Learning To Abuse The Tool (The Training of Konvoy Roc)

[D.C.]

It was a very Dark and Cold night, and most Dark Jedi were inside the temple. One of those crazy people, was still outside, in the cold. He wore a black thin tunic, but somehow it seemed he did not feel anything of the cold. That was because he was using the Force Power called Tapas.

Choray Sefja was his name, and Crusader was his title. He was a Dark Jedi of the Bogan, and he was there, outside, waiting for his student. It was the first student he would train, and it was about time he trained one. He joined the Dark Jedi twenty years ago and he had never trained anyone. That was because he was always away from the temple, doing mercenary jobs and visiting ancient tainted Dark Side shrines.

The Zabrak man smiled, and looked up to the sky. Although it was cold, the sky was not clouded, and it was a beautiful night. He loved being outside in the middle of the night, it was all so peaceful. Although he was a man who brought chaos, he loved the peaceful nights on Ando Prime.

Choray wore a belt, and clipped to that belt was his elegant lightsaber hilt. The one he had crafted himself, twenty years ago, as a final test of his training. His former master, master Durtrak, had taught him well and had told him that he was one of the best students he had ever trained. Choray wondered how the Trandoshan was, for he had not seen the man in years.

The Dark Jedi shook his head and thought to himself that he had to remain focused on the here and now, and not dwell on memories of the past. Besides, since when did he care for others anyway? He was about to train a new student, by the name of Konvoy Roc, and he was not allowed to fail teaching. No, he would make a great Dark Jedi out of Konvoy. That is, if Konvoy was worthy. If he wasn't worthy, than Choray had the right to... dispose of him.​

 

[Gambler]

The cold never touched him. It brushed across his light clothing, rasping against his calloused skin, but he never felt it. For he was not a city man. He was once a hermit. He had lived among the forest, the trees his only company. He had killed three men in anger without remorse. He was Konvoy Roc. Not the most glamorous of men, nor the stoutest, but one with a history that matched his rugged appearance.

I hold life in my hands now. What will I do? Crush it? Or save it?

He mused silently, his mocha eyes staring towards the black clothed figure awaiting him. Would he break the lives of thousands? Would he save them? Or would he die faceless, just another failed villain in the scope of the universe? Those questions were not why he was meeting the man that appeared to be a zabrak. He was there to learn the ways of the Force. The ways of power.

The wind teased his light beard but he didn't feel it. The air smothered his lungs with the chill but he ignored it. He was a man like all others yet he was not. He wanted to learn to kill, not to heal. That was what he was. A healer. Or was he? No, I'm not a healer, he thought grimly, a slight wisp of inspiration floating across the void of his mind. I'm a killer.

He neared the unmistakably powerful zabrak and slowed his stride to a halt. No words came out of his mouth for a few seconds as he watched the man that appeared to be a few years older than him but less scarred by the elements. Less scarred by life. The man was to be his master in the art of death. He would teach him how to inflict pain and refine his backwards healing ability. Teach him how to control those abilities.

"I am here to learn how to kill," he remarked calmly, his tone emotionless. There was no need for pleasantries. That was not why he was here. And besides, he didn't know any pleasantries to pass. He was a healer. He was a killer. He was a runaway. And he was going to learn the ways of the Force.

Or die with blood on his hands.

 

[D.C.]

Choray Sefja heard a voice from behind, and he knew it was his student. He sensed the man, and he heard the words. Those words, were about learning to kill?

"Then let me show you something..." Choray said with a dark tone in his voice, he still did not look at his new student. He called upon the Force and suddenly the Force was surrounding the student, who was just a few years younger than the master. The Force then started to Crush the person.

"Behold," Choray spoke. "Crush."

Then suddenly he spread out his arms and the power began to work on the student, who probably would feel intens pain. Then, three seconds later, Choray clapped in his hands once and the Crushing power stopped, thus releasing the student from death's grip. Choray's grip.

"Crush is a power, which destroys a person's insides. Don't worry, Konvoy, you are not dead yet. I have not pushed this power to its limits."

Then the Zabrak turned around and faced the man for the first time. His eyes were focused on Konvoy, and Choray saw he was not dealing with an inexperienced lad, but in fact a grown man.

"Tell me, what is it you ultimately seek?"​

 

[Gambler]

His body rose into the air as his spine hyperextended. Every organ in his body was on the verge of destruction. His heart felt like it was going to burst and his lungs were crushed like a piece of metal thrown into the depths of the ocean. But even with such intense pain Konvoy didn't scream. He didn't let his pain show except in a silent grimace. His fists were clenched so tightly that they turned white from the lack of blood.

It was a curious feeling. Pain. It was not a voluntary feeling, but a mix of the fear of injury and the touching of nerve ending. Konvoy did not fear anything to do with his body. He did not fear pain be it self induced or physical. He feared the unknown. That which he could not know ahead of time. But pain was not unknown. It was pretentious and easily countered with discipline.

Through it all he remained stout and unmoving, a vesicle for the pain. He let it pour into him, crushing his body until he felt he was going to burst like a glacier. He siphoned it, using it to fuel anger towards the zabrak man whose name he did not know. Not hatred, just anger. Hatred was too strong of a word to describe it for he was using his 'instructor' as an outlet for his pain. A scapegoat for his anger.

"I want power. I want destruction. I want to watch the galaxy burn," his response was partially true, but it was enough. He wanted to have fun. That was what the Dark Jedi would let him do. That surge of power he felt while murdering the farmer, the drunk and the outcast had given him such a high that he wanted to feel it again.

 

[D.C.]

Choray could sense the anger within this man and so he smiled. Anger is what the Dark Jedi fed on, and anger is the base of everything.

"And why, do you want this galaxy to burn, Konvoy?" Choray asked.

He tried to read his student, who seemed to have the potential. He did not scream when he was being crushed, so he was not weak. He felt anger, that was good, and last but not least, he spoke about power, destruction, and the burning world. That was what a potential Dark Jedi needed, but was it enough to survive?​

 

[Gambler]

"Because the galaxy is weak," he said, his eyes looking levelly into those of the zabrak. It was true, the galaxy was weak. Those who couldn't fight didn't need to live, but those who did fight and weren't strong enough to suffer the consequences of defeat deserved to die. And he wanted escape. Hermitage was well and good, but not so much once one found a way to escape it.

Escape was always the answer.

"Those who cannot fight back have earned nothing. Death is a mercy to them. Life would be torture. But killing them increases my power making me stronger. So why wouldn't I want to see the galaxy burn?" It was the longest string of words he had put into a sentence for years. His jaw already ached from the speech. He just wanted to get on with his training.

[OOC: Sorry for the brutally short post >_< ]

 

[D.C.]

"We have a code we live by, Konvoy Roc. I want you to recite that code to me, and then tell me what you think it means. And after you did, I want you to tell me what you know about our faction."

The talking part was always important. It was both for Choray to know who he was dealing with, and a test for Konvoy. To test his patience and knowledge.​

 

[Gambler]

"Everyone lives by a code," Konvoy said, wracking his brain for the mantra of the Dark Jedi of the Bogan. "But yours is simple. Just a twist of words that can be interpreted many ways," he continued. There was a slight hiatus in the conversation as he remembered the first line. It was followed by the next and the next until the entire code was at the tip of his tongue.

"No peace, only suffering. No knowledge, only instinct. No serenity, only passion. No harmony, only chaos. No life, only death." He had looked down for a moment as he spoke, but as he reached the final word he glanced up, his eyes dancing in the bioluminescent light. "Such is the mantra of the Dark Jedi. As for meaning, that is even simpler," he said in that level tone bereft of emotion.

"Suffering is pain and pain can be refined into power. Power is our goal. What we want. What we crave. Knowledge is useless compared to instinct. In a fight, the one using what they've read from past experiences will lose to the one fighting purely on instinct. Serenity is a lie. There is no such state. It is only a mask to hide passion. Our power. Chaos is strife and strife makes us stronger. And death is the end. Nothing comes after death. Once you die, you die. There is no coming back," he all but chanted in a deep but casual tone.

Words were words. But strength was power.

 

[D.C.]

Choray looked angry and sent a very powerful Force Push at the man. "Why do you deny what I have asked you, Acolyte? What do you know of our Faction?"​

 

[Gambler]

The wave of energy slammed into Konvoy, throwing him back and sending spikes of pain through his midsection. His expression was stolid even as his feet slid across the ground and his back met it a moment later. There was no emotion on his face. Only acceptance of a sorts. But that was only on the outside. Inwardly, he was angry. His anger was like tea-pot above a burner. It sizzled and boiled until the force of it was enough to explode out of the pot, lifting the lid.

Without any outward indication of his rising anger he began to rise, first to his knees and then to his feet, brushing himself off. At first it seemed as if he was going to ignore Choray's command and stay silent. His eyes were lidded half shut idly as he stood there, a good fifteen feet away from Choray. A gust of wind tasseled his slightly tanned loose clothing, flinging it about his person like parchment in a gale. It whipped about him, obscuring his limbs and neck.

When it ended he spoke. "I know only what you are. What you believe. What you do," the curt sentences were resonant and full as if he was speaking to someone far away. Not a shout, but louder than necessary. Perhaps he wanted Choray to hear his words. Perhaps it was a veiled insult. Whatever the intent, it was what his words conveyed. The double meaning was easily interpreted in both ways.

Perhaps he wanted to see how Choray would react.

"You follow the Bogan. You are strong. Stronger than the Jedi. Stronger than the galaxy. If there is anything else about your order I should know, then teach me." Daring, almost a challenge. But that was his nature. Observe before judging. Take everything in before making a decision. It had a mixed effect on many beings. Some thought of him as slow. Others defiant. And some believed him calculating. He would let them decide what he was, not the other way around. It was the way of survival.

It was his way.

 

[D.C.]

Choray now smiled and crossed his arms. He sensed the anger boiling within this man and it seemed that this man had passed the first test.

"Follow me." The Zabrak said with a dark tone in his voice, and he started to walk. He entered the temple, and immediately let go of Force Tapas. He did not need to keep himself warm with the Force, when the temperature within the temple was high enough.

His footsteps echoed throughtout the corridor he was walking through, and soon he reached a staircase. He gestured for his new student to follow him upstairs, and he led Konvoy to a room. It was a training room, where Choray would teach Konvoy.

Inside the training room, Choray said to Konvoy: "This, is our training room. Here I will teach you the ways of the Dark Side until we go elsewhere. What experience do you have with the Force?"​

 

[Gambler]

Konvoy gazed upon the obsidian stones around him and the marble shaded floor at his feet. The training room seemed more a place of foils. Of contradictions. But as he listened to his master's questions, he began to feel the evil of the room. It was tainted like the heart of men. Blackened and stained with blood, pain and suffering. Darkened by death and corruption.

"I have healed many and killed one with the Force," he said in answer to the final question after making his assumptions about the room. "I have helped countless and scarred two," he continued in a blasé tone bereft of any emotion. If he felt anything by his own words, he didn't show it inwardly or outwardly.

"I have held life in my hands and chose to mend it. Now I wish to shatter it. To crush it. Snuff out the flame of life with the weight of darkness."

 

[D.C.]

"Defend yourself!" Choray suddenly shouted and stretched out both his hands, one to the left and one to the right. Two swords came from the walls and reached Choray's hands. He grabbed them and tossed one towards Konvoy. These were real steel blades, and not just wooden practice swords. If one of them would be cut, he would feel it and he would bleed.

Right after he said that, Choray instructed: "Block my strikes, but don't strike back yet. I first want to see how your defence with the sword is. Show me, don't tell me."

Choray raised his sword and slashed towards his student with great force.​

 

[Gambler]

Dammit, Konvoy thought as he caught the blade awkwardly in his right hand. Quickly he shifted his grip, placing the blade into his left hand, his main hand. It felt a little better, but not much. The last time he had fought with practice swords was almost thirty years ago. There was no way he could survive against his master.

A healer was not taught how to fight with a blade.

Ironically, it just occurred to him that he still didn't know the name of the zabrak. He only knew that the man was his master. Nothing more. It was an odd tangent, but Konvoy was still assessing the man. He knew that he was possibly sadistic, but that was all. He didn't know enough yet to make an educated conclusion. And it was not the time to be making conclusions. It was the time to figure out how to fight.

The time to learn. To become more powerful.

Even with his lack of training, Konvoy at least was able to move the steel length to protect himself. The entire idea was to keep Choray's blade away from his flesh. There was no time for rational thought. He fought with his instincts, clumsily blocking the zabrak's attack. He pushed his blade up with two hands to stop Choray's momentum, but it wasn't enough. Fervently, he slipped his blade downwards and moved to the side, keeping the zabrak's blade on the opposite side of the man's body.

Just a hair's breath away from slicing into Konvoy's shoulder.

Fighting was not his strong point. He was a healer and a killer, not a fighter. When he came to the temple he wanted to learn how to use his powers, not learn how to use a blade. But it looked like he was about to get the all around experience. Stepping back, he held his blade in front of him in some semblance of a defensive form. It was in front of his body, but that was all he knew.

But he was going to learn more.

 

[D.C.]

After Choray struck a few more times, he stopped, and grinned. "You're not the best combatant, I see. A sword is not what I personally rely on the most, but I often use it in combat because it's such a handy and nice tool. Cutting up enemies." He laughed and then continued: "You will have to learn how to wield a sword, and later on how to wield a lightsaber. The lightsaber is the preferred tool of both the weak Jedi and us, the powerful Dark Jedi. Now, on to the first blade lesson. We will spar, and you will improvise and try to hit me. Don't hold back. The first blow is yours."

Choray took a more defensive pose, and waited for Konvoy to attack.​

 

[Gambler]

Konvoy considered his options for a moment, measuring his opponent. There was no doubt in his mind that the man was going to beat him badly. Konvoy wasn't a fighter. He hadn't ever been a fighter. Instinct was all well and good... in theory, but that is all it was. Instinct alone wouldn't get him through the whole escapade mostly unscathed. No, he needed to be quick about his wits. He needed to measure up his opponent carefully before acting.

Sadly, there was no way to measure up Choray without leaping into the unknown. At least he wouldn't do it unprepared. Without preamble, he rushed forward, blade in both hands. He stabbed forward, a direct if rather obvious move. His hands were on the hilt of the blade, hoping for a better grip than the single handed one most fighters favored.

 

[D.C.]

Choray smiled when Konvoy dashed up to him and attempted to stab him. The Zabrak called upon the Force and Force Speeded a step to the left so he dodged Konvoy's strike, then raised his sword and smashed the pommel of his sword towards the back of Konvoy's head. It was not a strike that would really injure his student, for he did not really want to kill his student, but if it hit him, then he would get hurt for sure.​

 

[Gambler]

Konvoy's momentum carried him forward a few steps after his failed strike. The pommel of Choray's blade flashed in, angled directly at the back of his head. He reacted without thought. Instinct alone guided his movements as the adrenaline pumped through his veins, empowering him. In mid-stride he spun on one foot, barely keeping his balance and jolting out of the way of the hilt. Some part of his recognized that by holding back Choray had left himself open. Even an inexperienced warrior could try to do something with that. And that was exactly what Konvoy did. He slashed his blade across toward the zabrak's exposed midsection, a strike that was sloppily executed, but still quite good considering the circumstances.

 

[D.C.]

Choray saw Konvoy's next strike coming, and smiled. He reached out his free hand and pointed it at his student's blade, and used the Force to Push the blade away. It was not a powerful Push though, it would not knock the blade out of Konvoy's hands, only push his arm away. If they were doing a real fight, then Choray probably would have knocked the blade along with Konvoy back against a wall, and hard, but he didn't. Tearing down your student in the very first sparring match of your training is stupid, especially when he's your first student ever.

After Choray's Push he kicked towards Konvoy's ribs. It was a very fast and unexpected kick since it came directly after the push and out of nowhere.​

 

[Gambler]

The initial shock of his arm moving without his control sent a vibration through Konvoy. The subtlest twitch as if a string had been tugged. Like the strings of a puppet pulled once again. A single beat of the heart was like the beat of a drum. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk. It continued on for a split second, the surprise ebbing across his mind. His arm felt like mercury shifting like liquid at the slightest breeze. The sinew didn't obey him, but rather was pulled and pushed by the intentions of another. And for some reason that angered him. Made him simmer beneath his visage of dispassion. His mind, like everyone else's, worked like a computer, constantly sifting through data. But unlike a computer his threw out that which he didn't care for. Other things were left to sit, the temperature of his hatred rising until he hated that person or event. And when that happened, something snapped.

A boot connected solidly with his abdomen, just under his ribs. He doubled over not from the pain, but from the spasm of his diaphragm as something slammed into it. I want you to die, he thought, acid dripping through his mind like a slow poison that engulfed all in mayhem and death. He panted for a breath, struggling to keep his feet even though his first instinct was to fall to the ground and gulp for air like a dog. He wouldn't give the man that satisfaction. No, he would stand and face him. He would fight even though he could barely stand. I hate you, came another thought as that unseen barrier between reality and the unknown shattered.

He willed pain upon his instructor. The blinding pain he had inflicted twice before. He tried to maintain the pain, tried to make him suffer, but he couldn't. His focus shattered and left him back in his body, a blade in his hands. But he remembered what he had tried to do to his master. Now was his chance to strike and he eagerly took it. He slammed his blade forward, one hand on the pommel for extra force as he tried to gut the zabrak. Good thing they were using training blades. Oh wait, they weren't. There was a vicious half smile on Konvoy's lips as his deadly strike was thrust forth.