Crests and Crowns(Training)

[Dread]

A moment of serenity took over the enclaves largest training room. The Grey hue cast from the lack of lighting created a atmosphere that one would get when the sun started to fall; knowing rest would come thereafter. Everything was motionless, the mats, staffs, swords and lack of fresh current - except for his own bodies. Breathing in, his chest expanded until he couldn't go further. Letting a long overdue gust of air out from his nostrils in reaction. He had not left the enclave for over thirty days, equally as much avoidance was put into not stopping by his brother Arcane's garden. Despite the few requests he had earlier been pestered with. There where many things that had anchored down Wraiths feet in the days before. Burdens of orders matters, no doubt a small bit of animosity had been growing in the back of his mind. A long deserved break was in need and this was the picture perfect time to make it into a reality.

Being head of a family wasn't always about giving motivating speeches and pretending to be overly self-confidant, sometimes it required a hard hand meant only to be giving with bitterness. Times demanded many sides of Wraith which he had over the many years of his life time develop in sort of a diplomatic way; using his personalty aspects as tools. Sometimes, it seemed he would loose himself in his own scattered about and labeled tools of his own person. That was the times he had to recall himself and see that everything was started only for his and his brothers thirsts, not for him to play the half-baked role of a politician.

Shifting his left arm on it's elbows pivot, it turned from palm facing down till upwards. Gaging the time between his face and the palm itself, he let his chin fall as his palm would go up. When his fingertips met with his shaded mask, they curved enough that the bottom of his palm would rest with them atop of his masks left cheek. To keep his left hand from becoming to stressed in it's positioning, his right hand moved to aid it. From it's resting place of Wraiths hips, it lifted up with the sudden stress of his shoulders strength, moving inward, palm faced the left side, sweeping under wards to cup the bottom of his left arms elbow. Successfully putting him into a position of contemplation.

 

[TheIronLotus]

The book slammed shut, dust rising from the pages. The library was maybe a tad less modern than some, seeing as it had roughly equal amounts of books and datapads, but it was so expansive and wonderful that Arcane could care less.

The book he had just finished reading was actually fiction; a children’s novel called The Marauder’s Seven Sons. It was, in its barest essence, a book about the exploits of a marauder who travelled the galaxy in search of plunder and riches, but each time he reached a planet, he was thwarted in a ridiculously detailed way by one of his seven sons – none of which knew he was their father. In the end, he kills the youngest one, unaware that he is his son. Later, he is informed of this by accident when he loots the body and uncovers a datapad informing the him of the circumstances of his unknown son’s birth, which corresponds with the last child he had with his former wife. For a while, he grieved, until he realized that the planet was his to plunder; upon this realization came one of the book’s more memorable quotes.

“Well, he ain’t gettin’ any deader.”

Despite its logical fallacies, Arcane couldn’t help but appreciate the book. It wasn’t exactly on his reading level, but he found the idea behind the materialistic and somewhat sadistic father intriguing. One might make an error, but in the end, it’s how you coped with it that counted…except, in Arcane’s case, he would use it to benefit himself, and himself alone. Oh, and of course his brothers, if it were at all possible.

Speaking of brothers… thought Arcane, standing up from the table he’d been reading at. All around him, neophyte’s averted their gazes behind their respective masks, finding extreme interest in the datapads and library walls all of a sudden. His short stature wasn’t even embarrassing by now; if anything, he’d grown to embrace it as somewhat funny, considering the amount of respect he was shown.

Ignoring the obvious fear hanging in the air around him, he strode towards the staircase leading up from the first floor to the second, cloak swirling around his feet. When he reached the staircase, he took the stairs two at a time, whistling as he did so.

On the second floor, a couple of the students took note of his appearance, but soon returned to their books. It was remarkable, really – there weren’t a ridiculous amount of people here, waiting to be taught, but there was definitely a respectable amount. He strode through the west door leading out into the hallway and headed down the southern corridor, eventually coming to another door. Behind it was the largest training room in the enclave…as well as the presence of the grandmaster of the order, Wraith.

Evening, brother, he projected with his mind as he threw the door open – also with the Force. He was well aware that it was but maybe afternoon, but he enjoyed the phrase “Good afternoon” much less. Wraith was in a position of contemplation on the training floor. Arcane fell face first in front of him, falling into a cushion of the force with his arms crossed underneath his chin. I just finished a most lovely book, I’ll have you know. Naturally, the father kills the son…but I’m pretty sure he was an ungrateful bastard to begin with.

 

[Dread]

Even if he had been lost in his thoughts, he still had sensed the power signature of his approaching brother. It was not just the power looming around his brothers presence that he felt - but the signature of Arcane in the first place. Throughout the many years they spent together, it was something almost naturally felt in the many ripples the other force users sent out. The same case applied to Malice, which was a little more erratic then Arcane's, it clearly sent off his own impression. The three where different in clear ways, yet, they would complement each other for this very reason.

Wraith would not move his body to his brothers musings, but he would return a answer. I have missed your humor this month, brother. As dull as it is in its essence, it is your attempt that provides the humor part to it. As always, he would approach his old friend in a half-mocking yet friendly way. It was not acceptable that Wraith ever fully approved of anything anyone did. It was not just his older age either, it was a trait that seemed to be solid within his character from a much earlier age.

What reason have you come here, besides knowing where I am? I suppose I have rejected our kinship for too long, hmm?

 

[Lyeric Ubbal Arathilion]

Storming through the halls with a weighted anger, as the Master never failed to accomplish, Malice stomped through whatever path led his aim; as any there in 'his' desired path were thrown or cut from it. Having been following the ongoing war between the Jedi and the Hutts, Malice sought an audience with his only trusted brothers.

Whirling around his heavy cloak, one palm clenching the stair's ball banister as the other ripped a student from his course by the collar, Malice pounded his feet and all that metal across his entire body like hundreds of links of chain to call the sounding of his appearance. His taint was dark enough, felt from such distances due to all the objects of his possession, though his thundering physical presence was just as powerful and noisy as his signature in the Force; wild and violent like a chaotic storm in gathering.

His pace would not quicken, stepping with haste yet keeping rhythm, as he desired to yet again convince his brothers of the need to lay waste to the Jedi. Perhaps this time they would finally interrupt their stupid and wasteful quirks and see clearly the need for interception and involvement. The Jedi had earned his hate and so they would see the end of his blade. His thoughts were as loud as a volcano's roar. He'd convince them for sure this time. It did not matter his lacking skill with words, nor the amount of times which he has brought this subject to their attention; but for certain he would make them see his wisdom!

"BROTHERS! I AM HERE TO..."

 

[TheIronLotus]

Arcane grinned under the mask at his brother’s mockery, not moving from his previous position. Oh, far from it brother! It is obvious that you’ve been more accepting of this kinship than most would be…we might as well have a three way wedding! No? Ah, but back to the whole ‘why I am here’ fodder…

See, Wraith, unlike many of those in our order, I have very little purpose to what I do besides growing in power. I could care less how I use it, as long as I am allowed that very opportunity. Brother, I am here merely because I am bored. He giggled under his breath in that signature crazy way, like a static-filled, incoherent whisper.

A presence lumbering up the stairs suddenly grabbed Arcane’s attention. He sighed, knowing exactly who it was, but deep down he was glad to see the youngest of the trio again. Before he opened the door, he had leapt into the air, allowing the Force to guide him through the space. When his feet planted, they were five feet away from the door – suitable, no doubt, as Malice would otherwise run right into him.

The door opened and Arcane stood there, beaming despite knowing that the much, much larger man couldn’t see it. Brother! Oh, it is good to see you again, very good indeed, it has been hours since I had my last glimpse of your wonderful, towering silhouette! Arcane swooned in a terribly exaggerated way, not bothering to land on the Force, instead merely using it to ease the pain of his fall. The thump was loud, but almost painless.

You might want to work on your subtleties, my dear malicious man. A blind and deaf bantha would have felt you coming from miles away. He knew that his “brother” was easily angered, but the teasing was far worth it. Out of his two friends, Arcane loved getting Malice’s skin the most. But I am terribly sorry, I believe that I interrupted you. You were saying?

 

[Dread]

Do I have to scold you each time you talk out loud? I am not THAT much older then you, brother. It was communicated with a sense of half-joking about it. As he did Wraith ignored the onslaught of jokes from Arcane, being use to rolling most of them off his shoulders over the many years. Not that any of them bugged him, well, he tried not to let that on or he knew many more jokes would follow.

Those curled fingers on his masks cheek would open up, straightening before pushing off his face. As they did they would push against him, and he used that instead of his own strength to move his head back. His arms would part from each other from the position he had been in before, then his left would cross his chest, elbow down, hand near his neck. In order to complete the movement his right arm would cross his chest too, but his right hand would rest under his left arm. His grey eyes fixed on his much taller brother, senses picking up the anger that constantly filled the air around him. You're here to what?

 

[Lyeric Ubbal Arathilion]

YOU'LL MOVE OUT OF MY WAY YOU DWARF PIG SCARR... Reaching to slam a backhanded fist across Arcane's face, Malice held still at Wraith's correction. Malice had thought those words, yet as he thought them in fervent anger he also spoke. Malice did, at times, allow himself to show care and enjoyment towards Arcane, as he always acted out in the moment of his feelings. He would try to kill him one moment, and knuckle the turf of his head another. These two had a ...unique relationship. Needless to say, he loved him as brothers do; but he would NEVER admit it!

Swallowing a correcting physical adjustment to his near-actions, Malice stood tall and swept his foot to nudge Arcane out of the way. The little guy always flew around like some sort of fairy. Projecting his thoughts as all members were required to do, Malice tilted his head in lingering anger. It was difficult to subdue himself sometimes, even in the presence of his understanding brothers who knew him best of all. No matter how harsh he looked or sounded, he always meant only to give suggestion or council in what he believed to be a must for them all. Malice may demand something in a scream, only to mean a simple request in the chaos of his misunderstanding mind. He could not see how forceful and loud he was at times. Projecting to his brothers, he sought to commune with them, Brothers! We must intervene in the war against the Jedi! Malice had no memory problems, but was relentless all the same. It did not matter how many times he had requested they join any or all sides against the Jedi, he felt compelled to argue his reasons again and again. Word has spread! They have lost territory, and are reeling for adjustment. If they have not already begun to collapse from within, they soon will IF_WE_STRIKE_NOW!

 

[TheIronLotus]

Arcane smiled as he did a somersault to his feet, only to fall back down, small legs crossed in front of him. He listened to Malice’s “speech” (made especially ironic since he wasn’t talking) and decided to lend his insight on the matter.

Brother, brother, brother. Arcane rested his elbows on his knees and touched each fingertip carefully to its counterpart before touching the index fingers to his lips, as if in some sort of meditative contemplation. Brother, brother, oh brother of my brothers, brotherbrotherbrother.

Bro.

I know that we have discussed such things before, and while I too share your rather hateful disposition to those cowards, I must say…it would be foolish to expose ourselves at this time. We are much, much smaller than they are, and even a slight miscalculation could cause the exposition of our entire Order…our temple could be brought to ruin by these fools. While I agree it is possible to nip at the heels of the Jedi “situation,” I personally find no purpose in it…only risk. What could we hope to accomplish? Surely, not the utter destruction of the Jedi, as delicious as that would be.

Arcane fell forward facefirst, his nose planted in an awkward way on one of the mats in the training room. He made an idiotic “oink” noise before using his knees to push his face across the floor like a worm, until nothing but his buttocks was still elevated. He lifted his face off the floor set the chin down, staring up at Malice once more.

I have a few ideas, although they would be rather complex however…ideas that would allow us to rip apart the Jedi Order after all. They would work just as well for the Bogan, and almost any organization, and that has to do with going for the leaders. The head honchos. If you’d prefer I elaborate, I will of course, but I’m sure you have more intriguing plans of destroying the buffoons. I just would hate for our Order to be exposed, as I imagine the Bogan, the Jedi…everyone for that matter, wouldn’t dare leave us alone if we exposed ourselves. Arcane studied his brother in a dreamy way, looking up in a way determined to annoy, despite knowing Malice couldn’t see under the mask. Hmm…have you lost weight?

 

[Dread]

In all the chaos that suddenly emerged with Malices presence, Wraith would once again lower his chin. His left hand near his face moved up in order to cup his forehead, allowing the others to note his 'headache' he always got from the two. Brotherly headache, that was. As most siblings would bicker so would the three "brothers". Regardless of how small or large our order is, or how we would go about it - Arcane is correct about one thing, both the Jedi and Bogan wouldn't want us around. So the answer is simple: no. We will work from the shadows as we always have, albeit our little adventures, and the trouble we may cause for our own identities outside of the order will continue. Life always needs such little thrills.

Not moving, he kept projecting his thoughts between his two brothers after a small pause, How long has it been since we sparred? Perhaps that would be a more productive means to waste our time, far more productive then this overly pressed on matter.

 

[Lyeric Ubbal Arathilion]

Plan? No plan... Malice had not thought as far as to begin an elaborate means of attack. He simply wished for action. Returning answers to his 'brother' Arcane was as plain as any of his words when taking the man seriously. That, as Malice had learned a long time ago, was a big mistake; because just as wise as his words may be, so too would he play with Malice's gullible emotions. And then came the weight comment. What?!? His size; always one of Malice's major buttons. Lost weigh... I've actually gained five pa... Realizing he was walking into another of his brother's ploys, Malice reached back to attempt striking distance yet again. Wraith's words would interrupt him again, and he would listen as always. Spar? I'm always up for a duel!! Malice spread a wide confident stance. His brothers knew his weakness and his strengths both, but Malice grew with power upon each practice with them. His brothers pushed him in ways he could not understand, yet he would feel the differences all the same. He more than enjoyed it, and any chance to use his favored weapon was a welcomed one.

 

[TheIronLotus]

I’ve got to say – or think, teehee – I agree with Malice on this one, projected Arcane, performing a little flop on the ground. Just for the heck of it. I would rather enjoy a bit of friendly combat between would-be siblings, if only to prove what excellent physical shape I am in. He gave another little flopping spasm, this time rolling over onto his back and stretching his arms and legs out as far as they could. It was obviously a joke, seeing as Arcane was the smallest, and though decently strong for his size, the weakest physically out of the three. Oh, but I do enjoy sparring, brothers, came the continuation of Arcane’s thoughts, this time in a darker, more serious manner. I enjoy it quite a bit…

With no warning, he brought his elbows up slightly and threw his knees back to touch them. From there, he threw out his legs, arching his back just slightly as he landed easily on his feet. His weirdly curved lightsaber was already in motion as he begun the jump, and it now resided nicely in the palm of his right hand, held in a combative Makashi stance. One of the blades ignited outwards, and he brought the blade to bear in front of him.

Arcane’s eyes rolled back into his head, more for the feeling of it than anything, as well as for show – his eyes and mouth were the only two things that his brothers could see behind the gray, lifeless mask. In his left hand, a sphere of self-generated fire and electricity grew to about three inches in diameter, hovering at his finger tips. He opened his eyes and stuck out his tongue in a childish challenge, giggling a little as he did so.

I presume that we will be trying not to kill each other…does that mean I can continue to annoy Malice in whatever way I so choose?

 

[Dread]

Until his eyes bulge out of his head and then he explodes, sure, it might cut our sparring match shorter, however. It was rare for Wraith to joke, he had to be the center one, the mass to produce a gravity for the other two. There was very little room for Wraith to be more, and very little more that he was in either way. It was a grand design.

Both his arms moved out, synchronized in their timing, moving till both his elbows pointed down, arms curved into a V. With his palms straight in the air and his fingers flat out. Still, he did not move, his feet stayed planted on the floor as his belt began to be tagged in his hilts movement. Both of his dragon wing hilts moved from his belt and snapped up and around his hands, before softly touching down on both his palms. As they did he would quickly snap his hands shut - curling fingers around the grip, then slipping his pointer fingers over the triggers as he put himself into Niman. Both his blades held before his eye sight, crossed and angled inwards. His left foot forward, by choice, as he preferred neither. As he did, he would project a copy of himself into his brothers mind - two on two, or it would seem. His copy would stand to the left of him, waiting for his brothers.

 

[Lyeric Ubbal Arathilion]

Crashing his dominant right leg back, Malice plopped into his favored Form V; lifting his empty hands into fists just above his forehead. As his hands raised, so would an independent blade and chain follow like a serpent before him. The massive axe blade levitated before his chest in complete control, immovable by any other beneath his skill level with telekinetic combat. And the beauty of facing someone at a higher skill level than he with this weapon, was that this chained weapon could be controlled at hundreds of links as separate weapons each to block/attack/or restrain the large blade should he require. And someone as skilled as he, could easily utilize dozens of weapons at a time in detailed artistry. Smiling particularly at his 'brother' Wraith for choosing to face two on one even in a self generated two on two, Malice shot a glance to Arcane for agreement in coordinated commencement.