The Dark Academy on Korriban

She corrected it, adopting a light back-forth swing, lekku adding to the ambience, before trying to cut him horizontally on the outside of his swordhand.

The attack was blocked, in the standard way, and from the basic stance he had shown her, stepping back and at an angle to present the front of his body to her blade. "Ha, ha, ha, ha. You can't hurt Zeno the Hutt," he says with a faux hutt-like voice. "More anger."

She shrieked like a banshee and her lekku rose from the back of her head into a snake-like crawl across the air. She played stupid, as if repeating the same mistake, but a the last moment the strike was quickly redirected to the legs.

The excellent footwork of the sith-blood, combined with a surge in the force, made it easy for him to do a small back flip allowing the blade to pass under him. "Keep trying... it entertains Zeno the hutt," he says with an evil smirk.

She raged, and tried almost tirelessly, but with each missed lash it was becoming more than apparent that she was facing a far superior fighter. She tried learning from her failures until she ran herself into near-exhaustion.

"One day, Lord Deathwright, I'll be able to get you."

She fell back heaving, her lekku limping.

"But it is not today."

"I believe you," he says with a nod, no smirk or joking. "Especially if you keep training. You have to be persistent... driven. I fought to exhaustion and was knocked unconscious more times than I could count by my tutor. The day I first struck him in return still sticks in my mind. He said to me, 'Finally you little shit. Now I can get real.' And from there it got worse. I'm still nowhere near his match."

"At the end of the day what counts is whether you have had the superior skill to overcome opposition."

Moyr wiped saliva from her mouth. Her gaze was frenetic.

"A Sith often overcomes with lightsaber. So I'll master this weapon. Because I have ever refused to succumb."

"You're feeling the edge," he says, looking at her. "You'll have to get used to that. It's so much more overwhelming in a life or death battle. Embrace it. I feel it whenever I draw my sword, even now. But you have to tame it like you would a beast so you can let it loose when it's necessary."

"It sounds like playing to my nature. I suppose it's fortuitous that I embrace these Sith teachings instinctively."

She grinned, then laughed throatily, straightening and smoothing the tapes over her sweating body.

"I want to continue spars with you, Lord Deathwright, in addition to the training with Jaina Von. You solicit my hate in a very palpable way."

"Glad to continue sparring. Though I'm not sure how I feel about soliciting your hate," he says with a grin. "Hopefully not so much that you kill me in my sleep. It's an effective way to end an enemy but it's incredibly inconvenient to die."

"Unless you make a real effort to look like a Hutt you're safe."

She chuckled throatily, shaking some sweat off her forehead. Not having body hair was sometimes inconvenient.

"I guess I'm safe. I really don't want to make myself look like a giant pile of shit. Those slugs are pretty much the epitome of ugly," he says with a chuckle of his own.

"They truly are. Besides, unless it would be a tattoo, I prefer how you look now."

She said with a small smirk as she knelt to pick up her cloak.

He smirks, "That's not saying much when comparing someone to a hutt."

"So you're a fan of tattoos then? I've always been more of a brand and scar kind of guy myself."

"Soliciting compliments now, Lord Deathwright? Maybe next time, when I am in a mood to contemplate your comeliness."

She rose from the balls of her feet, through gradual straightening of a curvy S.

"For me scars are like medals, while tattoos are guises."

"Not soliciting, just making an observation of a comment that could have been a bit backhanded," he says with a wider smile that shows he found humor with such things. "Among the Deathwrights such compliments are given as a display of camaraderie."

"And I would agree on tattoos that are for aesthetic reasons. But sometimes they're just a chronicle or story of exploits. Another tradition of Deathwrights is to tattoo a small dagger somewhere on your body for each ship-to-ship combat kill."

"I shall remember to compliment you that way then."

She wrapped herself in her cloak, chuckling.

"Has any Deathwright run out of skin?"

"More than a few," he replies. "The members of the Capital defense squadron are more black than flesh colored. My kills in training don't count as combat kills though, so I have yet to get my first dagger."

"Quite a legacy to live up. I could not be further from that. I am in uncharted waters of making my own path. Though Lord Hoshi is an indirect inspiration."

"There's something to be said for charting your own path," he replies. "Does a lot to prove a person's worth. And I suspect the freedom of doing so is something you appreciate."

"Immensely. I would have it no other way, or trade it for this or that privilege."

She admitted.

"Freedom gives me power to break the ceilings."

"More like freedom gives you the chance to break them, and power gives you the strength," he says with a grin. "But yes."

"You need both. There are plenty of people that walk freely but are kept down because they don't have the power to rise."

She tapped her nostril.

"I have a nose for sources of power."

She then straightened in full.

"In the weeks to come you'll see if I just boast or have the real penchant for empowerment. For now, let's not hold up the grounds."

"I don't doubt that," he replies with a chuckle. "Just make sure you have enough for each ceiling you look to break through."

"Join me for some delicious nutrient paste?" he says turning towards the dormitories.

She shook her head as they headed out.

"Not this time. In the future you'll have a better chance of me agreeing if it were a real dinner at the #66."

She added in a joking tone.