushion a more severe impact, if so required. He gestured to the circle, as if to suggest that the girl step inside, while he walked off to one side, ascending the tiers to a small control panel that rested nearby.

At his touch, several soft hissing noises erupted from nearby, along with a gentle 'thunk' noise coming from several small chutes that had been left in darkness. The gentle hum of small repulsorlifts became evident, propelling small silver spheres around the room, each one dotted with small craters that hissed with electricity. They swirled in a random pattern, each one drawn towards the inner circle but not bound by it, able to move at will as they chose. Each had a power supply and small tibanna gas reserve which might generate, when combined, small shots of high-powered plasma, bolts of energy that would flare out from one of those craters and surge towards a target.

"That you can survive adversity is something neither of us can doubt," he noted gently, his soft voice not modulating much in recognition of the danger the girl might yet face. "But to be a Sith is to touch the Force, that silent but ever-present power that has always been there, but little acknowledged." His words carried a hint of a smile, but in the low-light levels, undoubtedly she would see little of it. "Our lessons are simple: crisis creates the demand for excellence."

At the push of another button, the remotes started moving faster, their patterns random but predatory, encircling the girl that they might use her as a target, opportunity to practice. The first spat out a fiery-red bolt of energy, then another. This was what she would deal with now.

 

[Progflaw99]

A curious eye rose to meet the Sith Lord's, rising awkwardly as she pushed herself to her feet. This man was more complex than those of Telos IV, not nearly as easy to read. Turning to face him as he walked back to the lift. As he beckoned, she followed, he footsteps gently padding across the floor. The sharp hiss of the doors closing behind them causing her an involuntary intake of breath. The cool air had felt good at first, a step away from the heated surface of Oricon but now, it was almost too cold. As the lift began its rapid descent, she felt the pit of her stomach rise up, the sensation of falling overwhelming her. Reaching briefly out to the wall, she grit her teeth and forced the feeling away, her stomach finally settling when they came to a halt. As the door opened, she fought back a gasp.

The room beyond reached out like a gaping maw, the dim lit orifice of some obsidian creature. Stepping out after Tirdarius, she continued forward as he gestured to the dimly lit ring at what felt like the center of the room. Stepping gingerly inside she turned to face him, his features masked in the darkness of the room. His figure stood slightly above the depressed circle in the floor, a slight whistle of air caught her attention. Eyes darting apprehensively towards the edges of the room as strange spheres began to levitate in the air, short rapid directional changes punctuating their movements as a low hum emanated from them. Questioningly her eyes searched for the face of the Sith Lord, unable still to determine any sort of hint at what was about to happen. Though her vocabulary may have been limited, "Pensive" was exactly the word she would have used to describe herself.

Lord Tirdarius' voice brought her back from her thoughts, her reservations. "...to touch the Force...". She'd felt the connection before, but she'd never been able to call upon the strange power at will, at least not on her own. She'd tried numerous times but with no understanding of how these powers even worked she had failed time and time again. Only in times of need did it seem to reach at her, almost calling out to her to grasp onto the power that was The Force. Even as he spoke the words she tried to focus on the power just outside of her realm of perception. Tantalizingly floating just beyond her reach. She could feel it there, but how to channel it? She knew it was there, her eyes narrowing as she fought to focus her mind - and then his words cut through: "Our lessons are simple: crisis creates the demand for excellence."

As the last tones of his voice faded, the whirring noise of the spheres rising in intensity, the low hum becoming a higher pitched whine. Now they moved as hunters, seeking a target, a target centered in the middle of the room. She had little time to react as one of the spheres behind her shoulder emitted a noise, a high pitched hum of cackling energy shooting forth. By chance or by the will of the Force Lyra dipped low in that instant. The first bolt seared across her shoulder, the pain eliciting a short cry of pain, muffled only by force of will as the girl bit down on her lip, hard. The second bolt loosed came perilously close to hitting her left foot, though she managed to pull back her leg just in time. The third time however she was not so lucky.

As she pulled her leg back, it put her off balance, the humming of the remotes buzzing in her ear. She couldn't see the drone, nor hear it but she did feel the sting of the crimson bolt as it zapped her in the back of the arm. *Feth!* She could feel the outermost layer of her skin burn as she recoiled, the pain causing a flow of power as if a dam had been broken. The subtle energy that had been so distant washed over her like a flood. The chemical cocktail now flowing through her veins coupled with the sheer overwhelming might of The Force sent her momentarily into a sense of euphoric mental calm. Clarity. Something she'd fought for since she first discovered her less than normal condition. Condition? No, it wasn't a condition, it was a blessing - and as she'd discover along her way, a curse. In that brief moment, everything became clear. It was as if she could see the position of each sphere as it hovered and hummed, moving in sharp erratic patterns.

Right foot. Shifting to her left, the floor sparked as the bolt missed by centimeters. Left arm. Bringing in her arm close to her body she ducked low, another bolt passing just over her shoulder. Moving her feet and moving around the room, she began to position herself closer to the edge of the depressed area, angling to limit the approach of the drones. Carefully between dodging bolts from random directions, she would look about, searching for anything she could use as a weapon against the small drones, she would have to get creative - and then she remembered. The blaster. Tucked in her belt, the unfamiliar bulge brushed against her stomach. *Of course*. There was a minor hesitation in her mind, just enough to allow another bolt to come perilously close to searing her collar bone. She felt the heat of it as it passed, singeing a stray lock of hair. Hand quickly moving to the grip of the blaster pistol, she drew out its length. Using her eyes, she tried to track one of the remotes - and then she felt a sharp pain in the back of her left thigh. Crying out, she dropped to a knee, frantically trying to hold to connection with the Force that she'd begun to let go of the moment she'd tracked the target with her eyes.

It was difficult, several other bolts managing to zip too close for comfort, small welts appearing beneath her clothing. This time, she changed her angle, scrambling towards the edge of the dimply lit room laid out almost like an amphitheatre. From there, she could feel and sense the spheres, and without using her eyes, she began to lift her arm, intent on keeping track of them all. Slowly the barrel of the blaster pistol rose, the grip awkward in her hand, slowly wrapping her finger around the trigger she swayed to the side as another bolt ripped through the air - and then she fired. A bright green blaster bolt screamed towards its intended target, one of the small remotes. Without waiting for a result, the girl jumped down a step, dodging another small burst of bolts - this time managing to avoid any sharp stinging contacts. It was the fear that drove her, the excitement of a challenge. All those buried emotions now rising to the surface, feeding the Force and in turn allowing her to channel its energy. Taxing for certain, how long she could keep this up was anybody's guess, least of all hers. For the moment, she was simply reacting - intuitively listening to the gentle prods of the Force she would receive mere milliseconds before a bolt would be cast in her direction from one of the remotes. She fell into a rhythm, dodge, duck, weave. Again she brought the blaster up to fire, letting loose another green flash of blaster fire towards one of the buzzing drones.

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

Sizzling bolts of energy fired through the air, never approaching the Sith Lord, instead targeted upon the helpless girl who stood within the centre of the room, vulnerable and alone, forced to confront pain and yet accepting this as a matter of course. She had not shied away from the exercise, nor offered so much as a whisper of protest, as if there might be another way. It was an interesting thing, but something he sensed that stemmed from a desire to elevate herself beyond such trials: perhaps, the reasoning would go, if she succeeded here, there might be no further pair, no further need to prove her commitment. Sadly, success in truth simply means you are eligible for further trials, to experience greater pains, greater loss, greater deprivation. He didn't expect her to understand this, of course. Not yet.

A soft sigh came forth when he saw her drawing a weapon - perhaps an understandable reaction to being fired upon, but precisely the wrong one. That she understood worldly pragmatism could not be questioned: after all, she had survived thus far under harsher conditions than these, had she not? And yet she therefore trusted to worldly solutions: to things she could interact with. When faced with harm, her choices were to fight or to run. She intended to end the game: to remove her attackers and thus stand when all others had fallen. Admirable, but that's an animal's move in crisis.

"Hurt a wild animal, and they might bolt, but they also might turn and bite you," he reflected softly, observing the girl's careful movements with dispassionate eyes, seeing the untrained dynamics, noting that his words might serve to further distract her when concentration was what she needed most. "Thus do they demonstrate the fight-or-flight instinct natural to most beings, ourselves included," the Sith Lord continued, relentlessly. "But this is foolishness, ultimately: they seek to escape pain, to avoid suffering, either by running from it, or by removing the threat that would harm them. They survive, but they learn nothing."

His smile turned slightly darker, eyes flaring yellow and orange in the gloom of the training chamber, unseen. A hand extended, a beckoning gesture made, and the weapon the girl prized so highly flew from her fingers, torn away by a force she could neither resist nor yet comprehend, moving through the air to clatter at his waiting feet, discarded like so much trash. She had chosen to depend upon something that might be taken from her, had decided to react in a manner which safeguarded her in the moment, but which disregarded the true lesson.

"Pain is the ultimate crisis, but also our best teacher," he inflected softly, taking a moment to sit upon one of the tiered levels, that he may better observe. The remotes that had been firing at the young girl continued, their movements interrupted only by the fact that several had fallen to the floor, sparking and smoking from the successful hits she had scored. "From it do we recognise that nothing beyond us can really protect us, for all the sensation is internal, part of us. To survive it, to learn from it, we must draw only upon what is within. And we are uniquely gifted in this respect."

She knew this, of course: she had to. Whether conscious or not, Lyra was learning now to use the Force to predict the firing path of the remotes, and thus adapt to their motion. Each stinging shot that struck her, each burn that seared into her skin: these were lessons, reminders of her carelessness and her inability to be in tune with the Force both in and around her. She did not trust the Force, and thus it let her down, her own inner infallibility blocking that connection. It was weakness, of a sorts, but one they would remedy with time, and much practice.

"You can kill that which hurts you, lessen the pain by avoidance, but doing so fails to acknowledge what your suffering is: your teacher, far moreso than I." The Sith Lord sighed softly once more, continuing to observe her, remembering well his own lessons in this regard, experiencing many decades before she had even been born. "Is the lesson of pain solely to avoid it in the future? Or can you understand that there is more than this?"

 

[Progflaw99]

Her ears picked up the sound of a pair of remotes dropping to the floor, sparks and fragments of circuitry scattering themselves in a loose circle where they fell. It was a small victory in her head, though it almost cost her another jolt of pain as she ducked below another bolt from one of the remaining drones. It had become a rhythm, dodging and weaving - only a small prodding guiding her. As she focused less on the remotes, and more on their destruction she felt something... strange. It was as if the reaching tendrils of the force had recoiled, she was losing her grasp on it. No - she would not lose the fleeting connection she had felt so strongly only moments before. Centering her mind once more at dodging the laser bolts, she managed to successfully prevent another jolting shock - at least until her attention was tempted with division, Tirdarius' voice carrying softly over the dull hum and short cackle of energy as the remotes fired.

As he spoke, she faltered slightly in her attempts to premeditate the path of the bolts, one grazing her inner thigh. The pain shot through her leg, an involuntary shudder causing her to almost lose her balance but she was able to hold herself up. Biting the inside of her cheek to stifle an exclamation of pain as the sensitive nerves on her inner thigh protested against the rapidly passing blaster bolt, she took a quick knee, another rapid bolt whizzing past her ear. *Fight or flight* she thought. Flight was not an option, or was it? Just as she was about to raise the blaster once more - the weapon seemed to come alive in her hand, torn from her grasp. Her eyes followed it helplessly as she scrambled backwards away from another stray bolt fired for her hands. Robbed of the one weapon she had... *The one weapon...*. It was as if a light had been switched on, a stunning revelation coming over her, a shame it hadn't dawned on her in a less hazardous environment but such was the way of the Sith, or so she seemed to guess. Perhaps this was but one sacrifice she would have to make along the path she'd found herself.. no, the path she'd chosen.

As if to punctuate the Sith Lord's words, another shock of searing heat wracked the back of her left shoulder, this time the pain eliciting a quiet growl from the girl. As the debt for her negligence was paid, she pushed herself up from the ground, eyes focusing on one particular remote while orienting herself on it, facing it with every movement and allowing the others to operate outside of her normal vision - but she could still tell where they were. It was tiring to say in the least, her breaths coming heavier now, an involuntary twinge traveling along her leg - a reminder of the previous bolt taken to her inner thigh. As she maneuvered around the room she could feel the other drones, the low hum almost like a homing signal to where they were. The drone in front of her flicked to the left, her eyes and body following, waiting - dodging incoming bolts nimbly now. She felt rather than thought, though she kept herself oriented in the direction of her gaze.

She'd seen the power Tirdarius exerted on the hulk of a man who'd attempted to assault him, if she could manage to do the same.. though that brought the Sith Lord's words to mind. Was the goal of this to understand and experience pain? If not to avoid it or eliminate its source, what was the purpose of the exercise? She struggled again, another bolt passing close but able to avoid it at the last minute she blinked as it shot past her at eye level. There was more to the exercise she was sure - but perhaps that was the point, rather than remove the tribulation she face, to endure it and emerge victorious on the other side. How long could she manage to keep this up, only time would tell. As she dodged another pair of bolts aimed at her feet, she breathed in deeply. She had been fighting for control - that she could sense, trying to bend the Force to her will, though perhaps that is why she couldn't fully anticipate each attack aimed at her small frame. While she was able to avoid most of the attacks, few still caught her by surprise.

As another bolt from one of the humming drones struck her square between her shoulder blades she cried out, her voice echoing in the room. With the pain came clarity. She was fighting it, trying to rely on herself as she'd done for the short amount of time that was her life - were not to be trusted, could not be trusted. This was different though, the energy flowing through her as she ducked, weaved, and dodged intoxicating. She would have to give in - let the Force guide her. While still able to avoid the attacks well enough by her own accord, it was by mere millimeters each time, the subtle prod of the Force weak as she held it at a distance. If she was to truly overcome this challenge, she would need to give more. Embracing the pain as a welt began to form, she grabbed hold of that darkness both within and around her, a coursing flow turning into a raging river of Force power. It was as if she had removed a pair of goggles, clarity and unity with the Force granting her the ability to position herself in such a manner and maneuver into a flowing dance as she avoided the bolts entirely. If not to eliminate the problem at hand, perhaps she was to simply endure - like she had before, she would do again and again, if that's what it took.

@Tirdarius ​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

Lyra adjusted to the change of the exercise with surprising speed, though conflicting emotions flowed through her in a fashion that left them registering clearly on Tirdarius' consciousness. He could feel the anger at being disarmed, the confusion that resulted, the determination to find a 'solution' to the problem he had presented to her, as though to do so would put an end to the tribulations she now endured. But among our kind, the end of one trial is merely the beginning of another. The girl would not understand that yet - how could she?

He watched calmly as her mind allowed the pieces of the puzzle to click into place, the sudden recognition that this was not a problem to be solved, but something she needed to endure and experience. You cannot think your way out of every trap. Sometimes you must simply persevere, until the way out becomes clear. She was moving more confidently now, he noticed: not the jerky anticipatory movements born of hope, but the calculated, precise motions of one given true insight. She knew where the next shot would be fired, and avoided it while not unbalancing herself, so that she might be in position for the next.

With a nod of his head, he discontinued the exercise, the remotes humming to stillness, ceasing in their weaving motions, resting on their small repulsors, no longer seeking to harm or humiliate their target. Watching her, Tirdarius could tell what that had cost the girl, the effort she had been forced to put into the exercise in order to achieve anything. Just as we all start out, the simplest of things requiring the greatest of efforts. Over time, her body and mind would become accustomed to it, and then she would be ready for far more dangerous and draining trials than a simple play session with remotes.

"It's a hard thing to recognise, that the Force is there, even when you cannot touch it," he remarked, stepping down from the tiered platform to join her in the middle of the circle, seeing more overtly the indicators of exhaustion that subtly marked her. "You've realised this before, have you not? That it exists all around you, there but somehow elusive?"

His own introduction to the ways of the Sith had been very different: he'd already had experience with the Force, had been able to manipulate it through the more serene pathways offered by the Jedi, not the emotion-driven one that he had later come to understand as more natural. This one he'd learned by having rocks thrown at him: projected telekinetically for him to avoid, or not. He'd suffered bruises, contusions, cuts, had walked away feeling as though he'd been in a rockslide, but the lesson had been well taken. Once you let go of your inner serenity, and allow the frustration to flow, the Force embraces you.

"Some would tell you to sit, meditate, let go of your feelings and allow peace to descend upon you, that you might reach beyond the confines of your body and touch the Force." He shook his head at that, recalling many such lessons of his own that had a similar theme, struggling to quieten his mind that he might feel a sliver of awareness that had otherwise escaped him. "At moments like this, when you feel assailed, it is then that clarity will become yours. Did you feel the frustration that set in as you were struck, unable to avoid each attack? This is a weapon more potent than any blaster: yours to gain insight, yours to wield as you see fit, if you have the will."

"The Force exists within you, but also beyond you, intrinsically wrapped up in everything here," he noted softly, gesturing with a free hand towards the rest of the room, encompassing her, the furnishings, the hovering remotes that remained so still. "You are one of the few gifted enough to perceive it, but to tap into that power, you must reach inside, draw some of yourself, offer it." He shrugged slightly, knowing that such a thing sounded monumental, but it was but a small consideration to him. "Gain demands sacrifice of some fashion, and when you open yourself up to the power within, so too will you find yourself connecting to that greater power outside of yourself. Do you understand?"

 

[Progflaw99]

As a trio of bolts flashed by her, the humming tone of the drones took a noticeably quick drop in intensity, her body taking a moment to come to rest as the residual 'what might have been's' faded and she was once more embraced by the here and now. As they themselves came to a neutral hover, Lyra eyed them cautiously, wary of a trick. She listened as the Sith Lord spoke, her eyes flicking between the remotes and his obscured features as darkness continued to pervade the room. Still hesitantly watching the hovering remotes, she took a half step back as Tirdarius approached, narrowing her eyes. It was a somewhat shocking revelation to her, after all this time unable to reach out and touch the Force but to now know it had always been there and always would be... It changed the way she thought, the way she felt. She nodded as he posed the question to her. His words resonated with her thoughts - she had known it was there but somehow being here, in this place, it had allowed her to break the wall that had held the Force unreachable. She'd experienced the Force like never before the very same day she'd escaped Telos IV, perhaps her escaping the planet was just a step towards the catalyst that had been Oricon.

Even as Lord Tirdarius spoke his words affirmed what she'd come to conclude. The pain, the threat of pain, it helped her focus. In fact, it was in those times of tranquility that finding the Force had been so difficult for her, though whether that was actually because of the tranquility or simply the fact that she had never been pressed only the Force knew. As the remotes had sped up it was the anger that drove her, the pain of the bolts had burned clarity into her mind's eye. Even further as the Sith spoke, she could recognize every piece as he laid them out, drawing from her experience immediately prior. While she was feeding off of the Force, it too had been feeding from her - the anger, the frustration, it was a cyle - an infinite loop. It was breaking that connection that had taken much of her willpower - the Dark Side was all consuming and demanded just as much as it returned, if not more.

Raising her gaze to meet those cool orbs looking back at her, she smiled. A simple nod coupled with her determined expression telling the Sith Lord that his lesson had gone well, the words holding more meaning than perhaps even he would have guessed. At this stage in her training, the very beginning, she was like a sponge, absorbing everything at a rapid rate. Over time that rate would no doubt slow but right now it was as if a portal to another dimension had been opened, a dimension that once grasped turned almost everything she knew about life on its head. She would have much to learn yet, this was just a drop in the ocean that was the Force and the giant pool of knowledge held within. She understood, and she embraced it. Even now she paid special attention to it - still there just drifting at the edge of her consciousness. It would take work to stay connected fully all the time but even now she could feel the small siphon of energy seeping between her and the Force, the Force and her. Sacrifice - an all pervading theme. To gain knowledge, one must endure, to endure, one must sacrifice - and in that sacrifice one could gain power. Bowing her head before the Sith Master, she spoke.

"I understand.."​

​

​

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

"No, no, you don't, but perhaps you are in a position where you may," Tirdarius said reflectively, knowing well enough that the words were easy enough to say, but the reality was a much harder thing to accept. She didn't yet know the methodology required, didn't know how to channel every ounce of her being into becoming a conduit for that Force energy, combining will with competency to produce results. But you will. It was his role to teach her that, no? "You've felt the Force, but you don't yet understand it. You will, if you're worthy of that gift."

He stepped away from her, ascending the tiered steps to stand against the back wall, a dark stone visage made of myriad panels, no bigger than his arm's length in size, each one carefully fitted into place so as to leave no gaps. He pressed a hand against one and slid it to one side, revealing that it was a false panel crafted to match those around it. The dark recess within lit up with a soft white glow, revealing a rack containing a series of metallic weapons, the edges of the blades well-honed to a razor sharpness, the type that might inflict considerable injury. Removing one, the Sith Lord re-sealed the panel and turned back to the floor, stepping down with gentle agility.

Turning the weapon over, Tirdarius offered the girl the object, hilt first, something she might carry with her that would serve both to protect her and also remind her of the grave consequences of letting down her guard. The exercise they had gone through proved that she was capable of using the Force to protect herself in a simple fashion: when she allowed it, it might offer her insight that would prove vital in ensuring she survived whatever might threaten her. Though she has much yet to learn in that regard.

"Here, you are isolated from the others of our kind, from beings who might serve as rivals and competitors," he informed her, though he well suspected that he was the first of their kind that she had ever encountered. Lucky for you, then, that you ended up on a planet where only one resides. "But our first rule is simple: strength is everything. The ability to overcome challenges, defeat obstacles and stand strong against all that might threaten you is our focus." He smiled faintly in reflection of those days when he had parted ways with his own Master and joined the community of Sith, recalling the moments when his own resolve and capabilities had been tested at every turn in ways that Silencia had not. "You must become a weapon more dangerous than this to survive among the others, but first you must learn the properties of such, that you might understand the purpose in it."

With that, he stepped backwards, a wave of his hand summoning a different challenge for her: no simple blaster-firing remote, but a training droid, standing solidly metallic at just over six feet, wielding a slender polestaff, gripping it tightly towards the centre of the stave, either end protruding forth and tipped with sharp blades that mimicked the one he had given her, a two-handed variant of the same weapon. He often used them himself in order to practice his own lightsaber skills, but her ability with a blade was not at issue here. There would be plenty of time for weapons training - she would need to be guided in unarmed combat, lightsaber techniques, the use of more esoteric and exotic forms of destruction - but for now he wanted her to experience the adrenaline of being in danger and know that she had to rely only upon herself, her wits, and the Force. That must ever be second nature to her now.

The droid advanced on the girl, whirling the staff in its hands in a menacing gesture that it did not need to make, but which had been programmed in as a means of mimicking the actions of a sentient opponent. Tirdarius observed it all impassively, wondering whether such an approach might provoke fear, anger, resentment, frustration. He knew she would not run - when it had mattered, the girl had stood her ground, taken life because it was the only way to preserve hers. A good beginning, but not nearly enough.

"You have a sword, and the Force. With such weapons, no opponent can defeat you," he remarked softly, gesturing towards the droid. "But you must master yourself before you can master your adversary. You are tired, hungry, in pain, physically and emotionally taxed, and yet another obstacle stands before you." The Sith Lord offered another shrug, as if to say that such a thing was perfectly normal, and nothing of consequence. "Surrender to your weaknesses, and they will see you overwhelmed."

 

[Progflaw99]

Lyra recoiled internally at the Sith Lord's gentle rebuke. She couldn't argue the fact that she yet had no idea what lay before her though being treated as a child who knew nothing grated on her. She hadn't survived alone in the dark places of Telos IV by cowering and whimpering like a child, no - she'd seen children on the street and many of them didn't live particularly long lives if they resigned themselves to childhood. It took more to make it out there. A fierce expression of determination crossed her features, somewhat obscured by the dim lighting. Raising her gaze to follow Tirdarius as he began his brief ascent of the tiered rows she followed carefully. She used the time to catch her breath - her heartbeat still pounding in her chest. The exercise the man had imposed upon her had been taxing of both body and mind, and she wasn't exactly the pinnacle of physical achievement given her meager diet and tawny frame.

Her look of determination turned to one of silent curiosity as the Sith Lord manipulated the hidden panel at the wall. Not dissimilar to the hides she used to have in the city - in fact she probably still did but already the girl knew she'd have no use for them. In a way the weathered man whom she stood before had been right, she was still juvenile despite her experiences. As the man reached inward to the repository he removed an object and inspected it. Seemingly satisfied the man turned, the subtle glint of light reflecting off the surface of the object held between his hands and then extended to the girl. Lyra listened as the man spoke, her eyes poring over the offered object - a sword. Her first thought was to the blaster which had been so unceremoniously been thrown from her grasp and crushed - this weapon was far more refined than that mechanical piece of technology. Reaching out carefully towards the hilt, she accepted the blade. As she took it, she drew it from its scabbard - eyes widening at the sheer beauty of the thing. She'd seen the strange curio shops where she'd grown up, weapons not far different than this but cheap and doubtful they would hold an edge. Her thoughts were torn between the words of the Sith Lord and her newest possession - her only possession.

A weapon - and it was hers. A desire sprung up within her at that moment, a desire to learn the weapon, to become the weapon - it was this fierce determination which caused her a small sense of self confidence. Once more she would be cast to the flame, to test her mettle though this time she was armed - something to defend herself with - something to attack with.

As the Sith stepped back she turned to where the dance with remotes had taken place, even now their forms hovering idly. Idle however was not the word she would use to describe the machination which now consumed her attention. It was tall, much larger than the girl and the weapon it held left her somewhat unsure, a hesitant step forward as she gently set the scabbard on one of the tiered levels. The words of her newfound mentor rang in her ears, his even tone strange to hear in the wake of the minute trial she'd borne and the one she was about to face.

Strength. Strength alone. I must become the weapon. I am the weapon.

Lyra said it to herself, alone in her mind - steeling her resolve as the metal apparition flourished the wicked weapon - a dual ended staff with blades not dissimilar to her own single blade. The familiar apprehension clambered up her nerves, a breath catching but for a moment in her throat as the heavy steps of the droid advanced on her. Almost faster than she'd anticipated the mechanical beast lifted one end of the staff, sending it arcing downwards in a furious slash. It was a delayed reaction on her part, a sloppy dive to her right, the opponents blade slamming forcefully into the ground where mere milliseconds before she had stood. Sparks from the blade flashed as the weapon clattered briefly - and then the droid was on her again, this time with the reverse end of the weapon. She'd had barely enough time to bring up her own blade to bat away the slash over her left shoulder, her weapon clasped tightly in her right fist. Too tightly.

The contact of metal upon metal sent a wrenching shock up her arm, the pain enough to illicit a cry from the girl, sharply cut off by her own accord - lip bitten down on. She jumped backwards, again assailed by the first end of the weapon - the droid having spun to its own right, bringing the weapon around in a swipe aimed at her midsection. Fear. So palpable she could taste it. It had crept up like a hungry creature in the night - and it had begun to consume her. Strength? How was she to compete with a piece of machinery, the machine no doubt felt no pain, no fear, and was not limited by knowledge it was simply programmed. Bringing her blade level with her chest, she ducked nimbly as the droid's weapon sailed over.

She felt the subtle entrail of the Force once more, sought it out like an animal seeking food - and there it was. In a fraction of a second everything became crystal clear, it was almost as if a million versions of what could happen played out in front of her, and then she reacted. Once more it was almost as if she could feel the very air around her, almost predict what was about to happen. Once more it was a silent plea for survival - an instinct over conscious decision. Ducking low and holding the weapon tightly to her chest she pushed off, diving towards the droid's feet. A bold move for the fearful girl but one that likely saved her life as the droid was forced to reposition to address her new position. Rolling past the machine she brought herself back to her knee, blade held ready as she slowly rose. She'd survived the first pass of attacks but just barely - this was different than before. She needed to find a way to eliminate this threat but with such a primitive weapon...

No. She was still limiting herself by what she saw, what was tangible. A determined expression painted on her face, she braced herself for the next attack, contemplating the droid's limitations as it advanced once more.

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

The training droids were programmed to be relentless, the sort of killing machine that might be unleashed upon an enemy you did not wish to survive intact, a weapon of war as well as a tool of instruction. This particular model had been designed to be able to attack from multiple directions, whirling the bladed staff it possessed in a style reminiscent of that often used by those who wielded lightsaber staffs. Every step was a strike, every strike an opportunity to blend into a second. As a machine, it was utterly without pity, mercy or care: it might kill a newborn as emotionlessly as it would strike down a seasoned warrior. As emotionlessly as it might slaughter the girl, if he did not seek to restrain it, or if she did not overcome it.

Her movements were much as he'd expected: evasive ducks and rolls, the type that might be employed by someone who was faced with a weapon she did not understand, did not know how to counter. Not unexpected - very few had much in the way of training with bladed weapons these days, with blasters and other ranged weapons being so prevalent - but something she would have to overcome. The lightsaber was the Sith weapon of choice, and it was one Lyra would eventually have to become familiar with, once she had earned it.

The fear within the room was palpable: not his, for though he sensed his new student might yet make a worthy candidate for the Sith, there were many tests she would have to endure before that possibility turned into certainty. It could not emanate from the droid, for it directed focus solely towards the goals programmed into it. The fear could only be coming from the girl, and it was a hungry predator which would consume her the moment she lowered her guard, far more deadly in truth than the droid which sought her life's blood.

"The sword is just an extension of the user," he said in a pleasant, low tone, one that seemed utterly ignorant of the danger she was in, though Tirdarius was perfectly aware of it. "It can prevent you from being harmed, or harm those you wish to suffer. But your sword, like the Force, acts only as directed: if you do not move it, it will be useless to you." It was often said that the only thing worse than knowing how to use a weapon and not having one was being in possession of a weapon you did not know how to use. That remained true for Lyra on two fronts: one was the sword in her hand, the other was her mind, and all the powerful potential she had yet to unleash with it.

"The fear you feel is normal, natural, useful. It can root your feet to the floor and leave you unable to move, an unwilling victim waiting to put out her misery, or it can be your conduit to power that makes the cutting edge of your sword look like a child's toy," he remarked. The droid moved to strike at her once again, a scything cut that would slice her in half. A simple gesture from the Sith Lord, conveying invisible energies at his command, deflected this, pushed the droid back a few paces, off-balance, underscoring his point. "Emotions are our weapon: allow your feelings to empower you rather than cripple you, and you'll find your opponent a bug to be squashed."

True, he could have offered her a more potent weapon from the outset: perhaps offer her a lightsaber, or a vibroblade that would have far greater cutting power than the tool she held in her hand. True, the weapon had been imbued with Force energies of an alchemical nature, making it lighter, sharper, stronger than it might have been otherwise. The Dark Side flowed through it, a willing receptical, energies that the girl would learn to sense given time. But the Force was not a generous benefactor: it demanded something of those it empowered. The young woman would need to use her own energies to gain any of those that the Dark might offer. If she did, such would seal their pact, but if she did not, her life wouldn't last very long.

"Take hold of your fear, own it, make it yours, and let it become a weapon of your own fashioning." The Sith Lord smiled faintly, watching as the droid righted itself and moved again into a predatory stance, the type from which it might spring into lethal action. "Otherwise it becomes a weapon of your enemy, and they will not hesitate to take advantage of it."

 

[Progflaw99]

The calm tone with which the Sith Lord addressed her grated against her - frustrated her. She could feel the familiar seeping energy of the Force around her, brought to life by the anger which began to well up inside. She could feel her own fear, a familiar taste assaulting her lips. Just as before she began to reach out with her mind, craving the power of the Force as a hungry wolf pup searches for its mother's milk. She could feel it there, now coursing into her mind and body, it fed on her and she fed from it, the power there driving her to action in the shadow of the droid as it advanced. As she prepared to jump backwards, giving ground once more to the metal and electronic amalgamation - and then the droid's sweep was pulled short, harmlessly passing across where her midsection would have been had the droid not been knocked back.

There was an instant where she might have hesitated but she knew that hesitation could cost her much more than a simple shock in this situation. As the droid staggered she seized the initiative, an almost feral shout as the unfamiliar blade in her hands felt strangely comfortable. Her fingers grasped tightly the hilt, her legs pushing her forward as the man spoke. There was a time for words but she could not both listen and move, she found herself distracted and so she opted for the latter. Springing forward instantly as the droid's motors and electronic brain attempted to right itself, Lyra leapt into the air, sword followed by her small frame. The tip had been aimed directly towards a gap in the droids armored plates, cable and circuitry just visible beyond the polished metal. That had been her target, the sole focus of her attention and for a mere moment it appeared as if the girl had succeeded, the sharp blade slipping just between the plates of the droid - and then things began to occur to the contrary. The blade, a solid object screeched against the metal as it passed the first layer but the droid appeared to have anticipated this, twisting its torso violently away to its left, Lyra's right arm being thrown to the right, her once tight grip loosening as the violence of movement put strain on her shoulder.

In the blink of an eye, the sword she'd been given had been flung from her grasp with another rapid movement of the droid's torso but that wasn't all that had moved. As she ducked below the metal arm that had gone sweeping overhead, Lyra's eyes caught the faint flicker of movement and then once again pain. A fire cut across her left arm, raised in defense against the incoming blow of the blade which had swung up as the droid stepped back. Disarmed and biting her cheek to keep from shouting out, Lyra shuffled back cautiously, eyes darting to the sword as it clattered uselessly across the ground and came to rest up against the first raised tier step.

If the fear had been palpable before, now it was almost as if a solid wall had come in contact with the girl. Struggling to push past the fear she now felt, disarmed and alone - again forced to survive, to do anything she could to survive. At first it seemed as if her strike had been ineffective, the droid's nimble steps bringing it closer as it closed in for the kill, the blade dual bladed staff flourished in a wide pattern of parade - perhaps the droid, seeing her unarmed, had reverted to a more intimidating protocol. As the girl frantically tried to look for an opportunity, any opportunity, a noise seemed to shatter the paralyzed silence of her mind - a whirring. Time seemed to slow as her senses kicked into hyperdrive. The Force as much as her own senses picked up the subtle aroma of hydraulic fluid, the whirring of an overtaxed motor droned to the exclusion of all else. That was her opening, her chance to turn this situation into her favor. In an instant, a grin had replaced the grimace on the girl's face, her hand stretching outwards, calling for the sword instinctively - almost to her surprise, it began to move, a small jostle at first and then a physical leap from where it rest into her waiting grasp.

Once more driven by the frustration of her plight and the fear within, she struck forward, this time ducking low as another swing of the staff whooshed overhead, a quick sidestep putting her close to the droid, inside of his guard. With an audible yell the girl drove the point of the blade upwards into the shoulder socket of the droid, a mighty spray of oil and fluid erupting from a major component. Stepping quickly past the droid she heard a shock of sparks erupt before she'd turned fully to face the droid. She'd landed a critical strike, severing a major fluid line and as it appeared, an electrical circuit had been disrupted, the droid's left arm now hanging limply. Devoid of a voice, the droid simply turned to face the threat, the machine's left arm was forced to relinquish its grip as the staff was jerked free of the dead arm's grasp. Now it advanced once more - its assault relentless, dead arm hanging loosely as it stabbed frantically at the girl. Lyra managed to use the blade and parry each stab, misdirecting it with a blow of her own but she was still hard pressed to keep up. The sound of metal on metal filled the room, errant sparks flying with each contact, the droid advanced but Lyra was patient, now given over to the Force she had begun to struggle less, feeling rather than seeing with merely her eyes. Each movement was a setup for another, each parry a setup for another step, each return strike one meant to interrupt the pattern of wide sweeps and stabs the droid was forced to make with a disabled arm. Soon she would be able to anticipate the pattern the droid had begun to take. Limiting its attacks to one arm severely limited the random attack patterns it was programmed with, it wouldn't be long before the girl made her move - but it had to be soon. Already she could feel her left arm screaming out in resistance to the strain, the cuff of her poorly fitted clothing now slick with blood though she paid it no heed. Not yet.

[member="Tirdarius"]​

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Lyra Naerys"] |​

​

"Stop."

That single word rang out preemptorily, a simple commanding intonation that had been built into the droid's programming, one that would make it do as instructed. Indeed, Lyra herself could have uttered it, had she chosen, though she knew it not. The droids were made to continue until their opponent was in pieces, and such a thing made them beautifully lethal when employed, but truly dangerous sparring partners. They would not pull their blows, would not succumb to exhaustion, would not offer mercy: theirs was but to provide swift and efficient death. Thus, they stand as we stand: to kill or be killed.

The droid came to a halt, all momentum stalled, blade positioned for another strike, albeit limited considerably the damage Lyra had done to it, rendering one of the arms useless. A clever strategy that, to reduce an enemy down to something less than it should be, that she might place them on an even footing. The mechanical was a natural killing machine: swift, unfeeling, stronger than any sentient being, programmed with techniques that it could wield without fear or consideration for its own survival. Lyra was sentient, suffering from fatigue, injured, undoubtedly under much psychological strain, and untrained with a blade. The contrast could not have been stronger, and yet she had drawn upon resources unavailable to her opponent to make their battle more even.

Truth be told, Tirdarius was impressed by her: the girl was fragile, yet possessed of inner strength that suggested that she might yet survive the training he could offer her. There was much proof needed in that respect, far more work to be done before it became a certain thing, but nothing that had been thrown at her so far had phased her sufficiently to force her into submission or capitulation. He had put challenges before her, and she had not refused him, had not resisted by noting that she was tired or suffering. Indeed, so many of the others would have stood at risk of their lives to tell me such. His apprentices in the past would have felt it an expression of strength to refuse instruction at a time like that. She did not.

He could have allowed the droid to pummel her into unconsciousness, impressing upon her the need to persist until what energy remained to her flowed from her veins and left her insensible to what was before her, to teach her that she must be the immovable object able to withstand whatever the Universe might throw at her. But she recognises this intrinsically, he mused, seeing sufficient evidence of that in the way she had thrown herself against her enemy. That the Force had spoken to her in those moments and aided her was all he needed in support of her. A new apprentice I have, it would seem.

"You are learning much already," he acknowledged in a calm tone, a nod of his head being all the overt appreciation he would offer of that fact. In truth, he hadn't expected her powers to manifest quite yet, but that they had showed considerable talent. And gives me proof that the Force is indeed with you. "But you cannot learn the Sith path in a day, girl." A flicker of his hand instructed the droid to withdraw, no longer needed. She had earned respite. "You need rest, refreshment, your injuries tending to. There are many chambers in my home: choose one for yourself, make it yours. One of the service droids will bring food and fresh clothing, if you have need of it," he added, knowing that she would.

Yes, he could have continued to push at her, seeking to expose her to the abuses and trials that a Sith candidate had to undergo in order to progress: each might unlock her powers, steadily instruct her in the nature of the forces at her command, but each would strip a layer off her, expose her inner self and leave her vulnerable to further harm. Such was a necessary component of their training, but he sensed she would not benefit from being pushed without respite. Ultimately we all need time to reflect upon what we have learned and experienced, that we might come to terms with it, and be prepared for the next part of our journey.

She had, after all, only just recently arrived on Oricon. She could not do that and expect to call herself a Sith within a day - nor could he expect it of her. But she has earned the right to try.

"Oricon is my home, and now yours, if you would continue this path," he remarked softly, knowing he had to give her an out, if she wanted one. That Lyra had faced the tests he could throw at her thus far was indicative of a willingness to learn, but it was a difficult life to be a Sith: not something many would ever be able to embrace and successfully survive. "Reflect on what today has taught you, and seek me out when you're ready to learn more."

With that, he offered her a simple nod of acknowledgement and turned, striding away from the training room. He had expended some of his own energies during the encounter with the miners that had carried the little stowaway, and such needed to be recouped with appropriate meditation. Such would give Lyra chance to explore, eat, sleep if she desired it. She could not leave, so how she chose to spend her time would be instructive in some respects. There would be much for her to learn in due course.

 

[Progflaw99]

Mirroring the abrupt command issued forth by the Sith Lord, Lyra hesitated. Shocked out of her almost trance like connection with the Force she stood, blade raised in preparation for a follow up strike. Cautiously she eyed the droid as it stood where it had been, mid strike. Was this another test, another trial this man would put her through? She felt her undernourished body screaming in response to her exertion, sweat beading along her brow, casually wiped with the sleeve of her sword hand. Her other hung where she'd received her wound. Blood wet her sleeve, now beginning to saturate fully, a singular droplet of blood dropping to the floor. Clenching her jaw she felt a wave of nausea pass over her, the girl's stomach turning as she took a wary step backwards, outside of the droid's reach.

Now the man's voice, calm and even spoke again, her gaze falling upon his dimly illuminated form as he nodded. Her guard dropped lower, the blade yet held firmly in her grasp, eyes flicking between the two warily. Taking a deep breath she pushed back at first against the pain rapidly forming against her arm, then as she slowly exhaled she bit the inside of her cheek. She would endure it. Shakily she clenched the fist of her wounded arm, blood slipping between her fingers till it formed droplets at her knuckles. Through her weakness, through her exhaustion, she held the man's gaze - a determination shining through. As the Sith flicked his hand and the droid moved, she shifted her stance so that she could watch the droid and as it stalked away whence it had come, she turned back towards Tirdarius.

As the man offered her his home she humbly bowed her head, the blade coming to rest, tip on the ground beside her foot. Etiquette was certainly not her forte but it felt right. Perhaps her recent connection to the Force had already begun to affect her behavior, no doubt the events of the day had taken their toll on both body and mind. How time had passed she had no idea, with no reference to go by she could only guess she'd been on Oricon for several hours - *It must be near dusk*. Fighting back another wave of nausea she grit her teeth followed with another nod as the man took his leave. As he left, Lyra gathered the scabbard, quickly cleansing the blade against her one good sleeve before sheathing it. With apprehensive steps, she followed in the Sith Lord's wake, the lingering tendrils of the Force guiding her through the halls.

It took her only a few minutes to find a modest room, the small confines not as large as some of the rooms she'd passed nor as ornate but it would suit her purposes. He had said it was now her home, but it yet felt foreign to her - that would change in time, just like any of her hides from her previous life. How long ago it seemed and yet only one day had passed. She needed rest, she needed bandages. As if it had read her mind.. *no.. that's silly isn't it?* a small droid arrived, a tray of bandages along with some plain dark clothing made itself known. As soon as it deposited the items upon the narrow bed, it promptly left, continuing to head deeper into the fortress. Over the next hour she would carefully disrobe, cleansing the wound with the supplies provided - she'd done it before but nothing this deep. Having bound the wound to the best of her ability, she'd changed into the simple tunic and trousers, a pair of soft, calf length boots also delivered. It amazed her, how they were able to have clothing that fit her just so - surely the Sith Lord hadn't actually known she was going to end up here.. or had he? Perhaps that was one of the many mysteries of the Sith Lord... no doubt she would learn some of those secrets in time.

[member="Tirdarius"] ​