Social Games The Rancor Pit (EUC Dueling thread)

IC: Darth Azathoth

There was a strange dark tranquility in the heart of Azathoth in this moment, as he was thrown back by the blast of Insipid. Moving back with a thunderous force expected before becoming slowed, almost as if floating as he pushed off the ground and looked to Insipid from across the Pit.

He could feel it, the open emotion of Insipid, one so guarded, so secretive, and now revealed, at least in part. And so Azathoth's own emotions became unloaded. His eagerness to make Insipid proud, his unspoken brotherly affection for Tobbi and Kato, how he viewed Insipid, all the way back stretching to his first time wandering the halls of the Sith Temple, hoping secretly in his heart that Insipid would select him to be his apprentice and the dark joy in his heart when that came to pass. Azathoth never knew a true father... for all tense and purposes Insipid was his father.

He stood, his long mangled hair flowing by him as he looked to Insipid.

He darted toward him again, coming in close in a single movement, his words a whisper in the wind.

"Watch me fly Father," his hand raised up as he blasted against Insipid in-kind, a deep controlled blast of the Force, and yet mirrored Insipid's. No intent to harm or to kill. A blast of his own, a blast of his emotion.

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IC: Tormentum
The Stands

The Peon on bended knee watched as the God Emperor and his Heir faced one another in the ruins of the Pit.

As the anticipated duel between God and the Sun begun, Tormentum heard another symphony in the Force:



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Azathoth felt it. He felt all of it. The pain of Insipid, and his heart. The resolve of the Emperor. Of the thankless duty, he undertook. For him... for the Sith. And he felt it... confirmed... not mystified. What he was wanted to be true, but was too cautious... too political to enact, to bellow allowed, but now Insipid confirmed it. Made it true and realized.

Azathoth was the Emperor's Heir.
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And so Azathoth reached into the very depths of his soul. Growing, rising, the madness in his heart drawing into it as he felt the darkness of the Sith flow into him.

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He heard it all, the madness, the glory, the chaos, the possibilities before him. There were no tricks, no schemes, no long complicated pontifications... there was just him and Insipid. At this moment they understood one another, their bond as Father and Son realized.

And so Azathoth came at Insipid with all that he had. Lightning crackled around him and lept to Insipid, metal singing and shining through the air as it poured down from the sky, flowing out of Azathoth and into Insipid. And his blade, his crimson blade held tightly in his hand came plunging in, aimed at Insipid's heart.

This was the Way of the Sith.

From death comes rebirth.

From destruction comes newfound purpose.

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IC: Tormentum
The Stands

The Titan Peon watched as Father and Sun (Son) wrestled with one another in the Force. Was Lord Azathoth seeking a blessing or something more? Was the musings and mind of the Emperor a taste of the changes to come? All Tormentum knew for certain is what he saw, and he saw the beauty of pain, of suffering, of anguish, and anger. The Jedi and most sentients avoided such virtues, and that is why they were weak. To become great one must embrace the brokenness, and then build a anew. Life was agony, with lapses of pleasure that were as fleeting as the feathers of a Sith Warbird; allowing none to fly. No, passion derived from pain created wings.

The Peon drank in this lesson, offering up a prayer to the Immortal Gods, that he may echo his Emperor and his Heir, and become.. The Force be willing.. their blade, their tool.. in whatever world that would be forged next.

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IC: Darth Azathoth

The now bound son simply smiled... A rare genuine smile as he looked toward's Insipid. His arms bound, his throat constricted as he lay there. He breathed quietly, short, restricted breaths as began to speak.

"So what now, father, what is the pathway before us?"

It was a simple question, the first of many. He bore no anger still towards Insipid, if this had happened even mere weeks ago there would be nothing but anger and frustration in Azathoth's heart. But there was not... not for Insipid.

There was simply what Azathoth always described himself... patience.

And so he waited... waited for Insipid's response.

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IC: Darth Impetuous

I have lain waste to the Impetuous Tobbi.

Interesting.

Impetuous had long recovered from his injuries, from Bellorum removing the poison from his body. Once he felt he could move again, he quickly grabbed Azathoth's beskar needles that laid in front of him before being thrown into the stands by the latter.

After injecting himself with the succor, being reinvigorated, and operating at peak capacity, Impetuous still did nothing, only watching and observing. Impetuous was waiting for his master to address him, but such a moment never came; instead, Impetuous saw the return of Kato Sai Ban and the burning and flaying of Lord Ravenous.

Impetuous still didn't comment on the situation nor made any moves to interrupt, a move unlike "the Impetuous one."

But Impetuous has come to one of many realizations, none of which he would reveal. All that could be said was that Impetuous was looking at the ticking of the clock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Plans within plans.

Where did they come from, where did they go? Only Impetuous would know. So that if his plans failed, shame and disappointment, no one would bestow.

Because when Impetuous first came into the empire, he had wanted things to go one way, but the next thing Impetuous knew, his career would not go as he intended, far from it.

Did any of it have any meaning?

Impetuous searched for that, became obsessed with it, and found his answer, no.

Impetuous could only watch as all the ardor slowly leaked from his soul and be replaced with something darker.

Darker yet darker.

The result; nothing for now.

Impetuous then looked over to Kato; a rematch was in order, that's for sure. But Impetuous could only find nothing but humor in the excitement of the peon. The irony was not lost on Impetuous. So the "Impetuous one" resigned himself to watch, listen and learn once more as Azathoth dueled the Emperor.

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Azathoth
Understanding

Azathoth felt he come down to the ground but not the strong destructive force one would except. He would feel the lightning come in, electrifying him as the robes then burned. Burning his robes, the cloak.... burning his soul... his heart.

His mind reaching out to Insipid as he felt this all around him.

I already have been...

He said a chuckle in his mind... as it was true as Insipid had always been training Azathoth. The opposite perhaps true.

The pathway before Azathoth he both understood and were a mystery to him. Pieces but not the whole... partial understanding.

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Azathoth
Need

The battered Sith looked to Insipid, body burning as he listened to the words of Insipid. Their meaning a multitude of possibilities, but there was one the Sith clung to. His eyes flashing wide with purpose as he attempted to stand. His sheer force of will in discord with his injuries. His mind, body and will one as he cried out, his resolve absolute. His loyalty reaffirmed.

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"Because we need you to,"
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His own meaning matching the hydra-like design of Insipid's words, his will calling out to his once master... to his father.

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IC: Azathoth

Azathoth felt the cloak burn to ashes, a cold chill coming from him to extinguish any remaining flames around him. His hand calling out to his saber once more, dropped when he was restrained by the cloak.

He looked to Insipid, a dip of his head as the quiet hum of their blades resonated throughout the air. The intention of Insipid of apparent. The Order was to be rebuilt and so was Azathoth. Blade to blade he wanted and blade to blade he would give him.

A dart as Azathoth closed in, the blade coming in with a swift strike to his side, and then again. Controlled, precise strikes, each of them capable of killing a man... but Insipid was no mere man. The blade had been gifted to him by Insipid, although then he knew him as Zelmar. It was one of his first major milestones as a Sith. Corrupting the will of it until it bled. And now he was here, dueling with Insipid for the first time... how far he had come... how far they had both come. The memory played in connection toward Insipid. A shared event now continuing in its journey, as they both were now.

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IC: Tormentum
“Learning to Fly, but Aint Got Wings.” (Jeff Lynne and Tom Petty)



In a split second the stands gave way, glass danced over head and all began to fall. The lower mezzanine, which Tormentum had been kneeling at, and overlooking the railing of concrete, now gave way, and the Titan began to fall.
He had heard that one must fall to the dark side, it had never dawned on him it being literal.

As the Peon soared he saw a great mushroom of dust, a cloud of black smoke from the debris crashing. Glass flew past and shards struck his helm, embedding in the metal.

“Now at the end.. of the pit.. I understand.”

Tormentum disappeared into tempest of debris.

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IC: Azathoth
Eyebrow raise

Azathoth smiled at Insipid's words, he had noted the use of Insipid's defensive Soresu chasing after him as the blade increased in length, a surprise to his eyes. But then followed by an unfettered determination. Coming in once more with Vaapad... his movement chaotic... disconnected... or at least seemingly so. Order in chaos... that is what Azathoth always believed... or perhaps order in the guise of chaos, born of it. Coming into the close the gap trying to negate the advantage Insipid had with his longer blade.

He eyed his left metallic arm for a moment contemplating for a brief moment... but then decided against it... It had been too long, far too long since he had enjoyed a pure lightsaber duel, and so he would continue in that joy.

"You expected me not to?" he jested, the sanctity of this moment not lost on him as he came in once more.

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IC: Azathoth

A wry grin registered on Azathoth's face as he saw the quick, precise movement come in, evocative of that of Makashi, countering it with Djem So that morphed into a more offensive technique as was its nature. Focusing on his raw physical strength as he gripped the blade with both hands, his mechanical hand had made him ambidextrous which when changed in the middle of a duel could confuse your foe as your strikes changed in their nature, the new dominant hand shifting the flow of combat.

And so Azathoth would demonstrate his strength... prove himself to all that were there and all that was not.

A similar lesson from Insipid now played in his mind, that of what he asked the most ideal Sith would be...

Azathoth had answered simply that it would be that they who would embody the pathway of the Assassin, Sorcerer and Warrior... and further pursuits to the absolute fullest. Every ideal, every role possible is able to carry out to the utmost capability.

Which is why Azathoth had never focused on one singular path... meddling them together where he was him, himself... Azathoth the Sith. Assassin, Sorcerer, and Warrior. All Sith knew this in their hearts despite the attempts to categorize and subdivide the kinds of Sith that existed...for they all wanted and sought the same thing.

Power

As all great Sith should.

As did Insipid.

A wellspring of pride welled up within the Emperor's heir as fueling into his attacks as he enjoyed the combat immensely, as all those there would be able to feel it. Most of all Insipid himself.

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OOC: This move was established privately long ago as something Azathoth could do with the GMs of Dark Reach... this just happens to be the first time he is using it.

IC: Darth Azathoth

Azathoth's mechanical arm was strong and versatile as he was, it had was both a blessing and a curse in many ways. But wasn't power always that way?

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Both of Azathoth's arm were locked into contact with his hilt, seemingly unable to do anything to stop the new blade entering the fray without having to worry about the other. But the ever cunning Azathoth had a trick of his own. His arm would spilt in two, an upper and lower half each with two fingers and a thumb, and each just as fast as before. The upper half would remain gripping his blade as the lower hand now came to grab at Insipid's wrist... either trying to grab and twist it out of the way or at the very least knock it away from Azathoth to stop the green blade from piercing his neck.

Azathoth grinning at his Master's attack. A trick traded for a trick... their inner assassins emerging.

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IC: Tormentum
Debris


In Shadow the soul of the Sith Peon sat. His helm was torn asunder, in shards, his forehead bruised, like a mount with crack like fissures making a web to his left eye. Something had broken the Titan’s fall, a tusk of ivory. Tormentum eyes opened like the bud of flowers, in them two orbs of flame in watery basins. The Peon felt a current of pain throughout his body, it spanned from his head to his feet. The Titan tore the rest of mangled metal from his face, only two metal vertical frames around where the visor did reside remained.

Coughing up soot the Sith Peon gasped for air, only to take in more smoldering fumes from the collapsed arena. Rising to a knee, he felt his nerves burn, and yet he commanded his limbs that tried to rebel. Peering through the wreckage, a red glowing iris scanned the Sith Peon and then drew closer, its obsidian metal frame hovering, a mechanical voice uttering.

“Medical assistance, do you need medical assistance?”

Tormentum eyed the droid as he tried to rise to his feet stumbling. The droid swooped in to help, but the Titan pushed back the machine with his hand. His face a maze of scars, and a look that conveyed contempt, thay conveyed torment.

The Peon looked down at the tusk that had broken his helm, it was connected to a skull with two other horns, a Reek. Tormentum took hold of it and began to limp away, wading through debris as the droid protested. He’d return to the Temple, leave the Emperor to his Heir, give them privacy.

There was no despair, The Sith Peon was altered, the fall was like that into a coffin, the debris like the dirt where he laid buried. There was no mistaking it, the Titan Sith was changed by this blow, he left salvaging the Reek bone from The Rancor Pit that now had ceased to exist.

-Exit Tormentum, heading back to the Sith Temple-

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IC: Azathoth
Tricks

Azathoth would watch the rapid movements of Insipid. At this point the young man had functionally three arms, two on his left and one on his right, a blade on each sight. Grenn and Red reflecting each other.

A movement as watched Insipid come in with his blade for Azathoth's left shoulder, the green blade moving to intercept the lightsaber, as a blaster bolt fired. Azathoth seeing it, but was not able to move his red blade in his right fast enough to deflect, the blaster fire, hitting Azathoth, piercing him, but Azathoth was able to turn slightly so the blaster fire did not hit its intended target. Resulting in a painful but ultimately non-fatal wound.

The young Sith grunted in pain, chuckling slightly, as he focused on the pain, letting it flow through him, fueling him.

"I thought you wanted a simple lightsaber duel...father," he said a wry grin on his face as came in closer in the next moment. The lightsaber in his left coiling to snag around Insipid's blade. Azathoth reversing the grip on his right to stab at the blaster, single-handedly, his other left hand reaching into his robes to throw a dart at Insipid, a beskar dart... but without any use of the Force to increase its speed just the firm, powerful flick of the mechanical wrist.

"My frustrations run deep... can you cast them out?"

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