Tav'eran stood, stripped to the waist, the top half of his form fitting body suit tied up above his hips, as he worked a slow meditative form of the ancient unarmed combative art favored by his gladitorial instructors on Neonach. His corded muscles rippling in the dying candle light, as he flowed from one form to the next, arms moving in perfect execution of each stance, his legs stepping from one position to the next with a dancers grace. From the outside looking in one would have seen a calm, focused, poised warrior. None would have imagined the turmoil that churned inside of him, invisible, unapparent in his graceful strides and movements. Slowly, bit by bit, he focused himself, fought down the chaos of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him as his movements grew faster, the Ri'Shok'Do coming to a close.
His body glistening with sweat, his chest heaving in exertion, he opened his eyes to find those same startlingly green orbs staring him in the face. The light of madness and purpose, warring in his mind, flashing in their depths as the mirror in his arming and training chamber caught his reflection. With a smile he saw that one of the Order serfs was standing in the door way to the room, eyes respectfully averted, awaiting his instruction, the rolling armor stand holding his armor waiting in arms reach. Grabbing a towel from the mirror stand, Tav'eran wiped the moisture from his arms and chest before sliding his arms into the upper part of his body suit and motioning the servant forward with his equipment. In the mirror he watched the mans eyes, usually dull and uninterested, take in the lattice work of scars across his back as he zipped the form fitting fabric up the back and began to assist Tav'eran with the rest of his armor. In moments he was outfitted for war, his legs, chest, shoulders, and waist adorned with protective pieces. It was when the man began to assist him with his bracers that he lost his patience. While securing his right bracer, the mans fingers brushed across the raised and puckered scars on his forearm, large enough to be visible underneath the skin tight suit of Tuan fabric, and he recoiled. Tav'eran's eyes flashed in sudden manic anger, and with a bellow of rage he grabbed the man by the back of his tunic, shoving him out of the room into the hallway beyond. "The mark of a slave offends you, does it?"
he roared, the frantic surge of emotion breeching his imposed control. He barely registered the serfs hasty apology, as the man scrambled down the hallway and out of sight.
Returning to his chamber, he yanked the right bracer on, securing the straps with his teeth before he donned his strange looking gauntlet of flexible metal, another reminder of his past, and experimentally tested the activation tab for the retractable blades. With a snicker-snack of metal sliding on metal the three wicked blades extended from their hidden ports, and he tested the edge on the towel he had just used. Razor sharp as always. He had won this strange prize in the last of his arena fights, the material alien, the mechanics beyond his comprehension, but he valued the weapon a constant brother to Elgahian. His equipment secured he donned his helm and left his chambers without a backward glance, a smile on his face at the upcoming mission, the incident with the serf and its resulting rage already forgotten.
Stepping from the portal with his companions, Tav'eran found himself in a city square, not unlike one he would have found on his home planet. The boulevards were wide and well travelled. Fountains and cared for gardens adorned the square. But as soon as his feet hit the pavement he could tell that something was amiss. The quiet seemed to stretch on forever, as if some great gods hand had covered this tortured land with a heavy blanket, smoothering the noise and life from its surface. Hover vehicles lay overturned in the street, store fronts peered blearily into the square devoid of movement, and the sense of wrongness just deepened.
Almost at the same instant his gaze snapped to the same area as Kyranus' and Tav'eran saw the shadow move and he watched as Kyranus tensed, his keyblade appearing in his hand. As if called by its brother, Elgahain materialized in Tav'eran's right hand, the blades of his left guantlet snapping open, eager to taste the semi-corporal flesh of his enemies.
Kyranus shouted as waves of shadows poured from the openings of what had once been the city governance building. As they came, Rumbling Earth's great axe appeared in his hand and with a grating bellow, like stone grinding on stone, he slammed the head of the great weapon into the street before them, calling on the powers of earth to aid them. Shadows were crushed beneath waves of roiling concrete and debris, smoothered in the detritius resulting from the earthquake that radiated out from the blade of his axe. At the same moment Kyranus drew back his arm and threw his keyblade in a wide arc, cutting down shadows as it streaked through their unending number.
Tav'eran focused on the tumultous whirlpool of emotion that surged within him, and focusing on Elgahain, he drew in the power of his keyblade. Things seemed to slow slightly to his eyes as a feverish energy filled his limbs. As Kyranus flung himself against one of the Neoshadows that now appeared, Tav'eran launched himself into a large group of shadows trying to assail his brother from his flank. Elgahain became a blur of motion, hacking, slashing, stabbing, he fought the unending wall of lesser shades and they died as they came, falling to his keyblade and claw. None were able to pass him, giving Kyranus a clear shot at the more potent enemy. With a roar he threw himself into them once more, his weapons flashing, his mind laying memories of brawls in dark pits and cavernous arenas before his eyes. Each taking on a face of one he had killed, or maimed, or bested the now became lost upon him as he fought as he had always fought, with ferocity and cunning of a wild beast.