Of Shades and Sith

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Korriban
Temple/Valley​

Spacious labyrinth like hallways and grand stone communal spaces made up the majority of the Sith Temple. Most of the Acolytes and lords spent their time here while the academy was finishing construction. The sweeping architecture and dark side nexus present on Korriban made a lordly Sith feel at home. Outside the landscape was treacherous and housed a carnival of carnivores beasts. Those adept in manipulation spent their time out here training beasts and practicing wicked spells. Shrines to the Sith and their ancient history speckled the crags here. Pure bloods make their way to these posts to honor ancestors long passed. One such monk was paying homage to a decrepit crypt. Unaware of the shade following at their heels.

The screams and pain of countless lives culminated in a single entity. Silent yet deafening to those strong in the force. Ongye knew he couldn’t suppress the sounds resonating from his soul so he kept a distance, at first. Korriban sated his need to feed but every so often a twinge of hunger spurred the hunt. Slowly, the knight approached but his footsteps wouldn’t be what alerted the prey. Lords had warned some of the inhabitants about a certain figure who hungered for souls. ‘Listen to the force, be wary of the damned screams, and never face it’. Still there were those whom, either ignorant or unaware, came to the valley.

The meditating pure blood cut short his prayers and turned to face death. Ongye closed the distance between them. They stood face to face neither making a move. Ongye could sense the fear surrounding them and smiled. Gasps for air spat in the air as a powerful hand grabbed hold the pure bloods throat. The force moved oddly between them, like the subtle swaying of water in a tub. Slowly his prey submitted. The wound opened up and drained his power. Ongye loosed his grip, allowing the man to breath, while stuck in limbo. When all was done, the void closed. Ongye dropped the monk, allowing him to crumple upon the ground. Hollow as if turned into a husk, the pure blood shook with terror. Sometimes the knight showed mercy but this was not one of those times. He would allow him to live. Fated to never hear the force again.

Having satisfied the desire which enslaved him to these feedings, Ongye returned to the Temple. The reconstructed entry could graciously welcome a rancor. Immortalized figures of exiles brilliantly fashioned to imitate lifting the threshold. Ongye lived and studied here, honing his knowledge of the force. The archives, though unorganized, reaped many rewards. One recent endeavor brought forward a holocron detailing manipulation of environmental temperature. The idea of cooling an area to near freezing was something of a strange desire, he understood this. Since recognizing the power of pyrokinesis he was actively searching for a counter. Hopefully this would aid him in ascending to a higher rank.

Grunts and shouts of pain echoed into the hallways. Stone reverberated the sounds well and penetrated the other training rooms. Ongye had forced out a disciple from one such room. They were first come first serve and seeing as the halfbreed gave little care to his tutelage. The sequestering of this hall seemed to concern him little. ‘Always in pursuit of knowledge’, he would tell any superior that came seeking answers. Still, he sought after advancement for his own rank.

The skill he was learning progressed slowly. “Feel the object, understand it just as you do yourself. Then imagine a blizzard taking it warmth.” These instructions were, to him, extremely clear but every attempt failed. Instead of cooling the object, his hands would feel an icy burn. Ongye gritted teeth, enduring the numbing sensation that swathed his finger tips in a frozen blanket. Despite the teachings of frostbite, he removed a glove and desperately tries to warm the freezing appendage. These were easy task but something was stopping his mastery. Perhaps, he thought, a break may be the best.

@Nyxova

 

[Risha Sharro]

A silent sneer pulled at the left corner of Risha's dark lips as she stood in the entryway of the Temple. Giant statues to Exiled Jedi in honor of people no doubt undeserving of it. Few still living were worthy of remembrance, and yet here they stood -- one of the first things erected in tribute to the Great 'Sith' Empire. But surely a Pureblood Sith would be honored hosting such powerful wielders of the Force. After all, their leader had defeated the Sith'ari in ritual combat. Yes, she was worthy of respect. Most of the rest cowered in her shadow; others... Risha didn't consciously recognize their strength, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe herself all powerful.

Perhaps Risha should thank the Exiles, however. This sight never failed to enrage the red woman every time she had the pleasure of returning to Korriban.

The Knight turned and strode toward the training areas. She would busy herself with research later (another grudging boon of these offworlders was their treasure trove), but at that moment the anger and darkness burned within and needed an outlet. What better than through beating someone into submission?

Unlike others, Risha left the room open for others. She wasn't the greatest Warmaster of the Sith, but she had experience. More than some of the creatures in service to the Empire. Everyone needed an education. Who was Risha to deny them the opportunity to learn? The long blade was pulled from the clasp that held it to Risha's back. She held its sharp edge overhead. "Just as your blade is nothing but an extension of your own body, so is the Force. If it is merely a tool you will never unlock its true potential." Perhaps this was all too much for offworlders. From what her Masters had told her, the Sith had a certain connection to the Force others lacked. It was the reason the Sith stood above the rest. Even so, too many of these creatures were taught to wrestle with the Force, which made no sense to Risha and felt like informing others of their mistaken beliefs.

"Come." She beckoned the other sharing the dueling circle with her. The sword lowered in her left hand as her feet slowly slid into position. The hum of a lightsaber filled the room. Its glow lit the side of the dark haired one's body. Red. Risha heard to his kind red meant danger. Then he should already be prepared for what was about to follow.

The tip of her sword had descended by the time his feet moved. With a roar Risha stepped into the strike, her sword swung around to crash into the blade of energy with genuine physical force. Only she didn't stop to make a point or let him recover. The blade drew back and struck from the side, top, diagonally, and then from below.

Two amber rings burned beneath a red brow as the sword's tip point down toward the man's chest. "Do not think to use the Force. You will not have time to think in battle." She slowly stepped back, though her gaze lingered on her opponent. "And do not underestimate your enemy if they use a blade." The faint ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Lightsabers -- a deserving name for those not prepared.

"Diversity in enemies brings strength." Consistency could bring good form, but variety helped avoid becoming predictable or unable to adapt to unpredictable opponents. That was as true for them as it was her. "Again?"

@Kur Harwutma

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Ongye was a master of procrastination between battles and training. His ability to concentrate dulled upon menial tasks such as learning a new skill. Truly he excelled only in dire situations. Taking charge and leasing himself and others to victory or, in some cases, defeat. Perhaps the need to extend his sabbatical or a misguided urge for answers, he found himself observing two Siths in the throws of combative training.

Careful to not interject their unstructured lesson, he rested against a sided column. His eyes never leaving the woman leading this session. Her form was elegant and beautiful, hiding its deadly maneuvers. Respectful of life, the array of precision never met flesh but sought to accentuate martial combat. Ongye thought little of racial superiority for he himself was subjugated as an adolescences. To him these were but incorporeal shackles which tied one to an idea: You are a slave. All were in the eyes of a Sith Lord. Even he himself still held these cuffs. Knowledge and teachings of true power are held close and not often taught. Pure bloods were something else, having the beliefs of true form. These were a species enslaved yet engrained with an instinct to separate the chains which bind them. Something Ongye had forget to seek long ago. This spurred him forward, the enlightenment and her words. True was the jagged point of her jab but still a welp should understand what separates those anchored in the force and the rest.

”Mind if I step in?” He said behind an encasing mask. The instructed would have a choice to stay or leave but would be decided upon what Risha would say. The council of young acolytes was small but still spurred an anxious shake from Ongye. Years of betrayal and espionage had made him wary of what may be; secret unions, telepathic treachery, and evil intentions. The students in this room would never leave his field of awareness unless something were to interject. Ongye nervously thumbed the lightsaber ready to defend. The memory of his Master’s death reminding him to never let one’s guard down

@Nyxova

 

[Risha Sharro]

The tip of the Sith Sword didn't dip as Risha's eyes shifted to the side at the vocal interruption. The masked figure was no longer content to observe from the sidelines it seemed. A flicker in the Force came from the student, but it passed just as quickly. Thought of seizing the moment, Risha suspected. It wouldn't have ended any better for him; and the Sith was a bit perturbed the thought hadn't spurred him to action.

"Go. You will not find a shortage of training here." The Red nodded to the young Sith. Perhaps he could use the instruction by observing Ongye-Ui and herself. There was a sensation in the Force, however, that suggested the two of them be alone for a moment. That might not last if they attracted attention, but she wasn't shy. Annoyed by so many people after being isolated on a planet for some time alone with a Dark Side imbued sword, but not shy.

Once the reluctant one left, a smirk twitched at one corner of her lips. "You feel unique among the horde clawing their way through these restored halls." Unique was one word for what Risha felt in the Force. The darkness in her sword was like a flame, and its tendrils of death flared and waved as if struck by a wind -- or pulled by a void. Curious was a better word, but people didn't like being called curiosities; even if that's exactly what they were. Something worthy of attention. They should have been honored.

As she stood there in wait to see if the man wished to talk or take a place to spar, Risha spun the Sword in her grip idly. Diversity in enemies brought strength. It would be interesting to see what a figure like this would bring to the ring.

@Kur Harwutma

 

[Talion Knylenn/Anhur]

Anhur was watching the training in the shadow of the room, hiding his presence from everyone not that most of the people would notice his presence there since the temple was home to other masters. He did this occasionally coming down to watch the duels between hopefuls, see if there were predators among them, usually he was disappointed but today there was hope.

A sith pureblood, there was something different about her, she had hunger the others didn’t and it showed, she had the makings of a predator and with proper guidance could be a ruthless one.

Anhur made his presence known, no longer hiding it and stepping out of shadows, clad in his black armour, his vibro-sword on his back and lightsaber on his back. “That’s an impressive blade” he called out, interrupting whatever was taking place between. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

@Kur Harwutma @Nyxova

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Gentle footsteps faded away as an echoing tap. Though Ongye found the isolation soothing it meant no comfort. Standing stoically was a specimen who’s force would urge hunger from within. The Sith Sword’s dark energy flicked around his growing wound but stopped, licking, without passing its threshold. This curse he bore was not something which opened and consumed with ease. If he had concentrated, negative force would be swallowed like water by a parched man. Her words spurred thought of other perspectives and swayed pangs of a glutton. ”Unique?” He tongued the word. ”I’ve been called many things. Wretch, minion, boy, slave, and monster.” The mask was then upswept to reveal surprisingly pleasant features. Hindering its symmetry, horrific burns plastered the other half. ”But ’unique’, I think I like being called that.” Ongye allowed his false face to clatter on the ground.

The exiles, as well, had been given many labels but horde was a sobriquet that had fallen out of vogue. ”Whatever you think of me, don’t believe I am any better than you. Sure I despise Red-Sith, hate them, feast upon them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect your species.” Ego was something to be nurtured and only Jedi left it aside. Ongye followed his master’s code, one which acknowledged outside perspective. ”Without the Massassi we’d have no force to back our words. Still I find it strange. Weakened by the Jedi on Ilum, we were but a few and yet.” He motions to the tapestries dedicated to his fraternity. ”Here we stand in your halls, your temples, your bedrooms, why can’t you escape us?” The switch he had been thumbing ignited in a blaze of fiery energy. ”Maybe, to borrow your phrase, diversity in enemies brings strength, or perhaps you were always meant to be servants.” The comment was flippant yet true. Racial subjection wasn’t blatant, but how could anyone deny the vast difference in opportunity between these fledglings in the galactic presence. ”Part of me wants to believe your abilities can grow but another thinks you’ll just disappoint.” He took stance, holding the hilt in both hands. His left foot moved forward pointing at the pure-blood. Ongye moves the right half of his body back. The blade followed and pointed forward. Crimson light eliminated the right half of his face.

Ongye wasn’t sure how the Sith had hidden himself so well. Still it stopped whatever intention he had. The blade wasn’t sheathed but instead he freed his left hand. Then pivoted his left foot back. His lightsaber angled up and out. ”I’m doubtful she wouldn’t my friend…” He coughed nervously to the side. Twitching anxiously as if holding back an attack.

 

[Risha Sharro]

At first the two Sith seemed to have an accord. It was easier studying-- understanding someone when they opened up, and they didn't do that went they were offended. It was the tightrope a creature of knowledge and a Sith had to walk. Don't walk over other people, but don't let them walk over you... and the last part was where the tension grew as Ongye-Ui continued.

The comment how Risha should not think him any better of her placed her on guard before the onslaught began. There'd been no chance of her thinking that. Even someone stronger than her in the Force or with a sword would not be better than her. "At least you are honest," Risha hissed, but it was quickly followed by a smile. Her chin lowered to cast shadows over her eyes, and leave the ambers glowing within that darkness. Honesty was appreciated. The fact he despised her kind didn't really matter. Again, they had a mutual understanding.

The goading drew a sharp snort from the Red Sith. If he was trying to piss her off, even to draw out the Dark Side of the Force that came so naturally to her people, it was working. Risha knew how to grasp the cauldron of passion, however, without it scalding her to the bone. She may not be the most experienced or the most powerful, but she had basked in darkness long enough to be more than a whelp desperate to join the Empire seeking glory. "Your kind is only here because of the Empress," the Pureblood hissed without an accompanying smile. "Remember that any time you turn your back to my kind."

Despite finding the Empress' victory dumbfounding when Risha first heard of it, there was no denying she had known the way to take power for herself. As the rightful leader it was then within her authority to dictate the shape of governance and distribution of power. All that being true, Risha liked to think should anything happen to the Empress the Red Sith would gladly remind whoever took over they were no slaves.

Another soon emerged from the shadows causing the Sith facing off to slowly shift their stances in anticipation of an attack from two fronts. The muscles in Risha's jaw flexed a moment at the new intrusion. Where had this other one come from?

"You may look," she replied as levelly as possible given the verbal sparring Ongye-Ui had begun. "Most only have the pleasure of handling it when it is buried in their chest." The guard pivoted as Risha turned the grip in her left hand; Purebloods favored the left unlike most Humanoids. The sharp points of the guard curved upward toward the blade; the wings possessed an etched face. Carved out sections just above the guard could catch an opponent's blade and wrest it from a weak grip, or snap a weak sword. Its pommel could also be used to pierce the flash just as easily as the tip of the sword.

Warning aside, Risha not tolerant of someone trying to purloin the weapon for theirself, she asked, "Do you have an interest in Swords of the Sith?" There were others interested in knowledge, objects of power, or just history in general. It was a pleasant surprise when she met such people.

A shocking surprise when she met two people she might be able to respect; for different reasons. Assuming she didn't need to kill either of them. She could respect them after they were dead too, of course.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker

 

[Talion Knylenn/Anhur]

The two of them were interesting, one a warrior proud of their heritage and people and the other an audacious hunter looking for its next meal. An interesting contrast for anhur to see and face of againest one another. "I am not your friend, I am your better and the sooner you learn that the less chance of a... 'misunderstanding' happening between us" he replied coldly to the scarred man, Anhur he didn't like the hostile arrogance that seemingly exuded from the man.

He turned his attention to the pureblood and her sword, Anhur believed everything about you from the way you walk and talk to the very equipment you carried informed others about you, so did this sword about its user, it's design was practical giving user multiple tools to help fight she was likely an aggressive fighter since the weapons aimed for offence rather than defence but she didn't sacrifice the form of the weapon, etchings and the general aesthetic of the weapon, this weapon wasn't just a tool of war it is status symbol, a family heirloom perhaps to show some kind of nobility or weapon of some great ancestor.

"nu shiyi wir us tizn a âtiari ir tniya" he replied to her question in her native tongue of high sith, most purebloods are take in surprise when he spoke their language not expecting a foreigner to learn their language. Looking back the at scared the man in his fighting stance "forgive me, it appears you two were about to duel and I've interrupted that." he says taking a few steps backs and pauses for a few seconds contemplating an idea"how about we make this interesting and turn this into a competition of sorts, whoever wins gets duel me, Master Anhur" he had finally dropped his name, they should at least have an idea of who he was. "so what do you say?"

@Kur Harwutma @Nyxova

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Shadows cascaded about, making light a Drought. Another figure to account. Ongy denounced. ”Your request is profound” Anhur’s known renown, almost like it was watered down. Lanterns hung ceremoniously. Illuminating occupants three. To ongye’s surprised the other surmised his reputation mise. ”I apologies for the assize.” Lofty hands grasped his throat. Suddenly he felt a stroke. Tempered fissures of anxiety would invoke, feeling very remote. ”Your request is appealing, however I should be kneeling” Creation like this would be remiss, should their ego go unconvinced. ”Apologies for the raised fist, for now I shall resist.” Holding himself before speaking again, his eyes fell upon the new friend.

If you could hold such unconventional bonds, the name would be proper. ”Could you accept this flimsy affair of honor?” Assuming her position was actor their combat would spur laughter. With conviction intent, usurpation a threat.

Something had stricken Ongye. Moments of incoherent thought surrounded him. Left and right, his head shook absently. Whatever ascension of genuine confidence exuded prior faded. The lightsaber wielded expertly, moved to be parallel with the ground. Self-image aside, he pointed stoutly. Aiming directly for Risha’s heart. ”Should you give me the chance, I shall chose your death over surrender.” Understanding that whatever may befall, his opponent could chose the same path. His left hand lay open and bare. Eagerly he prepared to ensnare whatever attack came. Strikes of heated beams taken in a storm of force. Should her powers of control prove formidable, an evasion would ensue. Propelling himself away to counter with a sway of precise motion. Columns would crash to the ground. These fated things were not always such, Risha’s move decided what would happen.

 

[Risha Sharro]

There was that word again.

Risha did blink, however, when the latest addition to the room spoke in the true Sith tongue. Were she telepathic Risha would have agreed to the man's thought on the matter. To think an outsider-- Ah, was it to listen in on their conversations, perhaps? Wouldn't want the recent additions to their ranks to be plotting usurping control? Or perhaps the man was an avid student of secrets as she desired to be. Secrets of the Sith race, perhaps. Either way, Risha would approve (in a fashion).

Without further delay this newcomer then gave a proper introduction. A Sith Master. Was it genuine strength or guile that had earned him the rank? Risha wished she held more prestige; it was sure to unlock access to closely guarded artifacts and knowledge. At the very least keep the competition in line so long as her own strength never wavered. And all she had to do to impress him was engage Ongye-Ui in a duel -- emerging victoriously, of course.

Amber eyes narrowed as Ongye-Ui appeared to ramble now faced with a Sith Master. Appearances, however, were deceptive. If this was some attempt to cause her to underestimate the man as a buffoon it would not work, she sneered in thought. Her fingers tightened and relaxed about the hilt of her blade.

"The Sith never surrender," she replied, echoing the sentiment. "Knight Sharro fights to defend the pride of the Sith. May you prove a worthy opponent."

Yet, as much as the temptation to cleave Ongye's head in twain burned within, there was one small matter to test. Her right foot slid forward, body angled to present a slimmer profile, while she held the sword in her left hand pointed toward her opponent. Risha's right hand was angled upward, palm down for a moment before she turned it ninety degrees. "Rirmi ri dzara mis mirji kaj ir." (Bound in the chains we forge about ourselves.) Darkness swelled before it burst into existence; flung from Risha's hand it sought to ensnare and bind Ongye where he stood. A Sith Alchemical strike of fiery energy. Time to test Ongye's abilities and mettle.

@christhebarker @Kur Harwutma

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Unseen, tangible only because of the commander. Her outstretched talons of incorporeal darkness lashed out to seize him. The void within him tugged forward, opening it’s equally unappealing maw. Raw energy infused into a trinket of malicious manufacturing was just as tasty as any. Suppressing his eager desire to feast on the banquet presented humbly, the tendrils of evil would have to follow him.

The room they resided in was hexagonal in shape. Six pillars of marble positioned themselves near each corner, permitting enough space to move behind. These points became symbols of intrigue as Ongye flung himself towards one. Propelled by a gust of force energy that surged through his feet. He spun in the air. Unclear to onlookers, wether it was intentional or accidental. His lightsaber segmented a section of the marble. It clattered to the ground in unison with Ongye’s light footed landing. Had the construction of Sith Swords been a secret, Risha’s attack may have been a surprise. The quick reflexes honed over years of war torn conflict proved an advantage, even if slightly. Instead of attacking, closing the distance, Ongye insisted on handicapping her power. The hungry monster within bared it’s teeth. Like a wind storm, his wound began sucking in the force around him. The sword she brandished so proudly would either be made benign or beckon it’s wielder to make a choice.

Lately, Ongye had found himself the target of minute quarrels and self stroking egotistical minorities. What did Risha fall under? She seemed well equipped, advanced in training, maybe she was of a different kind. Neither of these things mattered. Whatever hatred or degrading self loathing may have preceded made little impact on these sparing students. Ongye always held himself to a neutral feeling towards his opponent. The anger of hunger, the pain of his wound, those were what gave him strength. These basic ideals allowed a calm and methodical mindset while feeding off the negative energies which surround him.

Ongye had summoned a vortex of unquenchable thirst. This power required concentration but could easily be hastened by selecting a single entity. Choosing the sword instead of Risha allowed him to keep focus split. While he ate away at the darkness, filling his own power, his blade was positioned towards the ground. He was preparing himself for her next move. Should she attempt to close the space between them, he would happily surprise her with a trick of sorts. Should another torrent of force be sprung into existence, his waiting wound would begin zapping what energy might have come. Despite the predictions of a single man, the future is unclear. Whatever may come, he was ready to abandon and adapt.

@Nyxova @christhebarker

 

[Risha Sharro]

Risha's eyes narrowed as she beheld the man before her. It seemed exactly as she had begun to suspect. While the true nature of Ongye's 'ability' had yet to be divined, its nature had been made plain. She could not rely on the Force as her weapon here; it would only be suppressed or at worst absorbed. Fortunately the sword she held in hand had taught her a great deal about being a warrior. Much as she had idolized the Alchemists, balance it seemed had prepared her for this.

One graceful in darkness should know how to waltz, and how to tango.

She moved her right foot to widen her stance and square off with Ongye a bit more. Meanwhile her right hand reached behind her back to draw her saber. The moment its red shaft appeared the Pureblood flew across the intervening distance. She prepared to meet his brazen defacement of the chamber with a whirlwind of strokes. Heft of the Dark Side-protected Sith blade would use momentum to power its strike; while Risha's lightsaber would be used to keep the man off balance.

If Ongye had mistaken her anger for the sort that led a fighter to tire themselves out with a frenzy of overpowered strikes, he would have been wrong; though perhaps not disappointed. Senselessly slaughtering people in the Empire because she resented how they called themselves 'Sith?' Not a chance. But if circumstances demanded it? Gladly. Time would tell which end was in store for this duel.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Ongye often found himself perplexed by the enigmatic way he expressed flippant thought. The earlier assumption about ending her existence without remorse for example. That was a tale spun from egoless banter. Insinuating that she shouldn’t hold back even at the cost of a life. Truly it was the beastly parasite within that spurred malevolence. Outside of excruciating starvation was a man walking an unknown path. Loss followed him constantly, feeding the anguish of loneliness. Ongye despondently prayed for an effortless death. Something equivalent to an exaggerated survival instinct kept himself from allowing an honorable suicide. Nothing about him screamed unnerving consequence save for the haunting howls of disembodied souls.

Lacking any motion visible to an untrained eye. Ongye could see Risha’s breath hanging in the air. Pivotal reactionary signals any trained fighter would recognize. Slowly the vortex of suppressing darkness alleviated. Ongye understood the weaknesses that came with handling physical weapons. Their weighted body allowed for heavier attacks but locking blades with a lightsabers required magnetic fields. This proved to be an exploitable weakness in previous encounters. Allowing Blades to separate easily. Sliding like silken ribbons coming undone. Making advanced tactics employable. Irreversible and hazardous nevertheless. Adventitiously she had chosen to bare the lightsaber in her right hand. Simultaneously he grasped the column with his telekinesis. Abstracted by her untraceable motion, every inch of the expanse dissolved around them. Risha’s movements continued apace. The rapid advance insinuated an ambiguous attack. Still the section of marble lifted like a shield. Allowing Risha’s left handed assail while hindering her other.

The cold black eyes of his closed for a moment. Remembering something long ago. Tenacity he held in reverence of another. Suddenly they snapped open with a resolve. Time was not waisted In his movements. Quickly catching her sword with his. The stone released and perched itself balanced in position. He would grasp ahold with both hands. Then pivot instantly to spin rapidly. Engaging whatever attack from the saber may follow in sequence. There would be only a few moments to react as the pirouette reached its culmination. Using his lifted foot, an attempt at sweeping her legs would be made. If successful, an open hand would send a blast of force energy forward. Propelling his assailant an indeterminate distance. Hopefully this would extinguish any further desire to continue. Their was a chance of countering during and his main hand was focused on adjusting the lightsaber to its optimal length. Should Risha predict his fluid, yet seemingly erratic, movements then he would shut the saber off. Allowing him to acrobatically maneuver around her attacks. Ongye wasn’t an idiot and would reactivate it to catch her unawares.

@Nyxova @christhebarker

 

[Risha Sharro]

The broken fragment used as a shield did not dissuade the Sith from her assault. A sharp hiss of unforgiving plasma slid through the material just as easily as Ongye had plucked it from its perch. Meanwhile, the Sith blade slammed down onto the man's saber. It was true they did not lock together and that could be turned against a swordsman, it was also true someone too accustomed to saber duels could be caught unprepared. Moments ago she'd educated a less experienced member of the Empire in the difference in defending off the weight of a real blade to one reliant entirely on the strength of its wielder -- another aspect someone unprepared would find difficult to adapt to on the spot. Ongye, however, seemed experienced in combat involving physical blades.

As the man whirled about with the intention of sweeping her off her feet, Risha's saber buzzed and clashed with his once more. He fended it off easily enough, but she wasn't relying on striking him with the plasma sword. It kept him from building up too much momentum.

Her focus was on her surroundings at that moment. Ongye made using the Force as a weapon difficult, but it didn't rob of her race's naturally connection to it. It ebbed and flowed with a passion. The man's void-like state might consume essence and energy, but like the radiant glow that could surrounded a blackhole, the Force rippled in his wake.

With a clip shout, Risha's leg kicked out to meet Ongye's to interrupt his sweep. "Drakazi ri tnirma." High Sith pulled on the strings of the Force as the point of her sword was then thrust forward at the man's torso. The broken pillar wasn't just his to wield. Risha sought to bash the ruin into him as her sword occupied him from the front.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Mortal sins, connate within all sentient life, brings destruction in wake. Like playing games which stroke pride. The unseen advantage masquerades as weakness. Ongye strived in such a manner. Diluting what image of superiority that might be had. Convincing the parties present that they are in control. Like sacrificing one’s pawn to gain the foothold needed to triumph. Ongye allowed their confrontation to become extremely intimate. Intensifying the pressure by remaining in close quarters. Turning the saber off to perpetuate a guise of defenselessness. This worked in favor as she mistakenly pivoted only to thrust her weapon forward. Ongye slid right, bringing his left hand behind his back. Turning sideways in defiance. Her weapon pointed forward into the air. Ongye’s hilt lifted as he pushed forward. Intending to strike Risha’s head with the blunt bottom. This move would be meant as a stun. Though it’s juvenile conception was short lived.

Had the high Sith language been something he’d learned. The section of stone flung forth would spur little reaction. Still it was met with quick decisiveness. Lightsaber in hand, crackling electricity sounded as a shroud matrix encased his plasma blade. Ongye carved the projectile sent aggressively forward. Segmenting it into two hunks of rock, the fragmented column forked. One continued forward, unobstructed, while the other changed corse for a collision with Risha’s head. Surprisingly this made little impact on Ongye. While he did ponder for a moment whether she was feigning defeat, like himself. His attention never left her. Assessing each and every possible outcome.

Should she be able to dodge; the boulder, untouched by her command, would be wrapped in his intangible fingers. Then thrown to distract as he approached quickly. Using the force to enhance his strength immediately after. Doing so would strain his muscles and almost certainly disable him after their fight concluded. The sword bathed in bleeding Kyber light would strike unbidden by what actions preceded. Aiming only to disable and disarm. Should luck find it’s lofty fingers encasing Ongye. The cut stone hitting her head. Ongye would grab Risha’s left hand, ripping the sword away with all his might. With all those possibilities there was another which cascaded forward. Should Risha manage in anyway to maintain the ground she stood upon, Ongye would unleash a furious storm of psychokinetic energy. Pushing force wind in a powerful effort to create another advantage.

@christhebarker @Nyxova

 

[Risha Sharro]

Risha's piercing gaze shifted to track her opponent. He moved into the path of the Force-propelled matter as she'd desired, guided by the thrust. In that brief moment where fate held sway, the two stood within inches gauging one another. Ongye made to strike her with the butt of the saber, but the Pureblood had her own blade to jab over her extended arm. Far from an effective strike, but enough to keep him from connecting a solid blow.

While able to fend off an insulting jab to the head, however, Ongye's next move to bisect the mass would come at a cost. With the saber in Risha's right hand -- held on the opposite side of her body from the pillar fragment -- she herself could not pivot soon enough to perform the same defense.

Instead, the Red turned away from the blow and used the momentum to roll away from Ongye. A scratch to the side of the face from where the rock struck trickled blood, but did little to diminish light in Risha's eyes. She righted on both feet, closed fist cradling the saber knuckled to the floor, eyes defiantly flipped back up toward her opponent. "Roji ri asminys." The alchemical fire flared to life and engulfed the full length of the Sith Sword in her left hand.

If Ongye sought to pummel her with the Force, Risha would stand fast and deflect as much of it as possible. But if they squared off again then she would throw herself into a flurry of action; to streak across the distance and use both blades to assail the man from every angle until she breached his defenses or brought him to a knee.

As their fight wore on the two of them seemed increasingly likely to throw everything they had into the ring unless stopped by the Master that had instigated the match. Not that the confrontation hadn't already been ordained; only the circumstances had changed.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

The familiar glow of radiating heat appeared. Energy bidden by force, controlled by Risha. Her piercing blow angled its blade between the segments of Ongye’s armor. Flesh sizzled as condensed crimson fire penetrated his defense. Releasing a fowl oder of burnt sinew. It burdened him with immense pain. Ripping focus away. Preventing an immediate counter. He confessed a deep torment with howling screams. Unable to affect her in an equally discomforting way. The fragmented masonry avoided detrimental damage to Risha. Grazing across her face. Their exchange shifted the axis of power. Ongye could move his left arm but the excruciating discomfort stiffened its actions.

The human Sith had to admit: Risha’s reactions, especially when having a projectile only inches from her face, were superhuman. He was only able to prevent being bludgeoned by simply being positioned by way of chance. Had his hilt not been angled ninety degrees, she would have bested him. Their quick encounter played to her unrealistic acrobatics. Ongye would have possibly dwelled on it for a moment had she not been able to sink her deadly claws into him. Hopelessly assessing whether or not she was actually a master in disguise. Choosing not to focus on what was fair, or perhaps realistic, especially when calculating how impossible it was to attack and dodge simultaneously.

Stepping back only a foot, the distance between them now was only two meters. In the effort she exerted to roll away, Ongye focused on controlling negative forces which now surrounded him. Alleviating what puppetry could follow by its influence, demanding compliance. Condensing it’s fiery passion into the muscles of his left arm. He gripped the handle with both hands. Lifting it to angle parallel with the ground. His weight shifted forward. Putting the propulsion from heel to toe. Rocketing himself forward in a shadowy blaze of flickering coat tails. He would meet her blades, lacking the strength previously harbored. Enhancing himself to allow attacks that were direct and without illusion.

The swords would attempt to clash. Ricocheting where resistance was easily met. Slashing to bind magnetic fields in magnificent spectrums of stabilizing sparks. Desperately trying to open her defense. His breathing would become heavy and ragged as the damnable shocks of pain numbed nerves. The current objective hanging on his mind to lock their blades in place. Then endeavor to position a powerful kick to Risha’s midsection. Should her strength prove surmounting then he’d back away, forming himself into a defensive shell. Swiveling to make the areas of open flesh minimal. Angling the blade upwards at fourth-five degrees. Similarly, if he mounted a stunning attack. He’d follow up by changing his focus from the left shoulder to controlling two split blocks. Previously under Risha’s control, they’d form a defensive barrier meant to block.

@Nyxova @christhebarker

 

[Risha Sharro]

As time slowed, Risha's eyes burned with the passion of her people. Adversity and struggle were as natural as breathing to the Purebloods. Some bathed in the blood of others, while others plunged into the depth of the Force (as the Exiles called it). They strove to be the best. To demonstrate their worth and ability above any other. Their ruler earned the title using every ounce of skill and thought they had -- there was no doubt of legitimacy. Toward that end, the blade in her hand burned with the desire for blood, and a Sith Master being in attendance drew out a desire to claim victory in Risha. Blood and the Force surged through her veins as her lungs heaved the dry air.

That she'd managed to strike Ongye moments ago in her attempt to keep him at bay registered at a superficial level. Ongye was wounded. This could benefit her in battle; but even a wounded animal could kill.

Drips of blood pooled beneath her red face as the shallow gash along her face leaked. The bony nature of her people's skull might have spared her a more damaging blow, but only so much. That too hardly warranted attention right now.

A savage cry tore from the Red's lips as Ongye surged toward her. Risha shot forward to meet him, which amount to little more than a step or two. The saber in her right hand swept out to meet Ongye's to lock them together. Control the enemy's movements. Her opponent agreed for his part. The fireworks of their meeting and the screech of highly charged fields interfering with one another filled the air. The Sith Sword swung around to try and use the lock to her advantage, but the man managed to deflect it as well.

The fire of darkness burned openly on her sword, but the effect much as her shout was meant to rattle an enemy. Despite her angular features, bright eyes, and the clashing of blades even Risha was feeling the exertion of battle. It reminded her of the struggle to survive on the world where the sword had been found. Beasts eager to feast on her blood and bones. Several had come close. Some left Risha with only enough strength to seek shelter and nurse her wounds. A part of her stoked by the blade in her hand salivated at the thought of finding such conflict once more.

Both blades slammed together and pressed down on Ongye's saber; the Sith's eyes lit by the explosion of energy of their blades. The man managed to land a kick to her midsection as she was preoccupied with forcing him to the ground, however. It failed to knock the breath from her lungs as Ongye intended, but it did force her back a step from the blow.

Risha recovered her footing and continued to press the attack. The saber swept in to engage Ongye's, while the sword was thrust forward. She'd try to get under the man's guard, if she could. Potentially lethal outcome aside, a part of the Pureblood was beginning to enjoy this open and honest form of communication. And despite the growing desire to empty the man of every drop of blood, Risha would still prefer Ongye live so they could share more conversations like this one. Not to mention discuss his unique ability to 'devour' the Force.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker

 

[Ongye-Ui Miutigheid]

Moments of collective silence filled with speechless song. The dance of shimmering blades faceted a gem of kinship. Harnessing long forgotten feelings that eliminated fear. Risha was an enigma yet understood, but as they fought, Ongye listened to her unspoken tale. Encounters which nurtured the ferocious fire of combative passion. Her people whom surpassed physical dependency for magic. What was Ongye but an unwelcome roach crawling over their monasteries. Syphoning their knowledge but never regarding history. With this conclusion came a loss of passion for triumph. Their swords locked in place. Risha’s counter pushed him down. However, when presented with an opening, his kick personified need. Wants of a man whom long ago lost desire. Verifiably alone. Pushing Risha away like a reclusive klutz. What mattered most in this selfish realm was continuing their waltz. Demanding that words of a warrior proceed spoken dialect. Say no man, nor woman, that those whom exchange are simply fighting.

Lost friends from origins unknown. Ongye founded this longing shortly after becoming entangled by the motions of battle. Charging forward came this estranged figure. Yet Ongye wasn’t ready. Dwelling deeply on finites best left till a conclusion is met. The flames of her saber ignited in a cascading rain of embers, meeting Ongye’s sword. Announcing that ultimately it was futile. For he had no defense now and the tangible steel penetrated forth. They looked at one another for a moment. Ongye surmised that Risha was beautiful. From the tendrils on her brow to high cheekbones that signified her species. Even her skin color was exotic and meaningful. The tip of her weapon seemed to slowly dig into his right pectoral. Realistically it was just an important moment. Where he looked upon her as something more. Potential wasted on Korriban. Someone who could truly break chains.

As armor crumpled, blood sprayed. Risha deserved more than what Ongye was giving her. With every ounce left, He’d give it. The sword ripped away bringing trails of blood in suit. Enough strength pooled itself to bidden him forward. Still weakening with every drop that landed. Confessing dismay should their encounter conclude so prematurely. The blade of his saber dropped to face the ground. Angling itself back at twenty degrees. Then following an upswing. Trying to knock her swords away. Idealistic in his abilities. Meager and unassuming nonetheless. Hypostasized naught a man but a void. His attack would miss its target, failing horribly to strike. Ongye chuckled a bit at his folly.

@Nyxova

 

[Risha Sharro]

Risha shifted her weight away from Ongye as she moved away from his strike. Her knees bent in case she needed to quickly evade a twist to the man's offensive swing. Both blades escaped his saber's grasp; her saber humming as it twirled beside her. It had been a fair move. In other circumstances she expected the man would have cast his opponent's guard aside and skewered them -- much as she'd demonstrated to the student that'd occupied this room not long ago.

With the strike so straight forward, however, and only a slight shift in footing needed Risha was poised for an easy counter. Yet even in his present condition the man managed to elude the Pureblood's blow. Her saber had swept in to clash with his. Another explosion of energy that made clear a warrior's intent.

The sword in Risha's left hand burned. The darkness that dwelt in it burned. Dilated amber eyes consumed every ounce of light to capture her prey's movements. Kill, it whispered. A voice hissed from beyond life, beyond death. Murderous intent poured into the blade in its making or by its prior owner(s). The first time she'd laid hands on it that voice had been deafening; Risha had so casually murdered the only other survivor of the crash. It'd been his fault. Man had wanted to kill her for the same reason -- to claim the sword in dire need of someone to wield it. Only she'd gotten there first. It had diminished in volume since, but it was always present; times like these had it crawling up her arm toward her ear while it sought to set her heart ablaze. Kill. Watch the blood pool on the floor. Watch it spatter.

It was becoming more difficult to ignore that urge. Even as Ongye devoured the Force, it began to swell around Risha.

"Wodichu."

The alchemical flames flared out at the sound of a single word. Whether her blades continued to assail Ongye now rested with the man's next action. With the frenzy held back, she took notice of his physical condition. It would not be ideal if the man died before they could discuss his condition. But she wouldn't let him slit her throat; there was no misplaced sympathy and dropped guard anxious to embrace death.

@Kur Harwutma @christhebarker