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16-04-2023, 05:48 PM
(This post was last modified: 16-04-2023, 05:49 PM by Luvane Vipion.)
Entry one, the unholy trinity
Silence is often the compatriot of those who train. Some prefer the voice of another driving them, but that is the weakness of those who cannot push themself onwards, silence is the only accompaniment that the strong require. Yet sometimes training does require another, not as an inspiration, rather, to bring about fear. The fear of death, failure, loss, everything that awaits a sith who cannot hold their own. Many envy the red sith, undeserving of their place at the pinnacle of society and ready to be cut down and replaced with a newer generation of Sith who have much humbler and diverse origins. But that majority does not see the suffering of the sith. The torment and abuse one pureblood child suffers daily to ready them for rulership. The sith earn their accolades, they are never given them, they are born deserving of a chance. The only difference to the alien is they are not worthy of that chance.
Though at that moment a different chance had shown itself. A grunt of exertion, followed by a swish as a leg traveled through the air was all that came before the groan of pain. Two figures, in the glow of dim red lighting that broke the veil of darkness around a large training room, came together and then separated. Both pure blooded sith, one female and the other male. The female had been the attacker at that moment. Her straight black hair was pulled back into an almost painfully tight pony tail, tugging on her scalp and making the jutting bone spurs that adorned her face all the more prominent as she contorted her lips and cheeks to suck in deep lungfuls of air, fuel to power on a fresh assault. The female was clad in a tight fitting set of dark grey garments. Padded at the shoulders, elbows and knees, they allowed a freedom of movement whilst also offering protection from sudden falls. Not that it made much difference to an incoming fist or foot.
The male figure was in a matching set of the clothes, though his were stained darker from the perspiration that now began to seep through the material. His hair was shorter, pushed back from his forehead and held there with product that gave him a slightly more ferocious appearance, yet he too had the jet black hair of the girl opposite. And girl was the correct term, both figures could be no more than twelve years old, though any sign of childlike innocence was gone. Replaced only with an intense stare of focus, and, almost disgust. With a inhalation, the girl was off again, her lithe form was far thinner than the boy’s yet seemed to travel with a practiced ease and elegance that the boy did not have. He was far broader than the girl, and muscles bunched under his training garb in far denser masses, however he moved them like a child who still hadn’t grown into his physique. His longer arms and father reach counted for nothing as the girl nimbly feinted to her left with a jab, stepped under the boy’s feeble parry and then launched her right elbow at his ribs. There was another groan, louder this time, as the boy stepped away. Reaching up he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and stared daggers at the girl, before lifting his hands into an orthodox guard.
The girl attacked again, this time lifting her right arm to make a few testing jabs at the guard the boy had entered. Each jab met with the tough walls of the defence and the girl frowned. Even in their short sparring session he was already getting better. That guard broke at the beginning of their fight, the boy eager to grapple, now biding his time. She tried again, this time alternating hands. Right, left, right, left. The pace picked up as the girl pushed the boy back. Her own outfit was beginning to match the dampness of the boy’s and she was becoming infuriated at how he had entered such a defensive form. She was about to make a more wild attack when a sound rang in her head. Danger. She tried to snap her hands back but it was too late. Like a viper from it’s nest, one of the boy’s hands had snapped out and grabbed the girl’s wrist. She went wide eyed as the boy pulled her across his body, past his left hand side. As he did so, he stuck he left leg out. Tripping the girl who then tumbled to the floor with a shout of pain. There was no mats to protect the pair from the cold stone floor and the outfits did just enough to stop joints from shattering. The girl had enough time to spin around and then the boy was on her, throwing his body weight over her to try and tug one of her arms out of place, forcing the submission before she had a way out. The girl felt the strange gnawing tug of fear knot her insides as her body became prone. Fighting with every instinct she had to free herself from the grapple the boy had made. Suddenly, one of her arms became jerked from the ball she had tried to curl into, wrenched behind her back she was forced to bite down onto her bottom lip. Crimson blood that sparkled like a ruby flecked her ivory teeth which were sharp, as were all teeth for those who are pure.
The pain in the girl’s arm was excruciating and it made tears well up and burn the corners of her eyes. She would not submit. She would not cry. She would not- There was a loud popping sound and the girl screamed in agony. Her arm had dislocated, pulled from it’s socket it felt loose and uncontrollable to her but still lanced excruciating pain right through her. Darkness began to cloud the edge of her vision, weariness mixed with the pain was beginning to tell and she ran the risk of blacking out. The boy had rolled away now, his job was done, he didn’t need her to say she had submitted. Laying on the floor, clutching at her arm and weeping almost like a baby, she was done. He grimaced, a sense of pride laced into his derision for the girl. He was about to step away, to clean himself, when a voice echoed through the room.
“Dari j'us minti kaj zarmirsi, monhura?” ((“Do you think yourself victorious, brother?”)) The High Sith rolling from the tongue of the newcomer as easily as it rolled from the two that had been fighting. “Raeniu lays there defeated, but have you truly yet won?” The return to basic was oddly guttural, but softened by the accent that the purebloods had developed from learning the archaic tongue first. “You are bigger and stronger Soyut, but are you the winner?” The questions kept coming, thick and fast the voice questioned Soyut.
“I am victorious, monhura!” Soyut snapped back, baring his teeth a little as he clenched his fists at his side. “I finished my fight, whilst you go off and make more in the halls of the Academy, here on Dromund Kaas.” Soyut laughed a little, Yutal had stepped out from the shaodws of the entranceway. He wore the long dark robes of an acolyte, tied with a cordon around his waist and with a makeshift holder for his training blade, which occupied the holder on his back. Yutal’s hair was short and straight also, combed back almost as tightly as Raeniu’s was pulled. Yutal’s face held the sharp lines and edges that made clear his purity, something the other Vipions somewhat envied, only because of the extra doting this had earned from their mother. Yutal’s left hand however was bandaged, and a slight pinkish hue suggested that blood had flown freely from whatever wound was now hidden. This had been the subject of Soyut’s retort, and Yutal’s wicked smile faded into a grim look of malice.
“Do you think I cannot end a fight, monhura?” Yutal asked, taking another step forward. His robes swaying through the air as his boots tapped on the stone floor.
“I think you lose more than you suggest.” Soyut merely said, shrugging his shoulders before watching as Raeniu, who still whimpered slightly in pain, as she pulled herself to the side of the room. Leaning against the wall she angled herself, and the pushed herself against it hard. There was another pop, a snap, and then a soft moan as the arm went back into place. The training room of the Vipion estate was a place of pain and suffering. Even in victory Soyut bore the brunt of Raeniu’s assault under his garments. Black bruises would be blooming for weeks and he was sure that he would feel all manner of aches and pains the moment he sat down.
“Perhaps you can test my word, Soyut. See if I am really ready for the fights I begin.” Yutal hissed now, his anger clear as he reached up, unhooking his training blade and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thump. The room had the acrid stench of stale sweat, mixed with the sweet spiciness of Korribani incense. It made a heady dizzying effect in the brain and one might struggle to breathe and train in the aroma if they had not done so all their life. Soyut’s only response to Yutal was to step forward and raise his fists. Despite his age gap, Soyut being twelve whilst Yutal was now twenty, Soyut was rapidly reaching the same height as Yutal and the pair looked oddly similar bar their outfits. Soyut in his tight training apparel, Yutal in the loose robes of the Academy. Yutal met this challenge with total aggression. Flying forward far faster than he should have been able, Yutal released a blistering assault that was practically a haze to onlookers. Raeniu gave a wry dead smile as she noted the attack against her one time opponent. Soyut just had time to cry out, before his mouth was quickly silenced. Yutal had stepped from side to side as he approached, before jerking a fist out at Soyut’s open left flank. Soyut had twisted his body to avoid the blow, only falling into a follow up strike Yutal had planted just inside his guard. The closed fist met with Soyut’s nose and mouth. Crimson blood spilled out the moment the attack ended and Soyut sprang away, clutching at the wound. Yutal followed though, unlike the spar with Raeniu Yutal held no reserves. He sent jab after kick after swing at Soyut who only managed to fall back. Each blow left a pain that matched the pain of the entire spar with Raeniu.
The fight was so one sided, it was laughable, and after only a few seconds. Soyut tumbled backwards. His nose still wept blood rapidly and his arms and legs hung losesly by his side on the floor as he simply rolled his body back. “I submit.” He spat through blood, which threw droplet of the fluid into the air, speckling the space around Soyut. Yutal simply stopped, checked his fists, wiped them on Soyut’s outfit and then stepped away. Going to retrieve his training saber. As he picked it up, he looked over at Raeniu. “Soyut can pick himself up. You do the same and then get Jen’karr. Wisosûta wishes to see her.” Raeniu nodded and with a loud moan, but on her first attempt, pushed herself to her feet. Testing her worn out limbs.
“Jen’karr is only four, monhura. What does father wish of her?” Raeniu looked a little confused, as she moved to stand next to Yutal, half limping, half striding with her head held high. The pair of them departed the room, as the form of Soyut finally shook itself into a semblance of working flesh and levered itself from the ground. Cursing loudly at Yutal, at Raeniu and at the mess he was sure he would be forced to clean up.
“Were you not only four when father first spoke to you, sissûo? He wants what he has always wanted. To teach. Jen’karr must have command of her words by now, and father will test this. The time comes for us all to prove to him we are capable and willing to follow as the family teaches.” Yutal would look down to Raeniu, giving a slight smile. “Worry not, Jen’karr will be fine. She is already more of a sith than you will ever be.” Yutal could feel the cold icy stare that Raeniu planted on him as they moved deeper into the Vipion estate.
Force Training, Raeniu and Yutal Vipion, 8 and 18 respectfully
Training in the Vipion Estate was common, a daily routine and pass time as being of such an ancient and renown House required them to be strong in every sense be that martial prowess, political ability or their powers of the force. Training with purebloods is never easy either and those who suggest otherwise are ignorant or foolish...perhaps even both, yet the training of the Academy on Korriban or Dromund Kaas pales compared to the private tutelage of the great houses of the Sith. Houses such as the Vipions and the Horusets maintained these ancient traditions well into the current era. There were repeated loud thuds followed with grunts and coughs as Raeniu and Yutal of House Vipion would be training, this would be one of many of their training sessions together as they grew up together, the bright golden eyes of the smaller red skinned Sith matching the golden eyes of the older and more experienced Sith, her eyes match his just before his clenched fist connects with her cheek, she is practically launched to the ground, she groans as she picks herself up and she spits blood out onto the floor.
Yutal circles Raeniu and shouts at her "Arji ra! Misini zûtaditsini! Dosika qyâsik an shinsi ki!" (("Unworthy! Fight harder! Use the force to stop me!")). Her golden gaze would scan his form before she charged at him, he would swing for her with his left arm, using her more nimble frame would turn to her side as she went under his punch and she would jab at his lower rib cage twice but to no avail, he grabs her ponytail and pulls it, lifting it so Raeniu stands on the tips of her toes as he holds her. "Katsoshirsi, Nu tuti shursi j'us shiyi ri wiki uti akûti diâ rauswas misinis." (("Pathetic, I am ashamed you have the same golden eyes and red skin.")).
He would then punch Raeniu in the stomach and drop her to the floor, she would be coughing, holding her stomach while curled on the floor. Tears would well in her eyes from the pain, she would open them and would be glowing fiercly. She would get to her feet and she would launch both her arms forward at Yutal while screaming in pure unfiltered rage, a force push would slam into Yutal, somewhat unexpectedly and he would fall onto his back. Raeniu would laugh and jump a little excitedly. "Nu tiwi j'us karw!" ((I knocked you down!")). Her smile would soon fade as Yutal climbs back to his feet and his shadow and power eclipse her, she is thrown back against the wall with a simple motion of his arm and she is held there, she watches Yutal with her anger replaced by fear as he edges closer, her eyes widening as his eyes shine with malicious intent. The sounds of Raeniu's screaming and suffering would be heard for a while as she is taught the useful skill of humility.
Silence is often the compatriot of those who train. Some prefer the voice of another driving them, but that is the weakness of those who cannot push themself onwards, silence is the only accompaniment that the strong require. Yet sometimes training does require another, not as an inspiration, rather, to bring about fear. The fear of death, failure, loss, everything that awaits a sith who cannot hold their own. Many envy the red sith, undeserving of their place at the pinnacle of society and ready to be cut down and replaced with a newer generation of Sith who have much humbler and diverse origins. But that majority does not see the suffering of the sith. The torment and abuse one pureblood child suffers daily to ready them for rulership. The sith earn their accolades, they are never given them, they are born deserving of a chance. The only difference to the alien is they are not worthy of that chance.
Though at that moment a different chance had shown itself. A grunt of exertion, followed by a swish as a leg traveled through the air was all that came before the groan of pain. Two figures, in the glow of dim red lighting that broke the veil of darkness around a large training room, came together and then separated. Both pure blooded sith, one female and the other male. The female had been the attacker at that moment. Her straight black hair was pulled back into an almost painfully tight pony tail, tugging on her scalp and making the jutting bone spurs that adorned her face all the more prominent as she contorted her lips and cheeks to suck in deep lungfuls of air, fuel to power on a fresh assault. The female was clad in a tight fitting set of dark grey garments. Padded at the shoulders, elbows and knees, they allowed a freedom of movement whilst also offering protection from sudden falls. Not that it made much difference to an incoming fist or foot.
The male figure was in a matching set of the clothes, though his were stained darker from the perspiration that now began to seep through the material. His hair was shorter, pushed back from his forehead and held there with product that gave him a slightly more ferocious appearance, yet he too had the jet black hair of the girl opposite. And girl was the correct term, both figures could be no more than twelve years old, though any sign of childlike innocence was gone. Replaced only with an intense stare of focus, and, almost disgust. With a inhalation, the girl was off again, her lithe form was far thinner than the boy’s yet seemed to travel with a practiced ease and elegance that the boy did not have. He was far broader than the girl, and muscles bunched under his training garb in far denser masses, however he moved them like a child who still hadn’t grown into his physique. His longer arms and father reach counted for nothing as the girl nimbly feinted to her left with a jab, stepped under the boy’s feeble parry and then launched her right elbow at his ribs. There was another groan, louder this time, as the boy stepped away. Reaching up he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and stared daggers at the girl, before lifting his hands into an orthodox guard.
The girl attacked again, this time lifting her right arm to make a few testing jabs at the guard the boy had entered. Each jab met with the tough walls of the defence and the girl frowned. Even in their short sparring session he was already getting better. That guard broke at the beginning of their fight, the boy eager to grapple, now biding his time. She tried again, this time alternating hands. Right, left, right, left. The pace picked up as the girl pushed the boy back. Her own outfit was beginning to match the dampness of the boy’s and she was becoming infuriated at how he had entered such a defensive form. She was about to make a more wild attack when a sound rang in her head. Danger. She tried to snap her hands back but it was too late. Like a viper from it’s nest, one of the boy’s hands had snapped out and grabbed the girl’s wrist. She went wide eyed as the boy pulled her across his body, past his left hand side. As he did so, he stuck he left leg out. Tripping the girl who then tumbled to the floor with a shout of pain. There was no mats to protect the pair from the cold stone floor and the outfits did just enough to stop joints from shattering. The girl had enough time to spin around and then the boy was on her, throwing his body weight over her to try and tug one of her arms out of place, forcing the submission before she had a way out. The girl felt the strange gnawing tug of fear knot her insides as her body became prone. Fighting with every instinct she had to free herself from the grapple the boy had made. Suddenly, one of her arms became jerked from the ball she had tried to curl into, wrenched behind her back she was forced to bite down onto her bottom lip. Crimson blood that sparkled like a ruby flecked her ivory teeth which were sharp, as were all teeth for those who are pure.
The pain in the girl’s arm was excruciating and it made tears well up and burn the corners of her eyes. She would not submit. She would not cry. She would not- There was a loud popping sound and the girl screamed in agony. Her arm had dislocated, pulled from it’s socket it felt loose and uncontrollable to her but still lanced excruciating pain right through her. Darkness began to cloud the edge of her vision, weariness mixed with the pain was beginning to tell and she ran the risk of blacking out. The boy had rolled away now, his job was done, he didn’t need her to say she had submitted. Laying on the floor, clutching at her arm and weeping almost like a baby, she was done. He grimaced, a sense of pride laced into his derision for the girl. He was about to step away, to clean himself, when a voice echoed through the room.
“Dari j'us minti kaj zarmirsi, monhura?” ((“Do you think yourself victorious, brother?”)) The High Sith rolling from the tongue of the newcomer as easily as it rolled from the two that had been fighting. “Raeniu lays there defeated, but have you truly yet won?” The return to basic was oddly guttural, but softened by the accent that the purebloods had developed from learning the archaic tongue first. “You are bigger and stronger Soyut, but are you the winner?” The questions kept coming, thick and fast the voice questioned Soyut.
“I am victorious, monhura!” Soyut snapped back, baring his teeth a little as he clenched his fists at his side. “I finished my fight, whilst you go off and make more in the halls of the Academy, here on Dromund Kaas.” Soyut laughed a little, Yutal had stepped out from the shaodws of the entranceway. He wore the long dark robes of an acolyte, tied with a cordon around his waist and with a makeshift holder for his training blade, which occupied the holder on his back. Yutal’s hair was short and straight also, combed back almost as tightly as Raeniu’s was pulled. Yutal’s face held the sharp lines and edges that made clear his purity, something the other Vipions somewhat envied, only because of the extra doting this had earned from their mother. Yutal’s left hand however was bandaged, and a slight pinkish hue suggested that blood had flown freely from whatever wound was now hidden. This had been the subject of Soyut’s retort, and Yutal’s wicked smile faded into a grim look of malice.
“Do you think I cannot end a fight, monhura?” Yutal asked, taking another step forward. His robes swaying through the air as his boots tapped on the stone floor.
“I think you lose more than you suggest.” Soyut merely said, shrugging his shoulders before watching as Raeniu, who still whimpered slightly in pain, as she pulled herself to the side of the room. Leaning against the wall she angled herself, and the pushed herself against it hard. There was another pop, a snap, and then a soft moan as the arm went back into place. The training room of the Vipion estate was a place of pain and suffering. Even in victory Soyut bore the brunt of Raeniu’s assault under his garments. Black bruises would be blooming for weeks and he was sure that he would feel all manner of aches and pains the moment he sat down.
“Perhaps you can test my word, Soyut. See if I am really ready for the fights I begin.” Yutal hissed now, his anger clear as he reached up, unhooking his training blade and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thump. The room had the acrid stench of stale sweat, mixed with the sweet spiciness of Korribani incense. It made a heady dizzying effect in the brain and one might struggle to breathe and train in the aroma if they had not done so all their life. Soyut’s only response to Yutal was to step forward and raise his fists. Despite his age gap, Soyut being twelve whilst Yutal was now twenty, Soyut was rapidly reaching the same height as Yutal and the pair looked oddly similar bar their outfits. Soyut in his tight training apparel, Yutal in the loose robes of the Academy. Yutal met this challenge with total aggression. Flying forward far faster than he should have been able, Yutal released a blistering assault that was practically a haze to onlookers. Raeniu gave a wry dead smile as she noted the attack against her one time opponent. Soyut just had time to cry out, before his mouth was quickly silenced. Yutal had stepped from side to side as he approached, before jerking a fist out at Soyut’s open left flank. Soyut had twisted his body to avoid the blow, only falling into a follow up strike Yutal had planted just inside his guard. The closed fist met with Soyut’s nose and mouth. Crimson blood spilled out the moment the attack ended and Soyut sprang away, clutching at the wound. Yutal followed though, unlike the spar with Raeniu Yutal held no reserves. He sent jab after kick after swing at Soyut who only managed to fall back. Each blow left a pain that matched the pain of the entire spar with Raeniu.
The fight was so one sided, it was laughable, and after only a few seconds. Soyut tumbled backwards. His nose still wept blood rapidly and his arms and legs hung losesly by his side on the floor as he simply rolled his body back. “I submit.” He spat through blood, which threw droplet of the fluid into the air, speckling the space around Soyut. Yutal simply stopped, checked his fists, wiped them on Soyut’s outfit and then stepped away. Going to retrieve his training saber. As he picked it up, he looked over at Raeniu. “Soyut can pick himself up. You do the same and then get Jen’karr. Wisosûta wishes to see her.” Raeniu nodded and with a loud moan, but on her first attempt, pushed herself to her feet. Testing her worn out limbs.
“Jen’karr is only four, monhura. What does father wish of her?” Raeniu looked a little confused, as she moved to stand next to Yutal, half limping, half striding with her head held high. The pair of them departed the room, as the form of Soyut finally shook itself into a semblance of working flesh and levered itself from the ground. Cursing loudly at Yutal, at Raeniu and at the mess he was sure he would be forced to clean up.
“Were you not only four when father first spoke to you, sissûo? He wants what he has always wanted. To teach. Jen’karr must have command of her words by now, and father will test this. The time comes for us all to prove to him we are capable and willing to follow as the family teaches.” Yutal would look down to Raeniu, giving a slight smile. “Worry not, Jen’karr will be fine. She is already more of a sith than you will ever be.” Yutal could feel the cold icy stare that Raeniu planted on him as they moved deeper into the Vipion estate.
Force Training, Raeniu and Yutal Vipion, 8 and 18 respectfully
Training in the Vipion Estate was common, a daily routine and pass time as being of such an ancient and renown House required them to be strong in every sense be that martial prowess, political ability or their powers of the force. Training with purebloods is never easy either and those who suggest otherwise are ignorant or foolish...perhaps even both, yet the training of the Academy on Korriban or Dromund Kaas pales compared to the private tutelage of the great houses of the Sith. Houses such as the Vipions and the Horusets maintained these ancient traditions well into the current era. There were repeated loud thuds followed with grunts and coughs as Raeniu and Yutal of House Vipion would be training, this would be one of many of their training sessions together as they grew up together, the bright golden eyes of the smaller red skinned Sith matching the golden eyes of the older and more experienced Sith, her eyes match his just before his clenched fist connects with her cheek, she is practically launched to the ground, she groans as she picks herself up and she spits blood out onto the floor.
Yutal circles Raeniu and shouts at her "Arji ra! Misini zûtaditsini! Dosika qyâsik an shinsi ki!" (("Unworthy! Fight harder! Use the force to stop me!")). Her golden gaze would scan his form before she charged at him, he would swing for her with his left arm, using her more nimble frame would turn to her side as she went under his punch and she would jab at his lower rib cage twice but to no avail, he grabs her ponytail and pulls it, lifting it so Raeniu stands on the tips of her toes as he holds her. "Katsoshirsi, Nu tuti shursi j'us shiyi ri wiki uti akûti diâ rauswas misinis." (("Pathetic, I am ashamed you have the same golden eyes and red skin.")).
He would then punch Raeniu in the stomach and drop her to the floor, she would be coughing, holding her stomach while curled on the floor. Tears would well in her eyes from the pain, she would open them and would be glowing fiercly. She would get to her feet and she would launch both her arms forward at Yutal while screaming in pure unfiltered rage, a force push would slam into Yutal, somewhat unexpectedly and he would fall onto his back. Raeniu would laugh and jump a little excitedly. "Nu tiwi j'us karw!" ((I knocked you down!")). Her smile would soon fade as Yutal climbs back to his feet and his shadow and power eclipse her, she is thrown back against the wall with a simple motion of his arm and she is held there, she watches Yutal with her anger replaced by fear as he edges closer, her eyes widening as his eyes shine with malicious intent. The sounds of Raeniu's screaming and suffering would be heard for a while as she is taught the useful skill of humility.
