A Cold Greeting

[Fat Possum]

ZIOST, ESSTRAN SECTOR ANCIENT FORTRESS ​

EARLY MORNING​

Veles stood rigidly at the precipice of the ancient Sith citadel, staring out across the harsh terrain at nothing in particular. He had already memorized what little distinguishing features made up the barren landscape—including the remnants of his footsteps from the previous day—and had stopped tracking the movements of a lone figure that had disappeared near the base of the fortress some time ago. The glare of the white landscape would have likely been blinding to many species, but his ability to see through the brightness just exposed him to a boring nothingness. The dullness of it had his mind wandering, and left him vulnerable to the refocused efforts of the foreign madness slowly consuming his mind. On some level, he was dimly aware of Darth Medus’ lingering presence, but no longer felt a compulsion to fight her for primacy in his own thoughts. Her influence was now more subtle, more aligned with his own desires, and undeniably powerful. It was seductive rather than combative, and her quiet temptation took the relative peace of the moment to make all manner of suggestions. Take on more apprentices. Build stronger bonds. Increase your relevance. Take Hapes. He blinked at that, shifted his shoulders uneasily and moved his hands to clasp the opposite beneath the voluminous sleeves of the black robes he wore. Lifting his chin in a confused combination of pride and defiance, he set his teeth firmly together and forced his thoughts to the more immediate issue. He had invited a promising young acolyte—a male, of course—to the fortress on the culturally significant planet, for private instruction. Accustomed to the sharp chill, Veles slowly turned to look back over a shoulder when he sensed the approach of another. Unlike the stronghold, whose owner was undoubtedly strong but unsung in the chronicles of history, Veles knew the name of this acolyte: Draku Liro. He did not know much more about the man: he was an Anzat, a rare and secretive species that for a considerable period of time were seen largely as little more than legend. The Hapans, like presumably many cultures, had a great deal of mythology surrounding the Anzati, and Veles found the premise of mentoring a literal bogeyman amusing. The delight did not show. His expression was as bleak as their surroundings, and Veles had only a simple question for the acolyte when he approached close enough to hear the soft-spoken words. “Are you ready?”

 

[Mesa]

The tundra extended for miles everywhere Draku looked. Vast expanses of craggy cliffs, barren stretches of ice and stone resting in all directions, untouched by the pollution of civilization. The only sounds permeating the dense silence were the gentle whispers of the wind and the distant howling of beasts escaping the frigid outside. Warm breath escaping his mouth in thick, ivory clouds that soon dissipated, the Anzat trudged on. Draku had visited Ziost once, many decades ago, before the New Sith Imperium had reclaimed their ancient planet for training. It was much more peaceful then, the inhabitants were too insignificant to be considered worthy snacks. The desolate landscape continued in all directions. Small outcroppings of frost smeared rock jutting out here or there, framed against a slate gray sky and mixture of gray and pure white snow covered ground. This world was deceptive. The looming bulwarks of the ancient Sith citadel towered high above the landscape, an ominous symbol of darkness reminding those who looked upon the visage of the eroded granite-colored building who truly controlled the galaxy. It was a beautiful sight; the imposing edifice survived throughout the annals of time, witnessing many a being lured by the dark presence come and go. Draku was one of these beings lured by the promise of power. He had been summoned by the assassin Veles, a man he knew nothing about. All that he had been informed of was that this man was Hapan and was interested in meeting Draku. The Anzat found the notion of being taught by one so young rather amusing. He was certain there would be history lessons in his training, the most recent of which Draku was certain he'd know about. After all, the Anzat had been stalking the galaxy nearly six times as long as this Veles. However, this didn't justify Draku earning too large of an ego. This Sith had trained in the Force far more than he did, and as such deserved a modicum of respect. A battle-hardened assassin, much like his venerable teachers on Anzat during his youth, would always have some wise piece of knowledge to impart on the ambitious Acolyte. The climb to the peak of the citadel continued for some time further. Draku had become lost in his thoughts, his body moving at a constant pace towards the pinnacle. After some time, the Anzat had reached the peak and approached the assassin in time to hear the softly-spoken words uttered from his lips. "Are you ready?" The words had insinuated a tone of derision, implying that after the trek to the top that Draku had not been prepared for what was to come. His lightsaber swayed gently against his waist as the Anzat nodded, removing his hood from his head. The cold gale that had begun atop the citadel hardly affected Draku, as his circulatory system was far more complex than that of most sentients. He naturally produced no body heat. He decided to humor this crusader and bent his knee, placing it firmly in the snow whilst maintaining his gaze on the crusader. He uttered out his reply in a mysterious, hoarse tone, his eyesight never leaving the man. "As ready as I'll ever be."

 

[Fat Possum]

Veles eyebrows lifted in gently mocking amusement as he watched the humanoid lower himself in obsequiously respectful greeting, but said nothing. The flattery was something he still had yet to grow comfortable with, but he understood the prudence behind the act. The Order was, as the Empress so clearly exemplified, full of psychopaths with tremendous power. As humiliating, stodgy, and unnecessary as it was, there was a certain logic to playing it safe and submitting.

“Good,” he said pleasantly before, without warning or ceremony, flicking a hand out as if beckoning something. The something, in this case, were a trio of lengthy icicles Veles had previously buried in small surreptitious piles of powdery snow strewn about behind the acolyte. Given the Anzat’s position between the impromptu projectiles and the Hapan recalling them with considerable velocity, there was a real threat of danger to the apprentice Sith.

It wasn’t the most thoughtful introductory examination in the universe, but it would suffice. If the acolyte were too nervous, too proud, or even simply too distracted by any number of things, it was most likely he would find himself impaled by at least one of the frozen missiles. If, however, the acolyte was cognizant enough to evade or otherwise nullify the threat of the icicles, Veles would at least have some small semblance of understanding of whether or not the unknown alien might be successful as an assassin.

 

[Mesa]

“Good,”

The words, though they may be spoken pleasantly, concealed a far more sinister meaning. Draku had felt the pull of the icicles far before he had noticed the Crusader flick his wrist out, beckoning the frozen spears towards him. The Anzat had expected some form of surprise test; Sith were easily predictable in that they are never truly straightforward. He knew this unknown assassin would not have summoned Draku to the peak of this ancient monastery without some ulterior motive. Out here, alone in the frigid wastes, he could conduct any form of test or training that he desired, away from the prying eyes of his peers. He had hoped the trek to the top would have bested the Anzat's physical and mental fortitude, thus making this test laughably one-sided. However, Anzati had significantly higher physical reflexes and strength than most baseline humanity - they had to if they hoped for a long life of hunting - and Draku had hardly been fatigued by the journey.

The chilled projectiles were approaching at a swift pace, giving Draku little time to consider his options. Relying on instinct, the kneeling Anzati built up a small amount of Force beneath his feet and pressed off the ground, soaring high into the air in a somersault. Beneath him, the icicles passed by harmlessly. Landing gracefully into a diminutive mound of snow, Draku watched as the icicles continued their glide towards the Hapan. This was certainly not the first time he had been in a situation such as this, and he predicted this would not be the last. At least, it wouldn't be the last so long as he maintained his constant vigil for peril, as he was instructed to decades prior to his leaving Anzat.

Still in the mound of gleaming snow, Draku eyed the Hapan with suspicion. This was surely not his final test and he refused to be caught off-guard twice consecutively. Atop the citadel, the wind howled ominously and frigid air lapped at his face. He remained silent, wary of the assassin's next move, determined to prove his worth.

 

[Fat Possum]

Veles sensed rather than saw the musculature of the Anzat tense just before his leap, and felt an equally strong swell of energy gather about the acolyte just before he exploded up into the air in what would have appeared an unnaturally powerful display of physicality for those unfamiliar with the Force and its gifts. Unruffled by the man’s leap, Veles quickly projected an aegis of Force energy a few centimeters in front of himself, and the three lances of ice violently exploded into thousands of small pieces with a mighty crash.

Staring quietly at Draku for a moment, Veles’ shoulders and head became coated with tiny particles as the remnants of the icicles rained down about him. After a long moment, the silence broken only by the sharp whine of the high altitude winds, Veles nodded. “Okay,” he said as he moved away from his precarious perch near the edge of the fortress’s platform. A small, enigmatic grin betrayed the otherwise casual indifference with which he beckoned Draku follow him as he passed the acolyte, assuming he would follow.

"Lesson one,” he held up a hand with his index finger out. “Obviously, is trust no one.” Moving swiftly, Veles advanced quickly through a massive opening that had once been barred by massive ornamental doors. The remnants were still around for those with a curious or keen eye for archaeology. There was more to the instruction that went unspoken, but Veles wasn’t simply a proponent of skepticism and mistrust. His views of the Sith were in total opposition to a hierarchical organization like the Jedi. The only reason for any respectable Sith to follow orders is if they were beneficial to him. The whole thing was based upon violent free will imposed through strength. The only thing keeping Draku from simply stabbing him in the back with his lightsaber was that he felt he could learn something. Or because he didn’t think he’d succeed.

Another finger popped out from his fist. “Lesson two is to be flexible, adaptable, and discreet.” Continuing, Veles began a descent down a massive staircase. Almost immediately the cavernous chamber grew dark as the radiant light from the exterior was blocked by the stairs and other obstacles. Once, his Hapan eyes would have rendered him blind in such conditions, but with the Force, he was able to augment his own perception and “see” just fine.

“There’s no test for that,” he said casually over a shoulder. “Just don’t come off like a brooding asshole everywhere.” To say that his pattern of speech, as well as his attitude, was markedly different from mere minutes ago would be an understatement. Although he continued to speak with a pronounced Corsucanti clip to his accent, the inflection was looser and he carried himself with a far less pompous confidence. Code switching and other alternating were important skills for assassins. “That’s for the warriors and sorcerers,” the extended fingers melted away in a dismissive wave.

A small point of light appeared at his front as he finally reached the end of the interminable stairwell, and Veles slipped through the small doorway from where the light was emanating. “You also need to know how to fight,” he said breezily, given the obviousness of it. Stepping off to a side and turning to face the acolyte, he bowed his head fractionally and gestured deeper into the room. The solitary light source, a small glowlamp positioned near the entrance of the room, barely illuminated the four IG-series droids looming in the darkness of the room.

“Lightsaber only. They’ll attack when you approach,” he dropped his hand and lifted his chin, eager to see the acolyte in combat; even only if simulated.

 

[Mesa]

Draku watched with the same suspicion as the Hapan effortlessly destroyed the icicles, sharing a moment of tense silence as the wind whistled in his ear. Draku considered breaking the silence, though this thought was quickly dispelled as Veles began to speak, beckoning Draku to follow as he passed. The smile, however, caught the Anzat's attention. The emotion seemed foreign on a face so impassive, and as he walked, Draku mused on the meaning behind it. For a Sith, especially an assassin, this smile could mean any manner of things, though the acolyte spent less time focusing on the meaning behind this grin and more on the words of the Crusader.

"Lesson one,” he said, holding his index finger out, “Obviously, is trust no one.”

The two walked calmly through a great doorway, once sealed by highly ornate doors, now a gaping fissure in what would otherwise be an unspoiled citadel. Within, a dimly-lit vestibule marked the beginning of a towering staircase, leading deeper within the mountain. A sharp wind brought forth a good deal of snow, already covering the ancient flooring of the spire, and ushered with it an ominous whine as the pair began their descent into darkness.

“Lesson two is to be flexible, adaptable, and discreet.”

The interior of the fortress was in disrepair, unlike the outside, preserved by snow and ice. As they moved, the sound of rocks and other debris being kicked down the steps provided a rhythmic beat that Veles spoke to. “There’s no test for that,” he said casually. The advice he gave Draku had heard a hundred times over; these tips were essential skills for any would-be assassin, not just Sith. Still though, he did not show his apathy for the information out of either respect or fear of angering the man, Draku wasn't quite sure. His tongue stilled, the acolyte continued to trail the man as the tenebrosity grew more dense.

“Just don’t come off like a brooding asshole everywhere.”

He did notice, however, that the assassin's demeanor had changed considerably within minutes. Previously, he had broken his rule of appearing to be what he called a "brooding asshole," though it was now revealed that it was merely a façade during his initial test. Now it appeared as though the Hapan possessed a certain degree of comfort around the Anzat. This was not unusual; after all, Draku was used to people getting unnecessarily comfortable around him before he struck, though this time he had no influence on the man's mind.

After a small journey to the base of the stairwell, Veles stepped to the side, ushering Draku inside the vaguely-lit room. “You also need to know how to fight,” he spoke, gesturing for the Anzat to proceed. Within, the soft crimson glow of the four IG-series droids revealed the motive for the trek to the bottom.

“Lightsaber only. They’ll attack when you approach,”

This Crusader wished to witness how gracefully Draku fought to assess his ability as a combatant. Draku nodded curtly, languidly reaching for his lightsaber as he stepped into the antechamber.

Within, Draku could see dust drifting through the air, settling onto the ground below. After a few more feet entering the room, the first blaster bolt rang out. Draku sensed it far before he saw the crimson flash, and instinctively raised his lightsaber, activating it simultaneously, to deflect it. The shot rebounded into the wall to his right, scorching the stonework. The darkness obscured his vision of the droids, but he could see them through the slight illumination of the glowlamp and the radiance of his own lightsaber.

Again, another blaster bolt was fired at him, followed by two others. Draku leapt out of the way, keeping his focus on the movements of the droids as they attempted to circle him. As he approached the wall, he determined when to strike. Following a lull in the oncoming blaster bolts, Draku kicked off the ground, planting one foot firmly on the wall, before pushing off, landing another foot atop the closest of the IG-series droids. Kicking off once more, Draku leapt from this droid and twisted into a somersault, simultaneously bringing his lightsaber into the roll with him and slicing the arm of the next droid off in a shower of sparks.

As he landed, another flurry of bolts came towards him. Bringing his lightsaber up, Draku deflected the shots in front of him, unaware of one unaccounted-for droid behind him. Draku's body didn't register the burning sting of the shot until well after he had turned around and lunged forward, slashing diagonally at the droid, his lightsaber cleaving effortlessly through the circuitry. His shoulder tingled with pain as he turned to face the three droids, one missing an arm. The droids had begun to adapt to his battle patterns and slowly began to spread out, keeping him in the center of the room.

Draku twisted his blade, switching his grip on the lightsaber, now holding it in a reverse style as he brought it horizontally across his body. Before the next volley rang out, Draku exploded into the air with a surge of energy, having been built up as he let them spread out. The bolts passed beneath him, singeing more of the stone walls, as he sailed towards the next droid. He landed behind the machine, pushing his hand back as the reversed blade speared through the center of it. It shuddered for a brief moment as its core was destroyed. Draku twisted his body now, droid still on his lightsaber blade, bringing the metal carapace around his shoulder as he turned to face the next droid, flinging it towards the machine with some aid from the Force. The two collided, the sound of scraping metal resonating throughout the antechamber as the two flew into a crumpled heap against the wall.

Draku turned to his final target as it continued to fire at him. Draku dodged several of the slow bolts as he closed the distance, forcing the droid to retreat whilst maintaining its fire. Once close, Draku slashed at the base of its legs, severing them. As it fell, he twisted his blade, bringing it across in an X as he slashed away the arms, leaving only a torso and head. The droid hit the ground with a cold crunch, each of its limbs falling separately in a cacophony that echoed throughout the room. Draku stared at the droid for but a moment before plunging his saber into its central unit, the lights flickering momentarily before fading to black.

When it was all said and done, the antechamber was eerily silent, the only movement being Draku and the swirling dust, brought to motion during the fight. As it settled, the Anzat deactivated his lightsaber and approached the Hapan, rolling his shoulder. The burn was still there, but his adrenaline during the fight made him forget about the pain momentarily. Draku looked the assassin in the eyes as he placed the hilt of his saber back on his belt, speaking in mock solemnity.

"You seem to be down four droids."

 

[Fat Possum]

Veles slowly drew his hands forward, interlocking his fingers at his front and assuming the studious look of an instructor about to assess a student’s proficiencies. He enjoyed developing relationships with younger Sith hopefuls—all males, notably—but was discriminating in choosing who to associate himself with. He wasn’t afraid of any of them, but he didn’t want to waste his time with those who lacked the means to adequately develop into capable Crusaders. Being relatively new to the wonders of the Force himself, his value of an acolyte’s worth was based largely on their innovativeness and intelligence rather than pure strength. He wanted to develop a cadre of assassins, not warriors.

With a placid expression, the Hapan watched as the other man strode forward and began an acrobatic engagement of his four robotic foes. Aside from the occasional cant of his head or subtle quirk of an eyebrow, he observed quietly. The successful shot one of the droids scored a successful shot on the acolyte’s upper back surprised him, but he appreciated the effortlessness the Anzat seemed to take the injury and continue on regardless.

Aside from the singular trauma sustained by the lone blaster bolt to connect, the acolyte performed quite satisfactorily. With an imperceptible raise of his chin, Veles watched the other man closely as he approached. The corners of his eyes tightened slightly at Draku’s sportive remark and Veles responded with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder. “The Empire has deep pockets,” he responded dryly.

Flippancy aside, it was an important truth. The Empire, an organization that had invaded, conquered, and subjugated his home systems, provided him with near limitless resources to pursue his own interests. It didn’t erase the horrors from his past, but the Imperium had yet to significantly impede his personal desires in any way. Even some of his more revolutionary or heretical inclinations were supported by the boundless infrastructure and resources of his adopted domain. Perhaps Draku would be willing to join him.

Pushing the contemplation aside, Veles casually reached out with a hand towards the room’s lone glowlamp, fingers purposefully aligned towards the thing. After perhaps a second’s pause, thin tendrils of blue white flame snaked from his fingertips and coiled around the glowlamp. The room was filled with a sharp hissing protestation of material before the bulb popped with an anticlimactic hollowness and plunged the room into darkness. The faint afterglow of the conjured lightning lingered briefly before it too faded.

“Tell me about yourself, Draku Liro,” Veles petitioned evenly, the sound of his voice coming from where he had been standing. He had more specific questions he wanted answers to regarding the other man, but leaving the possibility open-ended presented other opportunities to find out who this Anzat actually was.

After falling silent, Veles began a careful orbit around the acolyte, moving with impossibly quiet footsteps and a practiced gait to keep even the faintest sounds of rustling garments mute. Through the Force, he was still able to see Draku and the various droid detritus scattered about. He didn’t know if Draku possessed the ability to see through the Force as he could, but he suspected he would soon find out.

After moving about forty five degrees from his previous position, Veles flicked a wrist and hurled one of the severed droid arms past his shoulder and towards the acolyte. The assault came at random, with Veles uncaring whether or not the other man was in the midst of speaking or had gone quiet for some time. Either scenario could be regarded as equally unnerving.

 

[Mesa]

Draku felt his sarcasm fall on deaf ears; the Crusaders' attitude had once again become insipid, deflecting the Anzat's attempt to lighten the mood in an otherwise dark setting, literally and figuratively. He remained in place, hand close to his lightsaber, should the assassin feel the need to test him further. To say he was suspicious would be an understatement; Draku did not trust this man any more than he trusted the primal nature of the beasts native to Ziost. At least the beasts were straightforward in their ravenous desires; the Sith's true motive lied beneath mounds of deceit, recalcitrance, ambition, masking his reason for summoning the Acolyte here. Yes, it was to test him - Draku knew this much - but there was always an ulterior motive behind every Sith's agenda, and this Veles was no different.

Without warning, the crusader outstretched his arm for but a second before the terrifying manifestation of darkness, a brilliant glow coursing from his fingertips, streaking erratically towards its goal. The glowlamp resisted the surge in power for mere moments before bursting, enveloping the room in darkness, save for the iridescence of the lightning before it too faded away. Like a thick shroud, darkness and silence blanketed the room following Veles' inquisitive request. The silence of the antechamber would have made his blood as cold as the frigid air that crept through the opening far above, had his body possessed the ability to generate any less amount of body heat. Bereft of any wind or movement the dust inside hung limp until it fell of its own accord; there was no whispering noise or rustling, only stillness.

Draku held this silence for as long as he reasonably could, pondering the words he would choose. Surely one with the vast resources of the Imperium at his disposal would be able to retrieve any information on the acolyte, no matter how classified, with but a simple request. However, he decided to humor the man. "With the Empire's omniscient intelligence organization, surely you know my background," he said, hand still floating by his lightsaber should the man decide to test his skill personally. His voice was tranquil, the words flowing eloquently with no discernible accent. "But I'll humor you. I was born not too long ago on Corellia," He decided to begin with a lie of his origins. Being a myth in the galaxy, Draku had learned to not reveal his identity, lest he fear imprisonment - or worse - for his innate nature. The man would undoubtedly become suspicious of the Anzat's battle prowess and agility if he were truly so young, but the Force did work in mysterious ways. Perhaps he would believe his acrobatic feats previously were merely augmented. "Eventually left, prowled the galaxy, and had a slight run-in with the Sith. Now here I am. What more would you like to know?"

This last statement wasn't entirely false; after all, he did leave Anzat after roughly a century of training and stalked the galaxy for victims, eventually crossing paths with a Crusader and his apprentice on Kashyyyk, where his strength in the Force was discovered and he was offered an invitation to join the Imperium.

He fell silent for a moment, sensing something... off about the man's quiet. He felt the crusader was plotting yet another test. Draku calmly slid his feet further apart and his hand gripped the hilt of his lightsaber. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, perhaps he was being prepared. Though the darkness clouded his vision, he allowed his natural telepathy and strength in the Force to feel for the nearby Hapan.

Draku sensed rather than saw the disembodied droid arm lift from the ground with a slight scraping noise of metal on stone, alerting the Anzat, before flying towards him. He spun around and activated his lightsaber simultaneously, the crimson glow illuminating a small area and confirming his suspicions. Veles stood off to his side now, beckoning the piece of machinery towards Draku in an attempt to harm him, like his prior tests. Bringing the blade before him, Draku cleaved the arm in twain, the two pieces flying past him and colliding with the wall to his rear in raucous disharmony. He was mildly surprised; he had not expected the sudden assault, and was fortunate to have been untrusting of the man's actions enough to have a reasonable reaction.

Draku held the lightsaber close to him, watching Veles warily. "I suppose your tests will know no true end," he said, slightly perturbed at the man's tenacity. In truth he appreciated the man's thoroughness and persistence in determining Draku's worth. "Have I not performed to your satisfaction thusfar?" By now Draku's burn wound had healed considerably from his species' unnatural regenerative rate, and he no longer felt the stinging burn of his shoulder.

 

[Fat Possum]

Veles snorted derisively at the claim, regardless of whether or not it was uttered sarcastically, that the Empire possessed an omniscient intelligence organization, but said nothing. Was it expansive? Absolutely. Was it, given the state of the galaxy, probably the best functioning and most complete storehouse of secrets in any one single organization? Probably. But it was a far cry from omniscient. The Hapan’s continual private machinations were a testament to that. Then again, it was always difficult to direct even the most discerning eye inward.

The claim of a Corellian origin piqued Veles’ interest, and he arched a singular eyebrow. Even with Jack Tamblyn’s recent reclusiveness, Veles possessed various outlets to discover whether or not the acolyte was speaking truthfully or not. Not that it really mattered much. Veles certainly didn’t expect the other to be completely honest, and it was of little consequence of what his true genesis was. Perhaps it would be better practice if he were he telling lies, so long as he had already established the means with which to maintain them.

The story—whether true or fabricated—was short, and Veles appreciated the brevity. Others might have detailed a much more elaborate story, full of tertiary characters and family and events, but each one of these details were items that presented avenues for a diligent investigator to pry out the truth. By being concise, Draku placed the onus on Veles to ask questions, giving him additional opportunity to craft a better lie. Assuming that was his agenda in the first place, of course.

“Life’s tests know no true end,” he replied, insouciant, and slightly curious if the tiny battery of challenges were proving enough to annoy the acolyte. Veles had joined the Sith quite late in life, and the memories of constant and ceaseless challenges from other, usually far younger acolytes, were still fresh in his mind. While being on the receiving end of those overbearing measuring contests quickly grew tiresome, he had grudgingly appreciated the instruction and scrutiny of elder Sith.

“You have,” Veles said, igniting the lightsaber that he had not held prior to bathing the alcove in darkness. As the sulfurous yellow column of energy extended its full length with a sharp snap-hiss, the room filled with a mixture of pale yellow and red, casting ominous shadows about the two men and lingering bits of still-smoking droids. "Tell me why you joined the Sith," he said evenly, ignoring the menacing buzz of the radiating weapon held low and at his side.

The Echani held the belief that to truly know someone, one must fight them. Veles found the simplification a little dry, but nevertheless useful in certain situations. Assessing the capabilities of a potential apprentice was assuredly one of those situations. Droids were one thing, but a living opponent was something else entirely. And, in a compliment that would remain unspoken, Veles had thus far found Draku competent enough to serve as an excellent check on his own pride. Aside from a pair of Jedi on Naboo, he had not engaged in singular combat in some time, and wanted to ensure that his Hapan arrogance wasn’t drifting into dangerous altitudes.

With the smallest of flourishes, a quick rotation of his wrist to whirl his blade and scorch a small trough in the ground at his side meant to draw the apprentice’s attention, Veles bolted obliquely towards the acolyte. In a blur of motion, he ran left and towards the other man’s right. Outstretching his arm he made initially as though to simply stab the other in the chest before rolling his shoulder and drawing a crescent with the tip of his blade to slash diagonally and up towards Draku’s right hip.

 

[Mesa]

Draku shared a moment of tense silence with the Hapan, the only discernible noise being the soft hum of his lightsaber. The crimson hue cast an eerie glow over the two amidst the darkness, holding off the advance of the consuming blackness of the ancient chamber. Draku wasn't sure what the assassin had planned next, but he would not allow it to take him by surprise. The corners of his sage green eyes tightened slightly, focusing on the man before him, while relying on his preternatural senses granted by the Force to alert him of any other impending danger.

He nodded in acknowledgement when the Hapan spoke of life's tests and gave another curt tilt of his head when told he had performed satisfactorily. In all honesty he had not expected the reply; the Hapan seemed a difficult man to impress, especially through such menial tests. The man, while devious and scheming, seemed to be an honest sort at times, and Draku felt this was one of the few times in which this was the case.

The ignition of his lightsaber made Draku tense slightly, clutching onto his own with a tighter grip. The two radiating blades cast a portentous penumbra over the area. Shadows danced on the walls as the lights pulsed gently. Draku gave an indifferent shrug of the shoulder at the man's question. "The same reason as most of the other dregs that seek to call themselves Sith," he said, flicking his wrist and pointing the tip of his blade downward, about forty-five degrees away from his body. The glowing cardinal point of the weapon hovered inches from the ground.

"Power."

At that moment, the Hapan gave a small twirl of his blade, carving through the stone a small scar. Tensing further, Draku bent his legs slightly and slowly eased up on the balls of his feet, bouncing mildly. With another flick of his wrist, the Anzat swung his lightsaber up and pointed the tip skyward, blade away from his body. The man darted to Draku's right and poised his lightsaber to spear his chest. Draku prepared to leap to the side, but the man suddenly changed attacks, slashing aslant to his right and bringing it back up to slice through his hip.

Draku snapped his wrist, swinging the blade of his lightsaber downward to parry the man's sudden attack. Simultaneously, Draku threw his arm outwards to the Hapan, releasing a small burst of power in an attempt to push him back. His body and mind were on high alert now, entirely devoted to the task of fending the man's attacks off and preserving his own life. This was more than just a fight to test his skill; this was a fight to keep his very life.

 

[Fat Possum]

Prior to suffusing the scant light emanating from the other man’s weapon with his own, Veles had considered commenting on the choice of color. Both he and his mistress operated with weapons that contrasted with the standard orthodoxy of the Sith Order and the Hapan had always found it peculiar to so flagrantly present oneself as a member of, or at least associated with, one particular group or another. His and Eris’ false flag efforts on Naboo to paint the Jedi as raving lunatic monks with immense power had largely informed his belief in eschewing the crimson-hued crystals. But, he reminded himself, there were many types of assassins, and perhaps Draku was uninterested in the deceit of a provocateur. Perhaps he just wanted to kill elegantly.

Veles’ lips spread wide across his face at Draku’s answer, and while the dim glint in his eye reflected off the other’s lightsaber suggested either amusement or satisfaction, the smile itself was as equivocal as ever. Veles responded with a soft snort and the most meager of nods, and all expression had faded from his face by the time he lashed out to charge his would-be apprentice.

He made no effort to resist the parry of his slash, nor did he fight the sudden burst of invisible pressure he felt against his midsection. Instead, Veles simply used the combination of his own momentum and the added push to segue his movement into an acrobatic summersault that had him tumbling gracefully away from the Anzat.

Immediately upon regaining his balance, Veles again bolted towards the acolyte. He was not a Kushari Juggernaut, his preferred method of fighting was not simply slogging towards an opponent and hammering until the defense of the other succumbed to the constant barrage and fell. No, Veles would strike, retreat, and continue with as many asymmetrical assaults until his foes either tired at the constant need to defend or succumbed to a myriad of small but painful injuries.

Flinging an arm, the Hapan directed the Force to harshly jerk one of the deposited droid arms scattered about the room and sent the heap of durasteel hurtling through the small room and towards Draku’s stomach. As the severed droid limb flew, Veles slashed out with his lightsaber, the blade whirring madly as he hacked horizontally at Draku’s chest, the lightsaber strike coming in at the opposite side of the flying droid part.

 

[Mesa]

Draku had felt uneasy upon noticing the man's mouth split into a wide grin; a smile from a Sith, whether genuine or not, was certain to have sinister undertones. Prior to the engagement of battle, the room was markedly reticent. The activation of the lightsabers, crimson and gold mingling, spreading a harsh, titian radiance throughout the room, called a abrupt end to what little pleasantries the two were having. At that moment, that millisecond of time when everything had seemed to slow down, Draku knew that he would have to do whatever it took to earn his place among the Sith. Whether that be killing, stealing, cheating, playing in the political strife of the ever-changing Sith hierarchy, Draku knew one thing:

He was ready.

Draku hadn't expected his meager attempt to push the Hapan away to be a climactic turning point of the battle; he merely needed some breathing room. Sailing through the air and landing gracefully was exactly what he anticipated the man would do. It was commendable, the Hapan's agility. Having been around the galaxy for a few decades, witnessing all manner of brutish combat, all forms of beings barely meeting the most basic definition of sentience simply slam into each other until one submits, Draku learned to appreciate the higher forms of combat finesse.

As the Hapan somersaulted away, Draku began gathering the invisible power of the Force beneath his feet. He couldn't stay on the defensive forever; an entirely defensive form of fighting merely delays the inevitable, and Draku knew he would have to begin the offensive. The corners of his eyes tightened as he watched his foe land and immediately bolt towards him once more. Veles thrust his arm out, calling upon the Force to send forth another piece of droid debris, simultaneously slashing at Draku's chest.

Draku exploded off the ground in an impressive feat of Force-assisted acrobatic power. His blade clashed briefly with Veles', the heat of the weapons dangerously close to his face as he contorted his body into a flying pirouette, landing some distance behind him. He hit the ground a little less gracefully than he had desired, but nevertheless escaped the two-pronged attack with few scratches.

Taking his own advice into consideration now, Draku repeated the same maneuver his opponent had done. Bolting off towards the Hapan, Draku flung his arm and called forth one of the many chunks of detritus littering the room, sending it towards his target. He raised his blade high, appearing to begin a downward slash on the man's back, provided he hadn't turned fully yet. As he brought his lightsaber down, Draku dropped his entire body, sliding his legs along the ground in an arc to sweep Veles' out from under him.

It was a risky move, but worthwhile should it work. Not only would it catch the Hapan off-guard, it would also cause him to lose his balance for a moment, allowing Draku to press the attack. He didn't mean to kill his potential master, but he couldn't give the man any opportunity to doubt or harm him.

 

[Fat Possum]

Despite being a newcomer to the Sith and his relative inexperience in fighting with lightsabers, Veles had decades of dueling experience and relished the opportunity to engage worthy opponents. The fact that even this exploratory contest with a potential apprentice presented a real, genuine threat of death to either man only bolstered his delight. The only thing that would have made him enjoy the diversion more would have been if Draku had been a woman. Of course, had that been the case, Veles would very likely continue the fight until only one remained, defeating the ostensible purpose of the bout.

Repositioning his lightsaber, the Hapan stretched the cackling yellow blade above his head, parrying the Anzat’s slash as he spun acrobatically above both the droid limb-turned-projectile and Veles’ swipe. The blades hissed and cracked in protest at the contact, but the cacophonic flash of light and sound was fleeting.

The nature of Draku’s evasive jump and exploratory strike had Veles twisting at the waist mid-stride but, even as he began to slow and turn to face Draku, he had not completely spun about before the Anzat managed to land, coil, and charge at his back. Already a little off-balance because of the other man’s gymnastics, Veles managed to stop and turn enough that he was obliquely facing the immediate rush, his lightsaber and right side angled closer to the other man.

Veles quickly severed the flung droid component with a casual twirl of his lightsaber, the bifurcated segments clattering harmlessly to the ground behind him. After slowing the rotation of his blade, Veles raised the yellow energy column horizontally to block Draku’s downward slash and, initially, thought that Draku would either plant his feet and initiate a precise series of strikes, blocks, and counters, or use his forward momentum to simply try to overwhelm Veles’ defenses. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as familiar enough with the opponent to have a good sense of which route the other man would take.

Despite his uncertainty, Veles was far more confident in his abilities as a fencer than he was a physically imposing force, and decided to prepare for the latter option as a result. Taking a tentative step forward, just before Draku dropped low to the ground, Veles was able to relatively easily convert the start of the elusive movement into a forward dive that sent him tumbling away from harm when the Anzat’s body signaled his intentions.

Forcefully stopping himself from rolling too far away with a hard press of the heel of his palm into the ground, Veles stopped in a crouch with one knee pressed to the ground. Stretching, he flung his lightsaber hand back in the direction he had jumped from, slicing the blade after the sliding Draku in the optimistic hope of catching the man in the back or side.

 

[Mesa]

Draku was getting tired; the extensive use of Force augmentation to his acrobatics had begun to leave him feeling drained. Little practice in honing his abilities had caused him to rely on whatever reserves of energy he had not dedicated to the fight in order to fuel the impressive feats of gymnastics. While he could naturally best any baseline, unaided human in physical contests, fighting another Force-sensitive - a better-trained one, at that - was a different thing altogether. He knew that he would have to be unpredictable and avoid direct combat with the man if he had hoped to end this match with all his extremities. He knew that directly slogging it out would be a terrible way to begin a life as a Sith assassin, and that the other man was more than likely above such brutish ways, much like he was.

He had anticipated his sudden leg sweep to catch the man off guard, not expecting him to merely tumble away using the momentum. He could tell that the attack did surprise him, however. He needed these surprises to give him the edge, both in this test and in true combat. Draku appreciated the thoroughness of the tests; Veles presented a genuine threat to his safety in order to assess his skill. It was poetic in a sense, but Draku worried less of the nature of the fight and more on the threat to his life.

Draku continued the sweep, sliding along the coarse stone beneath him. As he began to rise, he felt the intense heat of Veles' lightsaber come terribly close to his back. Confident in his dodge, Draku turned to face the Hapan, slowly standing up. It wasn't until he found himself halfway to his full height when he felt the numb burning in his back. He could sense his body screaming in pain at the blistering wound running down a portion of his back. The cape of his robes was severed in two, still connected at the base of his neck but dangling freely as two independent spirits. The back of his clothing was cleanly cut as well, following the length of the lightsaber wound. He gritted his teeth, his mind begging him to release the pent-up emotions culminating within. He was certain his opponent would be able to see the pain in his face or, more obviously, sense the flare in emotion.

He faced Veles, pointing his lightsaber towards the man in a challenge. He would return to the defensive for now and allow his body to either numb him from the searing sensation or begin to heal the wound, scarring his back. He knew he should press the attack while he had his momentum, but it was more fruitful for him to see what the other man did next. Sweat dripped from his brow, creating small specks of water on the stone beneath occasionally. Dancing on the balls of his feet with his blade still pointed at the man, Draku awaited the next move.

 

[Fat Possum]

The frenzied sound of bodies in motion scraping against hard surfaces drowned out the report of his yellow blade hissing in protest as the magnetically contained column of plasma slashed through fabric and flesh alike. It was only after Veles sprang back to his feet and twirled to face his opponent that the flash of pain emanating from the other man registered in his mind. The Hapan initially took the jolt of emotion and sensation from Draku as a result of frustration and irritation, perhaps anger, at having his attack fail to land. But when both men had uprighted themselves and turned to face each other, Veles could sense more accurately that it was genuine pain.

Head cocked fractionally to the side in curiosity, Veles opened his mouth to speak. But he evidently thought better of vocalizing anything, receiving an answer to his unspoken inquiry when Draku summarily extended his lightsaber towards him in a defiant gesture. Closing his mouth, the Hapan Sith allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction before replying with a subtle, understanding nod. He appreciated the Anzat’s tenaciousness, both in his determination to continue the fight as well as what seemed like an unwillingness to allow the injury to affect his posture. The hurt was discernable on his face, but he wasn’t letting it take any of the edge from his form. That was commendable.

Veles had sparred with his own master with the same dogged conviction, with an undeniable dose of pride, and it was only due to the magical healing properties of bacta and his own vanity that his body wasn’t littered with an overabundance of scar tissue in testament to that fact. That training had been with vibroblades, given the somewhat enigmatic nature of the balance of a lightsaber, but they had been sharp enough to rival the cut of the more mythical weapons. He’d been impaled, cut, hacked, and split more times than he could count, and it was the pain of each one of those failures that lingered in the back of his mind every time he fought since. His style was defined by the understanding that the only thing better than successfully striking the opponent was avoiding being struck.

A nanosecond or so after his small bow to the other man, Veles was again charging forward. Despite the speed, sprinting wasn’t the most appropriate description of his movement, which was more akin to the graceful leaps and bounds of a professional dancer. Except, of course, his movement was greatly buoyed by summoned and expelled Force energy. Darting in a near-blur, he closed the distance between the two quickly. His rapid movement abruptly cut short a little more than a blade length away from the other man, and Veles stretched out with his right leg and leaned forward to thrust the point of his blade directly towards Draku’s chest. There was nothing impossibly complex or elaborate in the attack, it was a simple fencer’s thrust performed with well-practiced precision and otherworldly speed.

 

[Mesa]

Hate colors the soul. It spreads throughout the entire system, shutting down all other feelings, and becoming central to the life and the intent of the person. The object of the hatred may or may not be present, but the imagined words and hostile actions against the hated one can dominate at times. One turns their attention to other matters, and may for a time be driven in other directions, but then the wave of ill thoughts return with a vengeance. Once again the soul is colored completely, and all the negative energy that one can muster is thrown into the imagined ill will racing wildly around the mind. Hatred becomes a sickness of the mind and of the heart. For where hatred has claimed possession, there is no room for anything but hate. Left unchecked, hate can completely poison the soul. Hate is like a volcano; pressure created from magma that contained enough heat to make mud boil. Hate expands, like anything that gains heat. It grows, it expands, it explodes. And just like a volcanic eruption, hate kills.

Draku didn't hate Veles; in fact, it was the opposite. He respected the man, both as a combatant and as a teacher. While these were tests meant to glean information of Draku's competence as a fighter and as a Sith, they also held an underlying lesson. Through each one of these trials, beginning with the icicle surprise and leading to this duel, Draku had learned more about his instructor and the Sith. Veles was astucious; a shrewd, cunning, meticulous individual whom Draku knew would use others for his own benefit, as Sith are wont to do, and the Anzat was no different. His strategies in battle and in designing this evaluation mirrored the Sith doctrine of survival of the fittest. While not a particularly imposing figure, the Hapan held himself with enough silent confidence to make most mere men rethink their odds of survival.

Draku, however, was no mere man. He possessed the same, perhaps even greater, level of confidence in his abilities as his foe. More than a century of survival steeled his nerves and buttressed his combat prowess and confidence. Though his back ached from the grazing wound, he would not allow his demeanor to change, to show weakness. For to do so would be to set himself up for defeat, and defeat was no option to a Sith.

Draku kept his posture of defiance up, refusing to submit to the man facing him. He caught a small smirk from the man before he exploded forth towards the Anzat. He had little time to react to the man's sudden lunge forward, the point of the golden lightsaber poised to impale his chest. He decided it was best he didn't roll out of the way or escape via Force-augmented acrobatics; he simply twisted his body right to dodge the man's thrust. Using the momentum from this maneuver, Draku continued to spin, lowering his body simultaneously and sweeping his lightsaber horizontally towards the man's legs. When he had completed a full rotation, Draku would maintain his crouch and face the man as sweat flew from his head like miniature bullets and splattered about him.

 

[Fat Possum]

Veles had always pressed his boundaries, and this little bout of sparring was likely to be no different. A natural hellion, it was usually only after the line had been crossed, that deeds couldn’t be undone and words taken back that he realized the fact and grew remorseful or contemplative. But aside from periods of humbled comity, he inherently trended back towards the risky behavior. This fight would probably turn into one such lesson, with the Hapan growing overconfident in his presumed superiority over his supposed junior or, equally bad, pushing the acolyte to the point of permanent damage.

Draku was impressively fast, and not just for an Acolyte. His evasion of Veles’ thrust was faster than the Crusader could respond to, and the blade shot past the Anzat, stabbing through the air without obstruction and resulting only in a harsh increase in the tonal buzz of the weapon and a faint smell of burnt ozone. Given his outstretched stance, Veles quickly drew on the Force as soon as he recognized what the other man was attempting. Without outward motion, he summoned a blast of energy and directed it at his back, providing him with immediate forward motion that, when combined with his forward foot initially remaining firmly planted on the floor, propelled him forward in an impromptu somersault.

Landing less gracefully than the twist over the threatening red blade looked, Veles backpedaled just under meters, intending to buy a few seconds of respite for a knee that had borne a considerable brunt of his improvised gymnastics. Raising his hand, he leveled the yellow blade of his lightsaber horizontally at his opponent, both as a challenge and, more pragmatically, to encourage a bit of distance between the pair. His right eye was slightly narrower than his left, and he was breathing heavier, not bothering to attempt to mask his exertion.

Waggling the weapon to elicit an oddly pleasing oscillation of the blade’s buzzing, Veles began to slowly circle the Anzat. “Who was the last person you killed?” The assumption, an easy one, was that Draku had actually killed someone. So strong was Veles’ belief in that fact as a truth was that, were the other man to deny it, he simply wouldn’t believe it. “And why did you do it?” He wasn’t interested in some long, drawn-out exploration of the man’s first kill—another strong assumption—and his emotional state and such. He was more curious about recent practical realities: whether or not Draku was the sort of acolyte to demonstrate his superiority over others through violence and force or if there was a measured level of pragmatism when the other ended a life.

 

[Mesa]

Draku watched the Hapan fly less-than-gracefully over his slash, landing some distance away. He stayed crouched for but a moment, expecting immediate counterattack from his superior. Slowly rising upon noticing the man backing away, Draku held his lightsaber out towards the man, matching his challenge. Time seemed to extend itself, with seconds feeling as if they lasted minutes. Tense silence formed between the two, broken only by the gentle buzzing of their blades and the harsh, clipped breathing they shared; a result from the intense duel.

The pause in activity was welcome; Draku needed this time to allow his body rest. His back had gone numb from the burn, but he knew the wound was, if anything, an inconvenience. This was a test to prove his worth, rather than a duel to the death. There were numerous medical facilities on Ziost and Draku knew they would simply speed his bodies' natural regenerative process up. Instead, he focused on distracting his mind from the wound and keeping his attention wholly on the fight.

Veles had begun to circle him and Draku decided to move counter, keeping the distance the same between the two as they slowly revolved around the room. "An Acolyte. Before I had become Sith." His voice was harsh and whispery, moreso than usual. He didn't feel the need to lie to the man; after all, that was his most recent kill. Draku thought back to that encounter on Kashyyyk when he had sought the young Sith's essence before his discovery by the man's master. The deed was done by then, and the Anzat had felt his body and mind grow in strength from the feeding. "Men and women die daily, what impact would the death of some lowly Sith, too weak to defend himself from predators, have on the galaxy? He was exploited for my gain." Such was the way of the Sith. The weak had to be crushed by the strong in order to maintain the careful balance of power that remained.

Draku had forgotten just how many beings had to die to continue his existence. Anzati were predators, far more physically capable than most of their prey; they had to be, otherwise theirs would be a short existence. To go a few days without feeding on the essence of another would merely make their hunger for it grow. Starvation would either kill them outright or make them feral. Of course, he had killed a man or two prior to meeting Veles, but the Acolyte's death was the first to enter his mind. The growth in power, however minor, gained from his loss was far more intriguing than slaying some impoverished farmer or dock worker in order to sustain his life. "We kill because we must if we are to survive." Draku continued to circle, wary of the man's motives for the pause in combat. His eyes were narrow and, despite the frigid conditions outside, he continued to sweat from the exertion.

 

[Fat Possum]

Deliberately, Veles made no real effort to mask his burgeoning fatigue. Accustomed to the ceaseless mindkriff of being a proper Sith, he had no problem letting his opponent work to interpret his heavy breaths and slightly slumped shoulders: Was he faking? Was he genuinely exhausted? Some combination of the two? The Hapan was, in truth, displaying his weariness a little more theatrically than was anatomically necessary, but it was that universal uncertainty he really wanted to project, to let the doubt fester like a wound and render the Acolyte frozen in inaction.

The façade flickered, but didn’t snap, and Veles felt his eyebrow quirk up curiously at the response to his question. Before. That was significant. It either meant that Draku had encountered a pathetically weak Sith and managed to take his life without formal training in the Force—certainly a possibility given the grotesque swell of sycophants and hopefuls in the Imperium’s ranks—or that the Anzat was quite deadly already. Veles decided to give the other man the benefit of the doubt and assume the latter was the correct interpretation.

More to snap himself out of his imaginative consideration than to faze Draku, Veles jerked forward in an unexpected lunge just as the other man began to muse on the fleeting nature of existence, spearing his lightsaber forward again, the weapon offering an agitated hum as it moved. The attack wasn’t genuine and, conceivably, Draku would have been able to stand exactly still and at the distance he was maintaining without suffering more than a localized increase in his temperature. But, perhaps, the attack would spur an over-reactive defensive move or an off-guard counter to be exploited.

Calmly moving back to his initial position of patient encirclement, Veles gestured with his free hand and called one of the droid elements to him. Deftly catching hold of, what looked like a forearm or perhaps lower limb segment from what he could see of it at the periphery of his vision, he nodded his agreement. “Life is a contest. Always,” he said, quietly enough that words were just barely discernable over the buzz of their weapons. “And everyone dies. The winners simply last longer.” In all his time as true Sith, he had yet to come across a single being that had successfully escaped death. There were ancient Sith Lords whose lifespans had extended millennia, but eventually they all fell. At best, you outlived your enemies and survived with your allies.

Without warning, Veles jumped forward towards Draku again, this time in earnest. Charging in tangentially, as was his tendency, he actually kept the left side of his body angled closer towards the Anzat this time, wielding the severed droid part as though it were a baton. It wouldn’t hold up against the intense heat of the other man’s lightsaber, of course, but it might distract or otherwise occupy him. Experimentally, Veles jabbed a cleanly-cut end of the metallic limb forward, hoping to either draw Draku’s lightsaber to respond or to forcefully prod him with the thing. Simultaneously, he slashed the yellow blade of his weapon beneath his outstretched arm and the droid piece, making a hack towards the Acolyte’s knee.