Sink or Swim [TSA Combat Training]

[Ariealla Vareldi]

These two earned her admiration, fighting beyond their body's limits as much as they could, swift as they could manage. Even against someone who eclipsed them they fought on, refusing to give up. Were she still a Lord, she would have found a use for them, a place beside her where they could flourish, become a useful Sith. But she was not, her body was that of an Acolyte. And its own limit was near, hastened by Lark's attack with the pipe earlier. Even so, she refused to give them the pleasure of being the ones to cut her down...

She twisted her sword in her hand, catching the lightsaber as it spun to her waist. The edge dug into her skin, cutting her waistline just enough to draw blood, before she twisted it again to catch the neck strike, this time the blade drawing blood from her shoulder. Fortunately, she was used to pain, and even as the blood was let free she felt enough power to keep the pace. With a grunt, she released a telekinetic blast of Force Push at Orion, taking the time she might be granted to step back slightly. She needed to keep herself motivated, capable of seeing the goal.

She lifted the blade to her lips, and slowly ran her tongue against the flat of the blade. What blood she had caught from Lark left the singing steel, resting on her tongue as she adjusted her stance. Her left side was sore, entirely sore. This slight intimidation might provide the moments she would need to adjust, so they wouldn't have a chance to take advantage of it. "Delectable, you would make a fine red wine." She chuckled, drawing and igniting her lightsaber, one blade alone, and holding the two weapons by her side loosely. If this violence continued, she would have to pick her target well...

She groaned when she tried to take a step towards the both of them, feeling her left leg tremble. She'd taken a lot more damage than she initially thought... Even if she still held a stance where she could attempt to fight the both of them. She wasn't giving up.. but she wouldn't be opposed to an agreed upon draw.

[member="Orion Darkstar"] | [member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

Lark flexed his back, covered in patterns of thorn-like scars that would take a great deal of time to heal. Some, like the burns forever seared onto his flesh, might stay with him forever. As long as they remained hidden, he didn't mind. They were stories in a way, a tale of the first time he encountered these two fascinating people. What tales did they have to tell, what were their goals and motivations? As blood seeped from various wounds he staggered forward, intending to continue the fight. Pain meant nothing to him, indeed it was necessary to grow stronger. Despite whatever consequences may come from it, Lark could ignore wounds that didn't debilitate him to much. But if he pushed to hard, he knew what the result would end up being. He did not care if he died, he knew that one day death would finally capture him, as it should have years ago. But now just didn't feel like the right time. Indeed, if this frenzied fighting continued all three might find themselves missing what most fought so desperately to keep. What a waste that would be.

No, even if one of them was left alive after the spar, they wouldn't be standing for very long. They'd collapse and who knew if they'd ever rise again. But Lark was stubborn to a fault. If someone proposed the idea of a draw, perhaps he'd consider it. But he would not be the one to broach the topic.

He saw Orion charge towards Ariealla, and took the opportunity to take a few more stumbling steps forward. He laughed hauntingly as he did so, he looked dazed but despite the heinous wounds he had sustained his mind was as calm as falling snow. His laugh grew as he saw Little Ariealla's expression after tasting his blood. He had always wondered what he tasted like. If a cannibal walked into a room of people and said he would eat anyone in the room except for me, how would I feel? Would I feel offended, or relieved that a cannibal doesn't find me an appealing meal? Is my blood as foul as my soul? Apparently not. Some might take disgust at being consumed, a part of them being devoured, ingested by someone else. Lark didn't mind. It was only flesh, after all.

Lark tripped over exhausted legs, falling to his knees in anger. He willed himself up once more, completely soaked in blood. Some dripped down his face, he didn't even recall getting cut there. It dripped down his eyelashes, and fell down his cheeks like scarlet tears. He wasn't coordinated enough to use both his weapons to their full effect, he'd only jumble his swings up and leave himself exposed. In a practiced motion he threw his knife towards Ariealla, he was aiming for her neck but as soon as it left his hand he could tell the shot was to low. He groaned after the action, searing his wounds further open. He forced himself to remain standing, that knife throw very well could have taken what little energy he had left. But if either of the two of them thought to end him, he'd put himself through hell to take them down with him.

I love it here, Lark thought to himself.

[member="Ariealla Vareldi"] [member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

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Current Foes: | [member="Ariealla Vareldi"] | [member="Lark"]​

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Would they ever give up?​

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No.​

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Orion knew that none of them would be willing to retreat, they each made it quite apparent that what laid before them wouldn't end until there was a victor. A victor that in all honesty seemed less and less likely. The rate in which all of them had exerted their efforts could topple even the best of warriors and inquisitors. They were diamonds, hidden among the other acolytes that begged for the spotlight. None of them asked for such attention, but after such a display among the lords the there of them had to have already proved their worth. If not, then each of them had far to go. The harmonious sound of splatter that greeted him as he swung for Ariealla forced her own weapon upon her flesh, not once; but twice. It was ironic to think that a tool for protection could also be one's demise. It was a thought that sparked, Orion's excitement as much as it could in his current state. ​

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The barrage of attacks had stopped and after the two separated the white haired maiden did something terribly odd. her tongue stretched for her own blade, licking it in a relishing manner. She almost enjoyed the taste as it sat upon her buds. She was an interesting specimen to say the least, but enjoying the fine taste of blood was a different level of wicked. Orion, had not seen such an action performed by anyone in the midst of battle before. A searing realization struck him. ​

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A Cannibal? ​

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Shocked at the discovery he stepped back as the two of them stepped closer. The gap between the three was tight, one flawed movement and someone would be going down. He could feel his breath leave him as his lungs filled with a sudden flem. He urged it up into his throat before spitting. Green ichor tarnishing the sandy stone below. A feeling of hurt radiated through him, the form that once made him a tantalizing beast had finally subsided. The pain that ruptured through him almost made him break, instead he sucked through his teeth, clenching his fist as the pain continued. A slight grunt was made from his slender lips, his delicate face showing an emotion of frustration, anger, and agony. He wasn't the only one with suffering complications, he spotted the stagger by Ariealla and the weakened attempt from Lark to press forward. There was nothing like it...a worthy fight. ​

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Orion grew hot, the swelling from his ankle began to become more and more stiff. His thigh burned like a bright sun and his cheek stung like a bee. It was true that the sith had the best of the best, and none of them were even close. However, in this moment of silence as the three stood, the represented the purity of what the sith stood for. They were a generation of hope to continue the legacy before them and they would. ​

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Orion couldn't bare the thought of stopping, if he stood still any longer his ankle would prevent him from keeping decent pace with the others. At this point, he wasn't sure whether or not the others could maintain their paces as well. Right before he stepped forward a sudden jolt of vivid images attacked him. A hurtling scream escaped him. The courtyard vanished and what sat before him was his father, Epharam. A dark set of clothing wrapped around the image, his mind paralyzed to the sudden change of reality. he was a sitting duck in the real world, motionless, ripe for picking. Today, it seemed the visions were a curse. ​

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Epharam stood straight and walked closer, placing his hands on Orion's shoulders. ​

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"Like I said before...you're too weak." Epharam said with a grin. "Beaten? Already? Is this what my legacy has become?" A moment went by before the anger set in far worse than before.​

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"A disgrace!"​

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Orion felt the weight of his words, his mind trapped. This wasn't anything like the visions before, it was as if Epharam was there talking to him through some magical connection. It sent a shiver through and before he could retort his eyesight grew hazy. Lark and Ariealla would see Orion furiously shaking his head, hands gripping through the threads of his hair. The pain, the excruciating pain forced another scream from him. ​

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Orion was lost, trying to shake the image from his head. He would die if he didn't. ​

 

[Ariealla Vareldi]

Such violent, delightful dancing had taken place, such an elegant song... but they hadn't reached the final chorus yet. And as she struggled to stand tall, it became evident to her that at this rate they would die before the final refrain had a chance to begin. She flicked her blade arm, metal clanging on metal to deflect the thrown dagger from [member="Lark"] with casual ease. It did cause her to stumble forward a bit as her leg almost gave out again, forcing her to use her blade as a cane to help her tired body stay up and alive. This... was exhilarating. Had she her old form these children would be long dead, but now she could see the challenges her new, weakened form provided. It.. it was perfect.

But their song was not over. She continued to stumble towards [member="Orion Darkstar"], turning her lightsaber off and clipping the staff to her waist. That giggle, melodic in its tones of depravity, escaped her lips as she moved behind him, lifting up her blade as he writhed on the ground. Then with a swift, forceful blow, she brought her hilt smashing down, intent on knocking the poor fool out and sparing him from an easy, disgraceful death. Regardless of what happened next, if the man was hit and knocked out, she half fell backwards, grabbing a box for support as she looked to the red headed boy with a grin.

"Ahh.. such a sweet song you both have woven for me. Such passion, such skillful playing. Alas, it seems we lack the strength to reach our final refrain. Your arm is weak, his mind broken, and my leg ready to give. Mayhaps we shall call this a draw, that we might better serve the Sith amid the blood of our enemies rather than tearing one another apart."

 

[Lark]

Lark spat up blood galore, and filthy ichor gushed out from his wounds. Red rivers ran from his eyes, blood whose origin was unknown to him, it very well could have come from his back or Orion's leg or Ariealla's mouth. Each of them had shed their share of the stuff. He listened to Ariealla's proposal of a draw, the only reasonable course of action, really. But it still bothered him. They were fascinating, both of them. He wanted to learn more about who they were and what brought them here, what their stories were. But in this moment, he wanted to kill them both. The three had proved themselves strong, each as powerful as another in some form, whether it be Force powers, combat, or the mind. Alas, he wasn't satisfied. He had fought well, but he would have rather been the only one walking away from this fight.

But perhaps in the grander scheme of things it was propitious that all three of them would survive. They'd each be great assets for the Sith once they developed their powers, it would be a shame if weapons so powerful perished without the opportunity to nurture their powers. Begrudgingly, Lark lowered his sword, but still was ready in case either one planned for one final sneak attack. He fell to his knees, but he willed himself from collapsing to the ground. He needed medical attention, but he'd rather just be laying in the ocean, letting the rhythmic waves soothe his wounds. He looked at Little Ariealla, then to Orion, whose dark hair was similarly coated with blood, mask now removed. He looked younger than Lark had guessed, but still a few years older than he was.

With a violent, invisible surge of willpower Lark forced himself to stand, but his wounds prevented him from doing so. His desire was there, but his body was simply to broken to continue. His body was nearly spent, dizzy with fatigue and blood loss. Despite this, he made himself smile sincerely, with the warmth of ocean sand. He wondered what he looked like, standing so peacefully after such a rapturous struggle, covered in gore. "I enjoyed this, I really did," he said to them softly. There was blood in his eyes, but still they shimmered with a heavenly glow. But just because one wore a pleasant face did not make him any less of a monster. "I can't wait until the day where we all meet once again. Perhaps then as allies instead of obstacles."

Oh, I look forward to it so. Don't either of you go dying on me yet. You haven't yet seen the true darkness festering inside of me.

[member="Ariealla Vareldi"] [member="Orion Darkstar"]

 

[Orion Darkstar]

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Current Foes: [member="Lark"] | [member="Ariealla Vareldi"] ​

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The surge of power that coursed through Orion's mind was too much to bare. The stickly figure that haunted him, no matter how far or hard he tried to escape, remained even more real now than ever. His father was a man of loyalty and honor, something little throughout the galaxy held true to. Even with the dark side at his will, Orion could feel the balance of power tipping. The scales were wavering in favor of his father as if he was being possessed by a greater phenomenon. The insistent pestering continued. ​

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Epharam finally latched onto his shoulder, his mind playing it all like a dark symphony of pain. He was hopeless, stranded in a pit of regret and despair. There was no end to the shameful muse of his father's voice. It was too real, no vision in the past had given him such an episode of inferiority over him. He lost his own inner thoughts to a dead useless father, how pathetic. ​

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A sudden hue of green encroached the area around him, his mind shifting gears as the dark empty void of his brain manifested into a cold dark room. Chains clanked throughout the room a light revealing them from above. Just as he felt like he finally gained control he tried to move his arms, but shackles prevented them from extending forward. He was a prisoner to himself; no, a prisoner of Epharam's. The lanky figure that strode closer finally bent low to see Orion's distressed face. The image provided Epharam in a nice black and white suit, stripped and unwrinkled. Fitting for such a rich man that once lived. With his head hung low, Orion felt the smooth ridge of a finger forcing his chin upward to look. ​

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"I can give it to you. The power to kill them...not just them." Epharam said, stopping as he stared into the eyes of Orion, his one and only son. "All you have to do is let me in. Let me help you, son." Epharam's voice was sly, like a snake. Threading his web of lies was a gift, he had quite the silver tongue. "If you don't you'll die..." Orion's eyes strained, widening at the proposition. This couldn't have been real, Epharam was dead. Or should have been. Orion giving up his freedom to his father would go against everything he worked for, bled for. He wouldn't do it. ​

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"I'd rather die...than succumb to your wants and needs...father."​

"Very well, that can be arranged." ​

"Let me out! You aren't real!" Orion angrily screamed.​

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Orion forced the chains along his wrist upward, breaking under the pressure. The snapping ring setting him free at last. Epharam remained, only slightly fading as Orion felt reality slipping back into view. ​

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The fight was far from over. ​

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A sudden crash of physical pain swelled inside of him. His body reacting to the physical world once more. The hazy sight spotting the red haired warrior. The opponent had fought well, battered by the blows of another. Whom, no longer appeared to him in sight. What Orion didn't realize was his deafening screams lurching out from the darkest parts of his soul. The pain had numbed him silent to the fact, almost as if the sickening feeling of losing control was on the brink of forcing Orion to no longer exist. His body felt light and as the image of his father faded an unbelievable calm came over him. The abrupt halt of his screams telling the two proud fighters in the ring with him, that he had won his own battle, at least for today. His head titled slightly observing the distant rocky walls. The crashing waves slipping up and over the crevices from the rocks below. He savored it for a moment before the pain came back again. ​

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Just before another scream escaped the delicate lips of Orion, another streaking sensation of pain reached him. A ringing in his ear making the next wave of his father's intentions to go dark, his vision with it. Lastly, Orion fell forward from the blow to his head. ​

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Defeated and broken. It wasn't the outcome he sought, but the very blow that may have lost him repute with the spectators may have forced another outcome inside him. A valiant victory against what almost felt like a vicious attack on his very soul, from his own deceased father.​

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It was truly the greatest thing to be a sith...​