Ask Umbara Exercising Our Demons

[Ayomi Jakarta]

Things had been changing in the Sith Order as of late. Former masters were dropping like flies, showing themselves to be either traitors or inadequate in light of a rising group of champions. Hell, even the chatty Pureblood Trodai had begun to make a name for himself as an acolyte and now a champion since he'd met Ayomi early in his career. With all that, what had Ayomi accomplished? The holocron from G'wenee on a trip with the gorgeous and powerful Caerllion was yet to be fully explored, and cementing Sith influence on Cotellier was an achievement, but what else did they have to show from their time as a champion? Even Cotellier seemed like such a long time ago now, with Karys graduating to a champion and taking out two other Sith as he claimed his own power, including the third member of that mission, the Echani Param.

Needless to say, Ayomi was angry; not at anyone else, but on themselves. They'd been treading water as acolytes rose up and surpased them, not only failing to do much of interest for the Order as a whole but failing more to progress their own power. If recent events were anything to go by, it was that kind of attitude and failure that got you killed. Not that the Tiefling had an rivals to speak of; quite simply, they weren't a threat to anyone right now. Just another champion of no name or consequence. A master not of lightsaber forms or a planet, but a master of failure and weakness.

A loud snapping sound cracked through the air of the empty Umbaran Academy gym as Ayomi's tape-wrapped fist smashed through the punching bag they'd been laying into while they let their thoughts run through their head. A quiet hissing sound broke the silence as sand poured from the new hole in the punching bag. The firece yellow of the Tiefling's irises blazed in contrast to the deep red of their sclera as they moved over to a new punching bag, toned arm muscles exposed by the simple black tank top the champion wore with a pair of workout shorts. A new series of heavy, rage-fueled punches began as Ayomi began pounding out their frustrations once again.

@Apollyon

 

[Karys]

It was Thursday, that meant legs and glutes day for Karys. He’d come to the Umbaran gym to get a decent pump on, but he was finding that difficult. Normally, Anai would use the Force to add weight onto a fully racked bar, it was the only way Karys could bulk. Unfortunately, Anai was busy today, and so Karys had opted to start his cut routine.

He fucking hated it.

As Karys strode out from the locker room, in his grey tank, orange workout shorts, and a pair of grey running shoes. Aside from this, he had a pair of golden lip studs in, a goldenloop in his left nostril, and a white plastic ring on his wedding finger.

Karys had opted to start his routine with some light boxing to his heart rate up. The sound of a punching bag crashing as he entered the room told him that likely wasn’t happening.

“Could you chill the fuck ou-“

Karys’ words caught themselves as he recognized the figure before him, it was Ayomi. Normally, he’d be happy to see them but they seemed kinda pissed right now. Evident by the hole they’d put through a punching bag.

“You know the academy will make you replace that right?” He asked, his baritone voice echoing in the empty room. Karys smirked as he walked in, grabbed the 200 lbs bag and set it up to begin his workout.

If Ayomi wanted to chat, he was always down. If they didn’t, he’d leave them to it. He was here for a workout after all, not a social call.

@René

 

[Ayomi Jakarta]

Lost in their own world, Ayomi didn't even notice anyone else enter the room until they spoke, a slight anger in the tone. Before it could finish the champion spun around, ready to throw hands with whoever was there. "Listen here you-" they stopped just after the Pureblood did, recognizing Karys almost immediately; he was continuing to grow significantly, and it was quite the change. They turned back to their own punching bag, hitting it with a few more punches while he talked. "Oh, I've replaced plenty at this point." they responded.

Ayomi continued for another few minutes, laying into the punching bag with a series of punches and kicks as the voice in their head continued to berate them. Case in point, right next to them was Karys himself, looking like he could snap a speeder bike in half. "So uh..." the Tiefling began in between punches, "no flirty comments this time? No- how do you say it again?" they paused. <Little bird?> Ayomi added in ur-Kittât, as the Pureblood had done in the past. Not that they wanted him to lay on his charm - probably - but they were prodding, looking to see just how and why he'd changed. Karys' pure physical transformation was one thing, but he gave off a different energy than he had the last time they'd talked on Nar Shaddaa.

Not Ayomi though; in all the time that had passed, nothing had changed. The Tiefling grit their teeth and drew upon their rage, their fist smashing through the punching bag and exiting the other side. They exhaled and pulled their arm out, observing the mess they'd made as sand now poured from two larger holes than the one they'd just made in the previous bag. "Maybe I should take a breather before the Academy takes all my credits to pay for replacements." they added.

@Apollyon

 

[Karys]

Karys smirked at Ayomi’s comment about having replaced plenty. He didn’t even bother to start his warm up, instead he watched Ayomi as they vented their frustrations out on a punching bag. Something was clearly bothering them and he figured they were close enough that he was supposed to care. So he listened as they questioned why he hadn’t flirted with them as he’d done in the past. He cocked an eyebrow ridge at that, did they desire attention?

“Scarcity creates value.” He replied calmly but bluntly. He wouldn’t explain further than that nor would he give them that attention if they sought it. “Plus, you and Caer. Aren’t you two an item?” He asked. “And why are you so twisted up?” He asked them.

With that Karys would start his warm up. Starting his blows more gentle and slowly ramping up each hit. However, Karys remained aware of his own strength and avoided putting holes through the bag…unlike Ayomi.

@René

 

[Ayomi Jakarta]

It seemed Karys really had matured. He was much more intentional with his words, his tone, his facial expressions. And yet it wouldn't be an encounter with the hulking Pureblood if he didn't catch Ayomi off guard, this time with his question about Caerllion. An intense blush turned their face bright purple as the Annfyn invaded the Tiefling's thoughts. His curly raven hair and his gorgeous matching eyes... the way he'd held onto them on G'wenee... the way he talked about them... "W-w-we're not—I'm not—it's just—we..." they stuttered in rapid succession, pausing to take a breath and regain their composure. "We're Sith," they finally managed to say in a flat tone, "nothing like that could ever work out." There was the slightest hint of sadness in Ayomi's voice that Karys might notice if he was really paying attention, but it was stated as the inevitable fact the champion believed it to be.

How to address the Pureblood's following question though, Ayomi was unsure. This was not the fun-loving acolyte they'd met above Cotellier way back when, but a seasoned Sith who'd trained under that admittedly powerful prick Azar and who'd already eliminated two weaker rivals. Someone who held the favor of the Dark Lord herself. Could he be trusted not to take the chance to eliminate them too? The Tiefling studied him for a few moments that seemed to move in slow motion, watching his face, his posture, attempting to gain insight into his thoughts. Maybe that lacking trust was exactly what they needed. Karys was the Sith Ayomi sought to become, so who better to give them the push they needed.

"I'd only been a champion a few months before we met that first time." They began, watching the Pureblood's expressions carefully for any sign of hostility as they continued. "Since then I've accomplished nothing, become too distracted by my desire to master the art of dueling. But I'm a Sith, not an artist. I've become distracted chasing people, allowing myself to feel things I shouldn't—instead of building power for myself or the Order. I've been surpassed by you, even by that brat Wrean you trained. I'm weak, I'm effective, useless to everyone. I could die tomorrow and nobody would blink an eye; and rightfully so. You could cut me down right here and you'd probably be praised for culling the weeds from the Order."

Ayomi turned away, eyes blazing yellow with pure hatred for nobody but themselves. Their pointed tail flicked angrily back and forth while their right hand clenched into a fist, sharpened nails piercing through the white hand wrappings and drew black blood to the surface. Thin wisps of smoke rose from the unclenched fingers of the Tiefling's left hand, though they didn't notice.

They turned back to stare at the slow line of sand still pouring from the punching bag they'd previously broken, their voice slightly uneven as they spoke again. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this. What even are we to each other besides inherent rivals?... this was a mistake."

@Apollyon

 

[Karys]

Karys stared blankly at Ayomi as they began. Something about being a Sith meant no relationships. Karys was married, he wore a wedding band on his finger even now. In fact, he was happily married with a relatively healthy relationship. But he didn’t speak, he let them blabber on.

However when Ayomi began to whine about being a failure, Karys internally sighed. Why did people think they could just do this with him? Asking what was wrong was clearly a mistake. Ayomi cried about everything and everyone. Then they mentioned his former apprentice, Vossari who he’d trained to be a true Sith unlike their failure of an apprentice, Feifi.

“…I've been surpassed by you, even by that brat Wrean you trained. I'm we-“

“I’m not your therapist.” Karys interrupted in complete disinterest.

He’d come here for a work out, not to listen to an exposition and trauma dump. Ayomi claimed to be Sith, that meant they needed to sort their own shit out. He wasn’t there to handhold the weak and he didn’t intend to. He’d pluck his punching bag from where it hung and put it back up, then he’d leave to go for a run on a treadmill or something.

Anything but listening to the mewling of his lessers.

/exitthread

@René

 

[Ayomi Jakarta]

Karys' indifference came as little surprise; he was better than them. Ayomi stayed still with their back turned as he picked up and left, finally unclenching their fist after he'd moved. Small drops of black blood dripped onto the floor from the tips of the Tiefling's pointed nails while they packed their own bag and left the room without any further acknowledgment. Fuck the punching bags, the academy could replace them itself for all they cared.

The champion walked through the dim halls of the academy, rage roiling inside them like a turbulent storm. Opening their mouth had been a waste of time. What the hell had they been expecting to happen, Karys was gonna tell them it would all be ok? That he'd go out of his way to help them? This was the same man who'd nearly killed Nevizkas over fighting his apprentice, and Ayomi might've met the same fate if not for how worthless they were in the Pureblood's eyes. They weren't even worthy of death; it would be a waste of effort for Karys to kill them. Each thought and realization burned deep into the Tiefling's mind, their irises a golden yellow as their connection to the Dark Side fed on their own self hatred. The faint smoke emanating from their fingertips thickened as sparks leapt between them, but remained unnoticed amidst Ayomi's singular focus on their rage.

By the time they reached the hangar the turbulent storm of rage inside them hand risen to a tipping point, barely held back by the thinnest strings of control. The Sith looked around the hangar, eyes confirming that they were alone save for a few roaming maintenance droids. Ayomi let go of the raging hatred within themselves, the storm becoming real as a shockwave of unrestrained, directionless Force energy burst from the Sith. Nearby metal crates, cables, and tools flew backwards, a strained scream accompanying the display. The Dark Side swirled around them and finally took physical form as bright violet bolts of lightning erupted from the Tiefling's outstretched left hand, raw energy arcing through the air. The lightning flew in several directions, striking the wall, blowing out a few lights, and frying an unlucky pit droid who'd made the mistake of staying too close to the enraged champion. The thick smell of ozone in the air was soon joined by that of burnt flesh as the skin on Ayomi's hand sizzled and pealed back from the heat and intensity of the lightning. The pain pulled them back to the present moment, gazing at the uncontrolled burst with wide eyes as they struggled to stop it. They focused on their rampant anger, their hatred, their fear, putting it back into a mental box as the flow of energy came to a stop. Ayomi's hand smoked, the searing pain of blackened, blistered skin finally setting in. Jagged burns, mimicking the lightning bolts that had produced them, ran the length of the Tiefling's forearm.

Ayomi frowned, before grimacing as they touched the tender skin. That was... unexpected. They'd never been able to produce lighting before, much less lightning that powerful, and they'd paid the price; yet perhaps it was a step towards something more. They were weak. They were a failure. But they refused to stay that way. They were a Sith.

/end thread