A Fistful of Blood

[Jenova Savas]

Hard to believe that they had made it this far; after a hellish ordeal, a literal trial by combat, Jenova and @Zazai Ta'Resh were now being ferried across the galaxy, to Chandrila, the current location of the Matukai sect. This was not their original homeworld mind you, given their nomadic lifestyle, but for now it was their primary base of operation.

Jenova never visited the agricultural sphere personally but she knew marginally about the serene, lush planet. The two main continents were covered with rolling, grassy plains. One species of plant life was known locally as balmgrass, a type of grass that was soft to the touch. Contrary to the accursed swamps of Ord Radama, Chandrila was an idyllic world, with a temperate climate all year round. The winters were gentle whilst the summers were warm. Dry seasons were interspersed with mild drizzles, leading to a lack of drought. Even the winds were mild and the Chandrilans lived in harmony with nature, educated from birth in proper maintenance of a balanced ecosystem. The planet even sported huge Crystal Canyons, with bridges and gaps connecting them.

And hidden amongst the dense woodlands, the Matukai made camp.

Whilst nothing majorly advanced, it was functional. At the heart of the camp was a great stone formation, perhaps carved by the planet’s early ancestors. Rather than pitching tents and shanties, the Matukai crafted natural dens within the forest’s canvas. Some avid followers were already out in the fields, dutifully preforming their meditative combat; others looked on from their lookouts, observing the arrivals’ progress. Jenova and Zazai were amongst those ranks. The hybrid was cautious at first, unused to the pleasant utopia that surrounded her. There was a purity to this place. A balance. Something a Jedi could appreciate, but not Jenova.

She briefly glanced at Zazai, checking his progress. His leg wound had been dressed and treated yet she still left concern for him. The Matukai were not the most empathetic; they expected their disciples to overcome such physical limitations, simply seeing physical injuries has nothing more than obstacles to conquer. Soon they were expected to start their training, taking first steps into the Matukai world; there was eagerness within Jenova. Still, she was the wary. The elder, whilst allowing the pair’s admittance into the sect, did not seem wholly convinced. Even upon her knees, Jenova hadn’t entirely convinced him. Which begs the question…why did he allow them entry?

Glancing upwards, towards the tip of a gradual mound, stood the very elder she was thinking of. And he was not alone. With him were other sages of the sects, along with some of the instructors. They seem to talk amongst themselves, no doubt discussing the new arrivals, perhaps even laying claim to some who needed particular attention. The Matukai were nothing like the Jedi or Sith; they had no set guidelines or ethos. Even their ranked hierarchy was fluid at times, lacking progressive titles. There were elders and then were disciples. Nothing more, nothing less. The simplicity was to be expected. There was no profound philosophy or scholarly study, only practical applying and training.

At least the two of them wouldn’t have to suffer through longwinded lectures and lessons.

All they needed to learn would be done on the sparring ground. There they would uncover the Matukai secrets; how to channel the force whilst using the body as a focus, to how empower one’s self so that they would never grow tired or hungry, they’d even learn how augment their strength tenfold. So long as they were cautious.

The dark side was utterly absent here and in order to remain within the Matukai, neither Jenova nor Zazai could call on its power. Just temptation could prove challenging, especially for Zazai, as previously proven. Yet the amazon had faith in her red skinned companion. None were bettered suited to the task than he.

The first task for the new arrivals was to fashion their own shelters; they were shown examples and given some basic instruction. The rest was up to them. Jenova almost laughed at the task, finding it primitively childish. It was like they were make a font, a small little nest away from everyone else’s. The only benefit to this was that they would select their location, so long as it was within range of the rocks. It was rather curious thing to watch actually, looking at some of the shelters erected by the various aliens; a Togruta had nestled a platform within the trees, whilst a Twi’Lek had fashioned a grassy hut. Jenova herself had scouted a rocky crevice within the nearby mounds. She claimed it as her own, ensuring the hallowed cave was structurally sound and devoid of any beasties.

She couldn’t help but smile, thinking of how similar it was to that cave on Korriban; it was a passionate memory, one she shared with Zazai alone. He’d be welcome anytime.

The new arrivals were given a couple of hours to settle; soon they would begin their routine, assimilating to Matukai life. Sometimes they would hunt, other times they would train. If they were lucky enough, a sage may instruct them personally, but more often than not, they would be taught in small groups, under strict supervision. Ultimately, the Matukai way was simple. They did not hone their bodies for the pure physicality of it, they did it so that they could sharpen their minds as well, hone their spiritual harmony.

Jenova took the opportunity to gaze upon a small number of Matukai disciplines. They moved in unison with one another, having preformed their meditative combat for was seemed like years. Each strike was purposefully and precise, and with its motion, came stabs of the force, pushing through the glades of long grass. They were so focused, so fixated on their movements that it seemed like the whole world ceased to exist. Yet there was teacher there to observe them as well, a Zabrak. Every now and then, with tremendous force, he would fling a sizable stone at one or two of the practicing devotees. It would surely do damage, if it struck. But the rock never did. The discipline would break from formation and redirect the projectile. Some would catch it, crushing it within their grasp before returning to their routine.

Casting a glance at Zazai, Jenova couldn’t help but smile, “They won’t go easy on us, that’s for sure…”

 

[Zazai Ta'Resh]

They had been moved coreward to Chandrilla. Zazai had spent the journey resting his leg, trying to regain whatever strength he could for the trials ahead. He could weight on it easily enough, but it would be no small task for constant strenuous activity. He would need to play this as smart as possible if he had a chance to remain in the group. Part of him thought he should drop out, not drag Jenova down with him but a growing curiosity for these people pushed him to stay. Besides, he would never let those who had plotted against him get the satisfaction of seeing him get pushed out.

They had been given the day to construct their own shelter. Jenova moved to a small grouping of caves and chose one as her own. Zazai, chose a lower lying shelter near a small creek. The water was clear, the exact opposite of the swamps of their previous camps. He found a tree whose above-ground roots twisted to form a small den underneath the tree. He took nearby branches and patched up the holes and formed a crude bed mat. He then started a small fire, the smokeable to escape through the gaps in the roots. It was warm and would keep him out of the rain. He had stayed in worse shelters.

He rested again for a short time, pouring his focus onto his leg, hoping to heal it through sheer force of will. Normally, the source of pain could be used as a fount of power for the Sith, but in this place, he could not draw on such powers. They were here to learn a different way. If he wanted to succeed, he would have to do so alone.

He made is way back to the camp where his group was already gathering. He walked him beside his green-skinned companion, offering a nod in greeting. "It wouldn't be worth the trouble if they did." he said turning his attention back towards the exercises they would be doing. "At least we will know how to properly slay rocks when this is done." he said leaning closer and speaking just loud enough for Jenova's ears.

 

[Jenova Savas]

Jenova snigger's at Zazai's comment, though she tried to stifle it; despite their rather unorthodox arrival, the pair had succeeded in the first phase of the mission. Here they were, standing in the very compound of the Matukai sect. Soon they would begin their training, soon they would discover the secrets of the warrior tribe. To say she was excited would an understatement. Jenova was ecstatic. With every moment, her heart grew more temperate. She was eager to begin, even elbowing Zazai as they were beckoned over. "Who knows, maybe you'll learn something other than punching."

At the gathering of new acolytes, there was a dividing of groups. Some went with one instructor, whilst others went with another; reluctantly, Jenova and Zazai would find themselves separated. Whilst not visibly bothered, the hybrid was...anxious? She wasn't sure how to word this feeling, the one blossoming from her chest. She knew Zazai was still weakened from his leg wound; she didn't want to stray far, given his injury. The Matukai were an unforgiving sect; whilst not cruel or sadistic, the warriors rooted out weakness, seeking to temper it from the minds and souls of their followers. There would be no exceptions.

Stealing one last glance, Jenova marched off, hoping she and Zazai would meet later in the day.

However, as the morning came and kept, things were beginning to drag. Yet again Jenova felt one of the many waves of fatigue hit her with force. This was an unusual feeling for her, one she had not expected, especially given her usual stamina. But the Matukai training was far more taxing than expected; it wore at her muscles, tearing away at them with every single exercise. Suffice to say, there were no breaks, no periods of rest. You simply kept training, kept sparring, until your body gave out. Already a number of acolytes had fallen victim to the harsh conditions. Jenova would have felt pride at having outlasted them, but all she could focus on was staying conscious herself. Her body screamed for a reprieve, a moment of relief. But that meant acknowledging defeat, admitting to limiting; Jenova would not yield yet, not when she still had so much to move. So long as the force sustained her, so long as it preserved her, she would endure.

Yet when another series of training began, Jenova faltered, her control of force waning for but the briefest moment. And the instructor seized on it.

Jenova's scream sounded through the complex; it was a harrowing noise, one would curled the senses. She'd be struck. Hard. Though she had tried to protect herself from the blow, it had all been in vain; the sheer impact of the instructor's force imbued kick was enough to shatter bone. It sent Jenova hurtling back, her footing growing clumsy in an attempt to gain purchase. Her knees buckled as she slumped to the ground, her mangled arm laying limp in its socket.

At first the hybrid didn't even really register the damage which had been done to all. All she could acknowledge was the fact she had been injured, the fact the instructor had scored a decisive blow. Rage clouded her vision, enough to rouse her to feet. Yet no sooner had she stood did she find herself back on the floor, once more grounded by the looming Zabrak instructor. "Anger is not the way. Anger is not a tool, nor is it a weapon. Use the force to aid you, ask it to tell the wound you allowed your body to suffer."

She cursed the horn head viciously, at first not really heeding her words.

At her stubbornness, he merely dismissed her, turning his attention once more to remaining students. "Heal your arm. Then you may return."

@Raydo