Staying sharp (open)

[Vek]

-The red light of the early morning cast a long shadow of the man from the base of the south wall as he stood on the stony path alaong the battlements. His dark robes thrown over a merlon, his tunic and shoes as well; his ritual of the dusk and dawn, wearing only troussers, tranning his body with the biting cool of the morning air and the hard stones of the floor.

He was carying out a string of movements, sometimes very slow and sometimes very fast. He used an inactive vibroblade for now but he worked these very skills in the hope of one day taking earning his lightsaber.

His movements began to open up, the footwork taking a full-scale turn as it moved from standing practice to a full body workout. His informal style had callings to the Ataru style but it showed a severe imbalance of strike points with concentrations of Cho Sun, Sai Cha and especialy sai Tok.
He hand no trainning in the force-users arts but reading texts had informed him of the natural similarities between the ancient fighting sytems and his own mechanism of staying alive in the gladiator pits back home. His movements where acrobatic and wide at points but focusing down to small areas at points before exploding outward again; the war-dancer style, as his people once called it, was all about following the flow of combat, letting the flow decide when to strike and when not to.

He was messy, it was messy back in the pits, he needed to be messy then; he practiced his skills in the hope of finding a balance for the life outside but at the very least he was a fighter who needed to keep his skills sharp.-

[Zereth Lancer]

A cloaked figure watched from the shadows of a half destroyed stone pillar. His blood red eyes looked out from under the hood of his cloak, following the young man’s every move. The fighting styles were strange to him, but he found it interesting to watch. Zereth Lancer had come out for similar reasons a swell. He enjoyed a quick run in the cool air. His presence was masked from the senses of most force users, an ability that had served him well in his recent years. To the outside world he didn’t exist. The shadows even seemed to bend to his will, warping around him, hiding him in the shadows.

He stood there, leaning against the pillar, for an eternity, watching the young man. Zereth’s own favorite fighting style was Ninjutsu, a combination of stealth and weapon skill. On his back he wore a katana of the finest steel, and all around his person were hidden weapons of all sorts. Most would often marvel how he moved so quietly for one weighed down with so much weaponry, it was a secret he intended to take to his grave, whenever that came. It was true that Zereth was far older then he appeared. He looked to be in his mid thirties, but in fact was nearer to the age of fifty. It was another of his secrets, one that only his most trusted allies ever knew.

Zereth noticed that the young man appeared to be finished for the moment. He detached himself from the shadows and into the light of the rising sun, his hands colliding in a clap of applause. “Bravo,” He said before clasping his hands behind his back, “I have not seen such weapon skill in quite some time.” Not since Pheonix whye He thought but said nothing on the matter. He was silent then, waiting to see the young man’s reaction to his words.

[Vek]

"I have not seen such weapon skill in quite some time."

-He placed the sword on the ground, right beside a bottle, which he picked up and took a gulp of water.-

"I would love to take the credit Sir, but where I came from, fighting badly just isn't an option."

-He had no idea who this was but he smelled like power, clearly a superior; he was used to calling authority figures Sir, a survival technique. It was not often he met people of greater ability but that's exactly why he came to join the Sith.

He threw a small towel over his shoulders as he proceded with some streches as he talked.-

"And I do not belive we have met Sir, I'm Vek Baalzephon."

-He paused his regime a momment as a matter of respect as he greated the man.
In his old days, improper respect for authorative figures was often punished with beatings and even summary executions.-

[Zereth Lancer]

Zereth remained silent for an uncomfortable amount of time before speaking. A sly smile passed across his face as if he knew something Vek didn’t, but it faded in an instant. “Zereth Lancer, Knight of this order.” He dropped and bent in an elegant bow that would have greatly injured a less dexterous person. As he rose he raised his hands to throw back his hood to reveal a stress lined face with red ringed eyes of a sleep deprived man and bushy brown hair that nearly came down to his shoulders. His blood red eyes looked Vek over from head to foot, sizing the man up and gauging his strength. Even though he knew that looks are deceiving, it was still a habit he had learned during his own training.

“How long have you been with us, Vek?” He asked as he moved closer, “Have you begun training yet?”

[Vek]

"No Sir, not yet; I have been a member of the order for only a matter of days."

-He resisted the urge to take any particular stance, the logical response to being sized up.-

"The oath is still fresh in my mouth, so far the only trainning I have partaken has been a solo orientation."

[Zereth Lancer]

"Solo Orientatio,, training oneself." Zereth said, many memories of his own training comming to mind. "I spent quite a few years training only by myself. My master had abondoned me and no other knight or master had the time to train me. Teaching yourself is not a bad thing. I don't possess the words or knowledge for which to explain it properly to you. But I would prefere to train alone then with a dozen masters."