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The Academy: Acolyte Ascension


Osetto

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Chapter Six: Secrets (Part Two)

 

The day was growing short as the sky over the homestead adopted a soft orange hue. Inside, the family finished their evening meal, the son retreating to his bedroom whilst the parents remained at the table. Their plates empty and stomachs full, the two shared a moment of contentment as they looked into one another’s eyes.

 

“Still can’t believe I’m here to stay, can you?” Liasha said with a warm smile. Having shed her battle attire, the woman actually possessed a gentle aura about her that overpowered even her sturdy, athletic build. As sculpted as she was for conflict, within her own home, she was capable of relaxation. Capable of peace.

 

The husband took a tender hold of his wife’s hand.

 

“It’s understandable, is it not?” Orbek replied, matching his wife’s smile. “Then again, I’d have a hard time believing any of the last decade had I not experienced them first hand. At least the worst part is finally over. No more waiting. No more wondering if you were even alive out there. Now we can focus on raising Jresh.”

 

Liasha’s gaze lowered to focus on their bonded hands. “You know things will never be simple. For us. For Jresh. We remain on precipitous standings. The Republic fears our kind, and I’ve not yet fully turned my back on the Empire.”

 

“You didn’t make things easier for yourself when you chose to marry the impure Pureblood whose grandfather was exiled for treason.” Orbek grinned, whilst the smile faded from Liasha’s face.

 

“Have you… noticed anything with Jresh, yet?” the mother calmly asked.

 

“No… no signs of Force-sensitivity. Just like his dad,” Orbek admitted. “Are you disappointed?”

 

“No, of course not,” Liasha replied, gently rubbing her husband’s hand. “But we must know for sure, so that we can take extra precautions.”

 

“If he actually does take after me… at least he should have an easier time fitting in with the colonists.”

 

Liasha hesitated. “We can’t be sure of that. People will see the red skin. The budding features upon his face. They’ll know from whom he descended. They’ll fear him regardless of whether or not he can use the Force.”

 

“Sadly, I think you’re right. We’ve been isolated ever since you left. We’ve spent the credits you’d send having supplies delivered out here. The boy still hasn’t set foot outside the homestead.”

 

“You’ve done a good job protecting him all this time, physically and emotionally, but we cannot keep hiding forever.”

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

“I left so that we could start a new life. But a life lived in fear is no life at all. You’ve been strong to endure everything that’s been thrust upon you. Jresh must be strong as well. I will train him. Force-sensitive or not.”

 

“But he’s still just a boy.”

 

“I was but a girl when I was trained in the way of the Sith,” Liasha admitted. “He can’t remain sheltered. Better he learn the harsh realities of the galaxy from the ones he loves.”

 

Orbek’s gaze drifted lower and lower. “I thought all of this was so that we wouldn’t have our lives dictated by Imperial standards.”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ll not force him to endure the things I endured at the Academy. Just enough to set him on the right path.”

 

“A path dominated by pain and hardship,” Orbek muttered.

 

“Pain… is having that which you care about taken away. Hardship… is knowing that there are those who would see you never know love,” Liasha explained. “I’ll not have my son be a victim. I want him to live, love, and dream, all without fear. But such is not possible without strength. Not in this galaxy…”

 

The husband let out a soft sigh. “I understand. I more than understand. I guess I just wanted to put off introducing him to all the nonsense that surrounds us for as long as I could.”

 

“The Empire may have turned its back on you, and yours on it, but it has much to teach us. Good and bad. Same with the Republic. But ignoring that which is wrong doesn’t make it go away. It’s up to us to foster the strength needed to change it.”

 

“You’re right,” Orbek said with a smile. “I know you only want what’s best for Jresh.”

 

“And I know you’ll help me in figuring out what’s best. You’ve been a good father. No reason that should change now.”

 

With the day’s tasks behind them, the husband and wife would retreat to their bedroom as night fell upon the homestead. An unclear future laid ahead of them, but even as darkness surrounded them, they took solace in each other’s presence. The cares of the world began to fade away as the couple spent their first night together in a long time.

 

----------

 

Days turned to weeks. Weeks into months. The trio of Sith spent their time together as a loving family, constructing the foundations for their continued living. The father would eventually come to venture outside the homestead’s perimeter, walking the streets of the rural colony that neighbored it under the shroud of a heavy cloak and hood. His muted Pureblood features and cloaked visage allow him to travel without being properly identified, but the populace supplied their fair share of wayward looks and glances.

 

Back at the homestead, Liasha and Jresh stood amidst the grassy field in front of their house, the green blades wafting amidst the gentle breeze. The mother and her child stood opposing one another. While not donning her previous suit of battle gear, Liasha was garbed in form-fitting robes intended for martial applications. Her son possessed a similar outfitting.

 

With a deep breath, Liasha signaled for Jresh to start. The boy ran forward, letting out a harsh battle cry as he did so. Closing the gap between himself and his mother, the child threw his first punch. Deftly, the mother intercepted and deflected it single-handedly, her other hand remaining behind her back. Jresh offered another blow just to have it suffer the same fate. His motions were turned against him as any move he made was promptly misdirected away. The ineffective exchange continued until the boy finally backed off, heavily panting as he rested his hands upon his thighs.

 

“You still do not understand. Strength is not raw power. It is control,” Liasha instructed. “Fueled by passions but never defined by them. You must control yourself. Then you might control your surroundings. Be at peace with your emotions, and you can draw from them at your own accord. Then you can find your strength.”

 

“But we gain strength so that we can fight… and fighting is the opposite of peace… so shouldn’t peace be the opposite of strength?” Jresh asked.

 

Liasha let of a soft chuckle. “You’ve certainly Sith blood running through your veins.” Jresh dipped his head in embarrassment, only to find a hand lifting his chin. As he looked up, the warm visage of his mother gazed upon him, lifting his spirits. “Just because two things are opposites, doesn’t mean they cannot cooperate. There will always be conflict in the galaxy. It is a way of life. The trick is ensuring that conflict benefits you. Those with dark hearts know this well, but I believe it can be utilized for good. Conflict is merely the opposition of forces. We are the ones who assign meaning and intent. Conflict forces us to adapt, become stronger. It is also a source of much pain, sorrow, and death. But I don’t think it has to be that way. There is a deeper understanding to be gained, but we cannot achieve it whilst we are at battle with ourselves. Inner peace. Outer conflict. That is how we gain strength. Remember that.”

 

The wind surrounding the pair violently picked up. Raising her gaze, Liasha witnessed a starship zoom by over their heads. Black and gray. Utterly imposing. The mother immediately recognized the model. Imperial interceptor. Fury-class.

 

“Jresh… get inside. NOW!”

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Chapter Seven: Secrets (Part Three)

 

The vessel touched down amidst the vibrant flatlands of the homestead. As the entrance ramp descended, three figures emerged from the Fury-class starship. Three dark figures. A pair of masked enforcers headed by an armored warrior. Without a helm, the Pureblood male’s scarred visage presented itself for all to see as he scanned the expanse that stretched before him.

 

From atop a distant hill, a different armored figure gazed upon the landing trio through the lens of a telescopic visor. The Human seemed rather unfazed by the arriving Sith as his red overcoat swayed amidst the passing breeze.

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the figure muttered, lowering his binoculars and raising his holocommunicator. “Lord Tash, this is Vai.”

 

After a pause, the blue image of an elderly Human emanated from the device and began speaking with an utterly calm, utterly smooth voice. “I’m receiving your signal, my apprentice. Have you a status update?”

 

“Yeah, Zyos’s men have arrived as predicted. Well… we didn’t predict they’d just casually land in an Imperial ship this close to a Republic colony, but they’re here all right.”

 

“Then you may proceed as planned,” Tash declared.

 

“I’m sorry master, but I’m not quite sure why I’m here,” Thorel admitted. “The boy hardly meets any of the qualifications for enrollment. It seems more trouble than it’s worth, interfering with the business of another Lord over an unessential asset.”

 

“Noted. You can blame Syrosk for this venture. He has his heart, or rather his mind, set on recruiting the Pureblood. The sooner we oblige him, the sooner we can continue to other candidates.”

 

“Okay… okay. I’ll observe the proceedings and see if his vision pans out.”

 

The trio whom served Lord Zyos casually made their way toward the front door of the quaint home, in front of which stood the defiantly defensive Liasha. The Pureblood leading the group paused a sizable distance in front of the robed woman, the two imposing figures taking the moment to stare one another down.

 

“Ravek,” Liasha muttered.

 

Ravek balked. “That’s it? I was expecting a ‘what are you doing here?’ Or at least a, ‘how did you find me?’ Regardless, may we step inside?”

 

“You’ll not take another step closer,” Liasha declared.

 

“Now, now, Liasha. You’re not really in a position to be making threats. Unarmed… Outnumbered…”

 

“I don’t need a weapon to end you.”

 

Ravek offered a conceding nod. “Probably true. But I can keep you occupied long enough for my men to deal with whomever you have hiding inside. Instead, I suggest we have a talk.”

 

“Fine. Talk.”

 

Ravek let out a petulant sigh. “Master Zyos was rather disappointed when you’d perished in a freak warehouse explosion. That disappointment turned to a bit of anger when he realized it was a ruse. Now, if I were you, I would have left a few bodies strewn about before I detonated the cache…”

 

“What is it you want?”

 

“Well, what I want, is to sate my, and your former, master. Zyos is a man who doesn’t care for loose ends. Given your previous record and talents, he’s graciously invited you to return to serve him once more. The alternative…”

 

“You kill me.”

 

“Well, yes,” Ravek admitted. “Of course, there is a third option, if you’ll indulge me. My men can wait outside while we have a one on one chat.”

 

Liasha’s harsh stare did not lessen, but she knew she couldn’t risk discarding any possibilities. Hesitantly, she waved her once fellow apprentice to proceed. Liasha retreated into the home, with Ravek following closely after, the two masked warriors remaining outside.

 

“Sit!” Liasha directed, her finger defiantly thrust toward the living room seating. Ravek complied, taking his place upon a comfortable armchair.

 

“When you first disappeared, what was it? More than a decade ago?” Ravek asked, an unusually warm candor emanating from the otherwise intimidating warrior. “Gone for two years, then suddenly you return. Zyos, in all his Sith wisdom, figured you were secretly constructing some sort of power base. I knew there to be a simpler explanation.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Someone wanted a family.”

 

“And what makes you say that?”

 

“Well, for one… you’re a woman. The desire is as built into you as your Force-sensitivity,” Ravek offered. “The original disappearance was long enough to cultivate and recover from a pregnancy. Or at least partake in one worthwhile romance. After Zyos took you back, whatever credits earned were never spent, yet they never amassed. So you must have been sending them somewhere. Or to someone.”

 

“Maybe I just wanted a nice place for myself. And decided I was much better off without any of you.”

 

“A Sith doesn’t choose a Republic colony for solitude. You needed that right mixture of hiding in plain sight and being able to start a new life for yourself.”

 

“Your right. For myself.”

 

“Come now, Liasha. I spent enough time in your company to know you’d never defend purely material possessions from someone like myself the way you did. You’re hiding someone here. A husband. A child. Perhaps a parent or sibling.”

 

Liasha maintained her calm. “Do you sense anyone else here?”

 

“I’ll admit, you’ve got me there. I doubt you’d consort with those powerful enough to mask their presence. However, the opposite is entirely possible. Those so weak I’d not be able to sense them.”

 

Ravek’s head panned as he took in his surroundings, his eyes slowly passing from the living room, to the kitchen, to Jresh’s bedroom.

 

“The third option,” Liasha spoke up.

 

“Hrm?”

 

“You mentioned a third option, what was it?”

 

“Well, we both know that these kinds of situations can’t be resolved without someone dying. If you refuse to return, that’ll be you. If you do return, Zyos will want whatever you’ve been dealing with behind his back destroyed, which means whomever you’re living with here will have to die. The third option… we kill Zyos.”

 

“What’s the matter, can’t do it by yourself?”

 

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. As his apprentice, it is my duty to end him at some point. His teachings have somewhat stalled, so I’d like to see that moment expedited. I am not here to destroy everything you’ve created. You're strong enough to have earned whatever it is you desire out here. Join me, and we can put an end to his inquiries. He’ll not be able to trouble you or your family any longer. You’ll be free to tend to your assets while I take control of his.”

 

“What about your two men outside?” Liasha asked.

 

“Like I said. With all options… someone has to die. We can walk out, act like you’re returning to Zyos, see if we can’t trick one into giving you a lightsaber, and the rest is self-explanatory.”

 

“Alright,” Liasha muttered with a heavy hesitance. “I’ll help you kill Zyos. Then you never contact me again.”

 

“Wonderful,” Ravek stated as he rose from his seat. The two Purebloods cautiously vacated the home, leaving the living room stagnant and silent. Peering in from the cracked doorway of his bedroom, Jresh watched, heart racing, as his mother and the stranger removed themselves from the house. He jumped as he heard the sharp howl of his mother from outside.

 

“Orbek!” Liasha shouted as she stepped from her home.

 

Ahead of her, the two masked accompaniers of Ravek had her husband upon his knees between them. Returned from his venture to the nearby colony, the defenseless Pureblood could do nothing to prevent or protest his capture. Liasha’s face snarled at the state of her beloved, and she readied herself to charge, only to be interrupted by Zyos’s apprentice.

 

“Wait,” Ravek whispered. “We can use this to our advantage. Trust me.” The apprentice began walking toward the kneeled captive a wide, toothy smirk upon his face. “Well, well, well. It would seem I was correct about you fostering a family.” The warrior now stood in front of the husband, lowering himself to get a good look as his lowered visage. “Poor thing, I can’t sense the tiniest bit of Force potential in his blood. This is what you’d turned your back on Zyos for?”

 

Orbek remained silent, his head bowed, refusing to give any of the Sith the satisfaction of his words. Straightening himself, the apprentice addressed his cohorts.

 

“Gentlemen. Liasha has agreed to accept Zyos gracious invitation," Ravek declared. "I do not believe, however, that he would permit her return were he to know of this particular individual. Zyos accepts only the strong, and if she has forged a bond with this weakling, his weakness is hers. Therefore in order to have a place under Lord Zyos, she must sever that bond.” Ravek thrust his finger at the leftward warrior. “You there. Give Liasha your saber.”

 

The masked warrior stared blankly at Ravek beneath his mask, before finally succumbing to the demand. Taking a step from the captive, the figure unhooked his lightsaber and handed it to the seemingly despondent woman. With a flick of her wrist, she ignited the weapon, baring its crimson blade.

 

“Go ahead, Liasha. Earn what it is you desire,” Ravek directed.

 

Liasha composed herself. She closed her eyes as she took a deep breath. An exhale later, she gazed upon the determined face of her captive husband. The two locked eyes, sharing a moment of infinite clarity.

 

The wife took a powerful step forward, mightily swinging the blade of her weapon at the defenseless masked warrior, raking the red plasma across his chest. The warrior fell lifelessly to the ground as his cohort drew his lightsaber. Intending to deal with his captive first, the second masked warrior raised his weapon before bringing it down toward the kneeling Pureblood.

 

The warrior was baffled to see his strike miss as the captive was tugged from his spot by an invisible force. Looking up, the aggressor saw the retracting motion of Ravek’s clenched fist as the husband now lay at his feet. His eyes fixated on the betrayer, the masked warrior could not react to the piercing beam thrust into his chest by Liasha.

 

The two masked followers of Zyos had been neutralized. As they lay motionless upon the soft ground, Liasha turned to rush toward her husband. Lifting him from the ground, she stabilized him upon his feet, where the two would lose themselves in each other’s eyes as tears began to form. The husband and wife embraced, squeezing each other tightly, clenching their arms and their eyes shut as they rest their heads upon each other’s shoulders. Their racing hearts began to stabilize. Their minds relaxed. As the soft winds enveloped them, they lost their senses to the superior force of love. Finally it was over.

 

The couple’s eyes rushed open. A piercing hum rang out in their ears. An intolerable pain penetrated their stomachs. Liasha struggled to lift her head. Gazing over her partner’s shoulder, she saw the tip of the crimson blade that had been thrust through them. In a flash, Ravek withdrew his saber, and the pair crumbled to the ground.

 

The two landed on their sides, eyes still locked with one another. However, Orbek’s were utterly vacant as the color drained from his face. He was already gone. Liasha writhed on her back, tears streaming down her face, as she saw the traitorous Ravek standing over her.

 

Carefully, he shut off his saber and knelt down as close as he could to Liasha’s face. “I knew you’d grown weak. Your love for this filth made you blind. You’d believe anything, do anything, to protect him. Such sacrifice is unbecoming of a Sith. You don’t deserve Zyos’s mercy. Instead, you’ll die here, while I return as his favored apprentice.”

 

The warrior thought to continue gloating but he was interrupted when a muffle shriek sounded out from his rear. Looking over his shoulder, he had just caught the brief sight of the house’s front door slamming shut.

 

A smirk overtook the Pureblood’s visage as he slowly straightened his posture and began making his way toward the home. Liasha stirred upon the ground, trying to grab at the warrior, trying to grab at any of the nearby weapons, but her body was failing her. She was in pain. She had no control of her lower body. She couldn’t even scream. All she could do was lay there as a murderous Sith made his way toward her son as the life slowly crept from her body.

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Chapter Eight: Secrets (Part Four)

 

Blue skies. White clouds. Golden sun. Liasha rested upon the flat of her back, hands clutching at her abdomen, eyes staring at the peaceful scene above. She had hoped to spend the last moments of her life at peace, but there wasn’t a single facet of her mind that would allow it at this point. Her husband lay dead by her side. Her son hid in the house whilst her former ally searched for him. And she was powerless to stop it.

 

Her clear vision was interrupted by the arrival of a dark figure hovering over her. Her vision cleared as the light settled behind the man, revealing the visage of an unfamiliar face. Slowly, the Human with the red coat knelt down beside her. Liasha didn’t know what to do. What to say. She didn’t know the stranger, but that wouldn’t deter her from reaching out.

 

“Please… my son,” Liasha muttered, the taste of blood overtaking her senses. “You… you have to…”

 

The Human brought a finger to his lips, accompanied by a soft hushing sound. “My name is Vai Thorel. I represent Lord Tash, a very powerful figure in the Sith Empire. We know about you, your family, and your past with Lord Zyos. Our interest lies in your son, whom we would like to bring to the Korriban Academy.”

 

“But he’s not… how could you know…” Liasha struggled to speak.

 

“We’ve an ally with a particular talent for finding Force-sensitive children.”

 

“You mean… Jresh is… for sure…”

 

“Yes. It would seem your son has the gift after all. One we would like to see flourish. I can save your son and deliver him to the Academy safe and sound. There Zyos won't be able to touch him.”

 

The mother remained silent, breaking eye contact as she turned her head away from the Human. “Korriban…”

 

“A harsh life, as I’m sure you’re aware of. But a life of trials is better than an early death. Which would you like for your son?” Thorel asked. Liasha’s head swayed against the grass beneath it as she struggled to think. “The balance tips toward death the longer I stay out here.”

 

“Go… save Jresh,” Liasha finally whispered. With a nod of his head, Thorel raised himself and took his first step toward the home. “Tell him… tell him to be strong.”

 

With that, the mother fell silent and still, gaze eternally locked staring toward the front door of her once home.

 

“Of course,” Thorel said.

 

Inside the house, Ravek slowly and methodically made his way through the rooms, lightsaber drawn and ignited, its tip playfully nicking the furniture and walls to the warrior’s side.

 

“Come on out,” Ravek taunted. “I know you’re in here somewhere. You think you’re safe. You think I can’t find you. But with each passing second, the fear inside of you is growing. I’ll sniff you out, like a tuk’ata stalking its prey. It’s only a matter of time.”

 

Ravek came to a stop in front of a door that remained slightly cracked open. Slipping his free hand into the gap, the warrior then mightily pushed the door ajar. He had found his target. A boy, cowering under a desk at the far end of the study. The room was almost bare, giving Ravek a clear path to his next victim. The Pureblood entered the room with a single calculated step. He did not rush things. He savored the moment, drawing upon the child’s fear as he continued to cower, aware of the warrior's presence but unable to do anything to escape. Another step, and Ravek held the saber at his side, blade glowing with an angry red hue.

 

“It’s over boy. Accept your fate and join the rest of your pitiful, worthless family,” Ravek snarled. “You’re a disgrace to the Sith. An affront to your bloodline. This galaxy will be better off… without…y-y-you…”

 

Jresh raised his head and opened his eyes to see the approaching killer had stalled. His stance appeared locked as his head tilted back. His limbs struggled to move, but one of his hands managed to grasp at his throat. Eventually, some invisible force completely overtook the warrior’s body. His legs bent, sending Ravek to his knees. His arms stiffened, locking them in place by his side. His head remained motionless, whilst his eyes began to dart across the room. The lightsaber fell from his hand, shutting off as it struck the floor. The metallic cylinder began to roll ever closer to the child, until it came to a stop directly in front of him.

 

“Take it,” an unfamiliar voice rang out in his head.

 

The worried look had not yet left the child’s face, but Jresh refused to take his eyes off of the weapon. Without any further hesitation, the boy took ahold of the lightsaber, gripping it firmly with his hands.

 

“Red button. Point the emitter away from your face,” the voice continued.

 

Jresh complied, jumping when the weapon flashed its crimson blade of plasma. Lifting himself from his cowered position beneath the desk, the boy stood in front of the frozen aggressor, the saber in his hand making subtle noises as it struggled to stay still in the child’s hands.

 

“Use it. This man is responsible for the deaths of your mother and father. Do what needs to be done.”

 

Jresh stared at the man fixed to his knees. He didn’t know what to do. Everything felt heavy. His hands. His head. His heart. He felt like collapsing, but still he remained standing, as frozen in place as the man responsible for his parents’ demise.

 

“You’re afraid. But you’re also angry. One emotion will hold you back. One will set you free. Use your anger. Strike him down. Avenge your family. Be strong.”

 

Jresh closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. And with no further hesitation, plunged the lightsaber into the chest of Ravek. Whatever force had been holding the warrior dissipated. His arms and jaw dropped, one last breath escaping his maw as his eyes finally stopped their panicked darting. The body began to fall forward, prompting Jresh to withdraw the weapon and take a step back before the torso collided with the hard floor with a resounding thud. The boy looked upon the motionless warrior, not noticing the intruder standing in the doorway.

 

“You did it. Good.”

 

It was the same voice as the one in his head, this time finding its way to the child’s ears. A startled Jresh lifted his gaze and his weapon, pointing the lightsaber toward the unfamiliar Human.

 

“Now, now. Settle down. It’s all over,” Thorel said in a comforting tone. Jresh hesitantly deactivated his weapon, then lowered his gaze as he continued to stare at the corpse of Ravek. “I’m Vai Thorel. A Sith. Like your mother. Like this man. If it weren’t for me, there would have been nothing to stop him from ending your life.”

 

“Why would you save me?” Jresh muttered, tears softly flowing down his face.

 

“Well, because your mother asked me to,” Thorel admitted. “She held on to that last bit of life just long enough to make sure you would be okay.

 

“Why were you even here?”

 

“I was hoping to talk with your mother about you. It’s really a shame I couldn’t have arrived earlier.”

 

“Why would you want to talk about me?”

 

“Because you’re special Jresh. Like me. Like your mother. You’ve the power of the Force flowing through your veins.”

 

“That’s not true,” Jresh firmly stated, his sight glued to the floor. “I’m just like my father. Powerless.”

 

“There is no single way for the Force to manifest itself. You’ve the potential resting inside of you. You simply need someone to bring it out. That’s why I’m here. I want to bring you to the Korriban Academy. The same place your mother received her training.”

 

“Mom said that place is bad.”

 

“Because it is,” Thorel admitted. “It’s a bad place filled with bad people doing bad things. But it’s that way for a reason. It tests those who enter it. It reacts to those within it. It is a product of its students, and its students a product of it. It doesn’t care about your past, only your strength. It requires it. Desires it. Cultivates and motivates it. You mother’s last words were to tell you to be strong. Come to Korriban, and you’ll be given the tools necessary to become the strongest being in the galaxy.”

 

“Can I… can I see my parents one last time?” Jresh asked.

 

“Of course,” Thorel said.

 

The boy relinquished his grip on the lightsaber, where it would clang against the floor to rest with its previous owner. The boy and Thorel exited the home, side by side, to the scene of passing. Underneath the soft rays of the planet’s sun, Jresh looked upon his mother and father who lay side by side. Kneeling between them, Jresh clenched his eyes amidst the clenching of his fists as more tears ran down his cheeks.

 

The boy mourned the loss of his family as uncertainty wracked his mind. He did not know how to proceed in the slightest. He thought to give his parents a proper burial, but the thought of laying his hands upon them rattled his psyche. He was the last of his bloodline. The son of a lost warrior and an impurity. Jresh had nothing to bring with him as he began his new life, only the last words of his departed mother.

 

Eventually, the boy rose from his parents’ side, and joined Via Thorel as they made their way toward the nearby colony’s starport. Jresh was heading for the Academy.

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Nine: Fighters

 

Rattatak. A harsh world of stone, unable to create or sustain life. But its peoples endured, thrived, off the sustenance of battle. Of conflict. Of pain. Their pale hands not meant to create, only to crush and destroy. Their structures not crafted, but carved from the rocky terrain. And carved into a mountain bordering a small village was an example of Rattataki splendor. A coliseum. Where the warriors’ warriors would meet in combat to the delight of onlookers.

 

Rows of seats encircled the rounded arena, where the majority of the village congregated in anticipation of the next match. The white-skinned Rattataki numbered over one hundred, each marked with a unique set of tribal tattoos indicative of their accomplishments and legacy.

 

But a single figure stood out from the others. Sitting alone, a Human watched over the proceedings, donned in a vibrant red coat that clashed with the dullness that surrounded him, but was right at home amongst the blood stains that populated the arena.

 

The crowd began to stir when one of the entrances to the lower floor opened. The voice of an announcer began to ring out across the arena. “Are you ready to see some action?” The crowd unanimously replied with an affirming cheer. “Then let’s get started! This man needs no introduction. You know him. You love him. He’s your champion… the Jagged Tempest… the Ardent Razor… Kar’jek Tjensi!”

 

The stirring crowd turned into one of absolute fervor when a man emerged from the shadowed hallway below. The figure’s gait exuded confidence. He raised his arms as well as the audience’s spirits as he approached the floor’s center. The crowd went wild at the gladiator’s presence, especially one little girl who violently cheered from the front row.

 

The man was immediately recognizable as a warrior, despite being completely unarmored. The Rattataki moved with pride, showing off the numerous black cultural tattoos that marked the entirety of his face and continued down to his body. Long lines of barbed tribal circles and curved patterns wrapped around his naked torso and arms. At his waist, two pristinely silver swords rested, each capable of wreaking destruction without the help of energized edges or vibrating cores.

 

“And the challenger... a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word unscathed… the last man standing in the last battle royal… ‘Stoneskin’ Ukajj!”

 

Opposite the champion, a new figure emerged. A giant of a man, even for a Rattataki. With a powerful, lumbering gait the gladiator approached the center of the arena, where he would stand over two heads taller than his opponent. His bared torso was utterly marred with an equal combination of tattoos and scars from previous battles. But more intimidating than his stature and appearance, was the large, two-handed metallic mallet he rested upon his shoulder.

 

The announcer’s voice started up once more as the two gladiators stared each other down. “As you all know, the champion is set to defend his title against three opponents in three successive matches. Each match will end when someone yields… or dies. In the event of an incapacitation, the person left standing decides the other’s fate. Warriors… are you ready?”

 

Kar’jek unsheathed his swords and adopted his usual battle stance, rotating his body and directing the points of his blades toward his opponent. Ukajj merely lifted the weapon from his shoulder before striking the mallet’s head upon the ground with a resounding thud.

 

“Let the match… begin!”

 

Kar’jek took the initiative, rushing toward his stalwart opponent, thrusting his swords forward before the giant could even lift his weapon off the ground. Resolute, Ukajj pivoted his weapon upon the mallet’s head, deflecting the strike with the long handle. Following through, Kar’jek used the deflection to his advantage, maintaining his momentum. The swordsman kept the giant on the defensive, lashing out before he could get a proper grip on his own weapon.

 

The crowd cheered as the two did battle, everyone rapt in emotional interest. All except one, however. The Human audience member was content to watch the proceedings with a reserved smile. The two gladiators combatted one another in an escalating series of maneuvers and strikes. As dexterous as the swordsman was, the giant was fully capable of defending himself. As Ukajj finally got a firm grip on his weapon, he went on the offensive.

 

The crowd hollered as the giant brought his mallet down upon Kar’jek, only for the swordsman to escape at the last moment. The massive weapon would impact against the ground, wracking the stone foundation with thunderous cracks. Watching the battle unfold with a keen eye, the Human started speaking to himself.

 

“The father is a rather capable fighter. I think he might have actually once been one of Darth Vich’s crop,” Thorel said.

 

“Ah yes, Darth Vich,” Tash’s voice rang out in Thorel’s earpiece. “The man who discovered the Rattataki and decided to turn them into his own personal army.”

 

“Followed by a bit of insurrection, death, and enslavement courtesy of the Dark Council. I do hope you aren’t planning on achieving similar results.”

 

“I’m not known for making mistakes, apprentice.”

 

“Right.”

 

The fight below was reaching a climax. Slowly but surely, Kar’jek chipped away at Ukajj’s defenses. Through a chaotic grace, the swordsman lashed out with a flurry of blows, slicing into the giant’s flesh little by little. As blood began to pour from the gladiator’s wounds, Ukajj found it harder and harder to lift his massive weapon. Moving to his opponent’s flank, Kar’jek struck the back of the giant’s legs, forcing him to his knees. Not a moment later, Ukajj found two blades crossed beneath his neck. And not a moment after that, the first match was over, as the giant formally yielded.

 

The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers as the winning gladiator basked in the revelry, gifting a smile to the young girl who jumped and shouted from the front row.

 

“That concludes the first match! Victor… Kar’jek Tjensi!” the announcer declared. “But the show’s not over folks. We still have two matches to go!”

 

A trio of nondescript Rattataki emerged from the arena’s entrance to escort the first combatant from the floor. Slowly, they managed to drag the massive gladiator and his weapon back into the arena’s underworkings. Kar’jek meanwhile, remained undeterred in his presence, standing as if he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes in martial combat.

 

“Our next combatant… a rising star in the gladiator circuit. The Cloaked Dagger. The Masked Terror. Rejj Daiden!”

 

Emerging from the entrance like a walking shadow, the lithe Rattataki that walked out covered the majority of his flesh with tight, black clothes. His face was concealed beneath a featureless mask, a simple plate held in place by a wrapped cloth, only a single slit cut across it to grant its wearer sight.

 

The cloaked Rattataki gripped within his hands two black daggers, not letting his guard down even as he entered the arena. Cautiously he made his way toward the floor’s center, to stand opposite Kar’jek. The cold glare of the masked gladiator cast itself upon the champion as the two awaited the start of their match. The two did not have to wait long as the announcer declared the battle commenced.

 

The two dashed at each other, both gladiators wielding a weapon in each hand. As the four blades lashed out at one another with utmost skill, Kar’jek appeared to pull out an early lead. The swordsman capitalized on the superior reach of his weapons, keeping a safe distance between himself and his opponent as they exchanged blows. The crowd’s cheers hushed as they focused all of their attention on analyzing the two combatants.

 

The exchange of blades continued with no sign of either gladiator making a remarkable impact on the other. Eventually, the masked warrior stopped playing it safe. Charging forward, the dagger wielding gladiator lashed out at his opponent, slicing Kar’jek across the chest. But for his one wound, the swordsman reciprocated three upon his foe. A muffled howl rang out from beneath the gladiator’s mask as he stumbled past Kar’jek, three diagonal slashes cut into his chest.

 

As Kar’jek turned, his looked upon his opponent with a snide grin, unfazed by the thin gash across his chest. The swordsman readied his weapons, intent on pressing his assault. Rejj focused on defense, dodging and parrying the swordsman’s attacks, but never returning one of his own. The crowd returned to their boisterous cheering as their champion lashed out at the masked challenger.

 

Rejj dodged yet another strike, leaping backward to put a sizable distance between himself and his opponent. Just as Kar’jek was about to renew his offense, his left leg stumbled as he took a step forward. As the swordsman looked down, his vision began to blur. Shaking his head, the champion tried to focus as the crowd looked on with a hushed wonder.

 

“Come on, Dad! You can do it!” the young girl shouted from the sidelines. The swordsman could have sworn he heard something, but all that registered in his ears was a steady ringing.

 

As Kar’jek steadied his stance, he found himself under attack. A flurry of blurred daggers lashed out at him, to which he was unable to properly defend himself. Another gash opened across the swordsman’s chest. Then another. One by one, Kar’jek’s senses were failing him. His mind wanted to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t allow him. Everything grew heavy. Everything began to fade. Looking down, Kar’jek saw the dagger that had been plunged into his chest. His swords dropped. His body followed. The roar of the crowd turned to murmurs. Then silence.

 

“We have a new champion!” the announcer broke the silence. “Rejj Daiden!”

 

“NO!” the girl in the front row screamed. “It can’t be! He cheated!”

 

As the girl stood on the precipice of sobbing, she lost it at the sight of the arena attendants stepping out to retrieve her father’s corpse. Jumping over the barrier separating the ground floor and the rows of seating, the girl rushed toward the fallen champion. Sliding to her knees, she gazed upon her father’s body, dagger still sticking out of his chest. She reached out toward the weapon, when a sharp voice pounded at her senses.

 

“Don’t touch that,” the voice directed. “There’s likely still venom on the dagger, as well as the wounds.”

 

The girl immediately rose to her feet, turning upon her heels as she looked for the source of the voice. With her back turned, the attendant began to drag her father by his feet back to the underworkings of the arena. The daughter shouted a protest that fell on deaf ears. She turned her attention to the masked killer who cast his cold gaze upon her. She took a step toward him, only to find herself being dragged from the arena by an attendant. She flailed her limbs and tried to break free, but to no avail.

 

“With a new champion, the third match will be postponed until later in the day. Come back to see if the Masked Terror is capable of defending his new title!” the announcer declared. As the crowd lifted itself from its seating and vacated the arena, the Human watched as the cloaked victor did the same, but not before the two locked their gazes for the briefest of moments. The Human kept his subtle grin as he removed himself from the arena seating.

 

----------

 

In one of the back rooms of the arena’s underworkings, Kar’jek Tjensi’s body lay upon a rocky slab. Beside him, his daughter rest on her knees, head buried in her hands as she lamented the loss of her father.

 

“It's not fair,” the girl sobbed. Lifting her head, she slammed one of her fists against the slab. “You didn’t deserve this.”

 

Her gaze transitioned to her father’s swords that leaned against the slab beside her. She reached to one, taking hold of the hilt. Even as she gripped the weapon with both of her hands, she struggled to lift the dense blade. But ever determined, she drug herself and the sword toward the room’s exit.

 

“One should really choose the right weapon if they intend to kill,” a voice rang out, the same one that had reached out to her before. This time emanating from the doorway to the rest of the arena underworkings. Though surprised, the girl kept her cool, staring at the stranger, resolute in her stance. “I’m not going to stop you, but you need to think. What kind of man killed your father? Quick. Agile. Cunning. You’ll not get very far with a weapon that size. Here…” Reaching for his belt, the Human unhooked a metallic cylinder and tossed it toward the child. The girl dropped the sword just in time to catch the object. “Now careful with that. Point that end this way, and press that button…”

 

The girl complied, jumping when the crimson blade of energy sprung out from the handle.

 

“Now that, that is a proper weapon. The weapon of a warrior. That blade can cut through just about any material imaginable. Now… would you like to borrow it?”

 

The girl nodded.

 

“Alright then. Where does the champion go after a match?”

 

----------

 

The Human and the girl walked out of the carved mountain together, lightsaber returned to its owner, the deed done. The arena was lacking a champion.

 

“There’s a strength in you unlike anyone else in this village,” Thorel stated as the pair walked. “We can ensure that strength is tested against others like yourself. Persevere, and you’ll become a warrior capable of anything.” The Human looked to his follower, whose gaze remained determinedly affixed ahead of her. “I think you’ll like Korriban. You’ll feel right at home.”

 

The two continued their walk toward Thorel’s parked shuttle a short distance away in silence. Kar’ai was heading for the Academy.

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Chapter Ten: Colors

 

 

Black.

 

The darkness offers safety. In the shadows, men fear to trek and sights fail to track.

 

The hunters hunt and the seekers seek. The children of Ryloth are removed from the pack.

 

The exotic prize, beings of purple, pink, and blue. Passed by hands from here to there, and there and back.

 

The Twi’lek buried by burdens. Women under the lustful gaze, men under the whip’s crack.

 

 

Blue.

 

The child finds solace in the shadows. They offer safety for the boy with no family, no home to return to.

 

The darkness knows no masters. The child moves within it, the clans and their slavers holding nary a clue.

 

The boy is alone. No friends nor enemies. Forever unnoticed, nothing is owed, nothing is due.

 

The days are long. The nights longer. The child runs and hides, plotting his next moments hidden from view.

 

 

Red.

 

The coated stranger arrives on Ryloth, searching amongst shadows with neither fear nor dread.

 

The two meet amidst the darkness, the boy standing his ground when he thought to have fled.

 

The Sith speaks of the Twi’lek’s gift, his potential, and all that needed to be said.

 

The tears to be shed. The fluids to be bled. The ever-present threat to become one with the dead.

 

The most important prospect, however, to rattle the boy’s head, was the future gift of his very own bed.

 

 

With the aspect of knowledge and power and the promise to be free, Ryloh was heading for the Academy.

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Chapter Eleven: Expectations

 

Nar Shaddaa. A place of vices and the means to fulfill them. Tucked away, beneath the casinos and marketplaces that captured the attention of the usual tourists, was a particular shop known only to a few particular figures. Nondescript. No vibrant neon signs announcing its presence. No accompaniment of Hutt enforcers guarding its borders. Just a plain door that led to a small waiting room from the shadowed passageways of the seedy ecumenopolis exterior.

 

Within the quaint waiting room, a single figure sat. Young. Human. Male. Garbed in a vibrant red coat over a simplistic set of battle armor. Vai Thorel. Sitting. Waiting. Legs crossed, arms neatly folded upon his lap with a content smile across his face as his gaze politely panned across the empty room. His scanning ceased when a door deeper within the shop opened up and a woman stepped through. Dressed with an exotic regality, fine white clothes wrapped around and flowed from her body, an enticing amount of pink flesh remaining uncovered. The length of her deep purple hair was restrained in a well-kept braid, taking care not to hide a single portion of her soft, yet mature face whilst also giving her an overarching sense of decorum.

 

Thorel raised himself from his seat just to bow his head in respect to the Zeltron woman. “Matron. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“The pleasure is mine,” the Matron warmly replied. “I must say, our Sith clientele are usually much older… and much less handsome.”

 

Thorel let a soft chuckle out of his growing smile. “That’s kind of you to say, though to be honest I am here on behalf of my master, who is much older… but only slightly less handsome.”

 

“Well, a pleasant face is always welcome here,” the Matron stated. “Now, did your master convey our policies to you?”

 

“I’m afraid I’ve only the barest of details, but there is something in particular he is looking for. Something quite specific.”

 

“I see. Well, let us see if we can satisfy his desire.” The Matron offered a dip of her head as she beckoned for the apprentice to follow her.

 

Passing the threshold of the door she had first entered in, the two walked amidst the tight halls of the shop's interior. The matron lead Thorel as they traversed the constricting corridor in a single-file line. On either side of the advancing duo, a series of doors led to unmarked rooms set an equal distance apart from one another. Judging by the gap between them, the apprentice surmised that behind each rest only a single, isolated chamber.

 

“It is important that you and your master know that we are in the business of, not products, but services,” the Matron explained as she walked and talked. “The companions have been conditioned to serve particular needs, but they must be returned in satisfactory condition. Stay within the guidelines of your contract and you will be afforded the chance for longer periods of use, greater sovereignty, multiple companions, up to five for trusted patrons. If they are lost or if they are broken, you will be subject to penalties and limitations upon subsequent visits. Are you following so far?”

 

“Yes, very much so,” Thorel stated. “However, my master is interested in a… permanent arrangement.”

 

“You must understand that we do not readily part with a companion under such circumstances,” the Matron declared.

 

“I understand,” Thorel replied. “But my master is not without resources. Credits and manpower. I’m sure that we can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

 

“We may. What are some of the particulars your master is interested in. Boy? Girl?”

 

“Girl,” Thorel answered. “Twi’lek. Purple or violet skin tone. Around ten years old.”

 

“You weren’t kidding about wanting something specific,” the Matron joked. “I’m not sure we have a companion that could satisfy your specifications.”

 

“Really? No one?” Thorel asked, a seeming disappointment in his voice.

 

The Matron paused, slightly dipping her head. “Well, there is a girl… a new arrival. She’s not yet been raised to the standards we come to expect from our companions.”

 

“Then perhaps you’ll be more open to making a permanent arrangement,” Thorel offered. “Well pay full price, and take her off your hands.”

 

“More than credits, we value the integrity of our business,” the Matron explained. “We cannot allow word to propagate that we allowed an unsatisfactory arrangement to be made.”

 

“I understand. However, I think if I could meet her, I could make a proper judgment on behalf of my master.”

 

----------

 

Vai Thorel once more found himself sitting alone in a compact room, one even barer than the first. Unadorned floor, ceiling, and walls. Two chairs set upon opposite sides of a single table. The apprentice had expected multiple targets fitting the description Tash had given him, but it would seem there was only one. He hadn’t yet decided whether the current situation would prove to be an easier or more difficult recruitment.

 

After a few minutes of silence, the door opened across from him, revealing the Matron and a young Twi’lek girl standing in front of her. Softly, the woman guided the girl into the room by her shoulders until all three occupied the small area. The girl kept her head low, more out of submissiveness than discomfort.

 

“Hello, mister,” the girl softly muttered.

 

Thorel offered a comforting smile before raising his gaze toward the Matron. “Might we have a few moments alone, please?” The woman tried to hide her trepidation, but the slight tilt of her head revealed her hesitance. The apprentice raised both of his hands, flashing his empty palms. “Don’t worry. Just want a little chat.”

 

The matron offered a subtle nod of her head before vacating the room, shutting the door behind her. Now, only the Human and young Twi’lek remained. The child remained standing in place, unable to budge physically or mentally, adamant in her current position. Reaching his foot beneath the table, Thorel nudged the chair across from him slightly away.

 

“Please, have a seat,” Thorel directed, voice soft and inviting. The girl was hesitant, but eventually followed the directive, hopping into the seat across from the Human. The Twi’lek kept her head low whilst the apprentice continued to study her. The room was consumed by silence. Seconds passed, perhaps even minutes, with neither of the two figures uttering a word. The silence was only broken when the Sith reached below the table and returned with a lightsaber in his hand. Slowly, he placed it in the middle of the surface resting between the man and the girl.

 

“Do you know what that is?” Thorel asked. Silence, but the Twi’lek did lift her head to briefly gaze upon the metallic hilt. “That’s okay. You don’t have to answer, you can just listen. How is it, you suppose, that you came to be here? Not this room, mind you, but this place, with these people. What exactly, are you? Alien? Child? Slave? No, not a slave. That’s what you’ve told yourself, no? Slaves wear chains. Slaves are bought and sold to be gawked at by gluttonous crime lords. Slaves are powerless. But here, it’s almost as if you’re afforded some semblance of power. Of control. The Matron sets arrangements that even the most powerful figures fear to betray. She holds power over those with wants, desires, and needs. But she and she alone holds that power, doesn’t she? You don’t have to be a slave to be bound. You don’t have to wear chains to be shackled. True freedom only comes to those who take it. And the only people who are capable of taking it… are Sith.”

 

Looking upon the item placed between herself and the Human, the girl’s eyes widened as the lightsaber began to lift itself from the surface until it was hovering of its own accord. Raising her gaze, the Twi’lek saw the Sith effortlessly eyeing the floating weapon, controlling it with his mind.

 

“How familiar are you with your lineage?” Thorel asked, still focused on the lightsaber. “Does the name Jerok’arra mean anything to you? That is the name of your great grandfather. That is the name… of a powerful Sith. Many years ago, a young Twi’lek stumbled into Imperial space, long before we had revealed ourselves to the galaxy. He should have been killed, and yet he survived. Because he had something within him. A gift. A special power. He had turned his back on his past to train in the ways of the Sith. And despite being… accused of spying for the Republic, he would eventually rise to a place of prominence. He would understand true freedom. He could not, unfortunately, afford that understanding to his descendants. You may have fallen back into the chains imposed by lesser beings, but you have the potential to raise yourself to where Jerok’arra once stood. To surpass him, even. We, and we alone, know that within you rests the same power he had. But the first step toward uncovering that power, is to come with me, to an Academy where you can be trained in the ways of the Sith. Is that something you would want?”

 

The Twi’lek continued to stare at the lightsaber. She had never been asked that question. She had never thought to truly contemplate her own wants and desires. Slowly, she extended her hand, attempting to take hold of the hovering item. As she reached to grasp at the metallic cylinder, the apprentice released his control of it, allowing it to drop into her hands. She caressed the weapon, studying its every curve and contour. Admiring its magnificence.

 

“Someday you’ll hold in your hands one of your very own,” Thorel declared. “There is, of course, the matter of convincing the matron to release you into our custody. Though she is the one who controls you, she has inadvertently given you the tools to secure your own freedom. She has taught you the value of the facade. The face. That lightsaber, it is but only one means to accomplish a goal. The spoken word, when trusted, is the most powerful weapon of all. Now, are you ready to depart?”

 

The Twi’lek nodded, and politely handed the apprentice back his lightsaber. The two exited the room, one right after the other, into the presence of the Matron. Thorel was all smiles and seemed extremely satisfied with his conversation with the girl. The Twi’lek adopted a serene demeanor, one of utter dedication and duty. The apprentice offered his own set of terms for the release of the girl into his custody. The girl gave no impression of the knowledge she had gleaned from the Sith over the course of their conversation. The two, working in tandem, were able to secure the Twi’lek permanent release.

 

Thorel and the girl walked side by side amongst the higher levels of Nar Shaddaa. The Twi’lek gazed upon the lights and sign for one last time as she followed the apprentice back to his shuttle. Arlia was heading for the Academy.

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Chapter Twelve: Superiors

 

Dromund Kaas. The heart of the Sith Empire, with skies just as dark.

 

Black spires and towering buildings made up Kaas City, the capital and largest settlement to emerge amongst the unforgiving jungles and ravines that populated the dark world. The Great Galactic War was at its peak and only the most influential and most insignificant Sith could afford to remain within the city for an extended period of time. Everyone in between was spread out amongst the galaxy, fighting to ensure a victory for the Empire. Powerful dark lords of the Sith took shelter within the bastion of the Citadel, guiding their forces and calculating their various plots. At the opposite end of the spectrum, one Sith sought shelter within a different bastion.

 

Whereas outside, the lights and sounds of thunderous lighting permeated the area, the local cantina traded those for luminous fixtures and continuous music. Imperial officers lucky enough to have the smallest allotment of free time hoped to use it finding a brief escape from the hardships afforded to them by their place in society. A lone figure sitting at the bar wished for the same.

 

Zabrak. Male. Dark skinned. Crown of horns. Garbed in a thick set of black robes indicative of a Sith. The figure sat hunched over, his eye peering deeply into the depths of the drink resting in his hand. Slowly, he raised the glass of his lips, taking a swig before releasing a heavy sigh. Disconnected from the world around him, the Zabrak was content to drink in solitude. Such want would go unheeded, however, when another Sith casually strolled up to the bar and took a seat next to him.

 

The alien tore his gaze from his glass to take a quick glance at the peculiarly chipper figure that had chosen to sit in the adjacent seat. His face was soft, and his coat was a vibrant red. Nothing about him conveyed a sense of darkness. It was almost off-putting.

 

“So. Did you hear? Word is the Republic finally managed to kill the Dread Masters,” the Human said, his gaze planted straight ahead toward the distant bartender.

 

“Yeah, that’s the word,” the Zabrak hesitantly replied.

 

“The name’s Vai Thorel. And you… must be Ikton Odrek.”

 

“You know my name?” Ikton replied, utterly unfazed by the revelation as he returned to his drink.

 

“Oh, I know more than that,” Thorel admitted. “Ikton Odrek. Security chief for Lord Norrok. Now that’s curious. Of all the Sith I’ve come to meet, I don’t think I’ve ever met one with the title of Security Chief. I dunno. Just doesn’t seem very Sith.”

 

The Zabrak released a low grumble. “I’m well aware of my place in this world. There’s little left to be said by those intent on insulting ‘filth’ like me.”

 

Thorel adopted a wide smile. “I’m sorry, I forgot. When people talk with a pleasant cantor around here, it’s rarely genuine. Contrary to what you might think, I am actually here to help you.”

 

“Help me? And how do you suppose you’ll do that?” Ikton asked.

 

“I know you’re Sith. Well, maybe not in the traditional sense,” Thorel admitted. “You never graduated from any of the Academies. You were picked up and trained at a Sith Lord’s own personal expense, to be used to fulfill his own needs. You’ve power, but not enough to properly challenge a Sith of proper standing and worth. Instead, you are in charge of guarding the Lord’s estate. More a highly specialized security guard, than a proper warrior. I think, however, that we can change that.”

 

“Who’s we?”

 

“Me. And my master.”

 

“And who would that be?”

 

Thorel reached into the inside of his coat and retrieved a small holocommunicator and placed it on the bar. The small disk lit up, the shimmering blue form of Lord Tash eventually popping up from the device’s projector . The elder Human stood with his head held high, his posture utterly adamant.

 

“My name is Lord Tash,” the image spoke. “I take it my apprentice has extended my offer to you?”

 

“All he said is that you could somehow change my life.”

 

The image of Lord Tash offered a brief, silent glance toward his apprentice before focusing his attention back toward the Zabrak. “That is correct. In the immediate future, I intend to acquire a vast majority of Lord Norrok’s assets. His estate. His funds. His employees…”

 

“Me,” Ikton added.

 

“Correct,” Tash replied. “I would like to offer you the choice to join me. Lord Norrok sees you as nothing more than an animal to be kept on a short leash. I see the potential that rests within you.”

 

“You also see the fact that conquering his estate is much easier with his security chief on your side,” Ikton suggested.

 

The electronic figure’s lips curled into a smirk. “Quite the astute observation. Yes, it is true. I intend to exploit your position and knowledge for my own benefit, but such is the way of the Sith. I do not however, intend to throw you away after I am successful in my endeavors. I do not share the thoughts of my peers in regards to aliens. I believe in potential, pure and simple.”

 

“So, what, you’re offering me a place in your… what? Crew? Inner circle?”

 

“You would be my apprentice alongside Thorel there, that much I can offer you. But there is much more beyond that.”

 

“Like what?” Ikton asked.

 

“Like the fact that I know you have a son,” Tash plainly stated. “I know you have been training him yourself, in secret.”

 

The Zabrak began to swirl what little drink was left in his glass. “And?”

 

“I have much sway over who is permitted into the Korriban Academy,” Tash explained. “In fact, over the past few months, I have been gathering Force-sensitive children to fill a new series of openings. I can ensure your son has a place amongst them.”

 

“You… you can ensure my son gets into the Academy? Gets the chance to be a proper Sith?” Ikton asked, showing the first visible sign of genuine emotion.

 

“I can guarantee it,” Tash stated. “Of course, the nature of the Academy will forbid you from having any further contact with the boy…”

 

“That’s okay… that’s okay. If you can give my son the chance I never had… I’ll gladly join you.”

 

“Excellent,” Tash said with a nod. “Give Thorel the location of your son, then make your way to the Citadel. I will have an escort waiting for you at the entrance.”

 

The Zabrak offered an affirming nod as the holocommunicator shut off. Thorel returned the device to his pocket and offered a respecting shake of his hand to his fellow apprentice. While Ikton went to see his new Lord, the Human waded toward the outskirts of Kaas City, to an apartment complex that housed the alien’s son.

 

Thorel eventually made it to the designated housing, a small dwelling continually financed by Ikton. The Human knocked on the door and waited for a response. None came. He resorted to inputting the door code provided by the father. Entering the domicile, it appeared empty. By both persons and things. Little furniture occupied the small entry room. No extraneous decorations were present. It was the barest of living arrangements.

 

The boy had been living here on his own. Not leaving, making due with whatever his father could send his way. Thorel knew he was here, hiding. The apprentice closed his eyes, focused his mind. Before long, he had a fix on the child’s location. Thorel called out to him, said he was a friend. But a distrust of strangers had been firmly implanted into the boy’s mind via his father.

 

The apprentice eventually won him over, telling tales of the Academy and the future that awaited him. The young Zabrak emerged from his room, face stoic and chin held high. He walked out, ready to face whatever had come his way. Thorel offered a smile and a respectful nod of his head.

 

Together, the two exited the housing structure and made their way toward the nearby starport. Isorr was heading for the Academy.

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Chapter Thirteen: Hunters

 

Bowcaster. Highly modified. Detachable barrel extension. Specialized quarrel ammunitions. Secondary and tertiary firing mechanisms. Extended stock. Two-point sling. Variable telescopic mount.

 

Ryyk Kerarthorr blades. Two hand-forged weapons. A long curved edge the length of an arm, handle mounted at a ninety degree angle at the base giving it the image of an elongated sickle.

 

Goggles. Active data streaming. Toggled image intensification and infrared sights. Scope synchronization.

 

Battle harness. Crossing bandoliers stocked with abundant ammunition and a plethora of situational devices. Across the back, two sheaths and a holster for the bowcaster. No armor. Didn’t need armor.

 

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Trandosha. Birthplace of some of the finest and fiercest independent hunters, warriors, and mercenaries the galaxy. The planet’s details matched its denizens in diversity and intent. The unforgiving deserts lashed out at any foolish enough to cross them with sandstorms and heat. Treacherous peaks towered over lesser formations, adamant in their stature. But not all was dominance and savagery.

 

A golden savannah rested between the barren lands and the small village of Ssarik. A place where trackers tested their skill. Where sons followed in their fathers’ footsteps. Where a respect existed between hunters and their prey. The area was not fraught with intensely dangerous wildlife, but there none-the-less existed a chain of supremacy amongst the indigenous and imported fauna. A chain that any self-respecting Trandoshan sought to be on top of.

 

A small hunting party slinked through the high grass. Four adults. Four children. Each member of the reptilian group held a hunting rifle close to their chest as they stalked their prey. Their scales ranging from yellow to a sandy brown, they blended in perfectly with their surroundings.

 

Moving forward, the party leader followed a specific path through the grass until he reached a clearing. Halting his progress, he raised a claw signaling the group to do the same. Ahead rest a small pack of katarn. Small. Lean. The four legged reptomammals nested around a large tree that stood alone amidst the vast plains. A number rested at the tree’s base, whilst one clung to the side mid-climb, almost acting as a sentry.

 

The hunting party’s leader beckoned one of the children to move up next to him. The scales of the small Trandoshan that snuck forward matched those of the adult, signifying lineage. The father instructed the son to raise his weapon, before silently ordering the rest of the group to spread out laterally. The child nodded and steadied his weapon against his shoulder, taking careful aim at the katarn hanging from the tree’s side. However, before he could proceed, a loud bang rang out in the distance, prompting the group of animals to hurriedly scurry up the tree.

 

The hunters looked around for the source of the disturbance, only to see a rising pillar of smoke emanate from where their village should be. The pack leader snarled a command and the group began sprinting back toward their home. Their uncovered feet dug at the grass and dirt beneath their heels, kicking up dust as they rushed toward their burning village. They ran and ran, each minute the silhouette of their home growing clearer and more focused. But with clarity came dismay.

 

Every building was ablaze. The sounds of combat echoed toward the returning hunting party, but none could register anything above a muffled chaos. Explosions rang out. Structures toppled. The group was still so far away, and there was nothing they could do to prevent the utter destruction of their homes.

 

Suddenly, amidst the haze of fire and smoke, a mysterious object began to rise above the village. The hunters watched as the shadowed object began to float, basking in the rising ashes of their homes. The group took pause, ceasing their meaningless attempt to reach their destination. They instead continued to gaze upon the object as it emerged from the haze and began making its way towards them.

 

The black freighter’s engines howled as the ship flew toward the hunters. The blocky starship was utterly intimidating, as were the dual cannons mounted upon its front. As the ship zoomed ever closer, the Trandoshans dove to the ground, covering their heads as they expected a hail of laser fire. Instead, the freighter passed directly over them, shaken the very ground that sat beneath them. Looking up, the hunters saw the starship’s cargo bay door was open.

 

Emerging from the black freighter's hind end was a lone figure stationed upon a jettisoned platform. The small repulsorcraft fell from the sky, before coming to a soft halt as it hovering gently above the flowing grasslands. The platform was little more than a flat surface bolstered by engines with a control panel sticking up from it. Manning that control panel, however, was someone far from simple.

 

‘Direclaw’. The silver-haired Wookiee stood tall upon his platform, eyes hidden behind goggles, the lambent flames of destruction reflecting off the black lenses. The lone figure gazed upon the rising hunters below with an eternally stoic visage. As the Trandoshans raised their weapons, the Wookiee retrieved the one upon his back. A flurry of blaster bolts rang out toward the platform, impacting against the vehicle to little effect.

 

Amidst the chaos, Direclaw was the epitome of calm. In one smooth motion, he shouldered his bowcaster and launched a projectile toward one of the adults. The energy charged quarrel planted itself in the center of the yellow-scaled Trandoshan’s chest, killing him immediately. The leader of the hunting party snarled a command and directed the children to flee. The young ones complied, running back into the tall grass one by one.

 

Direclaw primed another quarrel and soon, another adult of the hunting party was put down. As the Wookiee scanned for his third target, the head Trandoshan rushed toward the platform and leapt at its heels. The vehicle dipped and swayed as the reptile clutched at the aggressor’s feet. The second Trandoshan remaining fired a careful bolt toward the distracted Wookiee, landing a messy shot against the target’s shoulder. Direclaw stumbled backward, before leaping from his platform.

 

The Wookiee landed on the grounds below with nary a bend in his knees, with the lead Trandoshan following soon after. As the reptile straightened his posture, he found the Wookiee already aiming his bowcaster at him. Ducking to the ground, the hunter managed to escape the launched quarrel, but his fellow behind him wasn’t so lucky.

 

Only two men remained. Two masters of the hunt. The Trandoshan rushed up to his knees, firing his rifle at the Wookiee. The silver-haired hunter was remarkably swift, darting to the side as the red bolts of energy flew past his head. The scaled hunter kept the target in his sights, but was unable to land a proper hit. He was used to hunting game. This was no game.

 

Direclaw closed in on the remaining Trandoshan. The gap between them closed to nothing in an instant. Instead of raising his bowcaster, the Wookiee merely released the weapon from his grasp, letting it fall to the soft grass. Reaching behind his back, Direclaw’s hands returned baring two hand-forged blades. The last thing the Trandoshan saw was the Wookiee’s face staring directly at his as the two blades crossed directly below his chin. A moment later, the Wookiee uncrossed them, sending the hunter’s head to the ground, the rest of his body following shortly after.

 

The Wookiee straightened his posture and returned his bloodied blades to their sheaths. Slowly, he dusted himself off and picked up his bowcaster. Touching a small device strapped to his left bandolier, the aerial platform lowered itself, allowing its rider to hop back on. With a tap of his claws against the control panel, the vehicle lifted itself and the Wookiee scanned the surrounding fields.

 

Lines of disturbed grass signaled the paths of the fleeing Trandoshan children. Ordering his platform forward, Direclaw ejected his bowcaster’s magazine and replaced it with another. It wasn’t long before he had the first child within his sights. Shouldering his weapon, he took careful aim and fired an unenergized quarrel. The metallic bolt planted itself in the child’s back, sticking out while its tip delivered a dose of nonlethal sedative deliberately measured for this particular prey.

 

Direclaw turned toward the next child as the first victim continued to run, eventually succumbing to a sluggish stupor and falling to the ground. One by one the young Trandoshans fell. When all four were dealt with, the Wookiee set his vehicle down.

 

The eyes of the hunt master’s son grew heavier and heavier as he lost control of his entire body. Paralyzed, but he could still feel the grass scratching at his cheek. Suddenly, an imposing figure stood over him, blotting out the sun as he laid prone in the Wookiee’s shadow. In his last moments of consciousness, the son witnessed the figure clamp an electrified collar around his neck and drag him toward where his fellows lay.

 

Direclaw pressed a button on his parked vehicle, signaling the automated pilot installed in his freighter to return. As the black starship descended, the Wookiee returned the platform to its bay, and placed the unconscious children in a series of cages.

 

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Pa’nek Station. An orbital space station situated on the fringes of Hutt space. A marketplace for all things illicit with none of the glitz of Nar Shaddaa. In one of the many hangar bays, worker droids unloaded the cargo of Direclaw’s freighter. The caged Trandoshans made their way to the market alongside other various crates and containers.

 

The sentient creatures were put on display alongside various rare fauna and beasts of burden. Very few in the galaxy had need or want for Trandoshan slaves, but the Wookiee took great pride in his work. As Direclaw waited for a potential sale, he was greeted with the sight of an approaching buyer. Young. Male. Human. Red coat. He was interested in one of the children, one in particular. A deal was struck, the Wookiee gave warning of what was to be expected, but he Human offered only a content smile and the nod of his head as he parted with his credits.

 

A group of attendants began to transport the caged Trandoshan toward the Human’s ship, when the child began thrashing about. His motions ceased when the electric collar around his neck activated, forcing the reptile into a defeated slump. The Wookiee handed over he collar’s control and offered a departing nod.

 

In the Human’s hangar, the transporters were about to load the Trandoshan’s container into the Fury-class interceptor when the owner dismissed them. Alone with his purchased item, the man unlocked the cage and asked the child to come out. The lizard hesitantly complied. The two figures faced one another, one refusing to look the other in the eye. Bending his knees, the Human reached around the child’s neck and unlatched the restraining collar.

 

The Trandoshan lifted his gaze, looking the Human in the eye for only a second before darting for the exit. The Human turned and watched the child make a run for it, letting out a brief sigh. Just as the alien was about to reach the entrance to the station’s interior, the Human reached out with his hand and offered the quick flick of his wrist. Suddenly, the Trandoshan was flung backward, tugged by an invisible force and dragged back to his master’s feet.

 

The alien offered a confused look as he gazed up at the smiling Human, who now offered a helping hand. There were words to be shared. Explanations to be had. The promise of hidden power. Of redeemed honor. Of countless battles and tests of might.

 

The Trandoshan no longer wished to run, but to walk, alongside the Human and onto his ship. Nesk was heading for the Academy.

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Chapter Fourteen: Warriors

 

“I’m worried about the boy. He hasn’t spoken a word since his father’s death. This is an integral point in his training, and without his father to train him, the tribe doesn’t know what should be done with him.”

 

“He can train with the group, but it is the duty of the father to tend to the son. He’ll have until the end of the next cycle to find a warrior willing to adopt him. If he can’t, he’ll be banished.

 

“I understand. I’ll inform the others.”

 

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Tatooine. Two suns. Sand. Lots of sand. And rocks. An all-around intolerable place to be.

 

At the base of a mountain ridge stood the mouth of a cave. And in front of that mouth stood a man. A man who looked onward with utter disappointment as his red coat wafted in the wind and the blowing sand nicked at his boots. The gentle whistle of the warm breeze against the caverns was momentarily drowned out by the Human’s deep sigh.

 

“I hate this place,” Thorel muttered to himself. Before delving into the dark corridors, the Sith retrieved the holocommunicator from his coat and powered it up, the image of his master appearing a moment later.

 

“My apprentice. Have you concluded your business on Tatooine?” Tash asked.

 

“I wish,” Thorel said, uncharacteristically grumpy. “I don’t understand how this hellish dust ball manages to remain relevant in the galaxy. It’s horrible here. And now you’re sending me after recruits in caves? I mean, the Rattataki and Trandoshans can be primitive, but they’re light years ahead of these Sand People.”

 

“Luckily for you, Syrosk says the child is a different type of alien. A Nikto,” Tash explained.

 

“What’s he doing hiding in a cave?”

 

“I don’t know. We only have the information afforded to us by Syrosk’s visions. As remarkable as they are, they are fairly limited in scope. And if it goes unheeded, it will linger in his mind. We nearing the necessary number of students, so we shan’t have to do deal with many more of these excursions. Secure the child and return to me.”

 

Thorel’s shoulders drooped. "Couldn't you have sent Odrek on this one?"

 

“He is currently occupied with separate affairs. In my latest series of appeasements, I offered his services to Darth Malgus, whose apparently heading some operation involving Alderaan,” Tash explained.

 

"Really. He gets Alderaan. I get stuck with Tatooine?”

 

“Your skills are better suited to your current task.”

 

“I’m afraid my charm and wit don’t exactly translate to appeasing tribals,” Thorel admitted.

 

“Might I remind you that you remain a Sith, apprentice. Return with the child. That is all.”

 

The holocommunicator shut off and Thorel was stuck eyeing the mouth of the cave. Peering in deeper, the apprentice saw the faint flicker and glow of golden light further in. With a hefty hesitation, the Sith eventually made his way into the cavern. Slowly he trekked deeper and deeper until he came across manmade fixtures lining the walls. Primitive, but the sign of a sentient’s dwelling. Electronic torches. Dim. Connected by thin wires and cables that stretched deeper into the cave.

 

The singular tunnel continued without branches, leading the Sith down the only possible path. Carefully he walked, trying to muffle the sounds of his boots against the hard rock below. Despite his usual aloofness, he hadn’t dropped his guard, scanning the winding path that laid before him. Studying his surroundings, the Sith didn’t know what to expect. The area only matched half of what he had learned of the planet’s indigenous Sand People. No paintings. No tapestries. No burning flames. Only the a faint clattering of metal resonating deeper within the cave.

 

Eventually the tunnel widened and opened entirely to a large cavern. The single domed chamber was immense, capable of housing a number of small families. Within its boundaries, a number of tents had been constructed. Beside them rest the tools of battle. Racks of weapons and armor. Training dummies. Combat arenas. Standing at the entrance to the populated chamber, the Sith realized his expectations were off.

 

“Morgukai,” Thorel muttered to himself.

 

The sound of clattering metal ceased. Eight warriors scattered about the chamber stopped their various training exercises and turned their heads toward the source of the disturbance. The Sith suddenly felt the burdening stares of eight Kajain'sa'Nikto, each armed and armored, beating down upon him. Trained Jedi killers, each and every one of them. Staffs and armor plating forged from cortosis. None of them looked too pleased by the Sith’s presence.

 

With a deep breath, Thorel spoke up. “I am looking for a child…”

 

“I don’t care what it is you seek,” one of the Morgukai snarled. He stood separate from the others. More lines than usual upon his face. A person of stature, socially and physically. The group’s chieftain. “I see your garb. Your weapon. Your presence. You are either Jedi… or Sith. We do not abide the company of either. Servants of the Force aren’t to be trusted, and when one stumbles upon our camp… their lives are forfeit.”

 

Simultaneously, the chieftain and his fellow warriors raised their weapons, hands firmly gripped upon the black staff as their tips began to arc with electricity. The Morgukai began to close in on the Sith, who remained adamant in his motionless stance.

 

“And what of the Force-sensitive currently residing within your camp?”

 

The warriors immediately took pause.

 

“What are you talking about?” the chieftain asked, sufficiently perturbed.

 

“What reason does a Sith have to come to this deserted wasteland, walk amongst the endless seas of sand, enter an utterly unremarkable cave, and ‘stumble’ across a small detachment of Jedi-slash-Sith killing death cultists? There is a child here, one of your own, that possesses the gift of Force-sensitivity. I’ve come to extend him an offer. A place to develop his talents. To train his body, mind, and spirit in ways far beyond the understanding of your group. To become a proper warrior.”

 

Suddenly, emerging from one of the tents was the head of a young boy intrigued by the words he had gathered eavesdropping. The child gazed upon the Sith with a cold visage, one afforded to him by his species’ biology coupled with a particularly harsh upbringing. The Sith offered the boy a nod as he emerged fully from his tent.

 

The Morgukai chieftain darted his gaze between the intruder and the child, never dropping his disgusted demeanor. “We’ll deal with the boy after you are disposed of.”

 

Whatever pleasantness had remained upon the Sith visage was all but wiped clean. In its place a stern glare levied at the Morgukai chief.

 

“Your training may have shielded your minds from me, but the boy’s thoughts are clear as day. All you lot care about is death. Your codes, your creeds, your skills, your interactions, your relationships… it all leads back to death. It’s the only language you’re fluent in. Very well.” The Sith reached to his belt and retrieved his lightsaber, igniting its crimson blade with a flick of his wrist. “Let’s converse.”

 

The closest Morgukai lunged to strike, bringing the head of his staff down upon the Sith in a mighty arc. With supreme speed, the Human sidestepped the blow unfazed. The warrior recovered quick enough to avoid colliding his weapon with the ground, but not quickly enough to avoid the tip of the Sith’s crimson blade puncturing his throat with one swift thrust. Retracting his blade just as quick, the first victim had not even reached the ground as the group closed in on Thorel.

 

A second approached the Sith, keeping his guard tight and his weapon close. Thorel’s lightsaber brushed against the length of the warrior’s staff, eliciting a shower of sparks as it refused to cut through. His grip tightened, the defending Nikto could not extend his reach as the Sith continued toward his flank. In one smooth, fluid motion, the apprentice plunged his saber into the warrior’s side, an area unprotected by armor plating.

 

A third lashed out at the Sith, the two fighters’ weapons making brief, but frequent contact as they traded a series of blows. The fourth Nikto moved to the Human’s rear, attempting to flank him. Opponents on opposite sides, the Sith was on the defensive, dividing his attention between the two foes. Darting back and forth between the two, Thorel eventually parried a blow, ducking and sending the tip of the third’s electrified staff into the fourth’s shoulder. The Sith raised his blade with a swift sweep, lopping off the third’s arms at the elbows before continuing to relieve the stunned fourth of his head.

 

The fifth charged the Sith. Thorel replied with the powerful swiping of his free hand. Suddenly, the charging Nikto lost his footing, as if a rug were instantly pulled out from under him. For a second, the warrior was floating, but in the next he was flying as the apprentice thrust both hand forward, furiously knocking the Nikto back and into the nearest rock face with a Force push. A loud thud resonated throughout the chamber as the warrior's head collided with the solid surface.

 

The sixth maintained his distance, but to little avail as the Sith released his grip on the lightsaber with a calculated toss. The saber swirled upon an arcing flight path toward the Nikto’s head. The seventh thought to capitalized on the Sith’s weaponless state. Just as the flung saber passed through the sixth’s neck, the seventh lunged his staff’s tip at the Human. The Sith sidestepped the thrust, batting the weapon away with one hand as the other collided with the warrior’s chest plate with an open palm. As soon as it made contact, a powerful Force push traveled through the armor, sternum, and lungs of the seventh Nikto. Reeling from the loss of his breath and his insides being rearranged, the Sith’s saber had finished its arc and was once more held within his hand. Thrusting the crimson blades tip forward, it managed to pierce the cracked chest plate and everything resting behind it.

 

The last of the Morgukai remained. The eighth. The chieftain. The two squared off, eyes intently locked. The two collided without another moment of hesitation, trading blows with a high degree of expertise. The Sith moved with a fluid grace, anticipating and deflecting any blows that came his way, making artful thrusts and jabs when the proper moment arrived. The apprentice nicked at the Nikto’s chest, blade bouncing off the cortosis-weave armor with little lasting effect. The chieftain put up a good fight, but his defenses were failing. With each subsequent lunge of his staff, the Sith would land a glancing blow on his unguarded limbs, leaving numerous burns and lashes upon the chieftain’s arms and legs.

 

The Nikto’s movements were slowing, his limbs suffering from damage and fatigue. One errant strike later, and the Sith was able to plunge the tip of his blade deep into the chieftain’s thigh, bringing the warrior to his knees. As he struggled to steady himself, resting the majority of his weight upon the staff, the Nikto gritted his teeth as he stared at the stilled Sith that now stood across from him.

 

“He’ll never… be a proper warrior…” the chieftain muttered.

 

“That not for you to decide,” Thorel replied. The Sith followed up with a quick slash of his blade, severing the head of the last Morgukai warrior. As all eight Nikto laid motionless upon the ground, Thorel calmly sheathed his saber and returned it to his belt. Looking up from the ground, he saw the child standing unfazed outside the boundaries of his tent. Slowly, the boy eyed each and every one of the fallen warriors before laying his eyes upon their killer. “Listen, there is much to…”

 

The child took a step from his previous frozen stature. Then another. And another. Until he finally stood in front of the Human himself. The Sith stood in silence, as the young Nikto simply offered a single dutiful nod and began to walk toward the exit of the cavern.

 

Thorel offered the slight tilt of his head before following the child. Together, they vacated the caves and made their way to the apprentice’s docked ship. Vurt was heading for the Academy.

Edited by Osetto
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Thanks for the comments and kind words everyone. Just two entries to go (since I think the last two characters to cover will require multiple chapters) until the third act. I'll have something of a heavy scholastic writings workload over the next few days as the semester's end draws near, so the first part of Syrosk's origin may be up by the middle to end of next week.

 

 

 

To throw some bonus content your way, here's some stats about this story and its writing so far.

 

 

Document creation datet: 5/20/2011

Total editing time: 20,000 minutes (Approx.)

Total words: 122,000 (Approx.)

Total Pages: 248

Longest chapter: Act II Chapter Three: Allies (3,241 words)

Chapters until first duel: 7

Chapters without physical confrontation: 28

Chapter names edited after I realized I had already used them a few minutes after posting them: 3

Completely original characters named or titled: 30ish

Number of generations in a row a Tjensi has been fatally or near-fatally poisoned: 5 so far

Author's unintentionally favorite character: Vai Thorel

Reasons the Eight Apprentices have to hate Darth Tash at the moment: Realistically 0

Number of hugs: 3

Times the word 'Warrior" is used: 281

Times the word 'Inquisitor' is used: 277

Times the word 'Acolyte' is used: 379

Most interesting origin story: Jora's

Origin story you'll never read: Jora's

Number of hand injuries in story: A remarkable amount.

 

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Fifteen: Seers (Part One)

 

56 BTC

 

The galaxy at large knew nothing of the Sith Empire that lurked in the shadows. It had not yet known the calamity and chaos of the Great Galactic War. The Republic persisted and acted in its usual manners, unaware of those plotting, planning its eventual downfall. And Dromund Kaas was the same as it ever was. Dark and gloomy skies at each hour of the day. Beneath them, the various machinations of Sith Lords and their lessers.

 

Within the hallowed halls of the Citadel, prestigious Lords made their dealings shielded from the prying eyes of even their peers. Within one office, two individuals were engaged in polite conversation. One, an elderly Sith Pureblood, sat behind a tremendous desk, basking in the regality that made up the room’s design. The other, a plain, unassuming Human.

 

Male. Garbed in the simplest of black robes, the only piece of note was the jeweled amulet that hung from his neck bearing a dark yellow stone enwrapped with silver. His short, dark hair was kept tidy and combed in a rather formal fashion. He gazed at the Sith who sat across from him, watching with an unwavering stoicism as the Pureblood’s eyes poured over a datapad.

 

“Impressive. Most impressive,” the Pureblood said. “You and your men have secured all these names?”

 

“No men, just me,” the Human replied.

 

“I see. And they’ve been verified?”

 

“I’ve visited with each of them. Though not all have shown proper manifestations, I am sure they all have the potential,” the Human explained. “I’ve also provided recommendations for institutions based on the children’s inherent talents and status. Ziost, Odacer-Faustin, the local Academy for the most gifted.”

 

“I must say, your work continues to surprise us,” the Pureblood admitted. “You do the Empire a great favor in finding the potential Sith that manage to evade our notice. Honestly, if all parents would just put their children through the suggested tests it would save us a lot of trouble.”

 

“If they had the slightest reason to believe their child might be Force-sensitive, most Imperials would readily submit them to the trials. However, power unexpected is power unfulfilled. I specialize in searching for those with dormant Force-sensitivity. Those who belong to families unaware of their lineages.”

 

The Pureblood scoffed. “Wouldn’t be a problem if everyone were tested, regardless of expectations. Even if they can’t use the Force, it would provide a welcome challenge in their lives. It’s almost as if the populace has forgotten what we’ve spent all these years preparing for.” Letting out a sigh, the Pureblood set the datapad upon the desk’s surface. “I’ll send for the recruiters momentarily. Until next time, Lord Omnus.”

 

The Human Lord lifted himself from his seat and offered a low bow of his head to the Pureblood before exiting the office. With a gentle pace, Omnus made his way through the Citadel halls, arms neatly folded behind his back as he walked with seemingly no destination in mind. His stoic gaze drifted from side to side, watching the various masters go about their business, apprentices firmly in tow. He, meanwhile, continued onwards alone.

 

Outside, the skies above offered little indication of the time, but the capital was bustling in its midday activities. The people moved with a purpose. Omnus on the other hand, was content to stroll. With a distinct lack of haste, the Lord made his way to the city’s markets by way of speeder. As he disembarked and continued on foot, the Human began to feel a strange tingling in the air. Surreptitiously scanning the nearby streets, nothing was amiss with the local pedestrians. And even the nearby Sith hadn’t noticed anything.

 

Omnus paused his advance, closed his eyes, and focused his mind. Not a moment later did his eyes snap open as he began to search the surrounding scene. His gaze was frantic, and yet it was guided by some intrinsic knowledge. The Lord’s eyes would eventually come to rest upon a dark alley nestled between two buildings. An enduring, concealing darkness lay beyond. As he regained his usual stoic visage, the Human calmly ventured forth into the alleyway.

 

With each step, the sights and sounds of the city disappeared from his senses. There was nothing back here. And yet there was something. Some thing. Life. Yet everything was still. The alley continued, branching and winding with narrower and narrower paths. Eventually, the Human had reached a point where there was no evidence of a city behind him.

 

Omnus stood, basking in the silent darkness. What appeared to be one of the city’s outer walls stretched in front of him. Stacks of unassuming crates rested on either side of the Lord. Shutting his eyes, the Human took a deep breath as he felt his surroundings within his mind. Slowly, he came to, took a few steps, and stopped in front of a single sizable crate. He looked it over with a slight tilt of his head, before delivering a swift kick of his boot to the container's side. As he retracted his foot, the crate began to shake even further.

 

There was movement inside, until finally one of the sides gave way and a child came tumbling out. Cloaked in rags and shadows, the young one scuttled along the ground trying to put some distance between himself and the invader. Just as he lifted himself up from the ground, the child found himself being lifted much higher than expected. His forward movement ceased as his entire body began to rise and hover a short distance from the ground. Struggling and writhing, the boy spun to see the Human reaching out with his arms, clutching the air with a determined gaze.

 

As he held the child up with the Force, Omnus managed to get a better look at the strange creature. Alien, the boy had two horns emanating from his cranium, curving forward so that their tips strayed beyond the covering of his ragged hood. Even as his position was locked, the child refused to cease his motions, swinging his arms and kicking his legs as the Sith Lord looked upon him with the simple arch of his brow.

 

“Boy, you’re going to have to try harder than that,” Omnus muttered. The alien took pause and limply floated as the Human rotated him until they faced one another. The two figures locked their gazes, face to face.

 

The child’s eyes sharpened and the Lord’s confusion had peaked. His stoicism and concentration faltered as he felt a sharp scratch cut across his mind. Omnus’ grip loosened and the alien was once more on the ground. Not a moment later, the boy tried to flee, darting down the alleyway. Recovering, the Lord reaffirmed his telekinetic grip and dragged the alien back to his position. Throughout all the struggles, the child never let out a single sound.

 

The boy’s heels scraped against the ground as he was slid back toward the Human. His wits firmly about him, Lord Omnus studied the creature. There was a peculiarity about him. Uncivilized, but intelligent. He had tried to escape, but made careful note not to draw any excess attention to himself. And most peculiar of all, he had lashed out with his mind.

 

Closing the remaining gap, the Sith Lord took ahold of the child’s shoulders with a firm grasp and stared deeply into his eyes. “Who are you? What are you?” Omnus inquired with a tone falling directly between comforting and demanding.

 

The child’s eyes began to sharpen once more, eliciting a gruff chuckle from the Human.

 

“I’m afraid that won’t work a second time,” Omnus declared. The alien relaxed his gaze as he remained trapped by the adult’s grip. The Lord tilted his head with a curious intrigue as he felt an unknown force nipping at the back of his head. “Oh… you truly are something else. What is it you hope to find rattling about in my head? Information? Motivation?”

 

The Sith Lord’s lips stopped moving, but his words continued to reach the boy’s senses.

 

“You’re not the only one with a talent,” Omnus’ words bombarded the child’s mind. The alien winced as he felt an intruding presence claw its way through his mind. When the presence retracted, the child opened his eyes to see the Human's calm gaze placed upon him. “You’ve either the most well-guarded mind in the entire Empire, or you know as little about yourself as I do.”

 

The Lord relinquished his grip on the child, who took a calculated step away, his back against a high stack of crates. The Human straightened his posture and looked upon the child as he folded his hands behind his back.

 

“An amnesiac telepathic alien on Dromund Kaas,” Omnus said. “The word ‘peculiar’ doesn’t begin to describe your situation. I assume you’ve made your home among these back alleys, picking up scraps of food for however long you’ve been here, avoiding confrontation with your… skills. Sensing minds when they draw near, or perhaps…”

 

Stealthily, Lord Omnus unfolded one of the hand behind his back. Reaching out with the Force, the Human quietly lifted the small crate on the top of the stack behind the boy. Carefully he positioned it above the child’s head, guarding his thoughts from any possible intrusions. Suddenly, just before he released his grip, the alien darted to the side to avoid the soon to be falling object.

 

“Limited precognitive abilities… very interesting. I’d say these talents could be afforded to your species but I… sense something special inside you. You possess the gift of the Force.”

 

The boy’s expression changed little. He obviously understood the word, having read it upon the minds of countless nearby citizens, but held no measure of its meaning or worth. Slowly, Lord Omnus began to kneel upon the ground, hands placed upon his lap and eyes lightly closed.

 

“No explanation I could give would prove sufficient, so I offer my mind to you with no restrictions,” Omnus declared. “Allow me to shed some light on what rests inside you.”

 

The child took a cautious step forward. He knew the Human was in little position to prevent his escape. But he also knew the man possessed the same skills he did, to a far greater degree. They had touched each other’s minds. Each knew of the other’s presence, and could seek them out at their discretion. The alien stayed, gazing upon the meditative Human. Reaching out with his mind, the child searched for answers, and found many.

 

Visions began to swarm the alien’s mind. Flashing images of deadly and battle-hardened warriors brandishing swords of light against one another, energies surrounding and flowing from them. Those who basked in the radiance shunned and cast out their dark brethren. The exiles drifted across the vastness of space, until they settled upon a barren world of crimson men and their shadowed hearts. Blood mixed. Rites and knowledge converged. Those who persisted would call themselves Sith.

 

The child watched as countless years of history were condensed into mere moments. The rise and fall of the Sith peoples. Their wants, their creeds. The Republic’s attempts to utterly extinguish their order more than a thousand years ago. He saw an Empire hiding in the shadows, its citizens forged in the fires of combat. Their limits tested. Their potential unlocked. Bodies, minds, and spirits all driven toward perfection. Those most worthy ascending to power from nothing, ready to lead their followers to victory.

 

The alien broke his connection with the Sith, taking a step back as he tried to recover from the overwhelming feeling stirring within him.

 

“I am Lord Omnus,” the Human declared, rising to his feet. “How would you like to be my apprentice?”

 

The child raised his head, firmly locking his gaze with the Human’s and offering a firm nod of his head.

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Chapter Sixteen: Seers (Part Two)

 

Lord Omnus walked the streets of the Imperial capital with usual stoicism, hands behind his back as the raggedy alien carefully kept pace on his trail. The child’s gaze darted from side to side as he observed his surroundings, growing increasingly uncomfortable being out in the open. More and more eyes fell upon him. More and more whispers began to creep into his mind. Meanwhile his master continued his stroll unfazed.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Omnus’ words rang out in the alien’s head. “The attention. The burden. You’ve never stepped out into the light, have you? At least, not so far as you can remember. You can hear their thoughts. None of them positive. You are an alien. An animal. A scourge. Most Imperials believe you have no place in our superior society. I’ve no patience for excessive inclusion, but I do believe in talent above all else. Above social status. Above genealogy. Above tradition. As my apprentice, I will impart upon you the training necessary to harness your skills. If I am mistaken about your potential, I’ll not hesitate to cast you back into the shadows.”

 

The child’s attention focused on his master, ignoring the numerous stares offered by Imperial passersby. Looking upon the back of the Human’s head, the whispers slowly began to quiet as he regained control of his mental senses.

 

“The road that lays before you is long and hazardous. You’ll face just as many enemies within the Empire as you would outside its borders. They will try to beat you, keep you down, but the path of hardship leads toward the unlocking of your full potential. It will fuel your passion, which will give you strength. With strength comes power. With power comes victory. With victory comes freedom. But one can only earn as much by harnessing the power of the Force.”

 

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Nestled deep within the Citadel rest a sanctum, tucked away from the offices and dwellings of Sith who felt the need for grandiose displays of their positions. Lord Omnus’ home within Dromund Kaas. A quaint accommodation, the area spoke of its owner. Lightly decorated, eschewing the typical lavishness exhibited by some of his peers. Six rooms: Entry hall, living area, dining area, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. A place gifted to someone in good standing. A place earned by merit of its owner’s value.

 

Sitting at the head of the dining table, the alien sat patiently, waiting for his master’s return as he eyed the empty placemat in front of him. Soft noises emanated from kitchen, the clangs of metal containers and dishes. The boy was starving, but silently he endured, sitting in his tattered black clothes. Eventually his master would emerge, bearing a single bowl.

 

Lord Omnus placed the dish in front of his apprentices. The child’s eye began to water as the warm vapors of the contents wafted into his overlooking face. The bowl contained a simple allotment of cereal grain. White. Barely flavored. But it was food none the less.

 

The alien looked up to his master, who supplied a simple affirming nod. Immediately the child dug in, forgoing any utensils and instead shoveling the food into his mouth with his clawed digits. Lifting up the bowl, the boy intended to tilt the remaining contents directly into his mouth, when an unexpected hand took hold of the bowl. Slamming it down upon the table, Lord Omnus had placed his hand on the dish’s outer rim. The next moment, the alien found the bowl to be dragged toward the center of the table and out of his reach.

 

The boy gazed up to his master with a look of disheartened confusion as the Lord began to circle around to the other side of the table. Taking the seat across from his apprentice, the Human locked on to the child with his usual stoic gaze.

 

“You are hungry, correct?” Omnus calmly asked. The boy supplied a hurried nod. “You seek to sate that hunger?” Another nod. “Then you must learn to take what it is you desire, otherwise someone will take it from you.”

 

The boy’s visage contorted to one of anger. One of determination. Eagerly, he began to rise from his seat to reach further across the table. Suddenly, he felt an invisible force forcing him back into his chair.

 

“No,” Omnus stated, only slightly raising his voice. “Anyone can use their body to achieve their desires, even the lowliest of beasts and slaves. A Sith forces what he desires to come to him. Make the bowl come to you.”

 

The child stared vacantly at his master for a moment before focusing his attention on the bowl. His eyes sharpened as he focused his mind on the object. He concentrated, not entirely sure what he was concentrating on.

 

“It is only a bowl of rice. It has no mind. You need not know its intentions. You cannot trick it into coming to you. Your only option is the application of pure force. Hold out your hand. Feel the object in your mind. Encase it with an invisible tether and pull!”

 

The apprentice complied, following his master’s instructions in measured steps. His right hand extended until his elbow locked in place. His full attention fell upon the distant bowl of food. His eyes saw only the bowl. His mind saw only the bowl. Slowly his clawed fingers clenched toward a fist as he attempted to grip the item with the Force.

 

“Don’t focus on the problem. Focus on the solution. Remember why you want what you are trying to attain.”

 

The bowl began to shake. The child’s eyes sharpened and his nostrils flared as he struggled to take control over the simple dish. He could feel something inside. Something trying desperately to escape. Some unknown feeling. Some unknown energy. In a moment of clarity, he let go, releasing the Force from his body, but snatching it back with the deft motion of his hand.

 

The alien watched as the bowl was flung toward him, almost spilling its contents before he managed to catch it within his hands. His face displaying a genuine surprise, the child lightly set the received bowl upon the placemat in front of him. Looking to his master, he saw the Human bearing an approving smile upon his face. Lord Omnus followed it up with an affirming nod, granting the boy the permission to feast he so desperately wanted.

 

The Human watched with subtle admiration as the boy dug into what remained of the meal. “It is when we are at our weakest, that we manage to find strength. Remember that.”

 

It wasn’t long before the apprentice had finished the bowl, not yet full but decidedly satisfied. Wiping his mouth, he saw his master had not yet broken his continuous gaze.

 

“Would you care for more?” Omnus asked. The boy replied with a nod. “You will not get far with mere gestures. You will have to speak up. Now, would you care for more?”

 

With hesitation the child spoke up. “Yes,” he squeaked. The boy’s voice was juvenile but coarse, as if it had shriveled from disuse.

 

“Alright. I’ll make you some more then,” Omnus stated.

 

He quickly lifted himself from his seat and ventured back into the kitchen with the spent bowl in his hand. Hardly any time passed before he returned with a full bowl and set it in front of his apprentice. Glancing at the simple dish, the alien was once more greeted by the steam that rose from the warm rice. Raising his gaze, he once more waited for his master’s approval.

 

“Your previous life has trained you to be cautious. That will serve you well,” Omnus declared. “But you’ve endured enough for the day. No more tests. Enjoy.”

 

The boy offered a grateful nod as he partook in the gifted meal, tempering his pace this time around.

 

“Tell me, do you have a name, boy?” Omnus asked.

 

The child momentarily ceased his feast to offer a hesitant shake of his head. “No.”

 

“A Sith with no name, is no Sith,” Omnus declared. “And if you’ve nothing to call yourself, others will dictate your titles, and that is not a well-suited fate. I’ll give you a good Imperial name… Algo Syrosk.”

 

“What does it stand for?” the boy asked.

 

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask one of my parents. I took on a new name the day I became a Sith Lord, so I’ve no use for that one,” Omnus explained. “Is that okay with you?”

 

“Yes,” Syrosk hesitantly admitted as he returned to his meal.

 

The next few days were spent getting Syrosk into a readied condition to begin his training proper. His tattered rags were tossed out and replaced with a true set of robes. The accumulated dirt and grime on his body had been washed away. A steady diet had replaced scrounging for bits of food. His body was being repaired, so that it could be broken over the course of training. And Syrosk was looking forward to it.

 

As the first week of their relationship was nearing its end, Lord Omnus and Syrosk walked the streets of Dromund Kaas. Gone was the paranoia in the alien’s visage and gait, in its stead a confident Sith who had not yet reached his teens. The two entered the Citadel where Lord Omnus had a meeting scheduled with one of his peers.

 

Omnus and Syrosk made their ways through the deeper halls of the Imperial bastion to reach their intended destination, the office of one Lord Leshai. Stepping inside, the pair saw the Lord sitting behind a simplistic desk, a young apprentice standing by his side. The sitting master was a Sith Pureblood a few years older than Omnus. The Human at his side appeared to be in his late teens.

 

Lord Omnus stood opposite the pair and offered a generous bow of his head. “Lord Leshai. Tash.”

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Chapter Seventeen: Seers (Part Three)

 

Lord Omnus took a seat across from his peer, his apprentice standing closely by his side. Lord Leshai offered an emotionless nod to his primary guest before casting a stern glance toward the young alien.

 

“This is… unexpected,” Leshai muttered with a coarse tenor.

 

“The fact that I’ve taken an apprentice?” Omnus suggested.

 

“That fact that you’re willing to parade such a creature through the Imperial capital,” Leshai corrected. “I’m not even familiar with this species.”

 

“Neither am I,” Omnus admitted. “But we’ve never cared about such things.”

 

“Maybe not, but there are thousands of Imperials who do. Many of them in positions of power. I’d not waste my time with an apprentice shackled with so many limitations,” Leshai declared.

 

“Neither would I. I have ambitious plans for the both of us.”

 

“Which, I assume, prompted this meeting.”

 

“Correct. I’ve finished my latest recruiting drive for the Academies, so I’ve time for my own pursuits. But I lack the facilities and resources to properly train an apprentice.”

 

“And you’d like to use mine,” Leshai suggested. The other Lord offered a simple nod. “I’d rather not jeopardize my sphere of influence so that you might pursue some petty pet project.”

 

“I assure you, my interests in my apprentice are anything but petty,” Omnus declared. Looking to Syrosk, the Lord placed a hand on his shoulder and offered a confident nod. Syrosk gave one of his own as he looked across the table, focusing on the young Human by Leshai’s side.

 

“His apprentice is wondering why his master is wasting time with us,” Syrosk explained. “Before that he was trying to figure out what I am, suggesting Twee-lek and Chag-ree-un. Now it seems he’s getting defensive…”

 

“I think that’s enough of a demonstration,” Omnus said as he patted his apprentice’s shoulder. Tash meanwhile subtly squirmed where he stood, blinking and furrowing his brow.

 

“Suddenly things become much… clearer,” Leshai softly stated, hand rubbing the fleshy tendrils that hung from his chin. “Tash, Lord Omnus and I have some private business to discuss. Why don’t you give the young apprentice a tour of the study.”

 

“Right away… master,” Tash dutifully replied as he slowly circled around the desk. The Human apprentice stood face to face, or rather, waist to face with the child. Exchanging no words, Tash directed the alien toward a nearby door with the subtle wave of his hand. Syrosk remained still as he gazed toward his master who offered an affirming nod.

 

Together, Tash and Syrosk ventured from the meeting area, granting their masters their privacy. The two apprentices delved deeper into Lord Leshai’s sanctum in silence. Side by side, they eventually came to stand in front of a rather unassuming door. Such was the overarching décor of the dwelling. Dark. Imposing. But never lavish. Never loud. Anything worth talking about spoke for itself. Such was evident when Tash opened the door at the end of the hallway.

 

Syrosk stared in wonder as Tash guided him into Lord Leshai’s study. A circular room, robust in size and stock. Databanks lined the walls, and the areas unburdened with technological records held shelves packed with mystical artifacts. Holocron, arms, armor, and trinkets of olden Lords.

 

“This is the embodiment of my master’s work,” Tash explained. “The physical manifestations of knowledge, and the power to be acquired from them. All of this acquired within a few short years. Given enough time, we believe Lord Leshai might assume the seat of Ancient Knowledge upon the Dark Council. It is to my understanding, however, that Lord Omnus isn’t much of a collector.”

 

“His home is pretty empty,” Syrosk admitted as he panned his gaze up and down the assorted treasures. “Does your master let you use any of this stuff?”

 

Tash let out a soft chuckle, his unease in the presence of the alien lessening. “My master isn’t one for… ‘letting’. He is a… calculating… individual. Stern. Dedicated to the tenets of the Sith. Gives absolutely nothing freely. Thinks everything… and I mean everything, ought to be earned.”

 

“And you enjoy this?”

 

“It isn’t about enjoyment. It’s about becoming better. Something that is done through challenges. Many of which I have endured. My childhood. My trials at the Academy. My master’s tutelage. It has been a series of harsh events and circumstances, but because of them, I will be strong. And I will keep getting stronger until I am capable of killing the man.”

 

“You plan to kill your master?” Syrosk asked, more confused than outright shocked.

 

“I guess I was right in assuming you don’t know much about what it means to be a Sith,” Tash stated. “It is expected for an apprentice to eventually succeed their master. The nature of their upbringing perpetuates the likelihood that it is achieved through one’s death. And I guess you could say it is explicitly expected of me. You are not the only one capable of reading minds.”

 

“Your master can read minds too?”

 

“My master. Your master. It is but one of their talents. They are Seers. It is in their nature to possess and acquire information that ought not rest in the hands of lesser beings. They reads minds. See the future. Control and manipulate others. The nature of their talents depend on the individual, however. Omnus is a more accomplished precog, while my master… no thoughts are safe from Lord Leshai. At this very moment he is aware of the conversation we are having as he no doubt is working an agreement with your master that heavily benefits him for allowing you to continue your training.”

 

“Are you a Seer?” Syrosk asked.

 

Tash remained silent for a moment as he gazed upon no particular piece in his master’s collection. “No. I lack the inherent skills for mentalism. Always been more of a… hands- on kind of Sith. Instead, I’ve been trying to perfect my mental defenses, but alas I’ve not yet discovered a way to keep Leshai out. Probably never will. But that which goes unchallenged grows weak.”

 

“I don’t want to be weak,” Syrosk muttered.

 

“Then you might make it as a Sith after all,” Tash offered. “I don’t know enough about you, or your master, to tell you how things might go in the future. But from what I’ve seen of Lord Omnus in the past, this is decidedly out of character for him. He is very self-contained. No masters. No apprentices. No subjects. No power structure of any sort. His only accolades and standings come from his work with the Academies.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“That you’re not alone in being… unusual,” Tash declared. “Whether that’s good or bad… only time will tell.”

 

“Are giving me advice, or a warning?” Syrosk asked.

 

“All I’m giving you is information,” Tash explained. “It holds no motive. No intent. No personal factors. It’s just information.”

 

“Information you’ve chosen to give, though. You could have kept it to yourself. So, for that, I thank you.”

 

“I don’t need your thanks. And if you truly desired that information you could have taken it yourself.”

 

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t want to,” Syrosk admitted. “I know now that it bothers you whenever someone tries to read your mind.”

 

“You’ll never make it as a Sith if you remain so concerned for others’ well-being.”

 

“I don’t think progression has to be at someone else’s expense,” Syrosk admitted

 

“Your personal beliefs has no influence on the matter. It is something beyond your control,” Tash explained.

 

The two apprentices’ conversation became sparse as time passed and silence began to fill the robust archives. Before long, the door behind them opened and Lord Omnus calmly stepped in, his negotiations with Lord Leshai finished.

 

“Syrosk, it’s time to go,” Omnus stoically directed.

 

“Syrosk?” Tash whispered to himself.

 

The young alien gave his fellow apprentice a departing nod before joining his master. Omnus offered his own appreciative dip of his head to the teenage Human as the two exited the study. Passing through the entrance hall, Syrosk saw Lord Leshai confidently leaning back in his chair, his eyes intently following as the pair exited the sanctum.

 

“I’ve secured us access to Leshai’s facilities for the purpose of your training,” Omnus explained.

 

“Does that include access to his artifacts?” Syrosk asked.

 

“Impressed by his collection were you? We’ll have access to historical recordings and the like, but nothing of the treasured sort. Though I don’t suppose you saw his most prized possession. One he keeps concealed and close to his heart. A talisman.”

 

“Like yours?” Syrosk asked.

 

Omnus reached to hold his amulet within his fingers, looking deeply into the golden stone. “Quite. It is a common trait of those in our circle. People like us usually possess some trinket that allows us to focus particular powers.”

 

“People like you… you mean Seers?” Syrosk suggested.

 

“Your talk with Tash proved enlightening did it?” Omnus said, releasing his grip on the amulet. The apprentice offered a silent nod. “He is a… strong and wise individual, even at his young age. However, if he proves to be anything like his master, I’d be careful of interactions with him.”

 

“You’re not friends with Lord Leshai?”

 

“Friends are a curious thing amongst Sith, of that I’m sure you’ll come to understand over the course of your training. Training which will begin when we return home,” Omnus detailed. Syrosk eagerly followed his master as they continued their return to their own sanctum.

 

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Within the confined halls of Omnus’ dwelling, the master and apprentice sat across from one another in the entrance hall. In their respective meditative stances, the pair kneeled in patient silence. The silence finally broken by Lord Omnus.

 

“When dealing with the mind, the first thing a Sith should understand is that there are five layers…”

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Chapter Eighteen: Seers (Part Four)

 

47 BTC

 

For almost a decade, Syrosk studied under the tutelage of Lord Omnus. Honing his mind. Bolstering his spirit. Testing his body against the wilds and Lord Leshai’s rather large stock of training droids.

 

Under the perpetually cloudy skies of midday, Lord Omnus had taken his apprentice away from the Imperial capital, away from his peer’s facilities. Instead, they sat upon a hill, meditating across from one another as the dark forests surrounded them. Their minds and bodies focused, a series of hefty stones lifted themselves from the ground and began to hover. Slowly, the small boulders began to circle the pair as they focused on keeping them telekinetically afloat.

 

Syrosk had grown. Matured. He had seen much of the Empire that he never could have witnessed scrounging in the back alleys of Kaas City. His master had taught him much. How to control and conceal his mental prowess. How to direct it toward a singular goal. Only a few short years ago did the apprentice craft his first lightsaber, his martial training seeming to always take up a tertiary position.

 

As the two meditated, the hovering stones kept their steady pace, staying at an unfaltering altitude as the pair shared the burden of lifting them.

 

“Reach out with your mind,” Omnus calmly spoke up, body still locked in the stillness of meditation. “Tell me, what do you sense?”

 

Syrosk followed his master’s lead, remaining locked in his meditative state as he mentally scanned his surroundings. “Vine cats. Small pack. Six strong. Four hundred meters north-northwest of here. Unaware of our presence. No other mental signatures between us and the nearest Imperial outpost.”

 

“Excellent work. You’re focus has shown remarkable improvement,” Omnus said, compliments subservient to his stoicism. “It can be argued that the mind is the most important aspect for a Sith to perfect. That is why so much of your training has been focused on it, and why I took an interest in you in the first place. You displayed a talent and potential beyond any of the children I’ve encountered as a recruiter.”

 

“Thank you, master,” Syrosk stated, still focused on keeping the stones afloat.

 

“The body and its senses are subservient to the mind. It drives us. It allows us to act outside the realm of simplicity. But it does not rest above all else. No, to admit so would be unbecoming of a Sith. The spirit is what ultimately reigns supreme. It is our connection to the Force from which we derive our superiority. That we must never forget.”

 

“I’m sorry master, but I believe we’ve sufficiently covered the importance of the Force over the past few years,” Syrosk replied with a usual deadpanned-ness.

 

“Few Sith possess the humility to admit that they don’t understand their connection to the Force. That is what prevents them from unlocking their true potential. Most initiates believe the Force to be some material thing, something they can grasp ahold of and wring out some measure of power,” Omnus explained. “In truth, nothing as powerful as the Force could ever be so simplistic. The Force is energy. It affects us. We affect it. It is a source. It is an engine, a tool. But perhaps most important to your training, it is a lens.”

 

“A lens?”

 

“I’d have said a filter, but I think lens better suits the motif.”

 

“The motif?”

 

“Of the Seer,” Omnus explained. “The body has its limits. And although it has less, the mind does as well. Pass those through the lens of the Force, however, and those limitations are slowly peeled away. The body becomes stronger, faster, more resilient. The mind gathers information well beyond the capabilities of the natural senses. By passing the entirety of our essence through that lens, the Seer gains his power.”

 

“But I’m not a Seer.”

 

“No. Not yet. But you will be,” Omnus declared. “You’ve all the potential skills. All you must learn, is how to immerse yourself into the Force. To connect your senses to that which touches everything. To reach out across the stars. To receive visions of the future. To be my successor.”

 

“To follow in your footsteps.”

 

“I don’t intend for you to follow me. I intend for you to surpass me,” Omnus explained. “To be everything I am and more.”

 

“A recruiter?”

 

“A Sith unique amongst Sith. Valued for your skills despite your being an alien. The Empire has enough warriors, enough inquisitors. Enough strong bodies and capable minds. It needs people who are not only capable of defeating its enemies, but challenging itself. The Empire has become too set in its ways. Though the inevitable war may shake things up, it cannot promise the change it needs to survive. The weekly feasts, the parades, the flashy showings of luxury and excess… they are mere reminders to the populace that there is a reason to keep fighting. To keep believing in the Empire. But there are cracks in the foundation. There is a creeping decay. A cannibalism present in its ranks. If the Empire is to survive, it needs something new. Something I believe you can provide.”

 

“I’ll be in no position to do affect anything if I am not strong,” Syrosk declared. “As much as I value the skills and training you’ve provided, there have been gaps in your tutelage. All the information in the galaxy will do me no good if I am not capable of acting on it. Leshai’s combat droids have proven poor tests of martial combat. I’ve trained my mind. Accompanied you on recruitment mission. I understand you one day hope for me to take your place, but I’ve my own desires. Though many of them align with yours, I’ll not see them go unfulfilled.”

 

“I… understand,” Omnus stated. “I have been neglecting your martial training, likely because my line of work never called for direct confrontation. But lest I contradict my own creed, I must be open to progress. I will give you the training you seek, but first, I must impart upon you some prudent information.”

 

“Very well, master,” Syrosk offered, reaffirming his meditation.

 

“Sith have always possessed a curious relationship with the Force,” Omnus began. “We seek power. We seek that power through the dark side of the Force. You’ll not find many Imperials willing to espouse the dangers of that path. The dark side degenerates the body, it clouds the mind, it shatters the spirit… if you cannot control it. And it demand utter control. Otherwise it will be in control of you. It allows the body to drive itself on only emotion and pain. It allows Sith to channel destructive energies from their fingertips. But it does not grant peace. It does not grant its knowledge except to only the strongest and most dedicated Sith. A Seer cannot draw from the dark side without countless years of practice… and drastic sacrifice. Sometimes a warrior seeped in death will be granted a vision of future destruction, but sustained precognition is beyond their reach. What you possess now is involuntary. A self-defense mechanism. Automated for your own protection, much like your heartbeat. And like a heartbeat, you’ve some measure of control over it, but not yet enough to be a proper Seer. And only through the Force can you attain proper control.”

 

“So what you’re saying is. The Force is my greatest ally as well as my greatest enemy.”

 

“Your greatest restrictor and liberator,” Omnus added. “You must learn to balance the body, mind and spirit.”

 

“As well as the light side and dark side of the Force,” Syrosk suggested.

 

Omnus took pause. “There are some things in the universe that cannot be balanced. Some things, that will not cease until they see the other destroyed. And if you find yourself caught between them, they’ll see you destroyed as well.”

 

“I see. Then how do I tap into the Force as a Seer would?”

 

“Let me show you…”

 

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The day’s training ended, and more like it would follow. Lord Omnus instructed his apprentice in the ways of the Seer, reaching out even beyond the threshold of his own mind. Amidst the dark forests of Dromund Kaas, he would meditate, sensing the creatures that populated the shadows. Seeing the paths they’d traveled, and the ones they currently tread upon. Each life, each tree, each stone had a story to tell. Taking his already honed mind, Syrosk slowly learned to pass it through the lens of the Force, seeing that which could not be seen.

 

For months he would train in such a manner with his master. Solely guided along the singular path of perfecting the mind. The apprentice was unsatisfied with his master’s handling of other aspects. His lightsaber had seen little use. His martial prowess paled in comparison to his mental capabilities.

 

On his own time, on his own terms, Syrosk walked through the halls of the Citadel alone, one particular destination in mind. As he eventually came to a stop in front of a familiar door, his senses told him that only a single denizen rested behind it, in line with his calculations. The alien delivered a few firm knocks to the door, and patiently awaited an answer. A few moments later, the door would rescind, a familiar Human greeting his guest.

 

“Tash,” Syrosk calmly greeted.

 

“Syrosk,” Tash warmly replied. “Are you here for a training session.”

 

“You could say that.”

 

“Well, feel free to come inside, the battle room should be in ready condition.”

 

“Actually, I had something else in mind,” Syrosk stated as he entered the sanctum. “It is to my understanding that Lord Leshai is occupied off-world with some sort of excavation, and he’s left you in charge of his affairs on Dromund Kaas.”

 

“It would seem my master’s not as good at keeping secrets as he thinks he is,” Tash joked. “Or maybe you’ve just come far along in your training to be privy to such information.”

 

“That is what I wished to discuss,” Syrosk explained. “I imagine your master hasn’t left you with much to do in his absence. Meanwhile, I have been somewhat dissatisfied with my own master’s ability to provide martial training.”

 

A smile stretched across the Human’s face. “Ah, you want a sparring partner. I must admit, things do get a bit boring around here. But that doesn’t exactly dismiss the fact that I’d basically be freely aiding my master’s rival’s apprentice. Something I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate. And something I’m not exactly too thrilled about either.”

 

“I do not intend to merely take what I desire from you. I propose a trade.”

 

“A trade? Well, I’m always interested in making an exchange. What are your terms?”

 

“You provide me the necessary skills I lack, and I will provide the same to you.”

 

“While I’m sure the sparring would help me a little, I don’t know if I’d call it necessary.”

 

“No, but I could offer you something else," Syrosk suggested. "Something you so greatly desire.”

 

“And what might that be?” Tash asked.

 

“I can stop Leshai from getting into your head.”

 

Tash continued to stare at his fellow apprentice, smile still plastered across his face. “Alright. You have a deal.”

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Chapter Nineteen: Seers (Part Five)

 

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Deep within the Citadel in Kaas City, Syrosk patiently waited outside a heavily secured room. The entry doors were tall and wide, and at each side a crimson sentinel stood watch. Imperial Guardsmen defended the chamber where the Dark Council, supreme leaders of the Sith Empire, held their meetings.

 

Syrosk stood adamant, with his eyes firmly affixed upon the door. He had long ago shed his simplistic robes in favor of a suit of black battle armor beset by a heavy cloak. Silence filled the halls, but the promise of whispers yet remained within the council chambers. Syrosk focused his mind, tried to gain some insight into the proceedings, but there was such a fog, an overhanging cloud of darkness, that he was unable to pierce the veil despite all his attempts. None could know of the Dark Council’s musings unless willingly permitted.

 

Syrosk waited for minutes, maybe hours, for someone to step from the chamber doors. That time finally came with the subtle parting of the entryway, and passing through it to meet him was the apprentice’s master.

 

“Master…” Syrosk began, before being hushed by the master’s calm raising of his hand.

 

“Come with me Syrosk. We’ve much to discuss.”

 

The two walked the halls of the Citadel, Omnus leading them back to his sanctum with an unusually tepid pace.

 

“Did your meeting with the Dark Council go smoothly?” Syrosk asked as he walked by his master’s side.

 

“You could say that,” Omnus calmly stated. “I’ve been given the rank and title of Darth. And apparently I fall under the Sphere of Production and Logistics, which I found curious. Though I suppose our work does consist primarily of transportation and trafficking, and the Councilor seemed pleasant enough.

 

Syrosk’s eyes widened as he continued to follow his master. “I'd have expected a different response to being given such an honor.”

 

“I’d not cast off decades of stoicism now,” Omnus declared. “As important as the promotion is, it holds nothing compared to what is to come.”

 

Syrosk had expected his master to elaborate, but he had instead fallen to silence as they made their way back to their dwelling. The apprentice dutifully followed his lead in movement and thought. Safely within the confines of their sanctum, however, Darth Omnus rescinded his silence.

 

“My work recruiting for the Academies caught the eye of the Dark Council. But it is not the past that most interested them, but the future,” Omnus explained.

 

“Did you impart upon them a vision?” Syrosk asked.

 

“No. In fact the opposite. I was given access to some of the most securely kept information in the Empire. I was given a taste of what the future holds for the Sith.”

 

“What did you learn?”

 

“War is coming. The war for which we’ve been preparing for centuries. It’s finally coming. And we have a part to play.”

 

“I’d assume every Sith will have their part to play,” Syrosk stated.

 

“But we have the honor being amongst the first to return to the Sith homeworld… Korriban.” Syrosk looked upon his master with a contained wonder. “When we first met, I had given you a glimpse of the world. Now the Empire plans to retake it as one of our first goals. They seek to reestablish the Korriban Academy.”

 

“And they’ll seek to repopulate it,” Syrosk suggested.

 

“Exactly. I’ve dreamed of this day. Seen it through visions of desire rather than understanding. And now it lies within my grasp,” Omnus declared. “But I couldn’t have gotten to this point without you, my apprentice. You’ve aided me in seeking out Force sensitives and greatly expediting the recruitment process. You’ve given me something to focus on. You’ve given me a drive I’d not possess had I never taken you under my wing all those years ago.”

 

“I’m honored that you value my contributions, master,” Syrosk stated with a subtle bow of his head.

 

“The honor is mine. You’ve persisted despite a society that would see you forever shunned as a lesser being. But we challenged the idea that an alien could never possess the same raw skill and potential as a Human or Pureblood. And now we can challenge that even further.”

 

“I’m afraid I do not understand.”

 

“It’s simple. You of course know of the privileges afforded so someone who is a Darth. One in particular is the ability to grant someone under his guidance the title of Sith Lord.”

 

“You mean…”

 

“Yes. You deserve this… Lord Syrosk. And you also deserve this…” Omnus’ words trailed as he reached around his neck, and pulled his amulet over his head. The silver chord clenched within his fist, the golden gem dangled and glistened in the light. “Consider this the end of your training as a Seer. Anything more from this point forward you must discover yourself.”

 

Syrosk watched as his master extended his hand, gifting him the amulet he had worn since the day they had met. The apprentice hesitantly accepted the item before carefully maneuvering it around his horns and over his head. Holding the amulet within his gloved palm, he found himself becoming lost in the golden gem.

 

“What does it do?” Syrosk asked.

 

“It provides focus… and guidance. Believe in it and your path with become clear, even when you are consumed by doubt,” Omnus explained. “Come now. We’ve preparations to make.

 

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It was time for war. The Sith Empire had emerged from the darkness, formally making its presence known. The first fleet to appear was approached by a diplomatic convoy on the end of the Outer Rim. They were attacked. They were destroyed. They survived only long enough to broadcast images of the invaders. The galaxy at large would come to know of the Sith Empire. To know of its strength.

 

The galactic conflict had begun. The Empire threw the entirety of its might at its targets. Republic worlds fell, by conquest or by choice, multiple systems having had puppet governments installed years ago. The turned worlds turned against the Republic fleets stationed above them. In the hectic chaos, the Republic could only hope to rally every available ship to bolster their failing defenses. This however, meant calling upon the ships patrolling the Korriban system.

 

In the dark space above the Sith’s homeworld, a massive fleet materialized from hyperspace. Capital ships and fighters descended upon the orbiting station and remaining security patrols protecting Korriban. Fiery bolts of energy lashed out Republic defenders, tearing lesser vessels immediately asunder. Whilst the larger forces dealt with the space station, small strike teams headed toward the planet’s surface to retake their ancestral home.

 

Within the cockpit of a Fury-class cruiser, Darth Omnus stood unflinching as the chaos of battle encircled the ship. Hands folded neatly behind his back, his gaze was firmly affixed upon the planet as the Imperial pilot flew them closer with each passing second.

 

Near the rear of the ship, two figures stood ready for battle. Lord Syrosk possessed his usual battle armor, with the addition of a featureless helmet that masked the entirety of his visage, his two horns jutting from its sides. Beside the black juggernaut was a man similarly garbed, though his smiling face remained utterly unprotected. Lord Tash.

 

“This is it,” Syrosk spoke up. “Korriban. Home of the Sith.”

 

“I’m more interested in the prospect of battling my first Jedi,” Tash admitted.

 

“Really? Not the prospect of your ancestral home? The tombs? The artifacts?”

 

“I may have inherited my master’s assets, but not his desire for all things ancient and mystical. I’d like to see if all this training ends up for naught against an opponent who isn’t a Sith.”

 

“Well, do take care not to destroy everything on your warpath. We’d like as much of the Academy left intact as possible.”

 

The ship’s intercom chirped as Darth Omnus reached out to the Sith from the cockpit. “Syrosk. Lord Tash. We’re passing through the planet’s atmosphere. Scans show little ground forces, but whatever is present will have to be dealt with directly. Prepare yourselves for a hostile landing.”

 

“I’m surprised your master is actually heading directly into a battle,” Tash admitted. “He never seemed the most hands-on type of Sith.”

 

“He isn’t. But he’s dreamed of setting foot on Korriban as long as he’s been recruiting for the other Academies,” Syrosk explained. “Being one of the first to do so is an added boon.”

 

“With the war in full swing, I imagine you two will be busy once we retake Korriban,” Tash stated.

 

“And I assume you’ll be wading headfirst into countless battles in the near future,” Syrosk countered.

 

The Human let out a soft chuckle, “Now, now, Syrosk. I’ve gained a bit of subtlety since we were mere sparring partners.”

 

The comm came on once again. “We are fast approaching the old Academy grounds. We’re struggling to find a suitable landing area for the ship.”

 

“No need,” Tash declared as he pressed a button near the rear hatch. Red lights began to flash as the vessel’s entrance opened mid-flight, the sight of the passing landscape beneath them greeting the two Sith.

 

“What was that about subtlety?” Syrosk asked with a raspy chortle. Turning his attention to a nearby panel, the alien sent a message to the cockpit. “Get us as close as possible. We’ll handle things while you find a proper landing spot. I’ll make sure the entrance is clear by the time you arrive, master.”

 

Without another word, the two Sith Lords leapt from the cruising vessel toward the surface of Korriban, lightsabers ignited, their first targets in their sights.

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Chapter Twenty: Lies (Part One)

 

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In a quaint dwelling in the residential district of Kaas City, there was only silence. Three figures, motionless. The mother. The father. The son. The first two lay dead, the first at the hands of the second, the seconds at the hands of the third. The Human child sat shivering in the corner, head buried in his arms as his hands shook, the very hands that were tightly clenched around his father’s neck a few minutes prior.

 

The boy was alone. For now. Soon, men would come to take him to his proper place. To the one of the Academies. For within him rested the power of the Force, waiting to be unlocked. A potential, one that had been kept from him. Kept from his father. The signs were there, the budding traits of Force sensitivity. But even in this time of prosperity and patriotism, some still feared the consequences of putting their young through the trials. They valued protection and obscurity over their duty to the Empire. Such thoughts required protection and obscurity themselves, lest they be extinguished by those who held the Sith’s values above all else. The Sith themselves.

 

Such discoveries rarely required excess mediation, as the justice of the Sith was righteous and swift. But such values rarely transfixed fully unto the minds of children. And where conflicting thoughts prevailed within the Empire, only death could follow.

 

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57 BTC

 

Within the halls of the Dromund Kaas Academy, a gathering was taking place. A group of students, eight strong, stood in a large dueling circle, the eyes of their superiors watching from a distance. Eight of the finest Human acolytes had been gathered for one purpose, to uncover amongst them the single most powerful individual. By way of death match. One sponsored by a Sith Lord seeking an apprentice.

 

Lord Leshai stood next to the overseer who had gathered the eight teenagers from the Academy. The Pureblood looked upon them with a dulled stoicism as they readied themselves, showing no sign of interest amongst the candidates. The students remained focused on themselves for the most part, not daring to cast an errant glance toward their patron. The entirety of their focus was put toward the upcoming battle, which only one of them would be walking away from. Each acolyte possessed only the barest of trainee’s robes and a basic training saber. This was a measure of skill, not equipment.

 

As the acolytes prepared, two stood apart from the rest of the group, in position and in action. Where everyone else was silent and isolated, these two engaged in hushed whispers together.

 

“This is it, the chance to be an apprentice,” spoke the first. He was young, and though his face was unburdened by scars, a Sith rune had been inscribed upon the left half of his face by way of a tattoo.

 

“Yes, a shame only one of us can be the victor, but such is the nature of these things,” spoke the second. He matched the first in age, but in his eight years at the Academy, he had not accumulated a single scar upon his pristine face.

 

“Yeah, but when have we just accepted things for the way they are?”

 

“We are not dealing with Academy staff here, we are dealing with a wishes of a Sith Lord. He desires an apprentice. He will find one, despite our wishes.”

 

“He intend to whittle us down to a single candidate. But if we were the last two left standing… we could refuse to do battle. It’s not out of the ordinary for a Lord to take two apprentices.”

 

“It’s also not out of the ordinary for someone of his caliber to strike us both down for our insolence.”

 

“Then we can at least ensure that we remain the final candidates. Better than neither of us becoming an apprentice.”

 

“I see. Then until we’re the last ones left standing… a partnership.”

 

“Agreed.”

 

“Then let’s do this.”

 

The two separated as the overseer approached the gathering of acolytes. Forming a large circle, the students brandished their sabers and ignited their energy arrays. The overseer spoke of the match's conditions. A battle to the death. The last survivor would become the apprentice of Lord Leshai. Once the match had started, the only way out was to win, or to expire. To forfeit was to forfeit whatever life yet remained within the combatant.

 

With the deft rise and fall of his hand, the overseer had signaled for the battle to commence. The melee began with the careful studying of one another, no student willing to break formation first. With careful precision, the conspirator duo lashed out first, beginning the hostilities proper. The acolytes each focused their attention on a single opponent, splitting the battle into four concurrent duels. Each student displayed a great martial prowess, the overseer having chosen eight students of relatively equal skill and training.

 

It wasn’t long before the first acolyte was driven to the ground, and not long after that that he was utterly defeated. Though lacking the swift lethality of a true lightsaber, the acolytes’ weapons were sufficiently capable of brutally ending a fellow students life. The melee continued as one by one the contestants fell. Cuts, bruises, and scorched flesh plagued the dwindling pool of acolytes, but their resolve never faltered.

 

When only three remained, the tattooed student lashed out with one final series of strikes toward his unaligned foe. Piercing his defenses, his opponent laid at his feet his life slowly creeping away from him. As the fallen acolyte’s breath grew ever weaker, the tattooed individual looked upon his victim trying to catch his own. Amidst the heavy panting the student managed to speak.

 

“Alright, it looks like-”

 

A resounding thwack resonated throughout the chamber as the length of a training saber swept across his face. The might of the blow sent the acolyte twirling and tumbling toward the ground. As his arms struggled to lift his weakened body, the damage had already been done. His tattoo had been overwritten by the deep and burning gash that had been struck upon his cheek. As he writhed upon the floor, whatever words attempted to make it past the student’s lips were inhibited by his mangled teeth and the growing pool of blood that poured from him.

 

“B…b…ba…”

 

The last remaining acolyte stood over him, looking upon him with pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry my friend, but I couldn’t risk it.” Without another word, the Human raised his weapon high, and brought its weight down with the full expression of his might upon his victim’s skull. Then he did so again. And again. And again, each time a barbaric growl slipping past his gritted teeth as his eyes began to water.

 

When the victor finally ceased, the chamber fell silent. Lord Leshai looked upon the last acolyte left standing with the same expression he possessed before the battle. Slowly, he approached the dueling circle, eventually passing its threshold with a lackluster gait. Carefully, he walked around or stepped over the corpses that lay between him and the remaining contestant.

 

The young Human was bent over in exhaustion, using his training saber as support, his short blonde hair damp with sweat. He raised his head to see the Sith Lord before him. He towered over him, maybe not in height, but definitely in presence. Black robes with flowing red accents. Crimson skin. Blood-red eyes that locked with his own.

 

“What is your name boy?” Lord Leshai coldly asked.

 

“My name… is Tash,” the boy answered. Tash’s gaze lowered, where his eyes fell upon a remarkable amulet that hung from the Sith Lord’s neck. His eyes became lost in the red gemstone that seemed to glow and pulse in beat with his own heart. Then, the Human felt a creeping sting in the back of his mind.

 

“No. No it isn’t,” Leshai bluntly said. Tash raised his gaze once more, staring at the cold and dominating Sith.

 

“It is now,” Tash declared.

 

“Very well, but you’ll come to realize that it is pointless to try and keep secrets from me,” Leshai stated. “But regardless, you are now officially my apprentice.”

 

“Thank you, master.”

 

“Don’t thank me. I have given you nothing, and I never will. Anything you desire must be earned. I will merely provide the necessary challenges to motivate you toward such earnings. And should you find yourself insufficiently motivated, I will personally end your pitiful excuse for an existence. Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, master,” Tash stated.

 

Lord Leshai refused to break eye contact with his new apprentice, continually staring with his harsh visage. “Already a regret begins to fester within you. Such weakness will be purged.”

 

Without another word, the Sith Lord began to depart. Still injured from his battle, Tash could only struggle to keep up with his new master, but he knew better than to offer any words of protest. Following in the Pureblood’s shadow, the Human limped back toward the Lord’s sanctum across Kaas City.

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Chapter Twenty One: Lies (Part Two)

 

Lord Leshai and his new apprentice had finally arrived at the Sith’s sanctum within the Kaas City Citadel. Tash had not recovered fully from his fight at the Academy, and the long trek to the dwelling was not helping things. Stepping into the sanctum after his Lord, the Human gazed at the fascinating dwelling. Utterly simplistic in its form yet an extension of his master’s designs. Traditional Citadel architecture and furniture, accented with flowing red banners and tapestries. Tight halls and high ceiling stretching deeper into the compound, mysteries laying behind each new door.

 

“This is my home,” Leshai coldly stated. “By extension, it is yours as well. It does not, however, belong to you. Nothing here does. You’ll have access only to things you yourself have earned by your own merit. Until then, touch nothing.”

 

“Okay. Do I get a room?” Tash hesitantly asked.

 

Leshai paused as he stroked the fleshy tendrils hanging from his chin. “There is an empty office I have no use of. You may have that as a reward for your success at the Academy. There’s no furniture so you’ll be sleeping on the floor.”

 

“Can I at least take a shower?”

 

“Tomorrow I suppose, if only to prevent you from contaminating any of my belongings.”

 

“What about my stuff? We left the Academy before I could grab anything,” Tash explained.

 

“Assuming you haven’t been given a task, you may come and go at your leisure. Once the other students realize you are gone, I doubt they will honor any claims of ownership, so I suggest you retrieve what you want sooner rather than later.” Tash had no further objections, or rather, he had no desire to speak them. “Your room is down this hall. If you see a chamber with something inside of it, you’re in the wrong place. Goodnight.”

 

Lord Leshai slinked away without another word, leaving the apprentice in the foyer, tired and exhausted. As the Pureblood disappeared into the deeper halls of the sanctum, Tash began to search for his room. Slowly he ventured forth with a limping gait, the tip of his training saber dragging against the floor.

 

Passing through the dark halls, the Human came across his master’s study. The extensive room held an impressive catalogue of artifacts and collections unlike anything he had seen back at the Academy, and the shelves that lined the circular room still held room for future acquisitions.

 

One particular item caught the apprentice’s eye, a holocron of Sith make. The small pyramid shone with a crimson glow. Tash ignored all else, staring at the artifact, reaching out with his hand. Just as his fingers were about to grace the holocron, he recalled his hand, wary of his master’s words, and the possible consequences for defying them.

 

Instead, he was on his way, content with isolation. Content with nothing to his name. For now, at least. Tash eventually came to a completely empty room. Square, it’d be compact if not for the utter lack of furniture. Carefully, he laid his weapon down by the door before making his way to the room’s center. Cold, metallic walls surrounded him, closed in on him. He was alone. No possessions. No friends. No family.

 

As he lowered himself to the ground he struggled to find comfort in his position, but none the less he endured. And he would continue to endure for as long as it was necessary. And it would definitely be necessary.

 

The hours could not have passed any slower, even as Tash had managed to fall asleep. He dreamt of his years at the Academy, and their deadly culmination. He was haunted by the face of his former compatriot. He knew more trials lay ahead of him. He knew he’d have to be stronger if he wanted to survive. If he wanted to be a Sith.

 

Morning came, as much as morning could on Dromund Kaas. The Human was granted access to the sanctum’s bathroom where he attempted to cleanse himself of the events of the days prior. Stepping out of the shower, the apprentice realized the only clothes he possessed were coming apart at the seams. Everything else yet remained back at the Academy.

 

Tash readied himself for the day ahead before coming across his master in a seemingly deep meditative state. Just as it seemed as if nothing could get to him, the young Human heard the words of his master scratching at the walls of his mind. Lord Leshai was giving him permission to leave the sanctum, but required he be back at a specific time. Time was not on his side. Even in the event everything went smoothly, a trip to the Academy and back would leave little room to beat his master’s deadline.

 

The apprentice proceeded to his destination on foot, possessing no credits to expedite the procedure. Arriving at his former institution, the Human was filled with a peculiar feeling. Though he still wore the robes of an acolyte, everything seemed foreign. Like he didn’t belong there. The other students didn’t believe he did either. Had it not been for the careful interference of an overseer, Tash might have faced the deadly approach of students looking to put down someone lucky enough to escape the fate they remained attached to.

 

The apprentice returned to his old dwelling, a small room afforded to him as one of the upperclassmen. A comfortable bed, in retrospect. A trunk of personal belongings. Multiple sets of clean, pressed robes. Long he had looked upon the small room with disdain, thinking it unbefitting of someone destined for greatness. Now, he wanted nothing more than to have it back. Knowing what he had to return to, he figured that to be as good a solution as any.

 

Tash had gleaned from the occasional conversation the level of sway his master possessed with the Academy. Thus was born the apprentice’s first scheme. He wanted a room like he once had, and was going to have it. Specifically, he was going to have that exact one. Through a bit of guile, the young Human managed to convince the Academy officials to deliver his belongings to Lord Leshai’s sanctum, included the furniture he rightfully had no right to claim, with the promise of credits to be paid at a later date. As his first attempt, it was a simple play. He didn’t know if or when he would have any credits, or what the consequences were for abusing his master authority without his knowledge.

 

He was willing to take a little punishment if it meant getting what he wanted. Which was good, because there was punishment to be dealt upon his return to his master. He had missed the deadline of his return by ten minutes. He had expected an extra trial, some feat that would lead to his exhaustion or humiliation as per Academy standard. Instead, he witnessed the silent motion of his master extending his hand, and the quick flash as lightning arced from his fingertips and lashed out at his body.

 

The dark energy surged forth, wracking his insides as the lightning coursed through every fiber of his being. Time slowed as mere seconds of torture seemed endless. The attack was pure agony, doing no bodily damage, but brutally attacking every nerve and pain receptor it could find. The world grew dark, and Tash fell to his knees before the flat of his face collided with the ground.

 

He slowly came to, how long afterwards he did not know. Lord Leshai stood over him, ever the stoic, his piercing gaze refusing to relent. The Sith muttered something, or maybe he spoke plainly and the apprentice’s hearing had not yet recovered. Whether it was some catty remark or some profound words of wisdom, he would not know, nor ever know. But from that day forward, he vowed to never fail again.

 

But in time, he would come to fail again. With each new trial, there was some condition, some qualifier that despite his best efforts he could not achieve. And so he was punished. He would act too slowly. Shocked. He would finish too early. Shocked. He would scuff his Lord’s walls moving in his new furniture. Shocked. He would sneak a peek into his master’s archives. Shocked.

 

The pain never lessened. Lord Leshai had perfected the art. But Tash endured. He even grew stronger. He would come to understand pain. Though his master’s attacks forever yielded agony, he could defend himself against all others. Whereas in his early years at the Academy, the pain would deter him, now it only pushed him forward. Tash was motivated. He wanted to be stronger, and for the first time, he had undeniable proof that he was capable of achieving such. Before his first year of training under Lord Leshai had even completed, he had pushed his body past what he thought possible. He grew confident, confident enough to delve into his master’s artifacts and repositories despite the near infallible retaliations.

 

Each new day brought new training. New ways for Leshai to punish his apprentice. New ways to deprive him of what it was he desired. The Pureblood had sworn he wouldn’t give anything to his apprentice, and he had upheld his word. For any true Sith, must learn to take.

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Chapter Twenty Two: Lies (Part Three)

 

For months the apprentice trained, settling into his new home. Each day brought new tests, new trials, new ways to continue what began the day Tash left the Academy. Each success brought with it an increased strength, endurance, coordination. Each failure brought a better understanding of Force lightning.

 

Within the battle room of Lord Leshai’s sanctum, the battered chassis of a sparring droid fell to the ground, a confident Tash standing over it, his training saber in a similar state of disrepair. The Human looked over the defeated sparring droid as oil leaked and sparks flew from its wounds. The saber in his hand flickered as the energy array of its bent blade struggled to stay on. With a gruff sigh the apprentice tossed the weapon to the floor with the rest of the scrap.

 

“Honestly master, I think we’ve moved well beyond the point of training sabers and these pitiful droids,” Tash declared.

 

“We have, have we?” Leshai stated, adamant in his cold stoicism.

 

“I have earned the right to have a lightsaber of my own, you have to admit that.”

 

“You’ll find I have to admit nothing, and that I am the one who dictates what it is that you have earned.”

 

“Apprentices less accomplished than I have already received a lightsaber from their masters.”

 

“Then I suggest you seek another master if you find yourself so dissatisfied.” With a begrudging grunt, Tash kicked the fallen droid chassis before heading toward the door. “Where do you think you are heading?”

 

“Out.”

 

Without another word, the apprentice left his master alone in the battle room as he left the sanctum for the streets of Kaas City. On his way out of the Citadel, the Human saw the comings and goings of Sith and their underlings. Masters and apprentices walking side by side. Lords conversing with Imperial officers and technicians. Business as usual.

 

A range of emotions brewed with the apprentice as he trudged out of the Citadel. Anger. Fury. Disappointment. Then, intrigue, when his eyes fell upon a familiar face. Making his way from the Citadel was a young Human. Someone Tash had met at the Academy. Someone who had gained his apprenticeship a year prior. Someone with a lightsaber at his side.

 

“Hey, Serron!” Tash called out. The other Human perked up, looking around for his addresser, a small metallic box resting within his clutches. Tash offered the quick wave of his hand, and received a hesitant one in return as the other apprentice balanced the package beneath his arm. The confused Human stopped dead in his tracks as Tash rushed over to greet him proper.

 

“Oh, hey,” Serron muttered as the other apprentice drew close. “You were a student at the Academy. What was it? ‘V’ something… or…”

 

“It’s Tash now,” he informed. “New master, new life. You know? So where are you heading?”

 

“Making a delivery for my master. Finally escaped the Academy’s clutches, did you? Pretty lucky,” Serron teased as he continued toward his destination, Tash following closely by his side.

 

“Yeah, apprenticed to Lord Leshai.”

 

“Leshai? Heh, okay, maybe not so lucky,” Serron replied.

 

“You know of him?”

 

“Any Sith who deals in the artifact trade knows of Lord Leshai.”

 

“You some kind of artifact hunter?” Tash joked.

 

“No, but my master’s had dealings with him in the past. I mean, he’s no expert on the ancient stuff, but he isn’t one to let an item of power slip through his grasp. No Sith is.”

 

“Understandable,” Tash admitted. “My master does… take pride in his acquisitions… and his secrets.”

 

“Well, as his apprentice, I’m sure he’ll pass them onto you eventually.”

 

“Not so sure about that,” Tash declared. “These past few months of training, it’s been nothing but brutal, unforgiving physical trials.”

 

“Physical trials? You mean he’s not training you to be a Seer?”

 

“A Seer?”

 

“Hah! You weren’t kidding about him telling you anything,” Serron stated. “You know, that actually makes sense, given his line of work.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, he’s a Seer. He has access to information other Sith don’t. They look into the Force itself. Sometimes they see the future. Sometimes they see the connections of fate. Now, your master? He sees items touched by the Force. Artifacts left behind by the Sith of old. Holocrons. Weapons. Trinkets. Anything some powerful being some years ago poured some power into. Sounds to me like he doesn’t want a successor, he just wants some dumb muscle to help him retrieve the things he sees in his visions.”

 

Tash fell silent as his pace slowed. Serron’s words stirred within his mind. Could he be telling the truth? Leshai chose his apprentice with a test of strength. He has kept the knowledge of his Holocrons and databanks out of reach. Each and every trial presented has done nothing but focus solely on martial prowess.

 

Tash began to fall behind. Serron paid no attention to the sullen apprentice, having no investment in his company. The Human’s gaze sunk to the ground, his eyes darted back and forth in panic. His fists clenched and shook. Looking up, he saw Serron conversing with a taxi droid.

 

“Hey… Serron,” Tash called out. His words were soft and wavering. He trudged forth, Serron watching his slow approach as he stood beside a rented speeder. “Do you think I could get a ride?”

 

“A ride? You don’t even know where I’m going,” Serron said as he entered the vehicle.

 

“I know. It’s just… I’m not in the best of places right now,” Tash admitted. “Honestly, I think I’d prefer the Academy to… to this. I hold no loyalties to Leshai. If you could help me out, I could definitely return the favor.”

 

“What are you offering?”

 

“You know more about Leshai’s possessions and capabilities than I. If I were so inclined, I might be able to steer those toward the benefit of your master. Or if you’d prefer, yourself.”

 

Serron continued to stare down the other apprentice as he considered the offer. He wasn't exactly content with his place in life either. His mouth stretched into a sly smirk. With a wave of his hand, Serron offered Tash the passenger seat of the speeder. He accepted. Taking control, Serron lifted the vehicle and set out for the Dromund Kaas wilderness, intent on delivering his master’s package to a distant outpost, as well as partaking in a mutually beneficial dialogue with his new friend. Tash had other plans.

 

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Hours passed, and at the mouth of the Citadel, a speeder approached. The taxi droid scanned and documented the return of the vehicle, not bothering to note that it possessed one less passenger than when it departed. Parked amongst the lineup of rentable speeders, Tash hopped out of the driver’s seat. With a bounce in his step he approached the Citadel, newly acquired lightsaber at his hip, newly acquired metal box resting beneath his arm.

 

Within Leshai’s sanctum, the Sith Lord meditated within his quarters. Such meditations were interrupted by intrusion of a rambunctious apprentice.

 

“Returned, have we?” Leshai coldly stated, his body refusing to budge from its meditative position.

 

“Yeah, with a gift,” Tash warmly admitted, tossing Serron’s package to the ground in front of his master. The Pureblood opened his eyes, focusing them on the mysterious item. With the power of the Force, he lifted it from the ground and brought it to eye level. Narrowing his gaze, it’s lid separated from the rest of the box, revealing its contents to the Sith Lord.

 

“How did you come to acquire this?” Leshai asked with the stern arch of his brow.

 

“I guess we all have our secrets,” Tash haughtily answered.

 

“No. No we don’t,” Leshai declared as he turned his gaze toward his apprentice. “This box contains a holocron, one I parted ways with some time ago. You took it from its owner, or rather it’s owner’s apprentice. Followed him to the wilds, murdered him, and looted his corpse. Am I wrong?”

 

“If you knew, why ask?” Tash asked, increasingly flustered.

 

“I was being cordial,” Leshai admitted, completely deadpan. “So, you went and took what you desired. A weapon and a gift to appease your master. But not before acquiring whatever knowledge he possessed before you ended his life. All in all, a well-executed plan, if not accounting for my relation with Serron’s master.”

 

Tash could only stare at his master as his visage slowly turned into a harsh grimace. “How?”

 

“How, what?”

 

“How could you possibly know all that?”

 

“Well, you told me,” Leshai declared, slowly raising himself from the floor, Tash frozen in his place. The apprentice felt some burden wash over him, his master’s presence towering over him. “You cannot keep secrets from me, no matter how hard you try. Whatever you know, I know.”

 

“Fine, you can read minds. But we both know there are ways to keep telepaths out.”

 

“You don’t get it. This isn't about mental intrusions and safeguards. This is about us being connected. Bound. Linked, by more than just Sith convention,” Leshai explained, the gem around his neck glowing a bright crimson. “Your knowledge becomes my knowledge. Your strength, my strength. You know now that I am a Seer. That I specialize in the divination and acquisition of Sith artifacts. I can sense items powerful in the dark side of the Force from across the galaxy. I can read minds or tear them asunder, should I choose. But the connection you and I possess stems not from my powers, but from this.” Leshai palmed the glowing amulet as Tash remained awestruck.

 

“Between the master and his apprentice rests a bond. A code,” Leshai continued. “The powerful should never be forced to lower themselves for the sake of the weak, but it is their duty to ensure that strength endures. Whether it be in themselves, or the next generation. But as long as there have been Sith, there have been countless different views on how to pass on that strength. As well as countless different ways to cheat the system. One particular Sith long ago, fearing his life might be cut short by an overly ambitious apprentice, forged this amulet. It gives its wearer direct insight to the thoughts of his followers, regardless of either party’s mental capabilities. This is not some Seer’s trinket, for I require no such item. This is the embodiment of superiority.”

 

“So what, I’m just supposed stay your apprentice, knowing that no matter what, I’ll never be able to surpass you?” Tash shouted.

 

The Pureblood sharpened his gaze. “Still you do not understand. I believe in no gods. I believe that every individual has their limits. If I siphon your strength, if I know everything you know, that just means you’ll have to try harder than any other to take the place of your master. Unlike other Sith, you’ll not be allowed to ascend unless you are utterly deserving of it.”

 

“Am I supposed to believe this is all for my benefit?”

 

“Tell me, are you not stronger than you were the day you left the Academy? Wiser? Did you not procure your own livable quarters? Do you not now possess a lightsaber?” Leshai listed. “Just because I haven't directly given you something, doesn't mean I am not responsible for its acquisition. I’ll not assuage your expectations. The knowledge you now possess has earned you no more favors than you held prior. The difficulty will never lessen, but that which goes unchallenged grows weak. And I've no tolerance for weakness. You will become a proper Sith, or you will be broken. I've no vested interest in your success, and I've contingencies for whether or not you stay, and for how long you remain my apprentice. So you've a choice. Do you follow the countless easier paths that lay elsewhere? Or do you remain my apprentice?”

 

Tash stared at his master long and hard, thinking of his answer. He almost thought to refrain from answering, knowing the Lord had unfiltered access to what was running through his mind anyway. But he spoke aloud anyway, knowing he yet not yet lost control of his speech, and he needed to believe he still retained some control over himself.

 

“I’ll stay,” Tash declared.

 

“Good,” Leshai stated as he raised a hand. A moment later a small arc of Force lightning leapt from his fingertips and into his apprentice. The quick burst of energy surged through his body, wracking his nerves as usual. “Don’t kill your fellow Sith unless you have to. Any living asset can be controlled and utilized to your benefit. Remember that.”

 

“Yes… master,” Tash muttered as he recovered from the attack. The apprentice left for his quarters, hand tenderly resting upon the lightsaber at his side, an unwavering determination in his eyes.

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You're truly an outstanding writer. I absolutely love the way Lorrik thinks, and I love even more, the way he has grown throughout the story.

 

Seriously, keep writing and you'll get something published one day.

 

Thank you so much for the kind words.

 

I know some people are probably sick and tired of Act 0, and to be honest, I sort of am too. I had this cool idea and extended it out of a want for backstories and believable antagonists and such, but given my problems with pacing... I don't know how I thought trying to tell the story of a few decades in a few chapters would suit me. The next chapter should be up in a bit, (formatting and proofreading it now). As with the previous Acts, this one should end at 25 chapters. No epilogue, just a content filled Chapter 25 this time.

 

The good news is that all the time working on this part of the story has gotten me worked up for the final act, which means I have more of it planned out, as opposed to my rather impromptu style of Act II and some of Act I. What to look forward to: Tombs! Unseen Force powers! More hand injuries! Coruscant!

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Chapter Twenty Three: Lies (Part Four)

 

The years came and went. Tash faced new challenges, encountered new faces. The most intriguing of which was the young Algo Syrosk. The Human apprentice dealt with the young alien much as he would any other Sith. With caution. Perhaps even some fear. But with the passage of time came change. Unfamiliar change.

 

The two apprentices’ masters reached an agreement. A sharing of resources, the true cost of which was known only to them. But the immediate effect was the amount of time Tash and Syrosk found themselves in contact with one another. As a child, there was little the alien could offer the Human apprentice, aside from maybe an ear. A curious prospect, as Tash had little in the way of acquaintances, and none in the way of friends. A Sith in his position couldn’t afford it.

 

But Syrosk was different. A good different, and yet, a scary different. But for all his differences there was familiarity. A good familiarity, and yet, a scary familiarity. Syrosk progressed as any apprentice should, but as he honed his mental capabilities, Tash was reminded of the constant intrusions offered by his own master. But he couldn’t bring himself to hate Syrosk, despite his alien heritage, despite the downright benevolence of Syrosk’s master compared to his own.

 

As the years passed, the apprentices advanced along the paths set by their masters. Syrosk was trained in the ways of a Seer. Tash was driven toward physical dominance, through the utter brutality imposed upon him. But as time moved forward, both apprentices began to want more than what their masters could offer. Would offer. Syrosk was the first to suggest a greater cooperation than mere sparring partners now and then. A trade of skills, that would permit each to reach untold potential, and to purge whatever weaknesses remained within them.

 

The boldness of the alien’s proposition intrigued Tash. It was atypical of the reserved child he had met ten years ago. But time changes all things. Especially Sith. For all he knew, the ambitious but kind mentalist could have changed into a cold, calculating schemer. But the Human was not without schemes of his own. For he intended to kill his master one day, and Syrosk was offering a solution to the one problem that prohibited him from doing so.

 

Year after year, their masters grew more and more distant, and the apprentices grew closer. They relied on each other for new lessons, new trials. Lord Leshai had grown colder, lashing out at his apprentice without the typical insightful declarations following it. The Pureblood had withdrawn, tasking himself with personal ambitions rather than tending to his growing apprentice. His attention had once again returned to the artifact trade, to his skills as a Seer.

 

When he would emerge, it would always come alongside a task. One Tash would accompany him on. The two apprentices would accompany their masters on missions. Syrosk and Lord Omnus seeking out Force-sensitive children to place in the academies, while Tash and Lord Leshai would seek out Force artifacts to stockpile and trade.

 

As Syrosk spent time with his master, he began to understand his capabilities, his responsibilities. As Tash spent time with his, all he felt was doubt. He would delve into tombs, takes items by force, do everything his master was incapable of. And with each acquisition the words of Serron repeated in his mind. Each day, he wondered if he was just yet another tool in his master’s arsenal.

 

With time, Leshai gained more and more favor with the Dark Councilor whom held the seat of Ancient Knowledge. His work earned him boons and privileges, and eventually the title of Darth. Even as his master achieved one of the ultimate honors, Tash felt little reciprocation his way. As his master ascended, he remained firmly stuck in his place as a lowly apprentice. He felt he had done more than any other in his position, and yet he had nothing to show for it.

 

And so once again he left his master’s guidance, trying to achieve some semblance of his own sovereignty. He left Dromund Kaas, did battle, colluded with fellow Sith, partook in pleasures he never could under the watchful eye of his master. But even with his freedom, he felt himself incapable of accomplishing anything. He realized he had come to rely on earning his master’s favor. Leshai’s training style had indebted the student. As powerful as Tash had become, he was without funding, without a power structure. He could do nothing as an apprentice. So long as Leshai continued to exist he could not advance, and he could not break away. The final straw came the day Lord Omnus became Darth Omnus, and Syrosk became Lord Syrosk.

 

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30 BTC

 

Within the expanded halls of Darth Leshai’s sanctum, the elder Pureblood quietly meditated within his chambers. The quiet could not last in the face of the ruckus that resounded from the sanctum’s entrance. Tash barged into his master’s quarters, face locked in a snarl.

 

“Leshai!” the apprentice shouted. The Darth opened his eyes and responded with a slow, drawn out sigh. Tash barged in on is master’s meditations to see him kneeling upon the floor, his back to him. “Do you know who’s been given the rank of Sith Lord?”

 

“I’ve no doubt you intend to tell me,” Leshai coldly muttered.

 

“Syrosk! His master promoted him!”

 

“You two trained together for quite some time. You must proud for him.”

 

“My feelings about him aren’t a factor here!”

 

“Aren’t they? Aren’t your feelings about him being given rank and title the entire reason you’ve decided to interrupt me?”

 

“This is about me and you. For decades I’ve served as your apprentice. For years, I’ve been stuck in my place while you rose to the rank of Darth, an achievement you could not have attained without my help!”

 

“I’ve countless contingencies for various circumstances,” Leshai stated. “If I so desired, I could have done so without your-“

 

“Shut up!” Tash interrupted. “I have waited long enough!”

 

“For what?”

 

“For something! For anything! You are going to make me a Sith Lord, or else!”

 

“Or else what?”

 

“Come on, don’t play stupid. You know exactly what I’ve been thinking. You know exactly what I plan to do.”

 

“I suppose you’re right, if for the wrong reasons,” Leshai declared as he began to stand. “I know you intend to kill me if you don’t get what you want. You’ve been working up the nerve to do so for quite some time. It was seeing your peer given the promotion you believe yourself so rightfully deserving of that triggered this confrontation. But then again, I didn’t require delving into your mind to come to such a conclusion.

 

Tash was dumbstruck as his master turned to face him. “You’re amulet… it’s gone. Where is it?”

 

“With the rest of my collection,” Leshai declared. “I suppose in your frustrated haste you haven’t visited the study recently.”

 

“The study?”

 

“Is empty… yes. As are my many strongholds and vaults,” Leshai clarified. “You managed to trigger the ultimatum contingency. Every tangible archeological asset in my possession has been collected and put on ships bound for Republic space. There they will crash, scatter, and eventually be recover by the Jedi, to be sealed away with the other dark artifacts they seek to protect themselves from.”

 

“WHAT? Why?” Tash exclaimed

 

“Because I had a vision long ago, one I had a duty to see fulfilled. One that pertains to me… and you. I have done my part. The rest is up to you.”

 

“I’m sick and tired of your Seer nonsense! How can you call yourself Sith if you let yourself be shackled by such nonsense as visions and fate? Well that’s it. I’m done. I don’t need your precious little trinkets. I don’t need your restrictions.”

 

“You’ll come to understand… that even should I perish, you’ll not escape such restrictions,” Leshai declared.

 

“Then there’s no reason to dwell on it. If things are the same whether you are living or dead, I’d prefer dead.”

 

“Very well. If you can kill me, you’ll earn yourself the title of Sith Lord. I’ve arranged as much. But I’m afraid no matter the circumstances, my pride refuses to allow me to go down easily,” Leshai explained as energy began to crackle between his fingertips.

 

“Just one thing,” Tash spoke up. “Tell me, how do I plan to kill you?”

 

The dark lord arched a single eyebrow even as Force lightning jumped between his fingers. Sharpening his eyes, the Darth peered into those of his apprentice searching for the answers. His eyes widened when he found none. “It would seem that without my amulet, I am unable to pierce your mind's defenses.”

 

“Wonderful,” Tash softly declared. A moment later, the apprentice thrust his hands forward, sending out a powerful Force push. His master flew back, colliding with the wall behind him, cracking the hard surface. Rather than fall to the ground, the Darth found himself telekinetically held against the wall. Still in control of his hands, Leshai sought to lash out with Force lightning, but found the apprentice had already closed the gap.

 

Tash pinned one of his master’s hands to the walls with one of his own, whilst the other thrust forward to grip the Pureblood’s neck. As the apprentice clutched at his throat, Leshai gripped the wrist with his remaining free hand. Lightning passed from the master to the apprentice, surging throughout the aggressor’s body. Tash didn’t care. He let the dark energy course throughout his entire body, and back out his own arms into its originator. The Force Lightning traveled in a loop as the apprentice tightened his grip. As Leshai struggled for his final breath, the lightning lit up his gasping maw before it finally ceased.

 

The smell of charred flesh permeated the chamber. Relinquishing his grip, the Pureblood slumped lifelessly to the ground. The apprentice took a step back, marveling at his work. Though his body was in pain, he had endured his master’s attack to no ill effect. A smile graced the Human’s face.

 

He had done it. He was free. And now, he had some things to present to the Dark Council.

 

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28 BTC

 

“We are fast approaching the old Academy grounds. We’re struggling to find a suitable landing area for the ship,” Darth Omnus spoke over the Fury’s comm.

 

“No need,” Tash declared as he pressed a button near the rear hatch. Red lights began to flash as the vessel’s entrance opened mid-flight, the sight of the passing landscape beneath them greeting the two Sith.

 

“What was that about subtlety?” Syrosk asked with a raspy chortle. Turning his attention to a nearby panel, the alien sent a message to the cockpit. “Get us as close as possible. We’ll handle things while you find a proper landing spot. I’ll make sure the entrance is clear by the time you arrive, master.”

 

Without another word, the two Sith Lords leapt from the cruising vessel toward the surface of Korriban, lightsabers ignited, their first targets in their sights. There was little in the way of established defenses stationed across the old Academy grounds. Light security forces, just enough to keep ordinary looters out of the nearby tombs.

 

The lightly defended grounds were soon overtaken by the two Sith Lords and their eventual reinforcements. Their crimson blades made short work of any security forces that dared stand in their way, slicing through cloth and flesh without effort. Eventually, none were left to oppose the Sith’s arrival on their ancestral homeworld.

 

The battle was over. The first battle in the first war either Lord had participated in, and it was already over. As Tash walked amongst the scattered corpses that bled into the rocky terrain, he felt a disappointment wash over him. He felt as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life, and was sufficiently let down. In his mind, he knew nothing of the Republic’s true resilience, but there was a definite part of him that wished for anything but an expedited conflict.

 

Darth Omnus eventually found a suitable landing spot for his cruiser. Side by side, he and his apprentice were amongst the first to step foot in the remains of the Sith Academy. The elder master was awestruck with its magnificence. Lord Tash held little in regards to wonder. He had long since abandoned the sense of sacredness in anything.

 

Omnus and Syrosk had planned for an extended stay on Korriban, working with the Dark Council to get the Academy up and running. The other Lord possessed other interests, however. For the land stretching forth from the Academy was the Valley of the Dark Lords, where the tombs of the powerful Sith of old rested, along with all manners of treasures, troubles, and the spirits who hold domain over them.

 

After a few days, Tash was planning on joining the war effort alongside the dispatched warriors, when word of a local captive caught his attention. During the Battle of Korriban, a number of Republic forces had managed to escape destruction at the hands of the Sith. The reason such a gathering was even taking place was the trade and attempted smuggling of Sith artifacts.

 

A grave robber by the name of Farel Wickes had just finished selling a number of items before the Empire invaded. He was unsuccessful in his attempts to escape, being captured and held on the planet, where information on the surrounding tombs would be painfully extracted from him. When Tash caught word of the man's apparent fame amongst collectors of Sith artifacts in the Republic, the Lord could not pass up the unique opportunity.

 

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Lord Tash ventured to where the grave robber was being tortured, interrupting the assigned inquisitor in progress. The room was utterly dark, the only powerful source of light the jolts of Force lightning that leapt from the inquisitor’s fingertips. Upon the Lord’s intrusion, the interrogator ceased.

 

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” the inquisitor rasped.

 

“My name is Lord Tash, I’m here representing the Dark Council’s sphere of Ancient Knowledge. I’ve a few questions I wish to ask of our prisoner.”

 

“Why wasn’t I informed of this?”

 

“I do not know, nor do I care, but I promise my business with this man will be quick and you can return to your work in a matter of moments,” Tash declared, his hand politely gesturing toward the door. The inquisitor hesitantly complied, leaving the Lord alone with the grave robber.

 

“Are you awake?”

 

The prisoner offered a low groan. “Yes…” he eventually answered.

 

“Good. I have a series of precise question that I hope you could answer for me. No aggression. No torture. Just you, me, and some answers. And if you help me out, I can help you. Understood?” Wickes supplied a groggy nod. “Good. I need to know. Roughly two years ago, a large cache of Sith artifacts should have suddenly manifested in Republic space. Would you know anything about that?”

 

“A cache? I've only dealt with the stuff... that's been undisturbed for hundreds of years.”

 

“But you’ve dealt with traders. Collectors. Surely you’d have heard about such a large find.”

 

“Two years ago… the only thing that comes to mind is a particular string of finds that occurred around the same time. But the Jedi got to all of them before anyone in the trade knew of their existence.”

 

“Alright. And what would the Jedi have done with them?”

 

“Same thing they do… with any Sith artifact they come across. They lock it up.”

 

“And where might they lock it up?”

 

“Coruscant. The worst stuff… is hidden beneath the Jedi temple. The rest of it… is put in heavily guarded vaults across the planet.” Tash looked upon the prisoner in silence. “That’s all I know. Please, you have to help… they’ll kill me.”

 

“Don’t worry. You’ve helped me a great deal. I’m sure I can work something out.”

 

“Oh… thank you. Thank you… so much…”

 

Tash supplied a quick nod to the prisoner before exiting the chamber. Outside, a testy inquisitor looked upon the Lord with an arched eyebrow.

 

“Well?” the inquisitor muttered.

 

“I have everything I need, inquisitor. You may proceed with your duties.”

 

Lord Tash left the premises. He had no interest in the gathering of artifacts left behind by long forgotten Sith. He wanted only to act and progress by his own merits. But his master was right. Even beyond his death he had shackled his apprentice. Darth Leshai had left the stipulation that should he fall by his apprentice’s hand, that apprentice be given the rank of Sith Lord. But that wasn’t the only agreement he made before his passing. He had made many promises to many Sith Lords. He had promised certain collectors certain artifacts, ones that he knew he’d no longer possess. The Darth had predicted his own demise, and prepared accordingly.

 

Leshai had left behind a series of circumstances that would challenge Tash even beyond his death. Lord Tash now balanced appeasing the Lords spurned by Leshai’s broken promises, with his own vendettas. He had a set of skills that could sufficiently satisfy certain desires of any Sith, but he could not overcome the debts he owed without his master’s collection. He had thought he could ignore it, but it was proving difficult as time passed. He knew that eventually, he would have to complete his master’s final challenge: recovering his collection of artifacts and Sith knowledge. All of which now rest in the hands of the Jedi.

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Chapter Twenty Four: Lies (Part Five)

 

War was afoot. And yet, even a year after its initiation, Lord Tash found himself kept from the front lines. Aside from the collection his master ensured he wouldn’t get his hands on, the Sith Lord inherited all of Darth Leshai’s holdings. His assets. His followers. The old Pureblood had kept much from his apprentice, and soon he was finding out that just as many people were indebted to him as he was indebted to others. For once in his life he found himself holding some sway over others. Some measure of power.

 

Connections to the Reclamation Service. Low level officers and warriors. Both Imperial and Sith subordinates. All once controlled through the utter fear and intimidation wrought by Leshai. And now they looked to his successor for guidance. For answers. Tash didn’t possess the same capacity for mental intrusions as his master, but he knew the mind didn’t need to be read to be controlled.

 

The Sith offered something his followers had always desired, a strong guiding hand, tempered with a respect and benevolence. Tash had seen what manifested from brutality and domination. Nothing but a lust for escape and revenge. For once in his life, he was comfortable in his position, and he didn’t want anyone needlessly usurping it.

 

He offered kindness, and received such in return. The Sith Lord had experienced what it felt like to control others. And he enjoyed it. He decided it was time to finally choose his apprentice. The Korriban Academy was already starting to field students, but Tash’s interests laid elsewhere, back where he himself received his trials. Back on Dromund Kaas.

 

It had been decades since he had walked the halls of the Dromund Kaas Academy. It brought back no fond memories. There was little familiarity with the staff, enough time had passed for instructors and overseers to have come and gone. Wandering the halls, he observed the various students as they proceeded with their day. He had no trial planned, no tasks for any overseer. He had only the conditions for apprenticeship firmly within his mind. He knew exactly what he wanted in an apprentice, and he knew exactly when he would see it.

 

And see it he did. A young Human male by the name of Vai Thorel. A child of only eight years, but showing remarkable progress. The same age Syrosk was when his master took him under his wing. Tash knew from personal experience the kind of men certain masters could breed. No matter what his desires or plans, he vowed to never be the person Leshai was. He would guide his apprentice, forge him into something great, unburdened by the limitations his master had imposed on himself. But as much as he intended to shape his apprentice’s mind, he wanted to ensure it remained solely his own. And for that, he required someone with special training.

 

Once more Tash had returned to Korriban, after he was sure his old friend wasn’t out recruiting with his master.

 

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26 BTC

 

Within Darth Omnus’ chambers, Syrosk sat at a dining table, eating a simple meal alone, when a knock at his door caught his attention. The alien was intrigued to see Lord Tash standing at his doorway, a young child standing by his side.

 

“You’ve got a child,” Syrosk curiously rasped. The alien’s appearance varied little in the passing years. His skin had never been without a wrinkled, leathery facade. Lord Tash meanwhile seemed to be aging gracefully as he neared fifty years of age.

 

“An apprentice, more appropriately,” Tash replied in a jovial fashion. “I figured it was my duty to take one on as I am without a master. And I figured I’d take him away from the Academy before, well, you know what those places can do to a kid.”

 

“I never actually attended any of the Academies.”

 

“My point exactly. Here you are, a respected alien Sith Lord, having only trained under the guidance of one dutiful master.”

 

“Well, the levels of ‘respect’ are ever shifting these days. Omnus still has trouble dealing with some of the more traditionalist figures,” Syrosk admitted. “But if you’ve no interest in enrolling him in an Academy, what are you doing on Korriban?”

 

“I came seeking your help, old friend.”

 

“Have you, ‘old friend’?” Syrosk repeated before looking to the child. The young Human stared right back at him, a wide smile smeared across his face. “Well, he hasn’t recoiled at the sight of me, which is more than I can say for most of children I’ve dealt with over the years.”

 

“Yeah, he’s a got a good head on his shoulders. One I’d hope you’d be able train.”

 

“You want the me to give him the same mental training you received?”

 

“Something like that,” Tash admitted. “But such business can be discussed later. Can we come inside?”

 

“Sure,” Syrosk stated as he stepped away from the door. Tash and his apprentice stepped into the cramped Academy dwelling as Syrosk returned to the dining table. Tash took the seat across from him, whilst the young apprentice wandered the area. “You know, you never did tell me about what happened… with Darth Leshai.”

 

“The day Omnus made you a Sith Lord…I went to see him. We had been drifting further and further apart. I was sick of the way I was being treated. I wanted something, anything, better than what I had with him. But he had told me that he had some… vision, of his death. Said it was his duty to see it fulfilled. He challenged me. Said if I didn’t end him then and there, I would be killed. He tried to read my mind, but he couldn’t. Turns out your help saved my life.”

 

“Why would he outright attack his own apprentice?”

 

“I don’t know. I’ve always felt a disconnect with him, him being a Seer, me not,” Tash explained. “Tell me, has your master had a vision that he didn’t see through?”

 

“I can’t say that he has. Omnus always said that visions were to be considered a gift, and that to ignore one could lead to negative consequences.”

 

“I often wonder if in his later years he was losing his mind. There was always an intense darkness within him. Maybe he was at odds with his precognitive abilities. He was driven, dedicated, but a relentlessly cruel man. I don’t intend to treat my apprentice the same way. If anything I was hoping to emulate Omnus.”

 

“My master always did tell me to be cautious around yours. To this day I do not know what he gave up to earn me access to Leshai’s training facilities. And as much as I could not think of losing my master, I know that not all pairs possess the relationship we do.”

 

“Your master understands the importance of cooperation. For a time, the entire Empire did. But as time went on, we began to lash out at each other. One would think our war with the Republic would remind everyone what we are fighting for, but it seems things are just getting worse. The other Sith think our enemies too weak. They already scramble to take over the domains of any Lords who fall in battle. Things need to change.”

 

“And how do you propose bringing about such change?”

 

“I inherited everything my master owned when he passed. When I met with the officers and Sith whom used to report to him, there was a fear in their eyes. They had expected me to treat them as my master did. But I wouldn’t. I treated them with respect. I wasn’t soft, but my no means did I needlessly beat them down. Nothing done without purpose. I may not have taken his place as a Darth, but I’m in a position to bring about some change.”

 

“You really think you have enough to make a dent in the established order of things?”

 

“It’s a start,” Tash declared. “And think about it. You and your master, just two people, hold a great sway in who is accepted into the Korriban Academy. This place is on the verge of becoming the Empire's premier training institution, more so than any other Academy. The Dark Council is planning on establishing their chambers here. You have direct ties to the headmaster. You are Omnus have a hand in the formation of the next generation of Sith.”

 

“What are you suggesting?”

 

“We cooperate out of more than just some petty sense of bettering ourselves. We both stand in a position to influence how this Empire evolves. I control the past. You control the future. I deal with artifacts and ancient knowledge. You deal with the students who may yet become Sith.”

 

“I don’t know. My master gets enough grief because of me. He serves the Empire, and I know he’d do anything to see it prosper but… we cannot afford to make waves. If either one of us step on the wrong toes, it’ll be the end of us both.”

 

“I understand,” Tash admitted. “The Empire’s prejudices are rather deep seeded. It is a shame you don’t receive the respect you deserve. If you ever want to join the war effort proper, I could ensure you receive that respect.”

 

“Thank you for the offer, Tash. But my master needs me on Korriban for the time being,” Syrosk explained. “Finding new students is aiding the war effort. We’re in this for the long haul.”

 

“I see. You know, I‘ve always wondered, if there are more like you. Force-sensitive aliens. I imagine most of them are purposely overlooked. But as the Empire conquers more and more territory, it seems inevitable that the regions you could recruit from would expand accordingly. The Empire could use a few more like you, if you know what I mean.”

 

“I can’t say I disagree,” Syrosk admitted. “But like I said before, we can’t afford to take radical actions at this point…” The alien’s speech seemed to drift off toward the end as he eyed the cold meal that remained in front of him. “You asked if Omnus ever had a vision he didn’t act upon. He hasn’t. But I have. I’ve seen visions, visions of Force-sensitives to be. Aliens. Slaves. Outcasts. I’ve told Omnus about them, but… he says we cannot afford to bring them into the Empire.”

 

“Hey, things can change. Especially in times of war. No reason to give up yet.”

 

“I suppose,” Syrosk commented. “Alright, as for the present, I’ll help you train your apprentice.”

 

“Excellent! Apprentice, come meet your new tutor!” Tash warmly called out to the young one. The child rushed over from the living area to stand between the two Sith Lords. He offered a quick bow of the upper half of his body to the alien.

 

“What is your name boy?” Syrosk asked.

 

“Vai. Vai Thorel,” the child answered.

 

“And what is that you desire?” Syrosk continued. The boy puzzled for a moment, looking to his own master for guidance. Tash offered an affirming nod of his head.

 

“I want to be strong!” Thorel exclaimed, filled to the brim with adolescent eagerness.

 

The alien let out a raspy chortle. “Well, I’m sure that can be arranged. Do you wish his training to start now?” Syrosk asked, turning to Tash.

 

“No, that’s okay. I have a few things I’d like to take care of beforehand, I just wanted a confirmation before proceeding. You’ve been more than a valuable ally, Syrosk,” Tash declared, extending his hand. Syrosk added his, and the two Sith Lords shook hands. With a wave of his hand, Tash instructed his apprentice to follow, and the pair was on their way. “We’ll be in touch. Say goodbye, Vai.”

 

“Goodbye!” the child waved as he stepped from the alien’s home. Syrosk watched as they were on their way, the words of his fellow Sith Lord stirring in his mind.

 

----------

 

Time passed, and it was business as usual. There was an attempted assault on the planet by a Republic fleet while a rogue Sith did battle within the Academy, but such things were expected to happen from time to time. Over the next couple of years, Tash would drop off his apprentice on Korriban whilst he did battle on the outskirts of Imperial space. Syrosk would train the boy in areas his true master found himself lacking in.

 

In time, Omnus’ visions became few are far between. Syrosk kept to himself, lest an errant Force visions give him knowledge of a potential student he knew he could do nothing to recruit. As the Korriban Academy became more populated with suitable students, many Lords began to question the need for Omnus or his apprentice. With the war effort ignited, Imperial families were more than happy to send their children to be forged into the Sith of the future. There was less and less need for ‘hidden’ candidates.

 

The biggest shock came years later, when Darth Omnus was called forth to the frontlines.

 

----------

 

18 BTC

 

Lord Tash once more found himself on Korriban alongside his teenage apprentice. The two walked a pleasant walk even under the harsh sun that beat down upon them from above. Entering the Academy, they saw an institution bustling with activity. However, as they traversed deeper into the facility, there was nothing but a stillness outside Syrosk’s dwelling.

 

A knock on the door, and they received a greeting a few seconds later. Without a word, the alien Lord invited them in. As the pair casually entered, Syrosk’s movements were unusually brisk. He had a hurried aura about him as he paced around the sanctum.

 

“Something wrong Syrosk?” Tash concernedly asked.

 

“It’s Omnus. He’s been asked to take part in an ongoing campaign. On the frontlines,” Syrosk hastily explained.

 

“Darth Omnus? He is powerful to be sure, but no warrior. Why would they call him away from the Academy? I thought things were going well here.”

 

“They are. Too well in fact. They don’t need recruiters of his caliber anymore. They offered him the role of a strategist, but he turned it down. Said there’s something he has to do,” Syrosk explained.

 

“Did he have a vision or something?”

 

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. The whole situation’s been chaotic.”

 

“Why aren’t you accompanying him. I know you’re still a great fighter.”

 

“His orders. He says we can’t risk both of our lives. But I don’t care, it’s not like I could accomplish anything without someone like him supporting my actions.”

 

Tash offered the firm shake of his head. “Don’t say that. Look. If there’s nothing we can do about his deployment, I can at least keep an eye on him. Accompany him. Protect him.”

 

“You could do that?” Syrosk asked, a warmth in his eyes.

 

“Of course. It’s the least I could do, what with you helping out my apprentice. You keep an eye on him, I’ll keep one on Omnus,” Tash suggested alongside the extension of his hand. Syrosk immediately accepted the handshake, and supplemented it with a firm hand placed upon his friend’s shoulder. The two shared an silent agreement and a mutual nod of respect. “I’ll keep in touch, give status updates. That sound good?”

 

“Yes, thank you Tash,” Syrosk said, before casting a quick glance towards Thorel. “Do you think your apprentice is ready for the higher tiers of training?”

 

“Of course he is,” Tash declared, patting his apprentice on the back. “Run him through the mental gauntlet. And who knows, it might help you take your mind off of things.”

 

----------

 

It had been a couple of days since Tash and Syrosk met. Darth Omnus had been sent to the threshold of Empire’s territory, to help push Imperial forces into Republic space. The Sith had their eyes on the galactic east, and on their way to Bothuwai, they sought to take control of a small, unpopulated planet to use as a staging ground for future invasions. It was without a civilian populace, but the forested world did, however, possess a number Republic outposts.

 

On the planet’s surface, the elderly Darth Omnus walked with a small accompaniment of Imperial troopers following him. The Sith was garbed in slightly more form-fitting black robes than usual, but he possessed nothing in the way of armor or personal reinforcement. As the squad of soldiers slowly advanced with their rifles raised, Omnus advanced with a polite walk, his hands neatly kept behind his back. Which each step, the group’s boots sunk into the wet grass and mud that stretched around them in all directions. The planet was lush with green, doused with moisture, and beset by an ever blinding fog.

 

“Lieutenant,” Omnus spoke up. “We are approaching the assigned coordinates, but I do not sense any outpost nearby. Contact base, see if you can't confirm our intelligence.”

 

“Right away, my lord!” one of the troopers stated. Omnus paused his advance, as did the squad behind him. A moment later, the lieutenant spoke up. “Command is rechecking our coordinates. They say there’s a chance the Republic fed us some false-“

 

The lieutenant was cut off by a crimson blaster bolt striking him dead in the chest. The other soldiers immediately began searching through the fog for the source, cycling the vision settings on their helmets. It would prove useless as more bolts emanated from the fog in all directions. Expertly place shots downed each of the soldiers, leaving only the Darth unscathed, who had yet to budge from his previous position. With utter calm, he watched as Republic troopers slowly emerged from the ethereal veil, the white-clad squad having him completely circled.

 

Omnus cautiously panned his gaze amongst the enemy soldiers who had their rifles trained on him but refused to fire. One figure, however, stood out from the rest. Clad in white plates like his comrades, but beset by a heavy brown cloak, head uncovered by any helmet. His visage was colored and alien, that of a Togruta. A Jedi.

 

“I must commend you, Jedi,” Omnus stated. “You did an excellent job masking your group’s presence. I’m quite humbled that you managed to sneak up on us.”

 

“Quiet Sith. We have you surrounded,” the Jedi declared in an authoritative tone. “I’m offering the chance to surrender.”

 

“Then I suppose I’m honor bound to offer you the same.”

 

“You’re in no position to make such an offer.”

 

“I’ve studied the intricacies of the Force for over fifty years. I’m more than capable of handling a single Jedi,” Omnus stoically boasted.

 

The Jedi continued staring down the unwaveringly calm Sith. “Are you forgetting about the squad of soldiers, each ready to shoot you dead?”

 

The Darth let out a brief sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

The Sith took a deep breath and closed his eyes. A moment later, he released a torrent of Force energy, kicking up a wall of mud all around him high into the air, completely blocking the trooper’s line of sight. As the pillar of wet dirt stalled and fell back to the ground, the soldiers were stunned to see the Sith Lord was missing. Their target lost, the troopers could do nothing but ponder as a fine mist of water settled on their armor.

 

“A fine show, Sith, but-“ the Jedi began to say, before being interrupted by the howling yelp of one of the troopers under his command. One by one the circle of soldiers began to panic, waving their weapons around in all directions.

 

“Oh no… oh no! AH!” one shouted before discharging his rifle, sending a blaster bolt flying into a nearby compatriot. The formation began to break, each soldier seemingly fighting some invisible foe. Meanwhile, the Jedi looked on with confusion, eyes dead set upon the elderly Sith who had not budged an inch from his original spot.

 

“What are you doing to them?” the Jedi shouted.

 

“The mind is a curious thing, you know,” Omnus stated, utterly nonchalant. “It’s a shame they don’t receive the same training I assume you Jedi do. And don’t bother trying to help them. They can’t hear you, or me. And if you lay a hand on one, you’re liable to get shot.”

 

“Stop this. NOW!” the Jedi commanded, drawing and igniting his lightsaber. As the blue beam pointed at the Sith, he still refused to budge.

 

“The offer to surrender still stands,” Omnus stated. “I can save the remaining few.”

 

“I’ll never surrender to you, Sith! You can’t control my men if you’re dead!” The Jedi declared as he charged toward the Darth.

 

“Predictable.” As the Jedi ran forward, a blaster bolt surged toward him. The Jedi quickly raised the saber to deflect, sending it back to its shooter and killing him. More and more bolts were sent toward the Jedi, halting his charge as he focused on defense. “Of course. I mean, after all, they are just a few lesser beings getting in the way of our conflict. What do their lives matter if you have the chance to strike down one of your Order’s mortal enemies. In all this time, still the Jedi haven’t changed one bit.”

 

As the Jedi deflected the blaster fire, one managed to strike him in the back of the leg, forcing him to take a knee. Then another one struck him in the shoulder of his saber arm. As he struggled to keep his weapon up, the Jedi used his last moments of life to cast one final despicable glare toward the Sith Lord. The two locked eyes, before the Jedi succumbed to the overwhelming blaster fire.

 

Looking around, what remained of the panicked squad was still deeply engaged in combat with the mental projections of a Sith Lord's physical onslaught. As he lessened his grip on the troopers’ minds, they slowly began to recover. However, almost immediately they began to suffer from some unknown malady. One by one they dropped their weapons and began clutching at their throats.

 

Darth Omnus began to turn on his heels, searching for the source of the onslaught with the first signs of panic brewing in his visage. As more and more of the Republic forces drew their last breath and crumbled to the ground, Omnus finally laid eyes upon a new figure. Beyond the veil of fog a shadowed figure was approaching. It was not the outline of the figure that signaled his presence, but the shining of a crimson blade that bounced with each step taken.

 

Omnus reached out with his mind, trying to uncover the identity of the mysterious figure. All attempts proved fruitless. No matter how hard he tried, he could not penetrate the mind of the figure approaching him. But that proved to be as good a confirmation as any.

 

“Tash…”

Edited by Osetto
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