Resident President Meme
The resounding thud of yet another guardsmen being thrown into the ground echoed in the training hall appropriated by the recently hired head of Commenor palace security. The ex sith, and now ex hunter, Darlyn Excron was taking his frustrations out on his subordinates, as a sort of training session for the collective group. And by training session, that meant repeatedly hurling them into walls, the floor, and one another until they were had other duties to attend to. He was careful not to make them unfit for duty, as it would be poor for his job security to reduce the guard numbers of the palace down so quickly after recent events, but even so it was cathartic to pummel them into the ground.
Normally such aggression would be directed at criminals and underworld targets on a hunt, and being so entrenched in the dark side it was quite important for him to have an outlet. It was, however, quite unfortunate for the guardsmen now sparing him one at a time. To be thrown about in this way certainly was more than they were used to, though as Darlyn was far from the most powerful force user it was proving to be beneficial for them all. Though Darlyn was having noticeably more trouble learning the exact skills he was so eager to hone.
Namely this would be quarterstaff he'd been fighting with, something completely new for him as he spun the long weapon about to bring either end to bear against his guardsmen. Not only was the weapon difficult to wield for him, given its two ends to be aware of, but most of the swings were made with an intent to leave his left hand completely free, creating a strange looking, clunky effort to wield the quarterstaff in one hand. Of course he did occasionally grab hold of it in both hands, particularly when he was bringing it down on a guardsmen with heavier force, but in all cases possible he left the second hand free. Clunky, imperfect, and almost comical.
But clearly Darlyn was a better combatant than the guards, who one by one would retreat to lick their wounds and watch others. Some had learned the valuable lesson of never underestimating a force wielder, some had become too dazed to think. Advantage, he supposed, of having the force and experience fighting to the death.
Another time his quarterstaff smacked against his leg, the practice device sending a small sting up through his body. Growling, he sent a bolt of lightning right into the chest of the guardsman he was sparring and had the man taken aside to rest. It seemed he was running out of practice partners.
He sighed and raised a hand to his head, closing up the quarterstaff and taking a seat. He was getting nowhere at this rate. He needed someone stronger than himself to fight, he wouldn't grow if he kept winning without having to lose.
[member="Stardust Raxis"]
Normally such aggression would be directed at criminals and underworld targets on a hunt, and being so entrenched in the dark side it was quite important for him to have an outlet. It was, however, quite unfortunate for the guardsmen now sparing him one at a time. To be thrown about in this way certainly was more than they were used to, though as Darlyn was far from the most powerful force user it was proving to be beneficial for them all. Though Darlyn was having noticeably more trouble learning the exact skills he was so eager to hone.
Namely this would be quarterstaff he'd been fighting with, something completely new for him as he spun the long weapon about to bring either end to bear against his guardsmen. Not only was the weapon difficult to wield for him, given its two ends to be aware of, but most of the swings were made with an intent to leave his left hand completely free, creating a strange looking, clunky effort to wield the quarterstaff in one hand. Of course he did occasionally grab hold of it in both hands, particularly when he was bringing it down on a guardsmen with heavier force, but in all cases possible he left the second hand free. Clunky, imperfect, and almost comical.
But clearly Darlyn was a better combatant than the guards, who one by one would retreat to lick their wounds and watch others. Some had learned the valuable lesson of never underestimating a force wielder, some had become too dazed to think. Advantage, he supposed, of having the force and experience fighting to the death.
Another time his quarterstaff smacked against his leg, the practice device sending a small sting up through his body. Growling, he sent a bolt of lightning right into the chest of the guardsman he was sparring and had the man taken aside to rest. It seemed he was running out of practice partners.
He sighed and raised a hand to his head, closing up the quarterstaff and taking a seat. He was getting nowhere at this rate. He needed someone stronger than himself to fight, he wouldn't grow if he kept winning without having to lose.
[member="Stardust Raxis"]
