Unrelenting [Training/Open]

[Midas Âzanroil]

Sweat, blood and electrical discharge mingled in the sharp, unforgiving air of the Sith Temple battle-pits. There, Midas Azanroil toiled against wave after wave of vibroblade equipped sparring droids. Muscle flexed and rippled under tight crimson skin as the Sith Pureblood let out a grunt of excretion
between clenched teeth, sharpened incisors gleaming.

'They will know my name, soon. The blood of King Adas is not subdued by human rats so easily.'

Allowing the primal instincts of his ancient Massassi kinmen to drive him, he manipulated his weapon masterfully. The lightsaber, with a beam as red as the Pureblood's skin, burned through the metal flesh of the droids, melting wires and liquifying processing units. Blade-to-blade, he engaged with one of them a saber-lock. Of course the inferior vibro-blade gradually began to dissolve in the face of the overwhelming temperature of Midas' lightsaber. Teeth still bared, he gathered the force into his limbs, mobilizing and strengthening his muscle fiber to supplement his already considerable strength. Pressing downwards from a position of superior height, the vibroblade was sliced in half, the beam splitting the droid's skull exo-skeleton into two, sparks of electricity spewing into the air while it's durasteel body spasmed and fell to the floor, systems shutting off.

The remaining sparring droid's artificial intelligence was certainly more clever, as it had decided to flank the Sith warrior while he grappled with it's compatriot. Only deft senses allowed the Pureblood to side-step at the last moment, preventing the vibroblade from doing anymore then drawing blood with a gazing wound to the Pureblood's arm. The pain was significant however, but it did nothing but further fuel Midas' dark-sided power and strengthened.

Fueled by the force and raw anger, he lashed out unrestrained. The Droid retreated backward, the vibroblade being batted to the side as the Pureblood recklessly advanced forth with every swing. With the seventh blow, the vibroblade, integrated directly into the droid's frame, was torn from it's arm. Midas' hefted the lightsaber and savagely cleaved the droid apart, limb by limb and then delivered a fatally crushing stomp upon the machine's core, smashing it into a tangled pile of scrap.

Unsatisfied and blood-lust only whetted, the Pureblood warrior lowered the crimson glow of his weapon to his side, panting. Glancing up to the nearby doors and battlements, he eagerly wished some other Acolyte, Apprentice, Knight or even Master would arrive to truly test his mettle.

Sighing, he turned his back and raised his weapon for another wave.



(Open to any Sith)

 

[Vrag]

[[Ooh, look, a chance to poke the blood of King Adas. However could I resist? ]]

Vrag had just completed her morning routine, having run ten laps around the temple to start off the day. It was the one time when the firrerreo could be spotted without her armor, and to most people it was a jarring sight, for nearly everybody who knew her was accustomed to her usual durasteel attire. Covered in a thin layer of sweat, the woman entered the training rooms of the temple and immediately stopped in her tracks. Dawn had cracked perhaps an hour ago, and the Sith had learned to expect complete solitude at this unholy time of day.

Apparently not, the woman thought and leaned on the nearest wall as she threw a towel over her shoulder. Her blue eyes followed the movements of the engrossed fighter who was most likely far too busy slashing away at droids to notice her arrival. She had to admit that the man was certainly possessed of raw power, but the more she watched his movements, the more it was becoming apparent that his strikes lacked finesse and precision.

The last of the training drones fell under the unyielding assault of the towering man, and Vrag met his gaze with her own when he finally turned around. "See something you like, boy?" The Sith asked and pushed herself off the wall to take a few steps forward. "How about you ditch those droids and get a bit of blood on your hands?" she offered as she discarded her towel and stopped a few paces away from him.

[member="Midas Âzanroil"]

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

Sulfric yellow irises watched the female human stride forward, her remarks drawing the attention of the Sith Pureblood. "She something you like, boy?" She asked, her tone vaguely mocking. Midas only snorted, brusquely lying; "Your pitiful human form disgusts me." In truth, he could understand why his ancestors could have succumbed to the carnal lusts of the body with the arrival of the Dark-Jedi exiles on Korriban thousands of years ago. But how they were willing to breed their own species out of existence forever puzzled him - why sacrifice valuable Sith blood? Blood that almost always brought with it force-sensitivity in order to breed with a race so... inferior.

The woman stopped, and issued her challenge. "How about you ditch those droids and get a bit of blood on your hands?" For a human, Midas could sense an adept skill of the dark-side within her frame, and she certainly didn't carry herself like the other meek, timid little acolytes prancing about. A different Acolyte, one more wiser, cowardly or less arrogant would have rejected the challenge - but Midas chronically under-estimated opponents, especially the "pathetic" humans.

The Pureblood stood still for a moment, the gleam from his lightsaber beam sending rays of dancing light as crimson and deep as his skin bouncing across the walls. Apparently deep in pondering he stroked his right cheek tendril. Suddenly, scarlet lips twisted upwards into a eldritch grin revealing sharpened canines and incisors.

"Prepare yourself!" In Djem So form, Midas rejected strategy and fore-thought and empowered his legs and strengthened his arms with his innate darkside, charging forward and attempting to deliver a massive, force-fueled overhand strike into the head of the woman.



[Right to business, heh.]

 

[Vrag]

[please tag me next time. I really don't feel like checking this thread constantly. xD]

The woman arched a single eyebrow at his blunt comment, but elected not to deign that with a reply of her own. Blunt was perfectly fine by her; in fact, one could say she even preferred bluntness to the beat-around-the-bush attitude so many of the Sith seemed to like. While the looming mass of red muscle was pondering its next move, Vrag stretched her limbs and rolled her joints to prepare herself for the fight that was doubtlessly coming.

If she had been expecting that he would lay down his weapon and engage her in hand-to-hand combat, she didn't show it. His charge was an easy enough thing to spot, and as a practitioner of Makashi, Vrag was very well versed in the art of footwork. When the time came she stepped out of his trajectory, knowing that he couldn't change his direction with that much momentum, and called into her hand one of the vibroblades that lay scattered on the floor. Her fingers wrapped around the handle as she completed her pivoting motion with a downward strike to his exposed back.

[member="Midas Âzanroil"]

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

[member="Vrag"]

Instead of the human flesh he so longed to split, Midas' lightsaber only found empty air. The little rat-girl had disappeared! His momentum took him forward, and by the virtue of his force and physical senses, he managed to side-step, however the Pureblood was never particularly renown for his agility and received a deep, painful gash upon his back. The vibro-blade had cut through the thick crimson hide and into the taut muscle and flesh underneath.

Midas' turned around to face the deft-footed female Sith, a stream of blood flowing from his back and pooling at his feet. Despite the pain, the Pureblood warrior showed no outwards signs of conceding defeat. His cheek tendrils quivering with rage, he soon realized he would be forced to formulate an actual strategy if he were to stand a chance to defeat this.... surprisingly skilled woman.

He used the pain from his recently gain wound to fuel his dark-sided powers, generating and gathering bogan energy within himself. In the mean-time, he sent a few half-hearted slices towards the woman intended to make her keep her distance. Though she was incredibly tall for a female of her race, Midas still had a slight height, and thus reach advantage, even if it was only a few inches.

 

[Vrag]

Lightsabers were all fine and well, but there was nothing like the feeling of flesh yielding under the pressure of a sharp blade. A smile blossomed on Vrag's lips as a surge of blood colored her sword, but the warrior finished her downward cut without pause and took a few steps back where she assumed the stance of the third guard. Her blue eyes were completely focused on her adversary, and the strikes he sent her way were almost too easy to parry. In the zealous form of Djem-So, the Pureblood Sith certainly had the option to utilize his full strength, yet the cuts he attempted were feeble and unworthy of the bulging muscles of his arms.

Whether it was because of the cut on his back or for some other reason, Vrag didn't care, and the next time he slashed towards her she batted his weak strike to the side with the flat of her blade. The Makashi user quickly followed up with a push cut in the newly created opening, knowing that the superior reach of her one-handed form would more than make up for the advantage [member="Midas Âzanroil"] had because of the already small size difference. The front edge of her vibroblade was aimed at his already wounded arm, guided forth as the woman stepped to the side and forward.

[I assumed he's not armored, since you didn't mention it anywhere.]

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

[Unarmored, yes.]

[member="Vrag"]

As suspected, the woman easily slapped his unenthusiastic strikes to the side with a few smooth motions of Makashi, before promptly following up with an accurate step-side and lunge towards his arm. However, Midas did not intend for this up-jumped pretender to the title of "Sith" to so easily best him in a few movements.

Right before the vibro-blade was to meet and rend through his red flesh, the Pureblood opened his free-hands fingers and unleashed the force energy he had been building up. He attempted to manifest the dark energies in a raw force grip intended to paralyze the woman whilst simultaneously swinging his lightsaber in a downwards horizontal sweep to her legs, hoping to injure and remove her advantage of superior agility if not out-right delimb her and end the fight.

Certainly an awkward strike, as Midas was forced to one-hand the blow as Djem So was normally a two-handed style along with being forced to twist his body around with the sweep in order to most effectively connect to her legs.

 

[Vrag]

The firrerreo hissed out in pain as his lightsaber grazed the naked flesh of her exposed left leg, gritting her teeth so hard she thought they would break. She stumbled forward into her opponent as her balance was disturbed, unable to correct her stance as the Force gripped her straining muscles. The vibroblade she was holding in an awkward, half-extended position, was dragged across her adversary's flesh by the courtesy of gravity enacting its will upon Vrag's body.

Instead of the intended, passing strike, her entire weight was now pressing the sharp edge into [member="Midas Âzanroil"] injured arm, and the Knight was unable to move away due to the paralysis the man himself had induced. How ironic, really; in their current state — for both of them lacked equilibrium — they would be hard-pressed not to tumble to the floor in a mess of limbs and extremely dangerous weaponry.

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

[member="Vrag"]

Midas was certainly no stranger to pain - but this was different, the kiss of the vibro-blade was searing, burning, scarring. A savage roar escaped from his lips as the vibro-blade tore straight through the muscle and sinew, causing him to drop his lightsaber in agony as he toppled to the ground as if a monolithic tower suddenly robbed of it's foundations.

His concentration broken, the force grip dissipated from the body of his opponent who he tangled with in a pile of blades, fury and stinging agony. Any calm and strategy disappeared from his mind, replaced by a raw, primitive brutality. He lashed out at the female Sith's body, punching at her with the worn knuckles of the fist of his undamaged arm, biting at her throat with the sharpened fangs of his teeth and attempting to batter her with the motions of his muscle-bound legs.

Of course, such a thing could not be sustained. He was already mildly fatigued when first going up against this 'pretender,' and now he bore several deep gashes and wounds along with a great amount of energy expended.

But, for the moment at-least, he was determined to rip this girl apart.

 

[Vrag]

His scream of agony played on the strings of her heart in a very particular way, but her satisfaction lasted less than a fraction of a second; moments later they plummeted to the floor in a bloody mess of muscle and limbs. She must have done something right, though, for the immovable force gripping at her body disappeared when they struck the ground, allowing her the freedom of movement again.

Not fast enough, Vrag cursed herself even as the first punch was thrown by the pureblood, hitting the side of her body. She responded with a sharp intake of breath, refusing to give him the pleasure of hearing her pain. At this range his blows lacked any real strength, but the savagery of his bite didn't. The Sith jerked backward and yanked the vibrosword upward in an arc that was aimed at the bastard's face; it was more of an attempt to keep his snapping jaws at bay, but the danger was still very real. Her free hand flew to the staunch the flow blood at her throat only to discover that the wound was superficial, and she could still breathe.

Then one of his kicks hit home, and Vrag was thrown off the Acolyte with a foot to her stomach. "You motherkarker," she spat out between hitched gasps while struggling to pick herself up. "I'll break that arrogant face of yours," her growl was almost feral, but the promise was very real.

[member="Midas Âzanroil"]

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

[member="Vrag"]

The vibroblade met the flesh of his cheek, tearing away the muscle and unleashing a flow of red ichor, leaving a nasty gash upon the Pureblood's visage and prompting a feral roar. Adrenaline flowing and instincts primal, Midas sent a surprisingly swift kick into the chest of his foe, sending her barreling off of her. She cursed, staggering up to her feet. Midas pushed himself off of the crimson-stained floor, intending to exploit her weakness in order to finish the fight, only to be surprised when his limbs betrayed him in exhaustion, sending him toppling onto his knees.

He cursed in Sith'ese, snarling as if a cornered beast. "You miserable.... human welp..." He spat with the utmost loathing and venom, apparently ignorant of the Firrerreo's true heritage. "I will rend you into pieces. I will spill your... *cough* blood..." He eventually managed to stumble onto his feet, evidently exhausted and weakened by the combat.

Unleashing one last battle-cry, he manifested a force grip over his lightsaber previously disarmed of him, and launched it as a projectile towards his enemy, following up with his own body, claws and fangs bared in one last desperate lunge.

 

[Vrag]

She bared her bloodied teeth at him in reply, as if this were some sort of territorial skirmish between two beasts. Vrag stood up with a humorless chuckle as she realized that the description wouldn't be very far off, in truth. Such is our way, she reminded herself and pulled her hand from the wound on her neck, where the red on her pale skin was already coagulating.

Her nostrils flared with quick, shallow breaths as she did her best to ignore the burning pain in her left leg, or at least push it aside for long enough to defeat the upstart Sith. The days when his kin ruled over the name were long gone, and he was little more than a wayward sequence of nucleotides that had managed to remain unchanged for thousands of years. The Knight transferred her weight to her healthy leg as she maintained the vibroblade in the position of the third guard, allowing for a free hand.

And a good thing it did, at that.

Her eyes registered [member="Midas Âzanroil"]'s movement as soon as his hand flew up to wield the saber from afar, and Vrag didn't have to waste any precious moments adjusting her grip. Instead, she did the only reasonable thing; she blasted forth a Force push, redirecting the ignited blade back into its incoming owner.

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

[member="Vrag"]

Midas, charging like a rampaging beast with the thrill of the battle barely perceived the beam of red flying towards his body, and when it landed on the ground behind him, offered a barking laugh and continued forward, assuming the foolish human had missed. But with every step, a vague ache spread up his torso. The Pureblood attempted to ignore it, but it latched onto his body, weighing him down as if he had the weight of a Rancor hanging onto him. Eventually his refused to move, the tightly weaved muscle fibers revolting against their master's orders.

Thus, the Pureblood halted, feet away from the Firrerreo halted his assault and almost comically, looked down to the epicenter of the ache that had spread throughout his body and halted his limbs. To his horror, there burned a grievous wound, a smoldering lesion of charred nerves and skin where once a chunk of his thigh resided. Midas looked up to his opponent, a expression of utter horror and shame of having been defeated with his own weapon on his scarred and wounded visage, which soon turned into a defiant countenance of utter rage and rejection of such a... dishonorable defeat.

Stubbornly staggering forward as if a drunkard, Midas arced back his arm and swung forward; his fist immediately sinking to the ground as if an anchor was attached to it. Groaning and his opponent's name in Sithese, he fell upon his knees, defeated. Even for Midas, there was a threshold that could only withstand so much punishment before being broken.

 

[Vrag]

To say that it was difficult to intimidate her would be a severe understatement, but even Vrag's grim expression faltered in the face of the mountain of muscles hurling at her. A mountain that just wouldn't stop.. The firrerreo was halfway through a limping backstep when the giant finally lost his momentum, inches away from the awkwardly positioned woman. Close. Too close. There was barely enough space between them for her raised hand; had he traveled but a feet further, the ensuing crash would've spelled doom for them both.

The Sith let out a breath of relief and concluded her retreat with a thundering heart. Her whole body waited, coiled with tension, as the man collapsed to the floor in front of her, weeping blood and burnt fat. The odor that hit her nostrils seconds later was almost enough to lay her down flat, and her eyes welled up at the acrid smell of charred flesh. No matter how many times one braved the battlefield, the aroma of gore and death never quite got old.

She doubled down on her gag reflex, glad that she hadn't yet eaten her breakfast that morning. She somehow doubted the prideful pureblood would take well to being at the receiving end of a half-digested meal. Vrag looked down at her felled opponent, and her arm relaxed somewhat when she saw the little tremors running through his imposing form.

"Stand, warrior," she croaked, surprised to find her throat more than a little dry. She wet her lips before continuing, her gaze unflinching: "You fought with passion, but you lack control. Lead, Sith, and don't allow yourself to be led by others. Even if it is the Force itself.

[member="Midas Âzanroil"]

 

[Midas Âzanroil]

Darkness, something Midas always considering to be an ally ruthlessly invaded the corners of his vision. The woman's words were the tap of pebbles compared to the overwhelming white noise that overwhelmed his senses. Slowly, and deliberately, the Pureblood began to push himself onto his feet, blood-loss, fatigue and pain making it feel as if his limbs were as stiff and motionless as Bronzium.

"Weakness."

The voice echoed throughout his skull. It was the voice of his father, as disappointed and condescending as ever. He shook his head, looking up to his victorious opponent. His lips were still bared into a snarl, but this time no insults or provocations came from his mouth. The yellow, predatory eyes searched the woman almost briefly pondering if he could muster up any more energy for a last-ditch attack that could perhaps catch her off guard.

"You have won." He admitted grudgingly through clenched, blood-stained teeth. As arrogant as he may have been, even Midas couldn't reject the blatant reality of his defeat. "You are more skilled then I expected." A coarse, humorless laugh - more resembling a cough then anything tore from his tattered Larynx. "But, I shall learn from this defeat. Be certain that you will lay dead at my feet.... Sith."

With this, he spun on his heels, hand on his gaping wound, and began to limp out of the arena, leaving the mass-produced synthetic crystalled lightsaber he wielded on the ground, as if in disgust of it. It was useless to him now. It was naught but a remainder of defeat. Soon he would need a new weapon, one worthy of himself.

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Davek Vore]

Davek Vore too trained against a battle droid. He had recently arrived here at the Academy at the behest of the Dark Lords. This had been his first real chance to train in days. In his hands, he held two durasteel shotos in a reversed grip.

He was bare-chested, sweat rolling down his body. Vore was dropped into a low fighting crouch, poised on his toes. He watched the droid warily, waiting for the automaton to attack again. Then the dursteel blade swung in a horizontal slash.

Davek ducked the blow and came forward. He slashed with his shotos, first right then left. The droid staggered back, simulating the damage. Vore was mildly dissapointed there was no blood.

He waited once again, low and on his toes. Poised to move, he expected a clumsy and desperate attack. If a flesh and blood opponent had managed to survive, and some did, they would panic. The droid's artifical intelligence didn't dissapoint.

It lunged forward with a clumsy thrust. Davek side-stepped and turned,, coming behind the droid. He went to a knee and slashed where a hamstring would be, came up and plunged the shotos into the back with an ice pick grip. It was over and the combat droid fell on it's metal face in simulated death.

He smiled. His momentary satisfaction was interrupted by sounds of clash across the pit. Looking up with irritation, he saw a male Sith pureblood and another humamoid female being sparring. Except it wasn't sparring, he quickly realized.

The Rattataki smiled as he recognized a grudge match. The female quickly dispatched the red-skinned one with vibroblades humming. She was good with those, he thought, as her blades bit into her opponent and he roared in pain.

Finally, a little blood, he thought with some amusement.