Chapter Twenty Four: Scores

 

It was early morning, as various sounds of nature chirped throughout the lush environment of a forest world. Trees stood tall and were in abundance, but not so much as to cast the lands below in darkness. The rising sun cast its soft rays on upon the uncivilized moon, leaving an orange glow upon the dewy surface. A gentle breeze passed over the unsullied environment, branches and shrubs rustling as the local fauna awoke from their slumber.

 

Resting amidst the serene locale was a small lake, its waters calm and home to a number of creatures. Small lizards and rodents scuttled around the waters’ edge, but took care not to pass its shimmering threshold. Each would take its drink before slinking back into the surrounding brush. Tall, thin trees sprouted from beneath the lake’s surface, each home to a mess of tangled roots that provided shelter to the smaller creatures from whatever dangers may lurk. But as trees planted themselves and thrived within the water, the lake’s center went uninterrupted by flora, only a smooth, unbroken surface that reflected the rays cast from the rising sun.

 

The area was quiet. Peaceful. The only sounds stemming from the quaint chattering of the local wildlife and the whistling of the passing breeze. But the serenity was not unassailable. In the distance, a hum rang out, increasing with volume as its source approached the quiet lake. The noise carried with it a mechanical oscillation, the kind associated with repulsorcraft.

 

As the hum grew louder, it was accompanied by the snapping of twigs and rustling of shrubberies. The various elements of undergrowth were being brushed aside as some foreign element pushed its way through the previously unsullied locale. Small animals near the lake began to scamper away, fearing the source of the noise. Passing through the final layer of trees, the source of the hum had arrived at the lake. It belonged to an engine, an engine attached to a light platform, upon which sat little more than a light metallic frame. A frame that rose to the midsection of the repulsorcraft’s sole pilot.

 

The figure stood tall, covered head to toe in light-gray fur. A Wookiee, garbed in little more than a leather harness across his chest. One hand on the mobile platform’s controls, the other was affixed tightly around the stock of his bowcaster. The bandoliers that hung from his broad shoulders were predominantly empty, as were the blade sheaths upon his back. He had everything he needed right in his hands.

 

The platform calmed its approached, hovering a short distance above the water’s surface near the lake’s edge. The hum of the craft’s engine dulled until it was almost completely absent. Silence began to return to the scene, buts its denizens did not. The small fauna that fled knew better than to make their presence known. But the Wookiee had little need for them anyway. His sights were set on what sat beneath the lake’s depths.

 

The Wookiee urged his repulsorcraft forward, inching closer to the lake’s center. His sharpened eyes began scanning the surface of the calm waters, hand gripping tighter around the stock of his weapon. Nearing the middle of the lake, the hunter halted his approach, coasting to a quiet stop. Soft ripples emanated from beneath the hovering platform, expanding outward before calmly fading.

 

Removing his hand from the craft’s control panel, the Wookiee raised his bowcaster, placing the stock against his shoulder as he gripped it firmly with both hands. Peering over the frame of the platform, the hunter intently scanned the surface of the waters ahead. His breathing slowed as he concentrated, every movement made with utmost precision. Finally, something emerged from the depths of the lake. A small, fleshy object broke the surface of the water, topped with black eyes that seemed to stare off into the distance.

 

The Wookiee remained silent. Motionless. His eyes affixed to the emerged object, the hunter maintained an unwavering calm and focus. As the blob of flesh and eyes disappeared beneath the surface, the Wookiee remained rigid in his stance. There was a rumbling beneath the lake, and soon the waters began to swell. In an instant, a giant beast propelled itself upward, kicking up a column of water as it breached the surface. The amphibious creature launched itself meters above the stationary Wookiee, a portion of its body still beneath the lake’s surface. Widening its vast, toothy maw, the object from before revealed itself to be merely the creature tongue. As he stood beneath the shadow of the cascading beast, the hunter did not falter.

 

With a single pull of the trigger, the Wookiee released a metallic quarrel from his bowcaster. The charged bolt surged forward, ripping into the creature’s flesh and sending it reeling back from its intended prey. The creature fell back with a resounding splash, sending ripples and waves crashing toward the lake’s edges. As his prey floated motionless on the water’s surface, the Wookiee reached beneath the platform’s controls, and returned with a metallic cord attached to a winch. Making a loop, the hunter gave himself some slack before expertly lassoing the loop around the beast’s neck. Pulling the cord taught, the Wookiee returned to the control panel, and began to move the repulsorcraft, slowly dragging the felled beast along the lake’s surface.

 

At the water’s edge, the hunter continued to pull the beast out of its former home, slowly revealing its stocky yet serpentine body as he dragged it onto the bank. Hopping down from his craft, the beast’s size became even more impressive when measured against the towering Wookiee. From end to end, the aquatic creatures stood over five meters long. One third was comprised of its head and elongated neck. Another was comprised of its stocky torso, from which sprouted stout, webbed limbs. The last third, was a long, thin tail. Taking a folding knife from his harness, the Wookiee went to work cutting and severing the slick appendage.

 

Coiling the collected tail, the hunter secured it to his craft, before detaching the winch from the rest of the creature. Climbing aboard the platform, the Wookiee quickly raised himself and began vacating the area, leaving the tail-less body of the creature he had slain. Returning along the path he had traveled, the hunter sped forward through the forested terrain, eyes set on returning home.

 

After minutes of traveling, the Wookiee’s eyes set upon a quaint cabin nestled amongst the peaceful forest. In a clearing a short distance away, a large black freighter sat, its top covered with natural and artificial camouflage. The Wookiee brought his repulsorcraft to a stop near the cabin’s rear, amongst a yard populated with the tools and designs of a hunter. Touching down, the Wookiee picked up his bowcaster, and slung his acquired prize over his shoulder. Dragging the lengthy tail, the hunter eventually draped it over a rack near the cabin’s rear door.

 

Wiping his brow, the silver-haired Wookiee entered the home he had crafted for himself. The sturdy cabin was constructed out of local wood, cut and shaped to mimic Kashyyyk aesthetics. Stepping inside, the hunter hung his bowcaster on a pair of wooden pegs on the wall. Moving throughout his wooden home, the Wookiee passed his kitchen and made his way toward the living area. Standing at the threshold of his destination, the hunter froze as he saw someone awaiting him.

 

In one of his hand-carved chairs, a single Trandoshan sat patiently, his cold, sharpened gaze immediately affixed to the Wookiee the moment he stepped into sight. The two figures’ eyes connected, and the atmosphere grew immediately heavy, even though neither of them had acted. The Wookiee did not understand. A tracker as good as he would have noticed if someone had broken into his home. He could not explain the intruder in his home, as the two continued to offer one another only enduring, bitterly cold stares.

 

If it was a test of who would be the first to act, the Wookiee had every intention of being the victor. With blinding speed, the furred figure ducked out of sight, rushing back toward the cabin’s rear. As he stepped into the kitchen to retrieve his bowcaster, the Wookiee was shocked to see another intruder standing in his way. A Nikto had planted himself between the hunter and his weapon, standing firm, arms crossed, offering only silence and the same bitterly cold stare as the Trandoshan. Once more the Wookiee was frozen in place, wondering if his centuries had finally caught up with him. But there was something about these men. Something unlike anything he was encountered before.

 

Suddenly, the black-clad Nikto moved. It was subtle, and he remained exactly where he stood, be the intruder offered the quick motion of his head, urging the Wookiee back toward the living area. There was something oppressive, something unforgiving about remaining under the Nikto’s gaze. Reluctantly, the Wookiee complied, taking a careful step back toward the room in which the Trandoshan sat. Then another. Then another. Eventually, the Wookiee returned to find the other intruder right where he left him, casually sitting in one of the wooden chairs, casting his sharpened eyes toward him.

 

The sandy-scaled Trandoshan was garbed in black armorweave protecting his torso and legs, hands and feet going uncovered. From his neck hung a necklace of collected teeth and talons. The Wookiee had no memory of the Trandoshan, but knew well enough why he had come. He had killed and enslaved enough of his peoples that there were undoubtedly countless of them seeking revenge. But before the Wookiee could dwell on the matter, the scaled intruder finally broke his stilled stance. With a quick motion of his head much like his companion's, he directed the Wookiee’s attention to a nearby wall.

 

Two weapons hung from the wall on display. Two swords. Ryyk Kerarthorr blades. Hand-forged weapons possessing long, sickle-like edges, mounted on perpendicular handles. The Wookiee looked to them for a moment, before returning his attention to the intruder. The Trandoshan offered only a quick nod.

 

Carefully, the Wookiee edged closer and closer to the hanging weapons, never taking his eyes fully off the sitting Trandoshan. Resting a hand on one of the blades, the Wookiee looked for one final clarification, but received only the intruder’s enduring glare. Removing the swords from the wall, the Wookiee wrapped his hands tightly around their handles. The Trandoshan began to rise from his seat, prompting the Wookiee to firmly plant his feet. He watched with confusion as the scaled intruder made his way toward the cabin’s entrance. Turning his back on him, the Wookiee saw two blackened blades strapped to the lizard’s back.

 

The Wookiee turned to see the Nikto now standing in the threshold between the living area and the kitchen, leaving him only one way to go. He thought of brandishing his blades, slicing through the Nikto and escaping out the back. But something urged him toward the Trandoshan. The hunter couldn’t explain it. Was it fear.? Was it honor? Was it fate?

 

The Wookiee emerge from his home to see the Trandoshan had not yet ceased his movements. He continued to walk, further and further from the home, making his way toward the clearing that housed the hunter’s ship. The Wookiee followed in silence, steeling himself and focusing his mind. The Trandoshan led the Wookiee away from his home, past the clearing to a spot unburdened by the surrounding forest. On a nearby hill, there was only grass, nothing to obscure or obstruct. Only the gentle greenery nipping at the Trandoshan’s heels amidst the calm breeze.

 

The Wookiee looked back to see the Nikto leaning against the exterior wall of his cabin, keeping his distance from himself and the Trandoshan. Ahead, the lizard stood patiently in the center of the hill. The Wookiee calmly approached, keeping his head held high, his hands firmly secured around his swords' handles. Finally did the Trandoshan unsheathe the blades across his back. He held in his hands two matte black dueling swords, straight-edged and immaculately sharp. As he awaited the Wookiee, he refused to take his sharpened eyes off of his opponent.

 

The Wookiee finally came to a stop a few meters across from the Trandoshan. They both stood in silence, only the occasional sound of nature sounding out. As the Wookiee looked to his opponent, he expect some words. Some measure of explanation. Some exposition of intent. At the very least, he expected a sweltering of fiery emotion. But he received none of it. The Trandoshan was unique amongst his species. The Wookiee had never seen a being who carried so much hate in his eyes, but made so little noise. As the two warriors stared each other down, as the two hunters secured their grip on their blades, they both realized that this was a matter beyond words.

 

Nesk. Direclaw. It would be the end of one of them. Widening his stance, the Trandoshan raised his swords, ready to begin. The Wookiee did the same, preparing himself for the battle ahead. There was no signal to begin. No formal declaration that the fight was on. It was merely a test of who would be the first to act. The Trandoshan had every intention of being the victor.

 

Upon the hill, Nesk was the initiator, charging forward, kicking up dirt and grass as his feet dug into the ground beneath him. Direclaw steadied himself, ready to block the attack. But as he prepared to absorb the blow, he caught a glimpse of his opponent’s eyes. In that instant, he realized there would be no stopping him. Dodging out of the way, the Wookiee leapt to the side as the Trandoshan released a heavy swing of his blades. The attack almost seemed to cut the air itself, surpassing the wind in sound and intensity. Even as he recovered meters away, the Wookiee felt a wave of pressure wash over him.

 

Direclaw watched as in the distance, undergrowth parallel with the Trandoshan’s strike violently shook, as if affected by the attack. The Wookiee’s eyes widened at the spectacle, almost unable to process the immense power his opponent wielded. But he would not be allowed to marvel for long, as the Trandoshan was once again on the offense. Nesk barreled toward his foe with the same vigor, same fire behind his eyes. Bringing his swords down once more, the Trandoshan this time managed to connect metal against metal. The Wookiee’s legs almost buckled under the pressure of the blow, Nesk’s blades pressed against his. Before he could react further, Direclaw found the Trandoshan’s naked foot delivered straight into his gut.

 

The Wookiee was sent tumbling back by impact of the blow and the accompanying shockwave. Direclaw rolled on the grass, almost releasing his grip on his weapons. When he finally righted himself, he saw his opponent standing motionless across from him. As the Trandoshan cast his harsh gaze, the Wookiee could almost feel his will being drained. He felt weak. He felt powerless. He felt defeated. But as the Trandoshan raised his blades once more, he knew he could not resign himself to death.

 

Direclaw straightened his stance and raised his blades. There was a calm as the two warrior stared one another down, each ready to conclude their battle. Finally, the two immense figures began to run toward one another, hands gripping ever tighter. They ran, growing closer and closer, until finally, contact. The two hunters simultaneously swung their swords with all their might, before continuing past one another for a couple of steps. The two men came to a stop as they both remained upright, standing back to back.

 

The air was calm. The hill was quiet. The fight was over. Nesk looked to see his blades coated with a layer of blood, a moment later hearing the sound of a Wookiee crumbling to the ground. Turning around, the Trandoshan was greeted with the sight of Direclaw lying face-down in the grass, motionless, small rivulets of red staining the surrounding green.

 

With a deep breath, Nesk wiped his blades against his thigh, before returning them to their sheaths. He turned to see Vurt slowly approaching, looking toward him with his usual cold stoicism. The two Sith shared a brief look before deciding their business done.

 

The two walked away from the hill, leaving behind Direclaw and all he had created, as they ventured back toward their ship. Trekking across the forested world, the pair moved in silence as they returned to their vessel parked over an hour’s walk away. When the two finally returned to their ship, they entered to find a series of notices flashing on their datapads. Looking over the electronic tablets, the two Sith studied the communications, identical in their composition. After reading over the messages, the pair offered one another a quick, affirming nod, before entering the shuttle’s cockpit.

 

Soon, the Imperial vessel lifted itself from the ground, and began its slow, careful ascent upward, back through the natural canopy they had breached before. As they departed the uncivilized moon, a lone figure looked up at the roaring shuttle, hiding in the brush below. A small, furry humanoid, garbed in rough leathers, hands clutched around a primitive spear.

 

The tribal denizen stared in wonder as it watched the metal box fly across the sky before finally disappearing into the heavens.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty Five: Unions

 

Four Imperial shuttles sat parked outside Yerrig’s palace. The outside world of the mining planet had gone silent, completely stilled. The smugglers and transports had come and gone, ferrying their passengers to their new lives. The armed escorts who opted to oversee the transition were paid their dues and sent on their way. The lands were desolate, as they always had been, but now, there was no one to look upon them. The yellow hills and smoggy air were there to stay, but they would no longer feel the intruding touch of sentients.

 

The world’s sole occupants were holed up in the estate of the deceased slave master. The apprentices had been gathered, each suitably satisfied with the paths they had walked days prior. Hours spent traveling through hyperspace. Hours spent walking amongst terrestrial lands. Hours spent seeking their desired targets. Each of them carried inside them a strange, contradictory swell of emotion. They were fulfilled, and yet they were not. They were satisfied, and yet they were not. They were pleased, and yet they were not. For how could they be, so long as the burden of uncertainty weighed heavy upon each and every one of them.

 

The Sith had grouped themselves together in the home of Lorrik’s parents, cramping themselves within the living area upon limited seating arrangements. If there was ever a way to make a Sith look less intimidating, it was to have them sit on a miniature stool. The eight apprentices gathered around the living room table, couches and chairs situated in a rough circle, to discuss recent events.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Arlia began, scrunched against her companion with whom she shared a sofa with. “You managed to bring down the entire mining operation on this planet by yourself?”

 

“Well, if by ‘by yourself’ you mean me and Jresh, then yeah,” Lorrik plainly replied from across the table, sitting next to his partner on a slightly larger couch. “Take out the leader, everything under him starts to collapse.”

 

“None of his workers put up a fight?” Arlia asked.

 

“This was a job for them,” Lorrik stated. “I made sure they got paid, and they were happy to find another job amongst the countless other opportunities for security work.”

 

“How did you keep the slaves from lashing out?” Arlia continued.

 

“Just had to lay on a bit of the Sith charm,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Right,” Arlia dismissively offered. “You just can’t go a day without helping someone out can you.”

 

“Funny you should say that, ‘Miss Arlia’,” Kar’ai teased. The Rattataki and her partner shared a cushioned armchair, each sitting on one of the armrests, leaning their shoulders against one another’s. “She spent her free time rescuing a bunch of children.”

 

“Is that so?” Lorrik playfully commented, resting his chin on his joined hands.

 

“If you must know, I was there to kill my former owner,” Arlia emphatically declared. “I just happened to free a few children by happenstance.”

 

“What? You never told us you were a former slave,” Lorrik blurted out.

 

Ryloh perked up. “I know! I said the same thing,.”

 

The purple Twi’lek offered her firmly arched brow toward both of them as she maintained a silent pause. “It was an operation run by a woman. Didn’t know her name. Everyone just called her ‘The Matron’.”

 

“Funnily enough, my former slave master’s name was Yerrig,” Lorrik stated. “But after digging through his records, I found out that he changed his name to that, because his previous one didn’t sound like the last name of a ‘reputable businessman’.”

 

“Well, I suppose reputation needs to be maintained, good or bad,” Arlia commented.

 

“I guess we’re not so different after all,” Lorrik jokingly declared. “So, anyone else topple any slaving operations in their spare time?”

 

A few of the Sith shared a brief laugh that was cut short at the sight of the Trandoshan slightly lifting his hand. The other apprentices offered their own befuddled looks at the silent warrior, hoping for the explanation they knew would never come.

 

“It’s a shame Kar’ai and Ryloh didn’t bring one down. That would have made us four for four,” Lorrik joked.

 

“We thought about it,” Ryloh muttered, almost ashamed of himself now. “We just didn’t think it was the right choice at the time.”

 

“He’s got a sister on Ryloth,” Kar’ai answered for her partner. “We decided to hold off on picking her up until we get our current affairs in order.”

 

“What about you?” Lorrik asked. “What directions were you given?”

 

“Extended family on Rattatak,” Kar’ai answered. “Don’t really care about ‘em. In fact, I think the man who killed my father was a second-cousin or something, so familial ties aren’t too sacred to us.”

 

“I think you’ve been silent long enough,” Arlia declared, jabbing her elbow into her companion’s side.

 

All this time, the Zabrak hadn’t uttered a word. The warrior had leaned forward, elbows planted onto his thighs, mouth covered by his interlocked hands as his gaze seemed to stare off into the distance. Much of the dried mud had been scrapped off the warrior’s digits, but a layer of dust and dirt still stained much of his outfit.

 

“You want to tell us what was so important that we all had to be here?” Arlia asked.

 

“I went… to Dromund Kaas,” Isorr softly began, lowering his hands, but maintaining his stance.

 

“No way. They let you onto the Imperial Capital?” Lorrik asked, suitably impressed.

 

“Dropped him off at the orbital station,” Arlia answered for him. “He managed to sneak onto and off world.”

 

“Why were you on Kaas?” Lorrik asked.

 

Isorr let a pause hang heavy in the air. “To see my father.”

 

“I see,” Lorrik replied. “Was this a pleasant visit, or…”

 

“When I first received the note, I didn’t know what type of visit it was going to be,” Isorr declared. “He allowed Vai to take me to the Academy, even though he had to have known that aliens would never be permitted to become true Sith. I thought there was a chance he knew about Tash’s plans, but sent me anyway. That there was a chance he simply cast me aside under the pretense of sending me to become a Sith.”

 

“What did you find out?” Lorrik wondered.

 

“He was ignorant. Tricked, the same as the rest of us,” Isorr answered. “He thought Tash was offering his son a chance he’d never received. That my enrollment in the Academy would be genuine. When I met him, he wondered why I was there instead of the classrooms.”

 

“That’s good to hear, I suppose,” Lorrik replied.

 

“Yeah. It was a relief, but rather confusing, considering he’s Tash’s apprentice,” Isorr stoically explained. The other Sith looked to the Zabrak with a mixture of disbelief and befuddlement, unsure if they had even heard him right.

 

“Did you say Tash’s apprentice?” Lorrik asked for clarification. The horned warrior nodded.

 

“I thought Vai was his apprentice,” Kar’ai declared.

 

“It’s not like you can only have one,” Arlia said. “Hell, Syrosk has eight.”

 

“How many does Tash have?” Ryloh asked.

 

“Just the two,” Isorr calmly answered.

 

“Says who?” Arlia challenged. “‘Cause if it’s your father, he’s not exactly the most knowledgeable person, what with him being apprenticed to your master’s sworn enemy.”

 

“Wait, you said he wondered why you weren’t in the classrooms?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Yeah,” Isorr briskly replied. “He didn’t even recognize Syrosk’s name when I said it. It seems his master hasn’t been too forthcoming with him about his past or his future plans.”

 

“So he didn’t know about your apprenticeship? The past two years?” Arlia asked.

 

“He didn’t. He does now,” Isorr answered.

 

“Was telling him the best idea?” Arlia continued. “I mean, if he still serves Tash, he could tell his master about you, about us, about what we’ve been doing.”

 

“I didn’t tell him anything about you all,” Isorr explained. “And even if I did, his loyalties are to himself and his son.”

 

“That’s great news isn’t it?” Ryloh added. “I mean, doesn’t that mean we can bring him over to our side?”

 

“He still respects his master,” Isorr declared. “He was the only Sith willing to give him a chance.”

 

“He gave Syrosk a chance, and look how that turned out,” Arlia stated.

 

“That's what has me curious,” Isorr replied. “My father has served Tash for years and thrived. Vai has served him longer, and he seems to be Lorrik’s new best friend. You think maybe we’re going after the wrong Sith? Maybe it’s Syrosk who’s in the wrong?”

 

“I’ve no doubt in my mind that Syrosk has made many mistakes in his life,” Lorrik admitted. “But that doesn’t mean Tash is any better.”

 

“Maybe not. But if they are equal, maybe choosing the side that has some measure of standing is the correct choice,” Isorr stated.

 

“So Tash has done some good for some people, what about the scores of students still in his classrooms?” Lorrik asked.

 

“We still don’t know their purpose,” Isorr countered. “After what Syrosk has been through, after what you’ve been through, it seems as though keeping them hidden and off the radar is the best choice if they want to be kept alive.”

 

“What happened to you, Isorr?” Arlia interrupted. “You use to be all, ‘strength is the only measure of a person’s worth'. I mean, you pretty much out-Sithed the Pureblood over there.”

 

“That all changed the day I realized my lineage meant I was superficially inferior to other Sith,” Isorr declared. “The day our skill was worthless if not backed by blood. The day we got exiled because one of us had the gall to defend himself.”

 

“So that’s it, after all we’ve been through you’re just giving up?” Arlia chided.

 

“I am not giving up, nor will I ever give up,” Isorr adamantly replied. “I simply recognize the futility of thinking we can change things ourselves. The Empire has been set in its ways for centuries, do you people honestly think with just the eight of us, that we can overcome one of the Sith’s most deeply imbedded traditions?”

 

The room fell silent. The eight apprentices couldn’t look one another in the eye, their gazes steadily trailing toward the floor. The living area possessed a melancholy calm, and a stillness that persisted until a new figure entered from the kitchen. The elder Velash, Lorrik’s father, entered holding within his hand a tray, upon which sat eight small cups.

 

“Here’s some coffee for you and your friends, Lorrik,” Garen warmly stated, carefully navigating the maze of seats and setting the tray upon the central table.

 

“Thanks, dad,” Lorrik said as he lifted his gaze, smile forming on his lips. The Human inquisitor was the first to take a cup as the father retreated, leaving the Sith to their business. The son took a long sip of the warm beverage, before looking to his comrades. “To answer your question… yes. I believe we can.”

 

Jresh was the next to pick up a cup, with the other apprentices following him soon after. The others weren’t sure what to think. After all they had accomplished, it had all been attained in a very tight, very restricted environment. Opening themselves to the Empire at-large brought about an entirely new series of troubles and problems they had no control over. And through it all they stuck by one another. Loyal to each other above all else. Above masters, above country, above family. But they knew it would take more than trust amongst a few fellows to succeed in the future. What exactly they needed, none of them could quite say. Strength could be overcome. Knowledge could be outmatched. Each and every one of them was able and willing to fight, but they knew not whom they were fighting against.

 

“Hmm,” Isorr sounded out as he took a sip of his drink. “So this is what good coffee tastes like."

 

----------

 

Hours passed. Day turned to night. As much as the apprentices had to discuss, there was little more for them to speak about. The sizable palace had a number of guest rooms for the apprentices to retire for the night, none of them willing to stay in the main room owned by the former slave master. As the pairs readied themselves for the day’s end, one apprentice was not with his partner. Walking the empty halls of the palace alone was Jresh, making his way toward the estate’s entrance at a calm, yet focused pace.

 

Stepping past the confines of the palace interior, the Pureblood stood under the diminished moonlight that passed through the hazy atmosphere. But as he stepped outside, he also ceased to be alone, as Lorrik’s father leaned patiently against the wall adjacent the palace entrance. Garen Velash relaxed against the hard surface, taking the occasional sip of his drink as he stared toward the sky.

 

“Mr. Velash,” Jresh softly spoke up, announcing his presence. The father glanced over with a smile on his face, a soft glint in his uncovered eye.

 

“Jresh. What bring you out here?” Garen warmly asked.

 

“I wanted to talk, about Lorrik, if you don’t mind,” Jresh stated.

 

“Of course I don’t mind. Go right ahead,” Garen declared, shifting his weight against the wall so as to better face the adjacent Sith.

 

“I’m sure you’re aware that Force-sensitivity is considered hereditary.”

 

“I’m aware,” Garen replied.

 

“Then it stands to reason one or both of Lorrik’s parents would be Force-sensitive, but as far as I can tell, neither of you are,” Jresh admitted. “Is there a chance it skipped a generation, or that one of you has latent sensitivity?”

 

“I suppose there’s always a chance,” Garen plainly answered. “Though the easier explanation would be that he isn’t our biological child.”

 

The Pureblood looked to the father with a puzzled look in his eyes. “Lorrik isn’t your son?”

 

“Of course he’s my son,” Garen replied. “Family isn’t defined by blood. Meylin and I have raised him ever since he was a baby.”

 

“Did you know his biological parents?” Jresh asked.

 

“Just the mother,” Garen stated.

 

“Was she a slave?”

 

“No. Then again, back then neither were we,” Garen explained.

 

“What were you?”

 

“I suppose the most apt description would be… anarchists,” Garen admitted. The Pureblood stood in silence as the Human took another drink. “Ideological criminals, if you want to get technical. Just a group of people doing what we had to in order to get by. It was me, Meylin, Lorrik’s mother, and a few others.”

 

“How did you come to take care of Lorrik?”

 

“His mother passed shortly after he was born,” Garen softly stated. “Meylin and I volunteered to raise him as our own. Changed all our last names to Velash. It was a plain, common enough family name. We wanted something 'ordinary' as we began our new life.”

 

“How did you become slaves?” Jresh asked.

 

“Our line of work didn’t make us a lot of friends, and had a way of following us after we left it behind,” Garen explained. “Eventually, we crossed the wrong people. Found ourselves in debt. Debt became indentured servitude. That eventually led to full blown slavery. We thought to resist, for Lorrik’s sake, but realized that would just put him in more danger. So we kept him close, protected his as well as we could. When the Sith came to take him to the Academy, we knew exactly the kind of people they were. The kind of people we fought against before becoming slaves. But we tried to justify it, again for Lorrik’s sake. Told ourselves the Sith weren’t any worse than the Jedi or the Republic, or the people who ruled our lives then. Justified the tragedies by saying, ‘well, at least they’re upfront about it’. All lies we told ourselves, of course. But, there weren’t many options for a better life then, so we tried so hard to convince ourselves that this one was genuine. Every day after I sent him away, I wondered if I had done the right thing for my son. Now, seeing him return. Seeing how happy he is. How happy you’ve made him. I know I made the right call.”

 

Jresh watched the father take another sip of his coffee as he returned his gaze up toward the night sky. The Pureblood joined him in gazing upon the filtered light of the moon and stars. The two shared a moment of silence as they become lost in the oddly comforting sight.

 

“As oddly selfish as this is to say, thank you,” Jresh said, not taking his eyes of the hazy night sky. “If you hadn’t made that decision, if you hadn’t allowed Lorrik to be taken to the Academy, I don’t know what our lives would be like. For me, and the other Sith. Your son’s suffered great pains, but he’s endured, and along the way has helped us in ways beyond recognition.”

 

“No need to thank me,” Garen warmly declared. “And if you haven’t noticed, the galaxy’s a selfish place. If you don’t take a little piece for yourself now and again, someone else is going to end up taking a little piece of you.”

 

“I see you’re not without wisdom.”

 

“That come as a surprise to you, what with me being ‘non-Force-sensitive’,” Garen jokingly teased.

 

“Not at all. My father was blind to the Force, and I hold a great deal of respect for him. Now more than ever,” Jresh stated. There was a pause as the Pureblood lowered his gaze, about to reenter the adopted home.

 

“Hey,” Garen called out, slowly removing himself from the palace wall. “I don’t know what it is exactly that you all are planning to do. But you keep Lorrik safe, alright?”

 

“I can do that,” Jresh adamantly declared before stepping into the palace, leaving the father alone underneath the darkened skies. The Human slightly bobbed his head, a smile forming on his lips as he took one final sip of his coffee.

 

The Pureblood returned to the guest room he and Lorrik had decided to move into. The chamber didn’t possess the grandeur and opulence of the palace that surrounded it, but it far surpassed the suite they had grown accustomed to. White walls with golden trim stretched above its occupants’ heads to a decorated ceiling. A large bed topped with luxurious fabrics sat in the middle of the chamber, with doors leading to closets and bathrooms sitting on either side of it.

 

Jresh entered to see his partner sitting at a desk near the entrance, chin resting on his palms as he leaned his elbows against the hard surface. The warrior approached his partner, looking over the inquisitor’s shoulder to see an arrangement of items lined up in front of him. A holocron. A mask. An amulet. A severed claw. Four items of power the apprentice had procured through force or gift.

 

“I feel like I’m not doing enough,” Lorrik softly admitted, sensing his companion’s presence. “The other apprentices. They’re relying on me for answers. For guidance.”

 

“They rely on you, because they trust your judgment,” Jresh stated. “They don’t expect you to have all the answers or to blindly rush into a situation without them. And neither do I. We don’t need to make a decision today. We don’t need to make a decision this week. Take your time. The answers will come. They always do.”

 

“But what if this time, they don’t?” Lorrik asked. “Or if they do come, what if I end up being wrong?”

 

“You wouldn’t be the first. We all make mistakes. What matters isn’t that we make them, but how we respond to them.”

 

“But what if these mistakes end up getting people killed?” Lorrik asked. “What if I’m responsible for the death of the other apprentices? Or Isorr’s father? Or the students of the Academy?”

 

“The fact that you are willing and want to help makes you a better person than practically any other Sith,” Jresh declared, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder.

 

“My intentions are worthless if I still end up ruining other peoples’ lives,” Lorrik replied, keeping his head hung low.

 

“The chance that things might go wrong has never stopped you before.”

 

“And look where that’s gotten us. Exiled. Caught between two Sith Lords. And you with only one good leg-”

 

The once comforting hand on Lorrik’s shoulder clenched, grabbing hold of the inquisitor’s robes. In one swift move, the warrior pulled the Human up from his chair, forcing him to his feet.

 

“I do not care about the leg,” Jresh emphatically stated, turning his partner to face him. “Being a Sith means inviting pain into one’s life. I’ve made peace with that long ago. Was it a mistake? Yes. Could it have been prevented? Perhaps. Should you keep beating yourself up for it? Absolutely not. You think all the good you’ve done is negated by the hardships we’ve faced, almost none of which you’re directly responsible for? If it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have survived in the Korriban wastes. We might have never learned about our place in the Academy. The others wouldn’t have gotten the chance at closure regarding their pasts. And most important of all, I never would have met the love of my life. You chastise Syrosk for fearing the futures he has seen, and yet you fear those that you cannot. You’re crippled by uncertainty, when you shouldn’t be. We’ve survived the worst that could be thrown at us. We’ve endured. We’ve pressed on. Each defeat was followed by victory. Each injury was followed by recovery. There is nothing we can attribute to you that had made us weaker. We’ve only grown stronger from your guidance. You think the other apprentices care that they might get hurt? That they might die? That’s been true for them every single day for the past two years, maybe longer. You’ve proven yourself a capable individual. Someone who is strong. Someone who is smart. Someone who believes in something other than himself. But now, more than ever, you need to believe in yourself. For your own sake as well as ours.”

 

“You’re right,” Lorrik softly muttered, wrapping his arms around his companion’s waist. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Stop apologizing,” Jresh warmly offered, reciprocating the hug. “It’s not about being wrong. It’s about making things right. Something we all think you're capable of.”

 

The two continued the warm embrace in silence, Lorrik’s head resting gently against his partner’s chest. “’Love of your life’, huh?”

 

“You know it,” Jresh whispered, planting a soft kiss on the Human’s forehead.

 

The inquisitor looked up, a smirk creeping across his lips. The warrior offered the curious arch of his brow, only to be interrupted by the Human jumping up and wrapping his legs around the Pureblood’s waist. Jresh felt his partner’s hands caressing the sides of his face as Lorrik pulled himself closer. The two Sith’s lips touched, and they shared a long, impassioned kiss. Upholding his partner’s weight with the greatest of ease, Jresh carefully walked over to the bed as Lorrik tightened his grip around his companion. Falling onto the sheets, the pair felt the weight of the world wash away as all other matters slipped from their minds.

 

In that moment, they had only each other, and that was all they needed.

 

 

 

 

 

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

so i had finished the story when lorrik had just been visited by vai and then i hadnt checked back to the story for awhile

then i was like hmmm lets see if osetto has updated the thread and bam the rest of the story was up. so i had a great chunk of the story to read which was awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it was cool how it progressed and to see lorrik and jresh become a couple i was wondering through the story if it may happen.

 

osetto like i have said in my other posts on here u have a great story here and i hate to see it end, and i know u sayed that just because its the end of this story doesnt mean it is the end of the character progression stories... so keep them coming if u can..please...

so i had finished the story when lorrik had just been visited by vai and then i hadnt checked back to the story for awhile

then i was like hmmm lets see if osetto has updated the thread and bam the rest of the story was up. so i had a great chunk of the story to read which was awesome!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it was cool how it progressed and to see lorrik and jresh become a couple i was wondering through the story if it may happen.

 

osetto like i have said in my other posts on here u have a great story here and i hate to see it end, and i know u sayed that just because its the end of this story doesnt mean it is the end of the character progression stories... so keep them coming if u can..please...

 

Glad to hear you're still reading and enjoying. But all stories must come to an end, especially ones that feature 'the academy' and 'acolyte' in the title, whose protagonists no longer go to the academy and stopped being acolytes long ago.

 

But it's not over yet. We still have Act IV to go, which I'm thinking will be 10 chapters. Somewhat shorter and more focused than the 5 extra long chapters I had planned for it to be. After that will be the epilogue, a storied endcap rather than a narrative 'let the author wrap everything up for you'. In the end, not counting the prologue, that'll make this story 111 chapters long, which, uh, is a lot more than I had ever expected.

 

After this story is finished, Lorrik and Jresh's adventurers will continue in a new one. Haven't thought of a title yet. Maybe something long and unwieldy like 'Shadow Amongst Light: Candle Amidst Darkness", just to make discussing it arduous. Whatever it ends up being, it will likely possess a more episodic format and be a bit more lighthearted, with Lorrik and Jresh living the life they've earned at this story's conclusion. But for now, I've an ending to write, and an Act IV title to come with. I'm thinking either 'Endings' or 'Invasions'. We'll see.

 

As always, thanks for reading everyone. Your comments and feedback have always been appreciated. This is where I'd usually invite any constructive criticism, but I think we've just about passed the narrative point of no return. But I've stories unfinished and stories not yet begun, so I'd never turn it away.

 

Until next time, readers. I'll try to keep the week long delays to a minimum for the coming chapters.

Edited October 29, 2013 by Osetto

Just another SQUEE

Act IV: Endings

 

Chapter One: Plans

 

Within the Kaas City Citadel, the machinations of Imperials and their Sith masters were in full swing. On levels high and low, countless chambers were filled with individuals possessing some measure of power on Dromund Kaas. Military strategists. Sith Warmasters. The men and women ultimately responsible for the taking of any world the Empire set its coveting sights upon.

 

Nestled in deep amongst his fellows and contemporaries was the home and office of Darth Tash. The elder Sith Lord currently resided within his communications room, standing across the grainy holo-image of some dark figure. Tash was adorned in only the barest layers of his usual armor, forgoing the usual cape and armored plates that accentuated his public attire. The aged Human possessed a beaming smile as he offered the respectful bow of his head.

 

“Thank you, my lord. I shall not disappoint you,” Tash stated in his most diplomatic tone. Without another word, the image faded as the communication shut off, leaving the Sith alone with his thoughts. His happy, excited thoughts. But whilst his thoughts persisted, his solitude did not, as the man’s first apprentice stepped through the room’s entrance.

 

“So. We get the word yet?” Thorel asked through jumbled words. The master turned to see his apprentice standing in the doorway, holding a small bowl in one hand, spoon in the other. The student had a mouth full of cereal, which he continued to chew as he leaned against the doorframe beside him.

 

“Yes, my apprentice. We have official sanction from Angral to take part in the invasion,” Tash pleasantly stated. The subtle wrinkles on the elder Human’s still handsome face were accentuated by the wide grin he wore. Though passing seventy years, the Darth possessed only superficial signs of aging, his grayed hairs belying the still sharp mind and powerful physique he maintained.

 

“Hrm,” Thorel vocalized as he finished his chewing. “Does he know what you plan on doing?”

 

“It’s precisely why he’s allowing me to do it,” Tash explained. “I promised him a portion of the spoils.”

 

“Does he know who’s going to be earning those spoils?” Thorel asked. “He and his ilk aren’t too keen on the kinds of students you’ve let into the Academy.”

 

“Sith like Angral care about results, plain and simple,” Tash declared. “And I’m sure the results will be to his satisfaction.”

 

“We can only hope,” Thorel half-heartedly offered.

 

“This is what we’ve been preparing for,” Tash stated. “After all these years, I can finally stop living in my master’s shadow. We’ll finally have true standing alongside Sith like Thanaton and Baras.”

 

“Speaking of which, are we sure Baras’ info checks out?” Thorel wondered.

 

“The man is nothing if not a capable source of intelligence,” Tash admitted. “It’s a shame he’s not taking part in the invasion. If he died in battle, I’d no longer have to repay him. But alas, we play the hand we’re dealt.”

 

“So when do we move?” Thorel asked.

 

“When the time is right,” Tash answered. “Until then, we need make sure everything is in order.”

 

“Will you, or I, be addressing the acolytes on Korriban?”

 

“I’ll be busy finalizing details with those in charge of the invasion,” Tash admitted. “I’ll be sending you to the Academy to tell everyone their duties.”

 

“The students don’t know me, and it’ll take more than an apprentice to mobilize them,” Thorel commented.

 

“I suppose,” Tash said with a soft sigh. “The real mobilization won’t occur until they’ve been brought to Dromund Kaas. Just pass on the information to the instructors and staff for now. Begin making whatever preparations need to be made.”

 

“Alright,” Thorel replied. “I’ll make sure everything else is in order. What of Syrosk? He’s still of Korriban.”

 

“What of him? He’s in no position to interfere.”

 

“I’d say the Academy is the exact position for someone to be in should they want to interfere,” Thorel teasingly countered. The master released another sigh as he gently rubbed his brow.

 

“You’re right, we can’t assume being left with nothing means he won’t act,” Tash admitted. “If anything, such desperate conditions might cause him to lash out. Keep an eye on him, if you can.”

 

“Of course, master,” Thorel offered with a dip of his head.

 

“Have you heard word from his apprentices?” Tash asked.

 

“I extended the offer to join us. They didn’t accept, but they didn’t outright reject it either.”

 

“And where are they now?”

 

“Not sure,” Thorel stated. “They split up after being exiled from Korriban. As far as I know, they haven’t made contact with their master since their departure.”

 

“I see. It’s shame,” Tash muttered. “There being eight of them, it would have almost been too perfect had they joined us. I might have had to start believing in fate.”

 

The elder Human released a heavy chuckle at his own words, whilst Thorel continued to consume his breakfast. Just as he was about to raise another spoonful to his mouth, the apprentice saw an indicator light up on the room’s holoterminal.

 

“Incoming message,” Thorel calmly stated, before taking the bite. The master offered the quick arch of his brow before turning back toward the communications terminal. Engaging the device, the flickering image of a Zabrak came to life.

 

“Ah, Ikton. Excellent timing,” Tash called out.

 

“I assume that means you have an update?” Ikton stoically asked.

 

“Correct,” Tash declared. “We’ve received authorization. You’ve the privilege of participating in one of the most important battles in history. Our names will be known by Sith for generations to come.”

 

“You intend to involve the acolytes in this, correct? Those you brought to the Academy?” Ikton bluntly asked.

 

“Indeed,” Tash plainly answered.

 

“So, my son, he is to take part in the battle as well?”

 

“The classrooms will be assigned their targets, which means that, yes, your son will participate in the assault,” Tash admitted. “But if he manages to survive, he will be hailed as a hero.”

 

“And if he doesn’t survive?” Ikton coldly offered.

 

Tash looked to the holo-image with a calm pause. “You know that a Sith’s safety is never guaranteed. But your son is a capable warrior. I’m sure he will do just fine.” The master tried to impart upon his distant apprentice a sliver of his own comfort, as a smile returned to the aged Human’s face. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a meeting to attend. You will remain here on Kaas until we are ready to mobilize. Vai will answer any questions you have.”

 

With no more words to offer, Darth Tash calmly removed himself from the chamber, leaving the communications line open. The Zabrak watched with sharpened eyes as his master faded from view. Now, only the two apprentices remained. Slowly, the younger Human sauntered up to the holoterminal and watched his fellow apprentice alter the focus of his gaze. The Zabrak stared at the Human with an enduring stoicism as the seconds passed by in silence.

 

“So. Ikton. How’s things?” Thorel warmly asked, mouth half-full of cereal. The other apprentice remained silent, only offering a cold stare at the Human. “I can tell you right now, Tash doesn’t record these things, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

 

“I received… a visitor recently,” Ikton spoke up.

 

“That sounds nice,” Thorel playfully replied.

 

“Do you enjoy playing coy?”

 

“Who’s playing?” Thorel timidly offered.

 

The Zabrak’s stoicism began to falter as his face slowly contorted into a snarl. “Why didn’t you tell me about my son? That he was no longer a student at the Academy?”

 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I did,” Thorel softly declared.

 

“So it’s true. You did send him,” Ikton muttered.

 

“I didn’t exactly send him. I just told him where to find you,” Thorel admitted.

 

“I’d offer my thanks, if I hadn’t also found out that you’ve been deceiving me for the past decade.”

 

“Technically, his status only changed in the past two years,” Thorel explained

 

“And what of the acolytes?” Ikton asked. “Those belonging to classrooms not officially recognized by the Academy?”

 

“The classrooms that provided them shelter? Provided them a chance they’d never have received otherwise?” Thorel countered.

 

“That ‘chance’ is nothing more than a lie and you know it,” Ikton declared.

 

“Is it?” Thorel replied. “Those students are closer to being true Sith than most would think possible of them. They’ve received a chance practically none would offer them. They’re about to take part in the war’s single most important battle. This will finally be their chance to prove themselves. If we’re successful, they won’t be seen as mongrels and outcasts. Tash will finally possess the standing to make you a Sith Lord without repercussion. You can take your son on as an apprentice afterwards if you want to. But only if we’re successful.”

 

“And what’s to stop me from contacting my son before then?” Ikton wondered.

 

“Nothing. Go ahead. If you can convince him to help, then more power to you,” Thorel reasoned. “But remember, this is war. Some live. Some die. That’s just how things are. He’s safe at the moment. Don’t rush to drag him into things if you’re afraid to lose him.”

 

“I lost him over ten years ago,” Ikton declared. “What I’m afraid of is never getting him back.”

 

“You should learn to let go,” Thorel advised. “He can survive on his own.”

 

“Easy for you to say. You can walk the streets of Kaas City without fearing reproach.”

 

“No Sith is above reproach,” Thorel stated.

 

“No. But some are allowed to stand taller than others,” Ikton countered. “And that’s something you and Tash have never had to deal with.”

 

The exchange ended with Ikton cutting off communications. The electronic image of the Zabrak flickered before fading entirely, leaving the Human apprentice alone. The Human continued to stare toward the deactivated holoterminal, his brow slightly furrowed. With a heavy sigh, the apprentice ate another spoonful of cereal as he turned toward the room’s exit.

 

----------

 

On the vacated mining world of Ortess-3, the sun peeked up from beyond the horizon, shining the first rays of morning on the estate of the departed slave master. Within, the eight Sith apprentices stirred from their slumber, ready for whatever the day would bring.

 

Within one of the palace’s many guest rooms, Lorrik awoke to the gentle warmth of his partner’s chest pressed against his back, the Pureblood’s muscular arm draped over his own. Carefully, the Human lifted his companion’s arm and slinked out from beneath it, setting it back down as softly as he could. Garbed only in his briefs, the pale inquisitor stealthily made his way into the adjacent bathroom.

 

The small chamber stood in stark contrast to the one he had used back at the Academy. While both could be said to exude a sense of luxury, they did so in opposite manners. Whereas the other was dark and rigid, appealing to Imperial senses, the palace’s bathrooms were bright and flowing, elegant accents marking and shaping the furnishings and fixtures.

 

Lorrik proceeded with his morning duties, eventually stepping into the shower. Basking in the warm cascade of water, the Human found himself indulging in the simple pleasures and comforts he had forgotten since being exiled from the Academy. Though he was sure the shower’s source was some tainted pool beneath the polluted soil, whatever filters the palace’s former owner installed were working their magic.

 

As the spray impacted against and flowed down his body, the inquisitor held up his right hand. Beneath its remarkably paled flesh, he saw what looked like black veins spreading and forking from his fingertips to his wrist, concentrating in a dark splotch on his palm. Even though it was numb, he retained full control, full articulation. And as the spray of water bounced off his right hand, he realized he hadn’t even lost total feeling. He could sense each drop grace the pale and marred flesh in a sensation unlike any other. Neither pleasure, nor pain, nor any neutral signal. A cognitive awareness that he did not fully understand.

 

Emerging from the shower, the inquisitor dried himself with a towel retrieved from the fully stocked cabinet that stood nearby. Running his hands through his dark hairs, the Human slicked his hair back, the lengthy fibers stopping just short of gracing his neck and shoulders. Examining himself in the mirror, Lorrik found an odd satisfaction in looking upon his own visage. He seemed at ease. There were no bags under his eyes. Nothing to signify the stress he had endured the past week. He was cleansed, in more ways than one.

 

Lorrik emerged from the bathroom to see his companion righting himself, legs bent over the side of the bed. The Human offered a warm smile, and the Pureblood reciprocated. Maneuvering over to the luggage they had brought with them, the inquisitor began digging through to find that day’s outfit. He settled on the usual garb, black form-fitting robes with blue trim, and a glove to cover his scarred hand. As soon as he had secured the hoodless overshirt to his waist with a belt, the inquisitor was fully dressed.

 

Turning back, the Human saw his partner enter the bathroom. Leaving Jresh to himself for the moment, Lorrik spent the next few minutes at is desk, surveying his belongings. Sensing his partner wrapping up, he made his way toward the room’s entrance, stepping outside a short moment later. The inquisitor released a startled hop when he saw Kar’ai leaning against the wall outside the room, casting a warm, knowing grin toward the Human.

 

“Mornin’,” Kar’ai playfully offered.

 

“Good morning,” Lorrik casually replied. “Up early, I see.”

 

“Well, not all of us stayed up all night to, well, you know…” Kar’ai teased alongside a joking shrug.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lorrik dismissed, playing coy.

 

“Surprised it took you this long,” Kar’ai admitted. “Ryloh and I were taking bets on when you two were finally going to go at it.”

 

The Human let out a soft chuckle. “Is that so? Any other bets I should know about? Like with the other pairs?”

 

“Oh, of course not,” Kar’ai replied. “Isorr and Arlia are too selfish and narcissistic to be in a serious relationship, lest one of them be forced to give something up. As for Nesk and Vurt… well, now that I think about it, I can’t really think of a reason it’d be impossible.”

 

“Is this how you two spend your time,” Lorrik warmly offered. “Sith matchmaking?”

 

“It’s not like we’re actively involving ourselves,” Kar’ai stated. “We just to like to keep our eyes on any interesting developments. Or ears, as the case may be. Enhanced senses go great with thin walls.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Lorrik said with gentle wave of his hand, attempting to calm the Rattataki. “I preferred when I didn’t know my friends were listening in on me and my partner.”

 

“Oh come on, like you couldn’t hear us back at the Academy,” Kar’ai playfully stated.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You know. Me and Ryloh. You mean you couldn’t hear us though the walls?” Kar’ai genuinely asked.

 

“Well… we were across the hall from you,” Lorrik stated. “I mean there were times, but I thought you two were just training and…” The inquisitor began to rub his eyes at the realization. “You weren’t training were you?”

 

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say that,” Kar’ai commented, softly biting her lip.

 

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Lorrik said, throwing his hands into the air. Before either could continue, they were interrupted by the Jresh stepping out of the guest room, garbed for the day ahead.

 

“Hey Jresh. Tired?” Kar’ai asked with a sharp grin.

 

“No. Why?” Jresh stoically answered.

 

“Oh, no reason,” Kar’ai replied, playing coy.

 

“Come on, let’s go meet with the others,” Lorrik advised, trying to push the two warriors forward. The trio began their walk down the palace halls. They eventually entered the grand foyer in which the other five apprentices stood. The various Sith either stood of their own volition or leaned against one of the many decorative columns that lined the area. Reunited, the eight Sith looked to one another, each casting their silent but welcoming gazes.

 

“Hey everyone,” Lorrik spoke up, breaking the silence.

 

“Have we decided what we’re doing yet?” Isorr bluntly asked.

 

“What do you mean?” Lorrik replied.

 

“I mean, what are we doing? How do we move forward? What are our plans?” Isorr continued.

 

“There’s not much we can do,” Lorrik admitted. “We don’t have a lot to go on. I mean, we know your dad is Tash’s apprentice. We know something big is going down, sometime somewhere. Other than that, what else is there to go on? Any plan we enacted now would just be us stumbling around in the dark.”

 

“So we do nothing?” Isorr asked.

 

“No. We can still prepare,” Lorrik declared. “We haven’t done much the past few days. We can’t afford to just sit around all day waiting for new information. For now, we train. We fight. We duel. We hone our skills for the day we are called upon to act, or the day we decide to act ourselves.”

 

“Who exactly are we expecting to hear from?” Arlia inquired.

 

“We had Syrosk stay on Korriban for a reason,” Lorrik stated. “Any movements, any developments with the other acolytes, he’ll know. He’ll tell us.”

 

“And we’re going to accept whatever it is he tells us?” Arlia continued.

 

“We’re going to take it under advisement,” Lorrik answered. “We don’t start anything. We don’t finish anything. We don’t interfere unless we know the absolute truth.”

 

"And before that, what? We just beat on each other until we get tired?” Arlia snidely offered.

 

“It’s worked for us for the past two years,” Lorrik countered with a light chuckle.

 

“He’s right,” Isorr stated, before jutting a finger at the Pureblood. “Jresh. We never finished our duel before our exile.”

 

“If you’re so eager to lose,” Jresh stoically replied. The two warrior stepped away from the group to find an open space amongst the foyer.

 

“Are we going to be fighting outside, or…” Ryloh muttered.

 

“Oh no, you don’t want to spend any more time out there than you have to,” Lorrik replied. “You can fight indoors. It’s not like anyone lives here anymore.”

 

“What about your parents?” Ryloh asked.

 

“You’re right. No one bust through my parent’s walls!” Lorrik declared, before shouting toward the departing pair of warriors. “Did you two hear that?”

 

They offered an affirming wave, not halting their progress.

 

“What about you, Lorrik? Have you recovered from your injuries yet?” Ryloh asked, a genuine concern in his tone.

 

“I’d say my insides are back in their right places,” Lorrik confidently offered. The blue Twi’lek offered a nod before shooting a look to his companion. The Rattataki supplied a nod of her own, and the pair made their way away from the group. Nesk and Vurt followed, making their way down the foyer.

 

“Guess that just leave us,” Arlia muttered, neither pleasure nor disdain present in her voice.

 

“I guess so,” Lorrik warmly replied.

 

“Oh well. Let’s just go at it, I suppose,” Arlia offered, her choice of words sending a slight shiver up the Human’s spine.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Two: Providers

 

The halls were quiet. Too quiet. Lorrik slowly walked across the foyer, taking careful note of his surroundings. Panning his gaze, turning on his heels, the Human made every effort to search every facet of his environment. With each careful step, the inquisitor slowly inched himself closer to one of the stone columns that lined the foyer. Lorrik placed his back against the pillar and raised his guard, fists held close to his chest.

 

A sharp ping shot through his mind as he sensed danger fast approaching. Ducking away, Lorrik barely missed the foot of Arlia slamming into his nose. Instead, the blow crashed into the stone column to seemingly no ill effect for the other inquisitor. The pillar, however, possessed a new crack upon its surface. Rescinding her leg, Arlia continued her pursuit of her target as Lorrik remained on the defensive. The Human carefully backed up as the Twi’lek advanced, lashing out with the quick jabs of her hands.

 

The inquisitors engaged one another in a hand-to-hand display of martial technique, Arlia possessing the advantage. She moved with a warrior’s grace, each movement flowing into the next, no energy or momentum wasted. A swipe of her hand would be followed by another, then a sweep of her leg, all the while Lorrik attempted to maintain his defenses alongside his balance.

 

Arlia eventually landed a clean blow to the Human’s gut, shaking him to his core. Lorrik replied with a flailing right hook, only for the other inquisitor to snatch him by the wrist. Twisting his arm, the Twi’lek wrung the Human’s arm behind his back. Rather than try and regain control of the limb, Lorrik shoved his entire body backward, eventually sandwiching the Twi’lek between himself and a nearby column. The two impacted with a sizable thud, as well as an audible crack.

 

“Did you hear that?” Arlia asked, displaying neither signs of injury nor exhausted despite the prolonged match. The two separated, putting the duel on pause.

 

“No, why?” Lorrik plainly replied, turning to see his opponent staring at his right hand with wide eyes. Raising his arm, he could see his right hand had been bent forward, palm almost touching his own forearm. With his left, he did nothing more than straighten out his other hand and began rotating it at the wrist. One by one, he was capable of retracting and stretching out his fingers to no ill effect.

 

“Anything broken?” Arlia asked, more curious than concerned.

 

“Don’t think so,” Lorrik answered, gently shaking his right hand.

 

“Then what was that crack?”

 

“I didn’t hear one. Maybe it was the pillar,”

 

“Whatever. You ready to continue?”

 

“Of course, let’s just-” Lorrik started to speak before pausing.

 

The two inquisitors looked to one another for but a moment before each taking a simultaneous step away from each other. Not a second later, Jresh flew between them, sliding across the slick floor upon his back. They watched the warrior skid to a stop as he released a low grumble.

 

“Having trouble, Jresh?” Arlia teased as the Pureblood picked himself up off the floor.

 

“No,” Jresh quickly replied, before sprinting back in the direction he slid in from. The inquisitors shared another look as they heard a resounding crash sound out from the other end of the foyer.

 

“How long you think before one of them gives up?” Lorrik asked.

 

“I think the building will give up before either of them do,” Arlia offered with a low gentle sigh.

 

The two inquisitors resumed their bout as they and the other apprentices went about their own training and fights. The Sith would clash with one another, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with sabers. Whatever injuries were accrued would be mended with the estate’s full stock of first aid supplies, as well as Lorrik offering of a healing hand.

 

This was how things would continue for the next few days. The apprentices would wake up and train, pausing only for a meal now and again. Each and every one of them possessed a level of skill and displayed a measure of power other Sith had not thought possible of those from lower birth. Others believed the polluted blood of aliens and impurities was incapable of properly harnessing the power of the Force. These eight proved them wrong.

 

For four days they toiled amidst one another’s desire to better themselves. They faced challenges born from their own minds, rather than their master’s. Challenges carried out in singles, doubles, and all-out brawls between the eight apprentices. They covered every base they could, thought of every danger they might encounter, because as much as they knew, they did not know what lied ahead. They had to be ready for anything. And for all their confidence, all their skill, they still didn’t know if they were. But they would not be deterred by that fact.

 

On the fifth day, the apprentices awoke to something strange. On each of their datapads, the eight students had received a message from their master. Gathering together in the palace foyer, the Sith met to discuss the new development. The apprentices gathered in a motley circle befitting their differing personages, each looking to another with a sense of hesitance.

 

“We all got a message, right?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“It’s time we talked,” Lorrik quoted the message word for word. The supplied nods from the others revealed that they had received the same. “No source, but I’d say it’s obvious who it’s from.”

 

“Has anyone sent a reply yet?” Ryloh asked. The other Sith shook their heads. “Alright then. Should we?”

 

“Wait, a minute,” Arlia interrupted. “We’re hearing this from Syrosk? Not from one of Tash’s apprentices? You know, one who Lorrik thinks is an ally, another who is Isorr’s father.”

 

“It’s not like Vai would have a way of contacting us,” Lorrik explained. “So far, we’ve only interacted through speech and physical notes. I’m not sure about Isorr’s dad. Does he have a way to contact you?”

 

“I left him the means to get in touch with me,” Isorr declared.

 

“And has he?” Arlia asked.

 

The Zabrak shook his head. “No. There’s a chance he doesn’t know what’s going on. More likely, though, he knows exactly what’s going on and just doesn’t want me involved. When we spoke, he mentioned that he and Tash were preparing for some major battle. He also said it didn’t involve Syrosk.”

 

“No, I doubt it would,” Lorrik stated, scratching his chin. “Our master would be the last person Tash would include if the classrooms were involved.”

 

“You think he’s taking them into battle?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“He’s been preparing them for something,” Lorrik stated. “I think we’re about to finally find out what.”

 

“My father and Tash have been fighting in the war for years now,” Isorr explained. “I can’t think of a reason he’d need a few scores of acolytes now.”

 

“What manner of task could Tash and his apprentices not accomplish themselves?” Jresh followed up.

 

“I don’t know,” Lorrik admitted. “If all he needed was manpower, there are far simpler ways for a Sith of his standing to attain it. There’s a reason he spent over ten years cultivating those acolytes. And it is not just so that they could take part in some battle.”

 

“Whether we know the reason or not, that’s not going to stop Tash from doing what he’s planning on doing,” Jresh declared.

 

“You’re right,” Lorrik stated, his eyes drifting to the floor. “Right now, Syrosk’s our only source of information. He wants to talk, we should talk.”

 

“He wants to do more than talk,” Arlia replied. “He wants to stop whatever Tash is trying to do, regardless of whether or not he understands it. If he wants to act irrationally, we can’t get caught up in it.”

 

“He acts irrationally whenever he feels he has nothing left to lose,” Lorrik declared. “When his master died, when he felt betrayed by Tash, when he lost everything he had sought to build. The best thing we can do is hear him out, lest he think we’ve abandoned him.”

 

“We haven’t abandoned him… right?” Ryloh asked.

 

“No,” Lorrik replied. “He is still our master, and still deserves our support. Whatever mistakes he’s made, whatever paths he could have taken to avoid all of this… the man is still responsible for our freedom. Relatively speaking. If not for him, we’d be on Korriban right now preparing for whatever it is Tash has in mind. And the more we can learn about whatever that is, the better.” The other apprentices looked to one another, before standing in unanimous agreement. “Alright. I’ll send the reply.”

 

----------

 

Korriban. As the harsh sun peaked over the jagged mountains and crags that surrounded the Academy, Lord Syrosk gazed upon the grounds beneath the overlooking peak where he had oft trained his students. There were movements abound on the planet’s surface, even in the early hours of morning. Its denizens were preparing for something. And whilst the institution’s proper acolytes maneuvered, the Sith Lord sensed they were not alone in doing so.

 

An atypically large amount of supplies were being delivered to Korriban, and while much of it was divided and distributed amongst the Imperials on the surface, a number of crates were being surreptitiously delivered to the forgotten halls where Tash’s classrooms resided. Watching the scattering of forces and trainees on the grounds below, Lord Syrosk sharpened his gaze before making his way back to the Academy.

 

Traversing the dusty pathway down the mountain and up the Academy’s front entrance, the Sith Lord could feel the pressing eyes and pointed thoughts of those who surrounded him. Ever since his apprentices had left Korriban, Syrosk had not shed his battle attire, not even in his private quarters. The battle-scarred suit of black armor beset by a heavy cloak provided a frightful countenance, but he knew it might not be enough to dissuade any would-be attackers. And on Korriban, there was no shortage of Sith willing and able to challenge him. It was the Sith Lord’s unfaltering focus that protected him, as he remained in no one spot long enough to attract the worst kind of attention.

 

Passing the threshold between the proper Academy and Tash’s halls, Syrosk could see a number of crates being carted in, opened and sorted by the realm's quartermaster and weapons master. They retrieved dozens and dozens of simple, standard-issue lightsabers meant for foot soldiers. The gray hilts were stacked side by side, counted, and stored behind the quartermaster’s counter.

 

Though he watched from afar, the Sith Lord could feel a familiar presence creeping closer in his mind. Turning his horned head, Syrosk saw Vai Thorel standing beside him, arms crossed, wearing a warm visage.

 

“Tash must be ready to accelerate the acolytes’ training,” Syrosk muttered. “Unless of course, the lightsabers aren’t meant for training.”

 

“They aren’t,” Thorel plainly admitted. “But then again, you probably knew that.”

 

“You’re not the only ones gearing up,” Syrosk stated. “Every Sith and Imperial on this planet is preparing for something.”

 

“Not just here, Dromund Kaas too,” Thorel explained. “You’d know that if you got out every once in a while. Don’t you ever get tired of Korriban?”

 

“I was already tired of this place when me and Tash were taking it back from the Republic,” Syrosk admitted.

 

“Yeesh. I forget how old you two are sometimes,” Thorel joked. The Sith Lord offered only a low grumbled. “It’s a shame things had to turn out the way they did. Honest. You were a good teacher. And if you hadn’t gone all daft in the head and ruined a good thing, you could have been a part of this.”

 

“I’ve seen enough of what goes on here to not want any part of it,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Now, now, I think your actions over the past two years point toward the contrary,” Thorel offered.

 

“I wanted nothing to do with Tash’s sullied classrooms,” Syrosk curtly replied.

 

“And here I thought people wantonly using words like ‘sullied’ and ‘impure’ was the entire reason you and Tash brought these students here,” Thorel countered. “Didn’t you want for these students to prove themselves despite the Empire’s reservations? Well, now they can. They’re going to take part in the defining moment of the war. They’re finally going to get the chance to prove their worth to the Sith who think they don’t deserve to be included in the Order.”

 

“I’m sure that’s what Tash would like you to believe,” Syrosk stated. “They’re just tools to him. Just like everyone else. Once they’ve fulfilled their purpose, he’ll abandon them or cast them aside like he did me.”

 

“You were ‘abandoned’ because you had a bad dream and let it dominate your life,” Thorel rebuked. "He continued the work you wanted to do, training these acolytes despite everyone telling him not to. He gave them a chance. Gave them shelter. Protected them from those who would do them harm. What of the students you took for yourself? Let’s do a quick headcount. Who’s had more students almost killed and exiled from the Academy?”

 

The Sith Lord cast a harsh glare toward the Human. “My apprentices are stronger than any the classrooms have produced.”

 

“Oh, great, I’m sure that will come in handy when absolutely no one recognizes that strength,” Thorel declared. “Wake up, Syrosk. You’re a good teacher, but what can you provide them beyond training? Everything you’ve given them had been a result of the crumbling goodwill you possessed with the Academy leadership because of your master. Once that’s gone, then what? You can provide them nothing. Do you even know where they are right now?”

 

“In light of their exile, they decided to walk their own paths. It was their wish to be alone,” Syrosk calmly answered.

 

“You know why? Because they know you’ve given them all you can. There’s nothing more you can provide them,” Thorel declared.

 

“I take that as a sign that I have fulfilled my duties as master,” Syrosk replied.

 

“Are you that dense? They cannot move through Sith space without a target on their backs,” Thorel declared, raising his tone. “One of your students was almost killed, and what did you do? Nothing. Hell, I’ve given them more than you have in the past month.”

 

“How else could you convince them to join Tash?” Syrosk snidely asked.

 

“This had nothing to do with Tash!” Thorel shouted, his otherwise pleasant demeanor shattering. “Are you that blind? That single-minded? When Lorrik was injured, I provided answers. I told him the truth, truth you had kept from him and the other students. After he and the others were exiled, I gave them a gift in good faith, letting them reclaim a piece of their lives because I knew it was something you’d never give them, even though it firmly rested within your power. I did. Not Tash. And definitely not you. You think Tash uses people as tools? What about you? What are your apprentices but a way to get back at Tash? You took them, trained them to prove a point. You don’t care about them. You only care about yourself and getting revenge against my master.”

 

Syrosk stared at the Human in silence, relaxing his once harsh glare. “And what about you? You truly care about the acolytes? My apprentices?”

 

“Yes, I do,” Thorel adamantly stated.

 

“Then prove it,” Syrosk rasped. “Don’t allow Tash to sacrifice them for whatever he has planned.”

 

“They aren’t sacrifices,” Thorel countered. “They’re not even going to be hitting military targets.”

 

“Then what is their purpose?” Syrosk asked.

 

Thorel offered the curious arch of his brow toward the inquisitive Sith Lord, studying the alien’s wrinkled, leathery visage. Without another word, the red-coated apprentice stepped away from Syrosk, making his way deeper into the forgotten halls, leaving the Sith Lord's question unanswered. As the Human disappeared down one of the many corridors that connected the halls, the Sith Lord release a low grumble. Turning around, Syrosk began making his way back to his chambers, but not below slamming his armored fist against the wall.

 

Within his compact, unassuming quarters, the Sith Lord journeyed deeper within his home, passing through the barren meditation room that greeted him when he first stepped in. Syrosk ceased his advance in front of a holoterminal. Carefully examining the device, he input a brief message and sent it to its eight intended recipients. The message was off, and the Sith Lord was alone in his quarters. Alone with his thoughts.

 

He began to pace in front of the holoterminal, occasionally looking back to the communications device. The Sith Lord walked back and forth, maybe for seconds, maybe for minutes, maybe for hours, he did not know. Time had lost its meaning as he waited, focused solely on whether or not he would receive a reply. Eventually, a lone ping sounded out from the holoterminal, signaling a response. Syrosk quickly engaged the device to find a message from Lorrik providing him the details of a better means to communicate. Punching in the acquired data, the Sith Lord found himself connecting to a holoterminal in Yerrig's office on Ortess-3.

 

Slowly, the grainy image of Lorrik appeared above the terminal’s holoprojector. Then, one by one the other apprentices came into view, standing beside the Human. The eight of them stood together, ready to address their master.

 

“My students,” Syrosk began. “It is good to see you all together and safe.”

 

“It’s good to see you too, Syrosk,” Lorrik spoke for the group. “I assume you have more information.”

 

“Indeed,” Syrosk replied. “Tash’s apprentice is on Korriban organizing the other students for something big.”

 

“Which apprentice?” Isorr butted in.

 

“Pardon?” Syrosk replied, a genuine confusion in his voice.

 

“So Vai is there…” Lorrik muttered. “Any idea what they are planning on doing?”

 

“Nothing specific,” Syrosk admitted. “But the acolytes are being outfitted and armed for war. Tash intends to take them into battle.”

 

“That much we’ve gathered ourselves,” Lorrik declared. “We need specifics.”

 

“We’re not likely to get them,” Syrosk rasped. “We should meet up. Decide how to proceed.”

 

“We decide how to proceed only when we know what Tash is planning,” Lorrik adamantly stated. “Not a moment before.”

 

“I’ve met with Vai,” Syrosk admitted. “He’ll not reveal any more to me, and I trained his mind too well to pick up any of his thoughts. By the time I uncover their intentions, they’ll be mobilized and we won’t be able to stop them.”

 

“Anything involving the acolytes will have to be filtered through the instructors, correct? If I recall correctly, they weren’t the most strong-willed individuals. Take your answers from them.”

 

“Are you the one giving orders now?” Syrosk asked, releasing a raspy chortle.

 

“Of course not, I’m merely offering guidance,” Lorrik stated with a grin. “And remember Syrosk. The five layers.”

 

The image of the apprentices faded as the communications ceased. The Sith Lord was left staring at the blank wall across from him. Syrosk adopted a rough grin upon his rugged and leathery visage, stroking the tip of one of his horns. His students had come a long way. Even he was amazed at how strong they had become. How capable they were. And in light of recent events, none of them looked to possess anything less than absolute focus and tenacity. He believed in them. And they believed in him.

 

Exiting his quarters, the Sith Lord made his way back toward Tash’s domain. Crossing the cold, metallic halls of the Academy, Syrosk eventually entered the shoddier corridors that linked his rival’s classrooms. We walked with purpose, heavy boots clanking against the hard floor beneath his feet. He reached out with his mind, searching for his target. Searching for someone suitable. It wasn't long before he found it.

 

Walking down one of the many narrow and winding hallways that made up the sector, Syrosk set his eyes on one of Tash’s instructors. The Human was garbed in robes only slightly above the acolytes’ in quality, signifying him of his elevated station. The Human possessed little in remarkable traits, but Syrosk instantly recognized him as the teacher of inquisitors Lorrik once belonged to.

 

Hearing the echoing footsteps sounding out behind him, the Human turned around with a startled expression before calming down as soon as he recognized the alien Sith Lord. The instructor adopted a snide expression as he barely paid attention to Syrosk’s approach.

 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lord Syrosk. It looks like your-”

 

Before he could finished his sentence, the instructor was interrupted by the Sith Lord firmly tapping his index finger against the Human’s forehead. The teacher immediately blacked out, crumbling to the floor.

 

----------

 

The instructor awoke to find himself sitting in a small, barren chamber. Panning his gaze across the dark metallic walls that encroached upon him, he struggled to move, only to find his arms and legs bound to the chair. Slowly, Syrosk came into view as he circled around from behind the immobilized teacher.

 

“What… what are…”

 

The Sith Lord pressed his finger against the Human’s lips before moving his hand upward, placing his palm against the instructor’s forehead.

 

“Don’t worry,” Syrosk rasped. “You won’t remember any of this. Then again, you might not even remember your name afterward.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Three: Insights

 

“The Coruscanti Vaults…”

 

The eight apprentices shared a curious look as they puzzled over Syrosk’s words. Tightly packed in front of the holoterminal in Yerrig’s office, the students stood in silence, awaiting an explanation from the electronic image of their master.

 

“The Empire is preparing to strike at the heart of the Republic,” Syrosk revealed. “Tash and his acolytes are to take part in the invasion.”

 

“In what capacity?” Lorrik asked.

 

“There are two stages to the invasion,” Syrosk explained. “A series of strike teams who will disable the planet’s defense grid makes up the first. A massive influx of ground troops and aerial bombardment makes up the second. Tash intends to slip himself and his students between these two forces. He’s targeting a number of vaults thought to contain Sith and dark side artifacts not guarded within the Jedi temple.”

 

“Vaults? Plural?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Correct," Syrosk replied. "They are organized such that an attack on one would lead to defenders folding in on the attackers. But attacking multiple vaults simultaneously would prevent them from being overwhelmed. The added confusion of the surrounding invasion would also play to their advantage. Each classroom is being assigned their own vault. And while they’re not strictly military targets, they are guarded by Jedi Knights.”

 

“The acolytes aren’t strong enough to take down Knights, are they?” Ryloh asked.

 

“As individuals, no,” Lorrik stated. “But as a swarm they could likely overwhelm them if there was no more than two or three. They’d still suffer heavy casualties though.”

 

“The students are being told that this is their chance to prove their worth to the Sith Order. That those who survive will no longer be looked down as mere acolytes toiling in the Academy,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Depending on what’s in those vaults, he may not be too far off,” Lorrik admitted. “Force artifacts aren’t exactly a renewable resource. If they secure enough of them, even traditionalists might be willing to overlook the acolytes’ backgrounds.”

 

“That would depend on Tash’s willingness to share the glory of their retrieval,” Syrosk rasped. “Which he most certainly isn’t. The instructor I interrogated believed the acolytes' original purpose was solely to serve the interest of their ‘betters’.”

 

“People willing to teach students like the them were likely in short supply,” Lorrik stated. “Tash might have just told them whatever he needed to in order to get them on his side.”

 

“You could say that about anyone Tash interacts with,” Syrosk muttered.

 

“Right. It’s not a question of if he’s lying, but to whom,” Lorrik replied. “Is he lying on behalf of his students. Or on behalf of himself.”

 

“I thought the answer readily apparent,” Syrosk declared.

 

“You met with Vai, correct?” Lorrik asked. “What’s his feelings on the subject?”

 

The Sith Lord took a quick pause. “He… believes Tash is doing this for the benefit of his students. Or rather, he wants to believe that. He seems to genuinely care for their well-being. Perhaps we can use that to our advantage…”

 

“Our advantage towards… what, exactly?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Towards stopping Tash,” Syrosk answered. “He’s using these acolytes to earn himself favor. Whatever is in those vaults, he’s going to keep for himself, and those students are going to die in the process. If Tash wins, the surviving acolytes will be forgotten, and people like them, like you, will have lost their chance to prove themselves.”

 

“And what if we stop them?” Lorrik countered. “Won’t they lose that chance anyway? Assuming you had a way to stop all this, what would that accomplish? The students wouldn’t take part in the invasion. They’d still be stuck on Korriban. And without Tash, they’d have even less standing than they do now. You won’t be able to swoop in finish what you started over ten years ago.”

 

“Then what would you suggest?” Syrosk asked.

 

Lorrik scratched his chin, taking a few deep breaths. “Things are already in motion. If we can’t stop the ride, we might as well get on.”

 

Syrosk flinched. “You mean help Tash?”

 

“I mean help his acolytes,” Lorrik clarified. The Sith Lord passed his gaze over his apprentices. Each and every one of them stood in silent agreement. “If we can find out their targets, we can join the other students, fight alongside them, and make sure they get the credit they deserve.”

 

Syrosk fell silent as he processed his apprentice’s suggestion. “Eight classes, eight targets… if you split up you could each cover one group.”

 

“We could. But if we’re to be going up against trained Jedi, we’re better off remaining in pairs,” Lorrik stated. “We’re more effective that way.”

 

“But it also leaves four classes unguarded,” Syrosk added.

 

“I take it Tash and Vai are going after their own targets,” Lorrik offered. “What of the others in his employ? His instructors?”

 

“They’re to remain on Korriban,” Syrosk replied.

 

The Human lowered and focused his gaze and he poured over his own thoughts. “Four classes…”

 

“Protecting four is better than none,” Jresh whispered to his companion.

 

“I know there’s a way,” Lorrik softly declared. “There has to be.”

 

“We can figure one out,” Jresh stated.

 

“It’s not like we have a lot of time,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“What about Syrosk? What’s his role going to be?” Isorr asked.

 

“He’s strong enough to handle a fifth target by himself,” Arlia stated. Both Lorrik and the Sith Lord seemed reluctant.

 

“The only way this plan is going to work is if Tash and his people don’t even realize it's being carried out,” Lorrik declared. “Syrosk being involved would be too obvious. The students would immediately know he was there to oppose Tash, so they might reject his help outright.”

 

“Let them reject it!” Arlia shouted. “If it keeps them alive, who cares what they think?”

 

“No. He’s right,” Syrosk interrupted. “Besides. I know exactly where I plan to be. I intend to confront Tash directly.”

 

“Didn’t we just decide on doing this, you know, as covertly as possible?” Arlia recalled.

 

“Tash believes that my apprentices have all but abandoned me,” Syrosk explained. “My actions will be seen as mine and mine alone. You will remain free to operate as you please. Tash will make short work of his target, so he’ll need to be distracted while you carry out your plan anyway.” Lorrik and the others looked to their master with trepidation. “It was inevitable that Tash and I face each other. But now, thanks to you, I no longer believe the outcome predetermined. Just as I no longer see it as a selfish endeavor. You’ve all come a long way, and there is little more for me to teach you. Even if my life should end, I am satisfied knowing that it was spent on more than myself. This invasion marks the beginning of a new era for the Sith. One of greatness. But most importantly, one you all might have a hand in shaping. It should come as no surprise that I am proud of you all.”

 

“Thank you, master,” Lorrik politely offered with a bow of his head. One by one, the other apprentices followed, respectfully providing their master with their own bows. “Now, there’s preparations to be made.”

 

“Of course,” Syrosk declared. “I’ll work on securing us access to the invasion. All of this will be for naught if we are shot out of the skies before making it planetside.”

 

“Give us a time and a place, and we’ll be ready,” Lorrik confidently proclaimed. “For now, we’ll do our best to prepare.”

 

The Sith Lord offered a silent nod and ended the transmission. As the image of their master faded from the holoprojector, the apprentices were left to themselves once more.

 

“So. Back on Team Syrosk,” Kar’ai said, half-joking.

 

“No. This isn’t about Tash and Syrosk anymore,” Lorrik declared. “We’re looking out for the students. And not just the acolytes. Them. Us. Vai. Isorr’s dad. We’re not proving our worth. We’re earning our freedom. The time to be tied to the whims of our masters is over. We’re going to Coruscant. We’re taking what’s in those vaults. And we’re going to use it to earn our freedom. If Tash survives, we leave him whatever he personally gets his hands on. If Syrosk survives, we cordially part ways, maybe repay him for all he’s done for us. Otherwise, we keep the acolytes safe and help them complete their objective. But no one else is to earn favor from their toils but them. If we’re successful, we’ll have a bartering chip, one we can use to become true Sith, to become real students of the Academy, or to leave the Order entirely. For months, for years, we’ve walked paths set by our superiors. Now, we’ll finally be given a choice. Those who wish to return to the traditional path may do so. Those who wish for something different may do so. Those who wish to reject everything may do so. We’ll be the ones who make that choice. No one else. It’ll be a fresh start. The first and likely last one we’ll ever get in this life.”

 

The apprentices looked to one another, a determined glint in each of their eyes.

 

“Either Tash or Syrosk is going to wind up dead,” Arlia stated. “Are we okay with that?”

 

“It was inevitable that those two would come to blows. Always has been,” Lorrik stated.

 

“I thought you didn’t believe in the inevitable,” Arlia replied.

 

“I don’t believe a person’s fate to be predetermined,” Lorrik explained. “But when two opposing forces have their minds dead set on something, there’s not much that can be done.”

 

“Suppose Tash manages to kill Syrosk, what then?” Arlia asked.

 

“If Tash’s motive really was to elevate his students, then we’ll have done nothing wrong,” Lorrik answered. “Our business will be concluded.”

 

“And if that isn’t his true motive?” Arlia added. “Are we strong enough to face someone more powerful than Syrosk?”

 

“He can’t challenge all eight of us,” Lorrik adamantly stated.

 

“He might not need to,” Isorr muttered. “It’s good to be confident, but we’re talking about taking part in what’s likely to be the Empire biggest invasion to date. We’ll be fighting trained Jedi. Not sparring. Not dueling. Fighting. No rules. No limits. Only life and death. We may not meet Tash at his peak, but will any of us be in good enough condition to challenge a Darth?”

 

“We’ll do what we have to,” Lorrik calmly stated.

 

“And what of Tash’s apprentices? Vai? My father?” Isorr asked.

 

“If they’re after their own targets, we’ll treat them the same as the acolytes,” Lorrik declared. “They can keep the spoils for themselves or turn them over to Tash if they’d like. If Tash opposes us, it means he doesn’t care about his students, which means their faith in him will be shaken. Even Syrosk admits that Vai cares about the acolytes, so I know he’ll stand with us over Tash if push comes to shove. I take it your father would as well?”

 

The Zabrak offered a quick nod as his partner let out a soft chuckle.

 

“It seems like you got everything figured out,” Arlia said with a slight grin.

 

“Hardly,” Lorrik muttered, possessing a melancholy rather than his usual pep or exuberance. “We’re still only capable of covering half the classes. If sure the others can succeed by themselves, but at what cost?”

 

“You can’t save everyone, Lorrik,” Arlia stated, her tone lacking its usual bite. “This is war. I mean, let’s face it, the likelihood any of us come back from this is pretty slim.”

 

The Human’s gaze began to drift toward the floor, before he felt a comforting hand placed upon his shoulder.

 

“Don’t worry,” Jresh spoke up. “We’ll think of something. But if we truly are about to invade the Republic homeworld, we need to make sure we’re as ready as we can be. What’s the point if we can’t even protect those four classes?”

 

Lorrik lifted his gaze, a smile on his face. “He’s right. So long as we have time, we’ll continue our training.”

 

“Hrmph. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m looking forward to finally fighting someone besides another Sith,” Isorr declared as he turned away and stepped out of Yerrig’s office. The other apprentices followed him out, engaging in light banter in the process, leaving Lorrik and Jresh alone in the still relatively compact chamber.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any ideas, would you?” Lorrik softly muttered.

 

The Pureblood began to stroke the fleshy tendrils of his chin. “Well, if we can only protect four classes, we can still choose which four classes to protect. We all have a good grasp of our former classmates’ skill levels. We could likely direct our focus toward four of the less proficient classrooms.”

 

“I don’t know. It feels weird,” Lorrik admitted. “I mean, we’re practically deciding who amongst them gets to live, and who has to die. That’s exactly the kind of thing I wanted to avoid. Who am I to dictate their fates like that?”

 

“Sometimes we have to make sacrifices,” Jresh stated. “Sometimes we can’t think about things on the individual level. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, you can’t prevent something. All you can do is control the damage.”

 

“If we asked Vai or Isorr’s dad for help… it could wind up causing the whole plan to unravel,” Lorrik replied. “But maybe we could call upon others?”

 

“Others?” Jresh repeated with an arch of his brow. “What are you thinking?”

 

“Either something incredibly smart… or incredibly stupid,” Lorrik admitted. “Do you think you could take over for me here? Keep the others busy without letting them kill each other?”

 

“I suppose,” Jresh hesitantly replied. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“I think if I told you, it’d just make you worry,” Lorrik muttered. “But I'm thinking of returning to Korriban.”

 

“Korriban?” Jresh repeated, the confusion in his voice readily apparent. “Aside from the fact that we’re all still exiles, what would you hope to accomplish there?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lorrik replied. “There’s a chance I‘ll find someone who can help us. And if not, I can monitor the classrooms. See which of them will need the most help.”

 

“Why not ask Syrosk to do it?” Jresh asked.

 

“The more Syrosk interferes, the more likely it is for our plan to fall apart before the even reach Coruscant,” Lorrik answered.

 

“And what of the fact that you’re not allowed on Korriban, let alone within the Academy?”

 

“A while back, Ryloh gave me something,” Lorrik explained. “The artifact they retrieved from the tomb they raided. He says it can mask my presence.”

 

“After the trouble our item caused for us-”

 

“I know. I know. It’s dangerous,” Lorrik admitted. “But is it any less dangerous than attempting to outwit a Darth? Any less dangerous than taking part in an invasion of the Republic’s capital? I’m sorry, but the time to worry about danger has long since passed. You said I needed to believe in myself. Well, I do.”

 

“I also said none of us expect you to rush blindly into things,” Jresh countered.

 

“I’m not rushing into anything. I’m simply doing everything I can think of that could help us out. Let’s face it. Our options are limited. The future is going to come down to a few gambles. But I’m going to need you to believe in me like you always have. If you can do that, then I’m sure I can succeed.”

 

The Pureblood looked into his companion’s eyes, struggling to hide the trepidation brewing behind his stoic visage. “You’re right. I do believe in you. And if you think it will help, I won’t stop you.”

 

“Thanks Jresh,” Lorrik said, wrapping his arms around his partner. The two shared a brief hug before separating, making their way out of the office. “I’m going to have a talk with my parents.”

 

“Alright. I’ll join the others in their training,” Jresh calmly stated.

 

“Try not to break anything before I get back,” Lorrik warmly advised as he made his way toward his family’s dwelling.

 

“No promises,” Jresh warmly replied, waving goodbye.

 

The inquisitor walked through the empty halls of the palace with a quickened pace, eager to converse with his parents. Arriving at their home, he offered a quick knock on the door before stepping in. He was greeted with a gentle welcome from his mother and father who beckoned him to join them in the living room. The son took a seat on the couch opposite his parents, a smile on his face but his shoulders hanging abnormally low.

 

“Mom. Dad. There’s something I need to tell you,” Lorrik began. “There’s a chance I won’t be seeing you again-”

 

“Lorrik,” Garen interrupted. “When you were but a child, and a man came to take you away, I wanted to tell you that we might not see each other again. But I refrained. A part of me wondered if I should have. If we should have said our goodbyes in any other way than how we did. But you did come back. We did see each other again. Trying to brace ourselves for the possibility you might not have wouldn’t have changed that fact. It wouldn’t have changed how happy we were to see you again. It wouldn’t have changed how we’d feel if you hadn’t shown up. I guess what I’m trying to say is, it’s not worth putting faith in goodbyes.”

 

“You’re right,” Lorrik offered with a soft chuckle. “Dad. Mom. I love you. Always have. Always will. The moment all this is over, I’ll come see you again.”

 

“We’re happy to hear it, son,” Garen stated.

 

“How long are you two planning on staying here?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Not much longer,” Meylin warmly replied. “We’ll leave when we don’t have to worry about entertaining you or your guests.”

 

“We’ll be moving on soon enough,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Lorrik. I know you and you friends are caught up in some pretty heavy stuff,” Garen admitted. “I don’t know what exactly you’re involved in or where you’re heading, but I wish you the best of luck.”

 

“Thank you,” Lorrik replied. The inquisitor softly bit his lips as thoughts began to churn within his head. “You wouldn’t happen to know where your new home will be, do you?”

 

“We haven’t decided yet,” Meylin answered. “But thanks to you, we could move to just about anywhere.”

 

“Well, I would strongly advise you avoid Republic space for the time being,” Lorrik declared. “Things are heating up, and I’d rather not have to worry about you two getting caught up in unnecessary trouble.”

 

“Don’t worry. We know how to steer clear of trouble,” Garen replied.

 

The son let out a light chuckle. “If that were true, we never would have been slaves.”

 

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” Garen admitted alongside a hearty laugh. The others joined in, sharing a laugh before lifting themselves from their seats. The three individuals came together, wrapping their arms around one another, holding each other in warm silence.

 

“Until next time,” Lorrik softly whispered, releasing his grip around his parents.

 

“Until next time,” Garen replied. The son turned toward the door, stopping just short of exiting the domicile.

 

“And I mean it about the arm. We’re going to get you a new one,” Lorrik heartily declared to his mother before stepping out of his parents’ home.

 

The inquisitor turned his attention toward his and Jresh’s room, focusing on his destination as a tears began to form beneath his eyes. Steeling himself, the Human marched on.

 

Within the guest room, the inquisitor looked over his belongings. Passing by the desk, the arrangement of artifacts remained where he had last left them. Focusing on the black facemask he had received from Ryloh, he picked up the item and studied it within his hands. The metallic plate was cold to the touch, ethereally so. It was featureless, its shape contorting only to accommodate the basic extremities of wearer’s face.

 

Next, the Human began digging through his old clothes, searching for something with a hood.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Four: Gambles

 

Within the palace foyer, six of the eight apprentices continued their diligent regiment of training, knowledge of their upcoming battle firmly planted in their minds. Six tested one another, as the seventh watched over, arms crossed, eyes sharpened, back pressed against one of the many decorative columns that lined the chamber. The Pureblood’s discerning gaze passed from one individual to the next, watching the displays of martial skill and spiritual prowess with a subtle admiration. But as he watched his fellows, his eyes were immediately drawn to the individual making his way across the chamber’s edge.

 

Lorrik headed toward the palace entrance, donning the outer coat of an older outfit, a hooded black robe with purple trim, Part of the ensemble first gifted to him by Syrosk when they had begun their studies under him. The hood raised, the inquisitor kept his head lowered as he silently walked across the foyer, a small traveler’s bag draped over his shoulder. As surreptitious as his maneuvering was, he couldn’t escape the Pureblood’s notice, nor the notices of the other apprentices. One by one, they laid eyes on the departing Human, putting a pause to their various tests and duels as they puzzled over the inquisitor’s actions.

 

“Where’s Lorrik going?” Ryloh asked, him and the others setting their eyes on the Human, slowly watching him make his way across the foyer.

 

“Korriban,” Jresh bluntly declared.

 

“Korriban?” Kar’ai repeated. “What’s he thinking?”

 

“There are preparations to be made,” Jresh explained. “Lorrik has chosen to make them himself.”

 

“They aren’t going to forget about the expulsion,” Arlia declared.

 

“He knows. He has a plan,” Jresh stoically stated. The apprentices fell quiet as the Human faded from view, stepping past the confines of the palace interior. Each student possessed a number of thoughts swirling in their head. Confusion. Concern. Disappointment. All wondered what the inquisitor hoped to accomplish, but more importantly why they weren’t included in his plans.

 

“So,” Arlia muttered, breaking the silence. “We’re just letting him go off on his own? Is that safe? Is that smart? I mean, I know he has a knack for pulling things off, but there’s a significant chance things could backfire, especially on Korriban, especially within the Academy.”

 

“You’ve placed your faith in him up till this point. I see no reason for that to cease,” Jresh adamantly declared. “If he sees a problem, he seeks out a solution. The best thing we can do is trust him. And be prepared when he eventually returns. Every moment he spends out there is a moment spent without training. So we’ll have to push ourselves that much harder to make up for him.”

 

The apprentices supplied a steady supply of nods, returning to their various bouts and trials. The warriors clashed against one another with body and blade, testing the limits of their strength. The once perfectly smooth flooring beneath them cracked and warped beneath the immense pressure of their blows, their boots and clawed feet firmly planted and unshakable. The inquisitors tested the limits of the connection to the Force. Fine sculptures and pottery were lifted from their pedestals and flung across the foyer with expert precision, shattering against the walls and pillars that surrounded them. With great focus and concentration, Ryloh and Arlia carried a spark in their hand, cultivating it before releasing it in a sharp bolt of Force Lightning.

 

Over the course of the day, Jresh joined in, keeping his mind on his companion even through the rigors of battle. The seven apprentices faced one another, going all out, stopping just short of utterly breaking each other. For hours they toiled, until the lands around them were subjected to the falling sun. After a full day’s worth of challenges, the apprentices retired for the night, returning to their rooms to rest.

 

Only Jresh returned alone. As his partner flew toward Korriban, he was left with a quiet bedroom, and an empty bed. Passing by his companion’s desk, the Pureblood puzzled for a moment, as he had expected a single item removed from its surface. Instead, he found the tabletop completely unoccupied, all of the artifacts missing.

 

He thought to piece together what Lorrik was planning, but chose instead to trust in his partner. After all they had been through together, he was confident in his companion’s abilities. His decisions. Returning to his own belongings, the Pureblood began sifting through the clothes and armors, preparing the next day’s outfit, only to find a pair of gauntlets missing.

 

----------

 

The Imperial shuttle slipped out of hyperspace, the faintly glowing ball of orange dust resting firmly in the sights of the vessel’s single organic occupant. Urging the ship forward, Lorrik approached the Sith planet as fast as the sub-light engines would allow. He had his eyes set on making it planetside, forgoing a stop at the world’s orbital space station. Passing through the dusty atmosphere, the shuttle made its way to the surface, but the area beneath the vessel was utterly unoccupied. Neither person nor structures dotted the lands below, only the stretching wastes and jagged ravines. The Korriban Academy was but a small blip on the horizon, but Lorrik had no interest in that place. At least, not yet.

 

As the Imperial shuttle descended, the sandy winds parted ways, revealing a fissure in the ground below, shaping into a sizable canyon. The Valley of Forgotten Lords. Its location gleamed from his quick perusals of the Academy archives, Lorrik had reason to return to the place that almost cost himself and his partner their lives.

 

As the shuttle touched down in the middle of the valley, the Human tapped away at the vessel’s console, giving the mechanical pilot more control than it already possessed. The droid regulated the stilled machine and Lorrik ducked into the passenger bay behind him, setting his eyes on the traveler’s bag he had brought with him. Opening its top, the inquisitor rummaged through the meager belongings, returning with the Sith faceplate gifted to him by Ryloh.

 

Lorrik stared at the artifact, face-to-featureless-face. Turning the item over in his hands, the inquisitor took a deep breath before affixing it to his hooded visage. Without straps of fixtures, the faceplate secured itself to its wearer with the Force. As the mask hugged the Human’s flesh, Lorrik lost his sight, no eyeholes in the solid plate. Things grew quiet as it felt as if everything faded away, only the booming sound of his own breaths dominating his senses. He immediately felt alone. Isolated. Trapped. Suffocated. The inquisitor’s hands began to shake, then his legs, then his entire countenance.

 

But slowly, Lorrik’s vision began to return. The image of the passenger bay’s interior appeared in the inquisitor’s mind, as if seen through a wide lens. His breathing calmed, and one by one his senses returned. He felt himself returning to normal, except for an enduring feeling of isolation. No amount of focus or concentration could overwhelm that dominating sense. It was if he was trapped in a vacuum.

 

Regaining control of his body, the inquisitor straightened his stance, lifting the traveler’s bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Slowly, he exited the shuttle and stepped onto the Korriban surface . A gentle breeze swept through the valley, the sandy winds nipping at the Human’s legs. Examining his surrounding, the inquisitor set his sights on his destination, the tomb he and Jresh had entered.

 

Approaching the opened tomb, Lorrik saw the cracked door still laying a short distance from the entrance. In their absence, nothing had changed. Only a small amount of dust and dirt had breached the tomb’s threshold, the olden stones that made up its interior going unscathed and unstained since their previous departure. Standing at the gateway between light and shadows, the masked inquisitor reaffirmed his grip on his traveler’s bag and marched inside without an errant thought.

 

Walking through the shadowed halls of the forgotten tomb, Lorrik was constantly reminded that he was without his partner. Each step that echoed throughout the chambers were his and his alone. But he walked with confidence, enough so that his lightsaber rest at his hip rather than within his hand at the ready. As dim as the halls were, he image he received of the tomb’s interior proved more than sufficient to navigate the narrow corridors. Though the mask threatened to bury its wearer in their own mind, it was dedicated to serving its master’s well-being.

 

Before he could even see the next chamber, Lorrik felt the presence of a familiar figure. Eventually, he laid eyes upon the circle of runes that emitted their red luminescence in the center of a grand chamber, encircling the same crimson monster he and his partner had faced once before. The enduring, undying Massassi. The various wounds suffered by the Pureblood’s lightsaber seem to have faded. All but one. The beast’s hide had recovered from the scorches and cuts that had been inflicted upon its spiked hide, but it still lacked the blackened hand that had been severed from it.

 

Lorrik approached the kneeling beast with a series of careful, quieted steps. Face to face with the corrupted being, the inquisitor felt his presence not yet revealed, until the Massassi’s eyes quick locked with his own. Nothing else on the beast moved, his glowing eyes fell upon the masked inquisitor with a burning intensity. The glowing runes that surrounded the guardian remained firmly in place, not releasing the beast as they had last time. Carefully, the Human reached into his bag, retrieving the beast’s severed hand, the Massassi’s expression not changing with the presence of his lost appendage. With no further delay, the inquisitor set the blackened hand on the ground in front of its former master.

 

Circumventing the stilled guardian of the tomb, Lorrik set his sights on the final chamber ahead. Leaving the beast behind him, the inquisitor pressed forward, eager to meet with his intended target. Stepping into the tomb’s final chamber, the masked Human saw the empty pedestal that once held a holocron.

 

“I see mine was not the only tomb raided,” a male voice resounded throughout the chamber, the words tapping directly into the inquisitor’s mind. “Who are you and what do you want?”

 

Pulling the holocron from his back, Lorrik raised it firmly in his hand, as if presenting it. “I think you know exactly who I am. As for why I am here, I desire your assistance.”

 

In front of the inquisitor, the ethereal image of an ancient Sith Lord began to coalesce. The holocron’s original owner.

 

“So you’ve managed to plunder my neighbors as well,” the spirit stated.

 

“Actually, this was a gift,” Lorrik explained, pointing to the mask with his other hand.

 

“Why have you returned?” the spirit harshly asked.

 

“Like I said, I desire your assistance,” Lorrik declared. Taking a few steps forward, the Human passed through the inquisitive spirit and returned the holocron to its pedestal. The ghost watched with confusion, arching his translucent brow. “I want to offer a trade.”

 

“What could you possibly offer me?”

 

“Well, for one, your holocron,” Lorrik stated. “I also gave your pet his hand back. But more than that, I offer the chance at freedom.”

 

“Freedom?”

 

“That’s right. I want to help you get out of this tomb,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“And how would you do that?” the spirit asked, entertaining the inquisitor.

 

“I’ve looked inside your holocron. I know what you were capable of. The knowledge you possessed. I can supply you with a new body.”

 

“Are you offering yourself?”

 

“Oh, hell no,” Lorrik rejected. “But there’s a fine stock of Force-sensitive bodies only a few hours away.”

 

The spirit stared at the masked inquisitor, trying to glean some sort of information from him. His faceless visage and impenetrable mind proved it all but impossible. “Even if you could provide a sufficient body, I cannot adequately perform the ritual to bind my spirit to it with in my incorporeal state.”

 

“Then allow me to perform it for you,” Lorrik offered.

 

The spirit let out a low chortle. “Just because you managed to sneak out of here with my holocron, that does not mean you possess power. What makes you think yourself capable of-”

 

The spirit fell silent as the inquisitor slowly removed the glove covering his right hand. He stared at the marred, blackened flesh that stemmed from his palm. “I see you’ve studied my holocron thoroughly. You must be skilled to use such a technique without perishing yourself.”

 

The inquisitor wordlessly slipped the glove back over his stained hand. “You underestimated me the first time I was here. I’d advise you not to do it a second time.”

 

The spirit’s eyes sharpened as he studied the Human further. “Why offer to help me? What do you hope to get out of it?”

 

“I propose a trade,” Lorrik declared. “The Empire is invading the Republic capital. Home of the Jedi. There’s a chance this may be the last great battle of the war.” The spirit suddenly became much more interested. “Myself, my partner, as well as a few of our allies are to take part in the invasion. However, our interest is in protecting a group of Sith acolytes. A Sith Lord is sending them to their deaths, retrieving dark side artifacts the Republic and Jedi have kept locked away within a number of vaults on Coruscant. I would like you to take part in the invasion. If you can protect a particular group of acolytes, you can have everything in the vault they were targeting. In the process, you’ll get the chance to take part in the greatest conflict in history, as well as kill a few Jedi along the way. You were waiting for your moment to return. This is it.”

 

“Why are you interested in protecting a few lowly acolytes?” the spirit asked.

 

“Because I’d not see their lives cut short before they received the same chances I have,” Lorrik admitted. “Their entire lives, they’ve been held back, restricted, forbidden from acting as they should. Not by the Republic. Not by the Jedi. But by their own Sith masters. I intend to rectify that. I’m sure you can empathize.”

 

The spirit offered a curt glare toward the inquisitor. “You can get me a new body? Perform the ritual? Get me to Coruscant?”

 

“I can,” Lorrik confidently replied.

 

“Then I await your return,” the spirit muttered before disappearing from view.

 

----------

 

Lorrik exited the tomb without interruption or objection, returning to his ship. Taking a seat at the controls, the inquisitor kept his mask on as he brought the shuttle to life. Rather than continue to direct the vessel, the Human input a series of commands and lifting himself from his seat as the shuttle raised itself off the ground.

 

“Remember, ALD,” Lorrik spoke to the pilot droid. “I was never here. You are following an automated return protocol.”

 

“Understood, master,” the droid sounded out as the inquisitor ducked into the passenger bay.

 

The droid was now in total control of the vessel, piloting it toward the Academy as Lorrik patiently waited in the adjacent chamber. For hours he sat, stewing in the isolation of the shuttle, of the mask. He thought to remove it, but didn’t want to risk enduring the application process again. Instead, he opted to remain alone with his own thoughts, only the sounds of the humming engine and his own breathing keeping him company the entire trip.

 

The shuttle crossed the arid, jagged lands of Korriban with haste, the Academy directly in its sights. As the ship approached the institution, the pilot droid began to receive numerous alerts and notifications. Trading of security codes. Acknowledgement of trajectory. Acknowledgement of surface-to-air batteries tracking its movements. The droid handled the various inquiries from Imperial personnel within the Academy with efficiency and poise expected of a logistics droid. Finding no faults with the shuttle’s flight, it was allowed to close in on the Academy, circling around its back to find a less attended landing pad.

 

As the vessel touched down, it was approached with an Academy attendant, ready to greet the shuttle and learn its purpose. As the landing gears touched the metallic floor of the landing area and its entrance unfolded, the attendant patiently waited for someone to exit the craft.

 

Emerging from the shuttle, the masked inquisitor descending the brief ramp and stepped onto the metallic surface below, a confused attendant standing in front of him. Taking a careful step closer, he realized the Imperial had yet to acknowledge his presence, instead continuing to direct his attention toward the ship. Lorrik stepped around the attendant, and made his way deeper into the Academy. The apprentice had an ultimate destination in mind, but decided to make a quick stop prior.

 

Journeying into the halls of Tash’s classrooms, Lorrik caught a glimpse of the preparation his master had spoken of over the holocommunicator. Supplies were being brought in from outside. The instructors and their students were out of the classrooms, performing last minute training for the battle to come. Passing through the old halls, Lorrik saw the old dueling areas filled with acolytes, garbed in simplistic armors and holding standard lightsabers in their hands. Gone were the training sabers and gray robes he had grown accustomed to.

 

Moving through the corridors, the idea that Lorrik could study his surroundings, study the people around him without fear of reproach was liberating, and yet unsettling. He once wanted nothing more than to be able to operate without the scrutinizing eyes of his superiors casting their judgmental glares toward him. But now, it was as if he didn’t exist. Students passed right by him, not offering a second glance. The only way he’d receive attention was if he physically interacted with someone.

 

Searching the halls, Lorrik sought out a particular individual. Or rather, a set of individuals. He couldn’t risk disrupting the plan by including Vai or Syrosk. He needed someone far less invested. Someone with no desire to be there. Someone he could convince to be a part of something greater.

 

As a batch of students and their instructor left the dueling circles, Lorrik spotted his targets standing behind a desk within the sparring chamber. The quartermaster and the weapons master.

 

The pair of Human brothers chatted behind the counter, taking little interest in the activities of the acolytes around them. Engaging in light conversation, the duo hadn’t notice the approach of the featureless Sith. In fact, it wasn’t until he was but a meter away that the pair felt a presence, an odd itch in the back of their minds. Looking up, a masked figure had appeared out of nowhere, casting his eyeless gaze toward them.

 

The shadowed Sith was a stranger to them, neither recognizing the mask nor attire of the standing figure. They assumed he was a student or master of the true Academy, though why he was in Tash’s halls they had no clue.

 

“Can we help you?” the quartermaster spoke up, maintaining a standard politeness until they knew of the figure’s proper rank and station.

 

“Yes. Yes you can,” the Sith muttered.

 

The voice pounded their sense, harshly loud and yet soft as a whisper at the same time. It was like nothing they had heard before, as if a thousand different individuals spoke in unison, their voices merging and becoming one. Coupled with the featureless visage that continued to stare them down, it all added up to a deeply disconcerting experience.

 

“I would like to offer a trade.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Five: Rituals

 

The Valley of Forgotten Lords. Once more the Imperial shuttle touched down amongst the hidden ravine, its single organic occupant stepping out amongst the cracked and invaded tombs. The hooded, masked inquisitor stood amongst the dusty winds of the Korriban canyon, but in his return he carried more than the traveler’s bag draped over his shoulder. This time, he toted a quiet, motionless body, wrapped head to toe in white cloth. Adequately holding up the weight of the sheet-covered humanoid, the inquisitor stepped from the shuttle and made his way toward the tomb of the ghostly alchemist.

 

Lorrik marched, across dirt, across stone, across light, across shadows, focused only on his destination. Delving deeper into the darkened tomb, the Human steeled himself for what possibilities awaited him. He could not afford to lose his confidence now. He had to maintain control. If he didn’t, he would stand to lose much, much more.

 

Entering the chamber of the red sentinel, the inquisitor saw the beast no longer bound by the Sith sigils, standing outside the circle in its unfolded stance. Upright, the towering guardian of the tomb watched the Human approach with its glowing, piercing eyes, its two blackened fists clenched. Beside the corrupted Massassi stood its master, the ethereal image of a Sith Lord lost to time. The pair waited, as they always had, as they never had.

 

Stopping in front of the two, the ghost wordlessly directed the inquisitor to drop the body within the circle of runes. Lorrik complied, tossing it off of his shoulder, letting it impact against the ground with a sizable thud. The trio remained as silent and motionless as the tomb around them. Carefully, Lorrik firmly grasped the sides of his mask, tugging it free from his face. The sensation was overpowering as a surge of feelings he had almost forgotten came rushing back to him. It was like breaching the surface of a murky sea from which he could draw only distant, careful breaths. Regaining total control of his organic senses, the inquisitor reaffirmed his stance amidst the overload that threatened to dominate his mind.

 

“Are you ready to continue?” the spirit asked.

 

“Yes,” Lorrik plainly stated.

 

Looking down at the wrapped body, the spirit adopted a coy smirk. “I must say, I had my doubts.”

 

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Lorrik muttered, lowering himself to his knees. Putting the mask away in his traveler’s bag, the inquisitor turned his attention to the wrapped body he had retrieved. Carefully he began unfolding and unwrapping the white sheet that covered it. Removing the cloth, the Human tossed it aside without a care.

 

Looking over the uncovered body, the spirit’s countenance contorted into a disapproving scowl. “Is this some sort of joke?”

 

----------

 

Back within the halls of the Academy, the true halls, the normal day to day operations were proceeding as usual even amidst the introduced chaos of the upcoming invasion. Imperial personnel still moved about the halls at the whims of their Sith masters, tending to their various duties and works. Overseers still monitored the progress of acolytes within the Academy halls and amongst the Korriban exterior.

 

Passing through the institution’s main entrance, two individuals, two Humans in their relative youth, journeyed deeper into the Academy. One was garbed in black leathers and armorweave padding, a heavy cloak encasing his strong frame, trailing him with every step. The other was garbed in far more civilian garb, but still upheld to the Imperial standard of dress. A series of orderly, snug grays. A Sith and an Imperial. A warrior and a weakling. A tourist and a guide. But as contrary as it might have seemed, it was the lowly Imperial who led the Sith through the Academy.

 

“I apologize, my lord,” the sheepish Imperial stated, keeping his head lowered and facing forward. “Things around the Academy have been hectic as of late. Matters not related to the war have been given a lower priority.”

 

“I did not require nor desire an explanation,” the Sith muttered, his voice as bitter as the permanent scowl etched onto his face. “Just take me to see my father.”

 

The Imperial went rigid, straightening his posture alongside the scolding Sith, moving forward without another word. The two journeyed deeper into the Academy, past the entrance hall, into the cold, darkened corridors that made up its interior. Past the offices of personnel and staff. Past the training and sparring chambers. Toward a place nestled amongst the institution's medical facilities. A place not meant to treat the living, but the dead.

 

A holding room for the various cadavers and corpses eventually produced amongst the Academy grounds. Usually reserved for acolytes who were lucky enough to perish outside the local caverns and tombs, the visiting Sith sought a person of much greater rapport.

 

Arriving at their target destination, the pair found themselves within a cold chamber, even by Imperial standards. Dark and sterile metals comprised the entirety of the morgue, which was stocked with a series of slabs and storage lockers built into the walls. The Sith stood motionless in the chamber’s center as the Imperial looked up and down the numerous square hatches that lined the walls.

 

“I’ve heard the man responsible for my father’s death was not one of his students,” the Sith coldly stated.

 

“That’s what the official report says,” the Imperial replied, carefully looking over the lockers’ labels. “Unofficial word is they weren’t even students of the Academy.”

 

“My father could not have been felled by a non-Sith.”

 

“He wasn’t,” the Imperial stated. “The killer was Sith, trained on Korriban, but not a legitimate students of the Academy. I guess his master just enjoys the scenery.”

 

“Is the killer still on Korriban?” the Sith asked.

 

“I’m afraid not, my lord. The Sith as well as his fellow apprentices were exiled from Korriban. However, their master remains within these halls.”

 

“Perhaps I should pay him a visit.”

 

“If that is your desire, my lord,” the Imperial replied as he found his target. “This is the one.”

 

“Open it,” the Sith bluntly directed.

 

The Imperial complied, wrenching the handle and opening the metallic hatch. Peering into the shadowed locker, the Human puzzled for a moment before sliding out a long, metallic slab. The slab and the locker were completely empty.

 

“Maybe… maybe that wasn’t the right one…”

 

----------

 

“How do you expect me to inhabit a body that is missing half of its head?” The spirit chided.

 

“Only the back half,” Lorrik replied, kneeling beside the Overseer’s corpse. “The face is a bit puffy, but-”

 

“The vessel needs all of its organs to function as a successful host,” the spirit harshly explained. “I cannot bond with it if its missing its brain.”

 

“You can still inhabit it, correct? Mobilize it?” Lorrik asked.

 

“The connection won’t last. The body will rapidly decay until I’m left with nothing,” the spirit declared.

 

“How rapidly? Will it last the month? The week? Long enough to get you to Coruscant?”

 

“I’m not sure. No one, not even my fellow exiles successfully practiced the art of transference,” the spirit admitted.

 

“So even if I had procured a perfect body you still wouldn’t be sure of your success?” Lorrik plainly stated.

 

“Now is not the time to test me, boy! Remember, your friend isn’t here to protect you this time.”

 

“Yeah, but if I die, he’ll feel it. Then it’s only a matter of time before he comes here to avenge me. And believe me, he’d figure out a way to kill a ghost. Assuming he wasn’t intent on making you suffer first.”

 

“Big words from a small Sith,” the spirit countered, unfazed.

 

“Maybe. But the last person to threaten me…” Lorrik began before offering a polite point of his finger toward the corpse between them. “I’ll admit, the likelihood of things turning out perfectly for either of us is slim to none. But I’m giving you a chance for something you’d never receive otherwise.”

 

“By stuffing me into the brainless cadaver of a dead Sith?” the spirit replied.

 

“I may not know much about raising the dead,” Lorrik stated, “but I’m well-read enough in Sith histories to know how they’ve managed to cheat death. Sith have managed to remain amongst the living after their bodies have expired. Sometimes by keeping their organic shell intact through sheer force of will. Something by abandoning it in favor of an artificial vessel. For the purposes of the ritual, let’s consider this an artificial vessel instead of an organic one. Once you’re on Coruscant, you’ll have the pick of the litter, living and dead, to do with as you please, along with your newly acquired artifacts and treasures.”

 

“Very well. This vessel will suffice… for now,” the spirit declared. “And in return for it, I will take part in the invasion.”

 

“Not quite,” Lorrik countered. The spirit offered the firm arch of his ghostly brow. “The conditions of the trade were for you to take part in the invasion and protect a group of acolytes, and in return you’d receive full contents of their vault and the chance to strike the home of the Jedi and Republic. In exchange for me giving you a new body, I want something else.”

 

“Something else?” the spirit disdainfully muttered.

 

“Don’t worry,” Lorrik warmly offered, patting the side of his traveler’s bag. “It’s something you can do from right here.”

 

----------

 

“How can you just misplace a body?” the Sith shouted as the stomped through the Academy. The Imperial followed in his wake, trying to keep up whilst minimizing his presence. The two Humans were of opposing natures, a scream beside a whimper.

 

“I’m not sure, my lord,” the Imperial dishearteningly admitted. “There’s nothing on record regarding plans to move or dispose of it.”

 

The Sith stopped dead in his tracks, spinning on his heels to put his face directly in front of the Imperial’s. “Then where is it?”

 

The Imperial winced. “I… I don’t know.”

 

“You said the killer’s master is here? Right now?”

 

“Yes, my lord. He never leaves,” the Imperial explained.

 

“What is his name?”

 

“Syrosk. Lord Syrosk.”

 

“And where is he?”

 

----------

 

“Very well. I agree to your terms,” the spirit softly declared. “Are you ready to begin?”

 

“Now or never I suppose,” Lorrik replied, setting his traveler’s bag on the floor beside him. “I trust you’ll guide me through the process.”

 

“The burden of the ritual falls to me,” the spirit explained. “You’ll act as a tangible coordinator. The Massassi can endure the physical toll, but I require someone who can think and wield the Force to channel the various energies over the course of the ritual.”

 

“What kind of physical toll is there?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Fairly agonizing pain and mental anguish,” the spirit nonchalantly stated. “But my creation is rather durable.”

 

“I noticed,” Lorrik said, shooting a brief look to the towering, motionless Massassi. “Alright, let’s do this.”

 

The spirit looked to his monstrous guardian, wordlessly guiding him. The lumbering beast slowly lowered to its knees before scooping the vessel into its spiny arms. Lifting the empty shell off the cold stone flooring, the beast kept it raised, both of them resting within the circle of Sith runes etched onto the ground. The spirit faded from sight, but his presence could still be sensed by the inquisitor.

 

“Focus,” the spirit’s voice pounded Lorrik’s senses. “Enter the circle and place a hand on the vessel. We’re going to need a spark of dark side energy to get started.”

 

Lorrik looked to the hunched form of the Massassi holding the vessel in his hands, almost as if on display. The beast waited, without protest and without movement, like a statue, a prop more than an actual participant in the ritual. The inquisitor passed the threshold of the runes, standing directly in front of the Human shell. Hovering his right hand over the vessel’s chest, he began to concentrate, until he produced a charge of blue electricity arcing between his fingertips. The Force lightning grew in intensity, until it arced from its wielder’s hand to the cadaver, singeing the surface of its under-robes. The inquisitor carefully lowered his hand until it made contact with the vessel’s chest, small strings of electricity hopping around and over his gloved hand.

 

The red sigils etched into the ground began to shine with a harsh intensity, immediately shifting the chamber into a crimson hue. The vessel’s body began to darken as some otherworldly shadow crept from the inquisitor’s hand, eventually covering the entirety of the cadaver’s frame. The once silent and stilled chamber began to whistle and whirr as a breeze began to encircle the ritualists. The breeze soon turned into a harsh bellow of wind and energy, but those within the circle maintained their adamant stances.

 

----------

 

Syrosk’s meditations were interrupted by a series of powerful knocks on his front door. The Sith Lord’s eyes shot open, a curious arch present in his brow. He felt a foreign presence, one that held no place in his memories. Slowly, Syrosk raised himself from the floor, still donning the black plates of his armored suit beset by a heavy cloak.

 

The Sith Lord opened the door of his domicile to find an unfamiliar Human casting a harsh glare towards him. The young adult possessed a heavy, disapproving scowl bordering on a snarl. His body below the neck was encased in the garb of a warrior, one who had long ago graduated from the Academy and earned a place within the Sith Empire.

 

“Are you Syrosk?” the Sith bluntly asked.

 

The alien Lord maintained his stoic visage as he stared at the visitor. “Yes.”

 

“Your apprentice killed my father,” the Sith said through gritted teeth.

 

“I have many apprentices, and the galaxy has many fathers. You’re going to have to be more specific,” Syrosk coldly rasped.

 

“Don’t test me, filth,” the Sith chided. “My father, the Overseer.”

 

“Ah yes, the one who cost my apprentices their training grounds,” Syrosk replied, scratching his chin with his gauntleted hand. “Is there a reason you’ve come to interrupt my meditations?”

 

“Shut it!” the Sith shouted. “Your apprentices killed an Overseer within the halls of the Academy!”

 

“Actually it was just one that was responsible. He killed your father as well as a few of his underlings,” Syrosk unabashedly explained.

 

“You dare speak of this with pride?”

 

“I would not equate a lack of shame with pride,” Syrosk declared. “But I will not apologize for the justified actions of my students.”

 

“But you will answer for them,” the Sith declared. “I am invoking the Sith rite of challenge!”

 

“Is that so?” Syrosk stated, unimpressed.

 

“That’s right. A duel. You and me,” the Sith challenged.

 

“And if I refuse?”

 

“You can’t refuse! The only way to call off the rite of challenge is through the intervention of both party’s masters, and I know you’ve no master to speak on your behalf.”

 

“But what’s stopping me from simply ignoring you?”

 

“Aside from the dishonor forever tied to your name?”

 

“I’m an alien Sith Lord,” Syrosk bluntly declared. “A few honor points gained or lost isn’t going to change my life.”

 

“If you refuse the challenge, I reserve the right to slay you where and how I see fit!”

 

The Sith Lord released a low, raspy sigh. “Fine. Where and when?”

 

“The Academy steps. Right now!”

 

“Very well,” Syrosk drearily muttered, stepping from the confines of his home.

 

----------

 

The air itself carried an electric charge as a cloud of dark side energy coalesced above the ritualists. A heavy aura, a shadowed veil enwrapped and encased the vessel as the chamber became increasingly chaotic. The inquisitor tried to keep his mind focused on the ritual, but found himself drawn toward the swirling vortex of Force energies that surrounded them. Even as he channeled his powers through his hand, he knew that he alone could not possibly be responsible for the grand display.

 

As the spirit melded with the empty vessel, Lorrik was catching a glimpse of what the dark side was truly capable of. The scene was of chaos, but the actions were of control. Within the glowing lights of the runes and crackling electricity, there was an enduring, consuming darkness. It was a contradictorily satisfying feeling that welled up within the inquisitor before sinking back down deep, deep into the recesses of his mind and spirit. He was a catalyst for change. A fundamental part of creating something new from something old. Something of worth from something discarded. Something of purpose from something without.

 

As the competing forces and energies surrounded the ritualists, they lashed out as the spirit connected itself to the tangible world. Arcs of lightning and shadowed whips wracked the Massassi's body, singeing and flaying his red hide. But still the beast did not budge from its stance. It had long abandoned any thoughts of pain, along with most vestiges of thought itself. It was a sentinel. A tool. A device to serve its master. And serve it did.

 

The surrounding storm heightened before releasing an immense flash of light and sound. The sigils etched into the stone floor released a final glow before going completely dark. The winds tore at the fringes of the ritualists before utterly stopping. And the vessel that was once consumed by darkness brightened, before radiating a forceful blast.

 

Lorrik was kicked back, flung across the chamber by the wave of kinetic energy. The inquisitor impacted against the hard floor with a resounding thud, releasing the breath he had been holding longer than he could remember. Slowly, raising himself, he saw the blast had not been enough to shift the Massassi from its spot, feet dug into the stone below it.

 

The chamber was quiet and dark. The crystal fixtures that hung from the structural columns has been pulled from their spots and shattered against the walls by the forceful winds. The sigils had lost any vestige of the magical glow they once emitted. The only light in the entire room, was the piercing glow of the Massassi’s orange eyes. And beneath their gaze, the vessel began to twitch and move.

 

----------

 

The Academy steps. The prime entrance to the institution. In plain view for all manner of Imperial and Sith, of student and master, of young and old to see. Two figures stood ready to do battle. A duel, called upon by the Sith rite of challenge.

 

In that moment, the normal bustling and movements of the Academy grounds had been put on hold. Those who had no choice but to continue their work did so without intrusion, everyone else gathering to watch the two Sith fight. Acolytes. Overseers. Imperial Guardsmen. All eyes rested on the duelists. Watching. Waiting. Each with unique purpose.

 

“In accordance with the rite of challenge, this shall be a duel to the death,” the challenger declared. Syrosk remained silent, standing opposite the other Sith with a dulled expression. “You should be honored an alien like yourself is being treated accorded to Sith custom.”

 

“And you should be honored your father was killed by a Sith of actual worth,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“How dare you!” the Sith shouted. “Your apprentices had no right to challenge him!”

 

“They didn’t. He attacked them.”

 

“If he wanted them dead, it was their duty to die!”

 

Syrosk let out a low chortle. “That’s what this is about isn’t it? Honor. Duty. You don’t even care that it was your father than was killed do you? You just care about the fact that he was an Overseer. That he was beaten by the students of a filthy alien like me. For a moment, I felt sorry for you, understood how you felt. When I lost my master, a man who felt like a father to me, I wanted nothing more than to lash out at those responsible. Because I cared for him. Because I felt the galaxy worse off without him. He had worth beyond what had been prescribed to him by his superiors.”

 

“A Sith who would take you as an apprentice is no Sith,” the challenger countered.

 

The alien Lord cemented his cold, sharpened glare upon his opponent.

 

“Who even are you? Who even was your father?” Syrosk asked. “I’m not talking about names, or titles, or who your masters were. I mean, who were you? What did you do? What did you provide beyond the reach of your blade? What have you accomplished, that isn’t measured with a body count? Anything? Anything at all? What have you given the Empire, besides another generation of unchanging lackeys? You want to know what I’ve done? Take a look around you! I gave you this! I gave all of you this! This Academy? This planet? It still belonged to the Republic went I stepped foot on it. I cut through lines of defenders to give this place back to the Empire! I stood, right here, when Malgus shook the mountains with his shouts of victory! My master and I provided the Empire with hundreds, thousands of Force-sensitive children! I am responsible for this generation of Sith, and it would just as soon spit in my face as look at it! I have given the Empire eight of its best sons and daughters, and it has punished them because they had the gall to strike back against the Overseer who thought them weak, who thought them worthless! I have given more of my own blood for the Empire than any of you here! My filthy, tainted, alien blood! I have given more than any of you! And I have had more taken from me than any of you! And you, you think to tell me what constitutes a Sith? My master was Sith! I am Sith!”

 

“Then prove it,” the challenger declared, igniting his lightsaber. Pointing the crimson blade toward his opponent, the Sith Lord let out a brief sigh.

 

“I shall,” Syrosk muttered, subtly shifting his stance. Placing his body perpendicular to his opponent’s, the Sith Lord slowly raised his gauntlets.

 

“Draw your weapon!” the challenger demanded.

 

“Already have,” Syrosk replied, content with his empty hands.

 

The challenger sharpened his gaze, visage filled to the brim with disgust. Adopting an offensive stance, the Human readied himself before charging the alien. The Sith Lord took a deep breath and held it in. The challenger lashed out with a wide sweep of his blade, only for Syrosk to quickly snatch his sword arm by the wrist, bringing its arc to an instant halt. The Human was stunned, momentarily frozen, unable to act as the Sith Lord drove his gauntleted fist into the challenger’s unprotected neck. The Human plummeted to the ground as he began grasping for air, esophagus collapsed.

 

Syrosk loomed over the body for a moment before walking away in silence. The gathered audience looked on with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Writhing on the ground, the challenger continued clawing at his own throat. Through some manner of miracle or skill, the Sith used the Force, telekinetically reopening his airway. Popping his esophagus into its rightful position, the challenger struggled to lift his dazed self from the Academy steps.

 

“The duel… was to the death…” the challenger struggled to vocalize, still on his hands and knees.

 

“I really don’t care,” Syrosk rasped, continuing to walk away without a second glaze. The Human offered a low growl as he pushed himself up off the ground. Saber in hand, the challenger launched himself at the Sith Lord’s back, ready to punish the retreating alien.

 

Syrosk immediately turned on his heels, and in one swift motion, drew and ignited his weapon, ready to defend against the attack. As the Sith Lord faced his opponent, guard raised, he puzzled for a moment as he saw the challenger halted mid-step, sword arm raised, as if frozen in time. There was a soft shimmering around the Human’s stilled frame, and a powerful presence emanating from the gathered crowd.

 

Looking around, Syrosk saw a familiar figure donned in a vibrant red coat standing amongst the onlookers, hand outstretched, fingers in a clawing motion. Vai Thorel held the challenger’s entire being in his hand, slowly crushing him with telekinetic force.

 

“You have a problem with turning your back on people, you know that?” Thorel joked, under no apparent strain keeping the challenger under his total control.

 

“I did not require your assistance,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“No, I guess you didn’t,” Thorel admitted. With a quick turn of his wrist, Thorel snapped the challenger’s neck and sent him crumbling to the ground once more, this time for good. “Duel to the death, remember?”

 

“A duel usually concerns only two people,” Syrosk countered.

 

The Human released a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess we’ve never been that big on rules, have we? Nice speech by the way.”

 

Syrosk watched as Thorel dipped his hands into his coat pockets and quietly disappeared amongst the gathered audience. He was left alone, the prying eyes of bewildered Imperials and Sith falling solely unto him.

 

Leaving the lifeless body of the challenger and the various onlookers behind, the Sith Lord continued his walk back into the Academy. Back to his home.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Six: Mobilizations

 

“Very well. Just try to avoid killing any more Sith for the time being, if you can,” a regal male’s voice sounded off over the holoterminal.

 

Syrosk offered a dutiful nod, before the dark figure’s image faded from the holoprojector. The Sith Lord was left alone within his domicile as the communications ceased. His ordeals in order, the alien felt a soft wave of relief wash over him, despite the upcoming calamity that was sure to befall himself and his students. In silence, the Sith Lord pondered how to proceed, whether to relay the new information he had acquired or return to his previously interrupted meditations. The decision of what to do was eventually made for him, as the alien received a knock on his front door.

 

The Sith Lord turned his head at the sound, offering the curious arch of his brow. Once more an unrecognized presence was at his doorstep, only this time, it was beyond unfamiliar. It was almost nonexistent. Even the lowliest of Imperial carried an easily readable mental signature. But this visitor was unlike anything that had graced the Sith Lord’s presence.

 

Syrosk slowly moved toward his front door, carrying a caution in his gait he had not held in quite some time. Rescinding the door, the Sith Lord found himself standing face to face with a hooded, masked figure. He had never seen the featureless visage that gazed toward him, but the black and purple robes that surrounded it were quite familiar. As the faceless person stood before him, the Sith Lord could feel something poking at his mind, an itch upon his psyche he could not scratch.

 

The figure raised his hands, placing them around the edges of his mask and removing it with a hearty tug. Wrenching the covering from his flesh, the Human released a heavy exhalation, his golden eyes speaking of trial and tribulation.

 

“Gah, I’m never going to get used to that,” Lorrik softly admitted. “So. Can I come in?”

 

The Sith Lord provided his answer in the form of clutching his armored fist around the inquisitor's robes and dragging him inside in one swift motion. The door fell from its recess, locking the two away from the eyes and ears of the surrounding Academy. Syrosk released his grip, the Human still reeling from the forced movement.

 

“What do you think you are doing here?” the Sith Lord harshly rasped.

 

“Hello to you too,” Lorrik muttered, reaffirming his stance. “I came to make certain preparations for the invasion.”

 

“What sorts of preparations?”

 

“Favors and trades, mostly,” Lorrik explained. “Thanks to the amount of free time and leeway you gave us during training, I managed to build a few connections. Connections I’ve called upon to help our cause. I’ve secured reinforcements for two more classrooms. So that’s six instead of four now. Plus, I got Jresh a fancy new pair of gauntlets.”

 

“Reinforcements?” Syrosk curiously rasped. “What manner of persons on Korriban could you find both willing and able to help the acolytes?”

 

“Well, they aren’t doing it out of the kindness of their hearts,” Lorrik admitted. “They’re all getting something out of it.”

 

“And who are these people?” Syrosk asked.

 

“It’s better that you don’t know,” Lorrik replied.

 

“Is that so?” Syrosk rasped. “Is this the part where you tell me it’s for my own good?”

 

“I suppose you’d be familiar with the concept, wouldn’t you?” Lorrik warmly joked. “I wouldn’t want you to take your focus off of Tash and securing us access to the invasion. Speaking of which, any update on either front?”

 

“We’ve received authorization to take part in the invasion, so long as we do not interfere with any other military operations,” Syrosk explained. “We’ll have no support, and no one to vouch for us if things go awry, so we’ll have to make sure we stay out of the navy’s crosshairs when heading planetside. As for Tash, he’s yet to reveal himself. He’ll stay on Dromund Kaas until the Empire is ready to strike, and the acolytes are joining him soon. To them, this is Tash delivering on his offer of a chance for greatness. They believe he’s swept in at the last moment to earn them a spot in the final act of the war, rather than the fact that he’s been controlling the classrooms since their inception.”

 

“Not all of them,” Lorrik stated. “The day you had us instruct the classrooms, we told them of their positions, of the truth behind the classrooms. They don’t all believe Tash to be their savior.”

 

“They don’t believe him to be their doom, either,” Syrosk countered. “There’s been no signs of protest amongst the acolytes for their upcoming task. They all seem thrilled at the chance to prove themselves.”

 

“Tash may not be the selfless man he’d have them believe, but they know he holds sway over their lives,” Lorrik stated. “They may be mere acolytes, not fit for proper enrollment, but they believe themselves Sith. And Sith are nothing but opportunists. They’re not concerned with their pasts. They’re concerned with their futures. And to them, this is their only chance at a better one. It’s up to us to make sure the chance Tash offers is genuine, whether he likes it or not.”

 

“Then we will do just that,” Syrosk calmly declared.

 

“Yeah we will,” Lorrik added with a confident glee. “We should contact the others. Give them an update.”

 

The master and his apprentices stepped deeper into the Sith Lord’s domicile, stopping in front of a holoterminal. The inquisitor engaged the device, opening connections with the terminal within Yerrig’s palace. With the other apprentices likely battling in the foyer, the Human had no idea how long it would take, or if anyone would even answer. To his surprise, the call was almost immediately accepted, the flickering image of Lorrik’s companion emanating from the holoprojector.

 

“Ah, Jresh, I had expected you and the others to be training,” Lorrik spoke up.

 

“It’s actually the middle of the night here,” Jresh stated, no sense of exhaustion in his voice. “Everyone else is asleep.”

 

“Oh yeah, I guess I hadn’t considered the different cycles,” Lorrik admitted, lightly scratching his chin. “Wait, middle of the night? Why aren’t you asleep?”

 

“I figured this would be our primary channel of communication, so I’ve been waiting in the office in case you were to call,” Jresh answered. “I was worried when I felt you slip away a number of times.”

 

“Effects of the mask,” Lorrik stated, holding the artifact within his hand. “But it’s allowed to move around without much fuss. Keeps me hidden, and those immune to its effects just see me as another Sith walking around the Academy.

 

“While it’s good to see that you are doing okay, I would rather you didn’t risk exposing yourself,” Jresh admitted.

 

“That makes two of us,” Syrosk declared, stepping beside his apprentice. “The longer you stay, the more people you meet with, the more likely it will be that someone will report your presence. And the guardsmen will not hesitate to kill you for being an intruder.”

 

Believe me, I know. But as long as I knew there was something I could do here, I had to risk it,” Lorrik reasoned, turning his attention back toward his companion. “And it worked. Two more classrooms will receive reinforcements.”

 

“That’s good news, I suppose,” Jresh declared, maintaining his stoicism, but not dismissing his partner’s efforts. “That just leaves two without added protection. Better than the previous four. Much better than the eight it would have been had we not opted to step in.”

 

“I know, but I feel like there’s more I could do,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“There’s always something more you can do, the question is whether or not there will be less of you left as a result,” Jresh stated.

 

“He is correct,” Syrosk added. “When we set our eyes on our goals, we must never ignore the roads that lead us there. Overextend yourself, and you could risk losing everything. It’s the reason Tash has remained so formidable, even in his advanced age. In all the years I have known him, he has not acted without heavy consideration of the consequences. He mitigates unlike any other, never falling prey to the schemes of other Sith, never bringing harm unto himself. For decades, he’s found a way to operate unchallenged.”

 

“That all changes now,” Lorrik declared.

 

“We can only hope,” Syrosk replied. “True, you may have kept your intentions and plans from him thus far, but that does not mean he is unprepared. If anything, he has prepared for his colleagues to make a move against him. Other Sith Lords and Darths ready to steal his gathered bounty. Though I doubt he’d belief any of them brave or brash enough to strike against him while still on Coruscant. The only one he’s prepared to face there is me.”

 

“How can he be so sure you’ll follow him to Coruscant? That you’d even be able to?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Because I told him, all those years ago,” Syrosk detailed. “My vision, the one where I saw myself killed at Tash’s hand, it was amongst towering buildings that stretched upwards into a burning sky. It could have been a metaphor, but I now know it was of Coruscant. And Tash knows that I believe that, just as he believes that I am still bound to see my visions through to the end. But I am no longer subservient to precognitions. I do not believe my death certain. All of which is because of you, my apprentice.”

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Lorrik offered with a smile. “Though if you truly wished to screw with the vision you’d stay off Coruscant entirely. But I’d say your assistance is more important than trying to prove yourself right or wrong, eh?”

 

“The chance remains that I may yet perish at Tash’s hand, but I no longer believe it inevitable. And should I still end up serving my students in death, I will gladly accept my fate, such as it were,” Syrosk admitted.

 

“I can’t say it’s been an all-around pleasurable experience learning under you, master,” Lorrik joked. “You gave us a chance when no one else would, and we’ve both thrived and suffered for it. You’ve pushed us off cliffs. Sent us to the darkest corners of Korriban. Wrapped us up in a conflict that’s origin stretches before our birth. Lied to us, despite constantly promising us that we had reached a new point in which we’d receive all the answers we wanted. Endangered our lives, time and time again. But that doesn’t mean we want you to throw your life away. You’ve been a good master, and the Sith should be proud to have someone like you within their ranks. Do everything you can to stay alive.”

 

The Sith Lord locked eyes with his apprentice, sharpening his gaze as the room was consumed by silence. He hadn’t expected validation that day, but he was more than welcome to receive it.

 

“We should be going,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Wait a minute, ‘we’?” Lorrik asked.

 

“That is correct,” Syrosk replied. “I’ve done all that I can here. Soon, neither Vai nor the acolytes will be here, and the surrounding Sith grow bolder every day in their wants for intolerance. If we are to be ready for the invasion, we must organize ourselves and plan our actions. And if I am to be ready, I cannot waste any more energy fighting every Sith who wishes to challenge me within the Academy.”

 

The inquisitor was silent, turning his head toward the still engaged holoterminal. The electronic image of the Pureblood offered a stalwart nod.

 

“Very well,” Lorrik stated. “Jresh, we’ll be there tomorrow. Make sure the others are ready.”

 

“I will,” Jresh firmly declared.

 

“Do you have a transport?” Lorrik asked of his master.

 

“I shall accompany you,” Syrosk stated. “Now, as well as during the invasion. The targets are close enough that we needn’t possess extraneous shuttles.”

 

“Understood,” Lorrik replied. “But, uh, we are going to need two more.”

 

“For your ‘friends’ on Korriban?” Syrosk suggested.

 

“That’s right,” Lorrik warmly answered. “Can you get two ships here in time?”

 

“Most likely, yes,” Syrosk commented.

 

“Good. Have one docked at the Academy’s rear hangar number two. Send the other to the Valley of Forgotten Lords,” Lorrik detailed.

 

The Sith Lord offered the heavy arch of his brow. “Do I even want to know?”

 

“That doesn’t seem like a question I could answer,” Lorrik coyly offered.

 

Syrosk released a heavy sigh. “Very well. I’ll need to make a call.”

 

“You do that. I’ll go prep our transport,” Lorrik said. “There’s probably an attendant freaking out about the empty shuttle that keeps showing up.”

 

The inquisitor offered a quick wave to his companion before leaving the room, then the domicile, slipping the black mask over his face as he did so. The master and electronic image of his other apprentice were left alone, stewing in the created silence.

 

“His tenacity is astounding,” Syrosk muttered.

 

“When he wants something done, he’ll see it done,” Jresh stated. “For better or worse, you can’t say he doesn’t try.”

 

“No I can’t. It’s a shame that those who try the hardest always wind up with a target on their back,” Syrosk rasped. “I’ll be seeing you and the others soon enough, but I need to make a call.”

 

“Understood, master,” Jresh offered with a respectful nod. “We’ll await your and Lorrik’s arrival.”

 

The electronic image faded as the communication ceased. The Sith Lord tapped away at the holoterminal’s control panel, sending out a message to a recent contact. After a momentary delay, the Sith from before answered, his dark figure emanating from the terminal’s projector.

 

“Apologies for the interruption, my lord, but I’m going to need more shuttles…”

 

----------

 

Syrosk made his way through the Academy halls, heading toward the institution’s rear hangars. He carried nothing but the cloaked armor upon his back, the weapon at his side, and a small communicator within his coat pocket. As little belongings as he possessed, he had opted to leave them all behind as he departed the planet. He had no need for them. His focus now rested entirely on the future. He had given up on his home, on the Academy, on Korriban, all so that his mind could be focused solely on the task at hand.

 

Making his way into one of the Academy’s rear hangars, Syrosk saw one of the shuttles he had gifted his apprentices, entrance ramp lowered and welcoming. Between the Sith Lord and the docked vessel, a lowly Imperial looked over the shuttle, hesitantly examining its outer frame from a safe distance. He seemed mired in a mixture of curiosity and fright, attention locked on the ship to such a degree that the sound of Syrosk’s footsteps made him jump. The scrawny Human immediately sought to compose himself, turning on his heels to greet the approaching figure.

 

“Is there a problem with my shuttle?” Syrosk rasped as he bridged the gap between himself and the attendant.

 

“Your… your shuttle?” the attendant struggled to vocalize. “Oh. Uh. No sir, my lord.”

 

“Then I trust there’s nothing to keep me from departing, correct?”

 

“Of course not, my lord,” the attendant sheepishly declared. “But… are you aware of your ship disappearing? Moving on its own perhaps?”

 

“Whatever do you mean?” Syrosk asked, completely deadpan.

 

“Uh, nothing. My mistake, sir. Have a pleasant trip, my lord.”

 

Syrosk remained silent as he stepped aboard the docked vessel. As the entrance ramp rescinded behind him, the Sith Lord peered into the cockpit to see Lorrik sitting at the controls.

 

“Congratulations,” Syrosk muttered. “You convinced a man that this ship is haunted.”

 

The inquisitor released a low, frightening chuckle as his voice was filtered by the dark mask worn upon his face. Carefully, Lorrik tugged the artifact from his skin, a deep shiver running down his spine. Reaching beside his chair, the Human deposited the mask in his travelers bag before turning to face his master.

 

“Well, I wasn’t about to dock out in the wastes and walk back to the Academy on foot, now was I?” Lorrik offered alongside another, more natural chuckle. “ALD, set a course for Ortess-3.”

 

“At once, master,” the droid pilot called out, punching in the shuttle’s new destination. The vessel carefully lifted itself off its landing struts and maneuvered out of the hangar. Nothing but the open sky above it, the shuttle began its ascent through the Korriban atmosphere, ready to enter hyperspace as soon as it was beyond the planet’s gravity well.

 

Leaving his belongings in the cockpit, the inquisitor raised himself from his seat and joined his master in the passenger bay. The Sith Lord sat patiently on one of the benches that ran alongside the shuttle’s hull. The Human took his seat on the opposite bench.

 

“So. When was the last time you left Korriban?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Over two years,” Syrosk quickly answered. “I’ve remained within the Academy for as long as you’ve been my student.”

 

“Well, it’s not exactly pretty where we’re going, but it’s no worse scenery wise, if you hold pollution on par with dust and tombs,” Lorrik joked.

 

“This planet… it was your home before the Academy, correct?”

 

“That’s right. Oh! This means you get to meet my parents!” Lorrik exuberantly declared. The Sith Lord remained silent, continuing to cast his stoic, unbroken stare at the apprentice.

 

As the shuttle passed beyond the threshold of Korriban’s atmosphere, it continued forward into the dark void of space. Readying its hyperdrive, the vessel finalized its destination coordinates before streaking across the stars in flash.

 

----------

 

Standing outside the palace entrance, the seven apprentices of Lord Syrosk patiently waited as the shuttle touched down amongst its three brethren. Lorrik and the Sith Lord emerged from the ship and made their way toward the others. The Human was greeted personally by his companion placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. The inquisitor offered an appreciative smile, more than joyed to be back in the presence of his partner and his compatriots. Traveler’s bag strapped to his back, the Human stepped inside the palace, the Sith Lord still receiving a round of subtle nods and bows.

 

The nine Sith moved, as part of a single unit, into the office of the deceased slave master, eager to discuss the finer points of their plan.

 

“I’ll skip the pleasantries,” Syrosk rasped. “The invasion will proceed in a few short days. I do not know the precise timing and logistics of the operation at-large, but I’ve managed to secure us access to the battle. We will soon move to a staging area, from which we will follow a supplied hyperspace route when we are cleared to enter the battle. We will be moving in behind Tash and the acolytes, so we’ll have to make up lost time any way we can. His classrooms are larger, meaning that once they’re planetside, it will take time for them to unload and make their way to their objectives. We will arrive afterwards, but will retain superior mobility.”

 

“To do that we need to know their targets,” Isorr bluntly declared.

 

“Indeed,” Syrosk quickly replied. Looking around, the Sith Lord began examining his surroundings, panning his gaze over the various electronics of the office. “Lorrik. Do any of the terminals connect to the Holonet?”

 

The Human nodded, pointing to one of the computers beside the holocommunicator. The Sith Lord went to work tapping away at the device, staring at the small screen that accompanied it. Soon, an image flickered to life from the holoterminal’s projector. Rather than a person, a three-dimensional map showed up, detailing a large area of an ecumenopolis’ surface.

 

“This is a commercial map of Coruscant,” Syrosk explained. “I’ve managed to pull the coordinates of the vaults from one of Tash’s instructors within the Academy. There’s eleven targets in all, which is curious. Assuming one for Tash and Vai, and one for each of the classrooms, that leaves an extra one.”

 

“That one belongs to my father, Tash’s other apprentice,” Isorr nonchalantly declared. The Sith Lord offered the befuddled arch of his brow, before panning his gaze amongst the other students. Their stoic faces revealed that they knew and were understanding of the relation.

 

“I see,” Syrosk muttered. “So. Eleven targets. Eight in the hands of the acolytes. Six receiving additional support from us.”

 

“Six?” Arlia asked.

 

“Lorrik attained additional forces on Korriban,” Syrosk explained.

 

“Do we know who’s hitting which vaults?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“We know which eight the students are targeting,” Syrosk answered. “The remaining three could belong to either Tash or his apprentices.”

 

“You’re going to try and intercept Tash, right?” Arlia asked. “How are you going to do that if you don’t know where he is?”

 

“I’ll be able to sense him as soon as we’re planetside,” Syrosk admitted. “I felt his presence the second he stepped foot on Korriban. With concentration, I’ll be able to find him even in the middle of an invasion.”

 

“If you say so,” Arlia replied. “How do we decide where we’re heading?”

 

“We should decide first who will have to go without reinforcements,” Lorrik stated. “My former classmates are skilled, and they’ve been aware of Tash’s involvement in the classrooms ever since Jresh and I visited them. Even though they’re going along with the plan, I know they’ve been preparing.”

 

“Yeah, but they’re inquisitors, not warriors,” Arlia countered.

 

“Inquisitors who were informed of their inevitable betrayal,” Lorrik explained. “If there’s anyone with a desire to survive and overcome, it’s them.”

 

“When we last visited them, my class seemed rather competent, considering the circumstances," Isorr offered. “They’d fare no worse than the others if left to themselves.”

 

“Anyone else?” Lorrik asked.

 

“My class seem like they could use the help, going by our last visit,” Kar’ai stated. Looking around, the Human saw Vurt offer the curt shake of his head, silently speaking ill of his former class as well.

 

“Alright,” Lorrik began, scratching his chin. “Syrosk, which vaults are the acolytes targeting?”

 

The Sith Lord looked over the map, processing the information he had gleaned from his interrogation. “Vaults three through ten. Isorr’s class is striking number four. Yours is striking number seven.”

 

“Wait, so that means Tash and his apprentices are hitting one, two, and eleven?” Arlia asked.

 

“Yes, but I don’t know which belongs to whom,” Syrosk admitted.

 

“Still, an odd spread,” Arlia replied.

 

“Number eleven is furthest from the rest,” Syrosk said. “Tash may be keeping his second apprentice away from himself and the others.”

 

“Or maybe, he’s targeting a specific vault for himself,” Lorrik explained. “If he knew he was hitting that vault, the rest might just be assigned sequentially. One and two go to apprentices. Three through ten go to acolytes.”

 

“Why would he want that one?” Kar’ai asked. “Is he trying to keep himself at a distance? Is that one safer than the rest?”

 

“If Tash was able to learn of these vaults, and spend all this effort trying to crack them open, it stands to reason he knows what’s inside them,” Lorrik declared.

 

“You’re suggesting he’s after that particular vault’s contents?” Jresh asked.

 

“Attacking all the vaults simultaneously means none of them can receive reinforcements from the others,” Lorrik stated. “He could attack any of the vaults and receive the same resistance. He chose that one for himself. All things equal on the outside, it must be what’s inside.”

 

“These vaults hold dark side and Sith artifacts, right?” Ryloh asked. “Is Tash interested in a particular one?”

 

“Tash has never been one for items and trinkets,” Syrosk declared. “His relation with his master and his distaste for Seers left a lasting impression. It’s why he rarely deals with the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge unless absolutely necessary.”

 

“Considering the value of a cache this large, this might count as absolutely necessary,” Lorrik explained. “Tash’s apprentices believe that taking those vaults would be enough to elevate the acolytes to being true Sith. Imagine all that prestige, all that power, focused on a single individual, instead of spread out amongst scores of acolytes.”

 

“He’s already a Darth,” Kar’ai stated. “How much higher can he go?”

 

“There’s always room for ascension,” Syrosk declared.

 

“And it’s our duty to see it delivered to those acolytes,” Lorrik stated. “They’re going to take those vaults. They’re going to get credit for it. They’re going to earn the respect of the Sith Empire, regardless of their backgrounds.”

 

“As will we, right?” Arlia asked.

 

“That’s right,” Lorrik replied. “Time to show everyone what a bunch of impurities and outcasts can really do.”

 

The apprentices looked to one another, each baring a confident, self-assured expression. It was their time. Time to show the Empire that they were proper Sith. That the only thing running through their vein was pure, unfiltered potential.

 

“So, once we have our targets, what do we do?” Isorr asked.

 

“We go to war.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Seven: Invasions

 

The time had come. A peace conference was underway on Alderaan, the Empire calling on the Republic to discuss an end to the war. It was to be a ruse, the negotiations led by Darth Baras serving only to lull the Republic into a false sense of security. Peace was the last thing on any Sith’s mind that day.

 

The citizens of Coruscant went about their daily lives without a second thought, unaware of the calamity that was to befall them. Whilst the bulk of the Imperial invasion force waited past the system’s threshold, a strike team led by Darth Malgus had made their move. The Jedi were spread out amongst the galaxy, leaving minimal resistance as the Sith struck the Coruscanti Temple. A fraction of the destruction that was to come, the strike team succeeded in taking their objective, blazing a path of victory that resulting in the disruption of the planet’s defense grid.

 

Under the command of Darth Angral, a fleet of Imperial dreadnoughts and warships entered the space surrounding the ecumenopolis. The ships were hailed by one of the Republic capital’s Orbital Security Stations, which received a response in the form of the ships’ main batteries blasting the station into space debris. The fleet began its descent through the planet’s atmosphere, priming itself for the ensuing bombardment. The lower laser cannons of the dreadnoughts began unleashing their rain of fire and destruction upon the Senate and Temple districts.

 

Amidst the bombardment, a number of shuttles and transports departed the hangars of the capital ships, making their way to the surface below. Whilst most carried Imperial troopers, cannon-fodder to absorb the brunt of the defenders' retaliations, a small detachment of shuttles broke from the rank of their fellows. Transports capable of holding a dozen beings within their hulls made their way toward specific towers not yet burdened with the torrential downpour of cannon fire.

 

Imperial fighters patrolled the skies, shooting down the errant airspeeder that had not yet fled from the zone of battle. As the shuttles pressed themselves further and further, they found themselves without the company of other starships, slipping beyond the areas assaulted by warships and bombers. The transports moved through the Coruscant skyline, nimbly maneuvering around the kilometer high towers and buildings thanks to their trained pilots.

 

As each shuttle neared its target, the transports broke free from one another, until each of them proceeded by their lonesome. The majority of the planet’s occupants had already begun their flock to the lower reaches of the cityscape, finding sanctuary from the invading forces in the depths of the ecumenopolis. One of the shuttles touched down on a vacated landing pad attached to a nondescript skyscraper. There was nothing to signify their targets other than the instructions in their heads. As the shuttle’s entrance ramp lowered, a number of acolytes stepped out with haste. A young Human male pushed himself to the front of the group. His body encased in the same standard issue armor as his classmates, his hand gripping the same model lightsaber, the Human urged his fellows forward.

 

“Come on! Let’s go!” Ornell shouted as he darted across the landing pad and into the tower’s interior, followed by the other acolytes of Lorrik’s former classroom. The acolytes disappearing into the urban structure, their shuttle lifted itself from its landing struts and began making its way back to its hangar aboard one of the invading capital ships.

 

----------

 

Above Coruscant, amidst the starry void of space, six shuttle dropped into realspace amongst the deafened calamity that surrounding the Republic capital. Imperial ships hounded the Republic's orbital defenders and installations. Laser cannon bolts streaked across the vacuum of space, igniting the various defense and communications satellites in a brief plume of fire that would be quickly snuffed out, leaving only drifting wreckage in its place.

 

The six shuttles headed toward the planet’s surface, dodging the cannon fire and naval forces that stood in their path. Flying around capital ships and dreadnoughts, the mechanical pilots of the vessels expertly circumvented the plethora of scrap and debris the now orbited the planet.

 

Within one of the shuttles, Jresh sat in the co-pilot’s chair, monitoring various systems as Lorrik and Syrosk stood behind him, gazes affixed the scene unfolding beyond the transport’s viewports. It was a sight unlike any either figure had seen before. Even the Sith Lord had not witnessed the collective might of the Sith Empire so focused on a single target. As the shuttle drew ever closer to the planet’s surface, Syrosk calmed his mind amongst the enveloping chaos, focusing his thoughts and seeking his target.

 

The transports slipped through the ecumenopolis’ atmosphere, descending amongst the smoke and fire that littered the open skies. The Imperial Navy continued its assault on the towers of the Senate and Temple district, fielding countless squads and companies of soldiers and Mandalorians to the ground below. The Republic was mounting its response, troopers and Jedi rising up to meet the invaders, but suffering under the full force of the oppressive fleet. But those beyond the gaze of dreadnoughts and warships would find themselves less inhibited.

 

The shuttles carrying the apprentices and their allies pressed forward, maneuvering around the crumbling towers of Coruscant. They each had their targets. They each had their assigned group of students to protect. They each had their goal, and the skill and confidence to see it through. But while the apprentices had their specified destinations, their master was forced to choose his. The Sith Lord reached out with his mind, searching for his rival. Sifting through the countless thoughts and presences of soldiers and civilians, Imperial invaders and Republic denizens, he could sense Tash, shining as a beacon amidst the calamity.

 

“Tash is heading for the eleventh vault,” Syrosk stoically declared.

 

“Alright, take us there,” Lorrik quickly shot to the pilot. Jresh continued to monitor the shuttle’s console as the droid diverting the shuttle’s course toward the new objective. “We’ll make a brief landing then continue toward our assigned target.”

 

“No need,” Syrosk defiantly stated. “Just open the shuttle’s hatch and get me as close as possible.”

 

The pilot turned its metallic head for clarification, receiving a firm nod from its copilot. The shuttle maintained its speed as it neared its destination, opening its hatch and lowering its entrance ramp mid-flight. The Sith Lord calmly stepped from the cockpit and into the cacophonous passenger bay as the wind passed over the vessel’s entrance. Gripping the side of the hull, Syrosk watched the cityscape pass beneath him, the fires fading and disappearing as they moved beyond the zone of invasion.

 

Lorrik called out to his master, telling him they were almost there. Without another word, the Sith Lord leapt from the cruising vessel as it passed over a vacant landing pad, lightsaber ignited, his one and only target resting firmly in his mind.

 

The transport pulled away as Syrosk landed, armored feet impacting against the metallic surface with a resounding thud. Standing upright, the Sith Lord took a deep breath before darting across the landing pad, venturing into the tower it was connected to.

 

Jresh shot the droid a quick look, silently urging it to retract the shuttle’s entrance ramp. Lorrik eased himself forward, taking a position directly behind his companion. “This is it. Either we succeed or we fail.”

 

“When has there ever been a third option?” Jresh stoically asked, eyes still affixed to the console in front of him.

 

“I guess you’ve got a point,” Lorrik muttered, still not entirely satisfied with the outlook. “But it’s not just our lives at stake. It’s those of dozens and dozens of acolytes.”

 

“Don’t worry. We’ll protect them,” Jresh confidently stated.

 

“Are we ready to face the Jedi?”

 

“Ready and able.”

 

“Alright, then let’s just-“

 

The shuttle violently shook as an explosion rocked the vessel’s outer hull. An errant bolt of energy impacted against the transport’s bow, cracking open the shuttle’s frame, exposing the right half of the cockpit to the open air of Coruscant. The Pureblood and Human were thrown to the floor as the shuttle’s mechanical pilot was turned to scrap. Its front dipping, Lorrik slid across the floor, swept up in the current that passed over cockpit’s gaping wound. The remaining bits and pieces of the droid passed through the shattered hull, falling to the surface below alongside various bits and pieces of metal and debris.

 

Clawing at the edge of the ship, the inquisitor kept himself pressed against the floor as the warrior dragged himself back into his seat. Taking direct control of the shuttle, the Pureblood did as best as he could leveling out the vessel, but the damage was done. The transport couldn’t stay airborne, and began its slow, inevitable descent. Tugging at the controls, Jresh brought the shuttle down amidst an outcropping attached to the skyscraper adjacent to the pair’s target. The downed shuttle crashed amongst the abandoned ledge, skidding across the metallic surface, coming to a stop only after embedding itself in the tower walls.

 

Whilst one shuttle had fallen, the others were still on course. The transports carrying the pairs of apprentices and their allies touched down in the nearest landing zones to their targets. The acolytes were already on the ground, about to meet the resistance of the vault guards head on. The reinforcements urged themselves forward, ready to meet whatever challenges awaited them, ready to do all they could to make sure they and the acolytes walked away with their lives in their hands.

 

Vault One. Within the bland architecture of the Republic capital, the first safehouse stood guarded by a pair of Jedi and a squad of the planet’s domestic security force. The forces stood gathered in front of a reinforced door at the end of a vast, empty chamber. The various beige and brown materials that made up the quiet area were infinitely preferable to the charred and engulfed buildings of other districts.

 

The Jedi were garbed in armored robes, conservative layers of cloth enwrapping hardened plates beneath. The security forces wore light protection, thick trousers and jackets beneath tactical bandoliers featuring holstered blasters.

 

“We’re under attack,” one of the Jedi curtly spoke to his fellows. “The Empire is attacking the Temple and Senate, we have to help them!”

 

“The Empire is attacking the entire planet,” the other Jedi countered. “If we leave our posts, we’re abandoning the area to the Sith.”

 

“Sirs, can we move the contents of the vault elsewhere?” the leader of the security force asked.

 

“There’s nowhere to move them to,” the first Jedi declared.

 

“Then we must defend this area,” the second Jedi replied.

 

“By standing around? We need to move outside, take the fight to the-”

 

The Jedi was interrupted by the echoing footsteps emanating from the opposite end of the chamber. From the shadowed halls beyond, a lone figure emerged, hands folded behind his back, casually making his way toward the group. The Human’s gait was utterly calm, the heels of his feet kicking up the tail of his vibrant red coat with each step.

 

The two Jedi drew their sabers, directing their tips toward the lightly-armored stranger as the security force unholstered their pistols. Taking careful aim, the barrels of eight blasters pointed toward the approaching Sith.

 

“Halt! Identify yourself!” one of the Jedi called out. The stranger remained silent as he continued his trek across the empty chamber, almost warm in his unfaltering calm. “I said halt! This is your final warning!”

 

The trespasser had already passed the chamber’s midpoint, near to the point the defenders could see the adult Human’s handsome, smiling face. He continued to walk, unimpeded by the Jedi’s words, less than ten meters between himself and the vault protectors. The unsettling sight chilled one of the security guards to the core, causing him to release an errant bolt from his blaster.

 

In one swift motion, the stranger drew and ignited the crimson blade of his lightsaber, raising it to intercept in the blink of an eye. The bolt of energy connected with the blade, reflecting back at the attacker with utmost precision, impacting against the guard’s chest. The round pierced the light armoring of the security guard, sending him crumbling to the ground.

 

His comrades released an angered torrent of blaster fire, which the Sith expertly sidestepped and reflected. The security force dropped, one by one, until the Jedi ordered a ceasefire. The two remaining shooters lowered their weapons, standing by as the pair of Jedi leapt forward. The guardians drew their sabers, two blue beams of energy ready to lash out against the trespasser. The Sith glided across the chamber floor, dodging the first round of blows. The Jedi moved in unison, attacking the Sith with graceful martial prowess. A normal Sith would have buckled under the combined assault of the Jedi Knights, but they were not facing a normal Sith.

 

The Sith moved without a single misstep, not a single wasted movement. Each strike that came his way was blocked and parried with minimal effort. He was strong. He was fast. He was unbeatable. The first Jedi fell as the tip of the Sith’s blade pierced his guard, digging just deep enough into the Knight’s chest so as to reach his heart. The second fell soon after, hitting the ground in two pieces after being bisected at the waist.

 

The two remaining guards watched the invader calmly dust himself off without displaying a single sign of exhaustion. Taking a single step toward the vault, the officers raised their blasters only to find themselves struggling to breath. Clutching at their necks, the men’s legs grew weak as they slumped to the floor. Writhing on the ground, the last of the defenders released their last breaths as all motion stopped.

 

Standing in front of the vast, reinforced door, Thorel took a deep breath before releasing a calm, collected exhalation. Saber in hand, the Sith carefully began pushing his the blade into the vault door, molten metal dripping from the insertion point.

 

Vault Two. The chamber in front of the second safehouse was embroiled in battle, consumed by the cacophonous pings of blaster bolts leaving their barrels and impacting against the nearby walls. A black figure darted back and forth across the chamber as the security forces struggled to find their target. The shadowed figure swung his red blade as he glided across the floor, intercepting the occasional blaster bolt as the rest flew over his head. The bolts were carelessly flung back toward their source, but only occasionally managed to find a target. Despite his lateral movement, the trespasser slowly advanced across the chamber, closing the distance between himself and the vault.

 

The invader was garbed head to toe in black armored plates, his face concealed by a helmet, through the top of which a crown of horns emerged. When half the defenders fell, the Zabrak charged forward, leaping and landing amongst the vault security. The warrior cut down the guards nearest him as the two Jedi assigned to the area readied their weapons.

 

A blaster bolt impacted against the armored intruder’s back, prompting him to release a hushed yelp from beneath his encompassing helmet. The injury only drove the warrior into a rage, causing him to lash out at the remaining defenders. The invader’s attacks were wild, driven by an internal strength beyond measure. Batting away the blades of the Jedi, Ikton made short work of them with a series of overpowering blows.

 

Vault Three. Taking defensive positions near the reinforced vault door, the Jedi directed the security forces to open fire across the chamber. The flurry of blaster bolts rang out toward the room’s entrance, a number of intruders ducking back into the safety of the connecting hallway. One lone acolyte stood his ground, attempting to reflect the onslaught of blaster fire, only to succumb to the defender’s attacks.

 

As the continuing assault rang out in the adjacent chamber, the acolytes hugged the walls, waiting for some break in the attack. But it would not come, as the bolts continued to fly by and impact against nearby walls. As the invaders struggled to formulate a plan, they heard an echoing voice emanating from the halls behind them. A strong, forceful, female voice.

 

“Clear a path!”

 

The acolytes turned toward the source of the voice to see a pale-skinned warrior sprinting down the hallway, a male Twi’lek in her wake. The Rattataki plunged herself headfirst into the opposing blaster fire, sabers ignited, guard raised. The warrior pushed past the wave of suppressing fire, crossing the chamber’s midpoint before the defenders even had a chance to react. Two of the guards were felled by reflected blaster fire, and the rest of them found their blasters ripped from their hands. Their attention focused on the pale invader, they had not noticed the wide, sweeping motions of the robed Twi’lek’s hands. The loosed weapons slid across the floor, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the chamber.

 

Peeking their heads in, the acolytes saw the pair making headway amidst the defenders, their weapons wrested from their hands. Not a moment later, the acolytes began to pour in, sabers raised and ignited, their cries of war echoing throughout the chamber. They charged across the room to join Kar’ai and Ryloh in taking the vault.

 

Vault Four. A pair of intruders stood in the center of the safehouse chamber, the defenders' eyes and weapons focused on the two trespassers. The invaders were identical in appearance, sharing the same height, build, and garb. Armor procured from the standard military channels covered the two figures from head to toe. Blacks, grays, and reds, arranged in standardized form. Though the pair were identical in appearance, they were disparate in armament. From one another. From their contemporaries. One carried a metallic pole equal to its wielder in height. The other, a rod roughly the length of a dual-bladed saberstaff.

 

“This is the very opposite of laying low,” one of the intruders muttered in a dull, pacified tone.

 

“When Tash left, so did our jobs,” the other intruder replied, almost matching the other’s tone exactly. “This’ll let us choose who we’re transferred to.”

 

“Shoot low, as we always say,” the first muttered.

 

An approaching rumble emerged from the connecting hallways as a sizable group made their way toward the chamber.

 

“Better late than never I suppose,” the second muttered. “Almost thought they’d gotten lost.”

 

As the group of acolytes neared the chamber entrance, one of the two men tapped the bottom of his pole against the floor, an energized beam emanating from its other tip. The other man gripped his weapon in both hands, a single blade of energy emerging from its emitter, extending beyond the length of an ordinary lightsaber. The quartermaster directed the polearm toward the enemy line, whilst the weapons master’s hands tightened around his two-handed lightsaber.

 

Vault Five. The group of acolytes were urged forward by a Zabrak warrior barking the call for war as the group advanced in unison. The defenders released a volley of blaster fire toward the advancing trespassers, some finding their mark, some finding their bolts reflected back at them, and a select few finding their weapons explode in their hands after a bolt of electricity coursed through their energy cells. Slinking amidst the charging invaders was a female Twi’lek, lightning arcing between her fingertips.

 

The Jedi set their sights on the group’s supposed leader, lifting their blades against the armored Zabrak. The pair attacked together, their strikes rattling the warrior’s guard. The countless hours spent combating his allies prepared him for even the toughest opponents, but the Knights were not without their skill. And the combined efforts of two Jedi seeking to end his life proved a challenge we was not fully prepared for.

 

But as the attackers would not relent, neither would he. The Zabrak defended the blows as best as he could, but as he clashed sabers with one of the Jedi, the other was free to bring his weapon down upon the distracted foe. Just before the blue blade could connect, however, it was interceded by one of a vibrant purple. The warrior looked to see his partner standing at his side, holding off the second Jedi as the acolytes dealt with the remaining guardsmen.

 

The two shared a quick look and a determined nod, before pushing away their attackers and preparing attacks of their own. Isorr and Arlia stood back to back, sabers raised, ready to strike.

 

Vault Six. The defenders guarding the safehouse puzzled with how to proceed. There was a planet-wide invasion underway and the other vaults were under siege. The Jedi and security officers struggled with the decision to remain at their post or to abandon it in favor of other ventures. As the figures bickered and argued over duty and patriotism, their dispute was culled at the sound of footsteps echoing from the neighboring halls. Slow, patient footsteps. The guardsmen readied themselves for whatever threat might emerge, setting their sights on the dark void of the connecting passage. The corridor was cloaked in shadows, almost supernaturally so. Emerging from the cloak of darkness was a long figure, who still wore the shadows in the form of pitch black hooded robes that enwrapped his body. The dark figure continued his slow trek across the chamber, fingers interlocked in front of him, face concealed within the black void beneath his hood.

 

“Don’t take another step,” one of the Jedi called out.

 

A low chortle emerged from the hooded figure, pounding the senses of the defenders. “Is that any way to welcome home a lost Jedi?”

 

The defenders stood in confusion, keeping their gazes focused entirely on the lone, now stationary figure. Training their weapons on the trespasser, they expected something to occur, but instead found the figure silent and stilled. But before any of them could speak out, a small clump of rubble struck one of the officer’s shoulders from above.

 

Looking up at the high ceiling, the officer saw the silhouette of a massive humanoid lurking above, claws dug into the metallic surface. Releasing its vicelike grip, the beast descended upon the defenders, lashing out with sharp, blackened claws. The first invader simply watched in silence as the monster decimated the forces, ending each officers’ life with a single swipe of its hands.

 

The Jedi lashed out with their sabers, only to find their strikes unable to cut through the beast’s claws. Batting the blades away, the red-skinned monster took hold of one of the Jedi’s scalps, tossing and slamming him into the ground like a ragdoll. The other looked to the unwavering beast, frozen with fright. With a wide swing of its arm, the monster sent the remaining Jedi’s weapon flying from his hand. The other claw grasped around the defender’s neck, lifting him off the ground as he struggled to breath.

 

Only now did the dark figure break his stilled stance, slowly stepping toward the helpless Jedi. Fighting through the exhaustion and pain, the last of the defenders opened his eyes to see the figure staring at him from beneath his veiled visage. The trespasser carefully took hold of his hood and lowered it, revealing the shattered remains of his head. The entirety of the back of his skull was missing, and what remained of his flesh was pale and decomposing. The last thing the Jedi saw was the walking cadaver force a smile through his cracked lips.

 

Vault Seven. The defenders found themselves under attack by a group of invaders, amongst them a towering Trandoshan and an emotionless Nikto. The invaders washed over the Jedi and security officers like a tidal wave, spreading out laterally to overwhelm the defenders with pure might. The acolytes preyed upon the ill-equipped guardsmen, whilst the two figures who stood apart from their fellows set their sharpened eyes upon the pair of Jedi. The two Knights saw the challenge and met it head on. Drawing not one saber each but two, the sentinels were determined to destroy the foes that had invaded their realm.

 

The Jedi and Sith marched toward one another, clashing blades and shaking the very ground beneath them as the force of each blow was absorbed and channeled through the battlers’ feet. The Trandoshan swung his dual dueling swords against the sentinel’s pair of yellow blades, the Sith weapons enduring the immense heat of the sabers’ plasma. The exchange of blades was a swirling flurry of might and skill as the combatants simultaneously maintained the offensive whilst preserving their defenses.

 

The Nikto faced his opponent, half as equipped in the blade department, but more than capable of making up for the fact with expert dueling skills. The invader kept a firm grip on his single saber, monitoring his opponent’s strikes, studying him in the midst of battle, learning every strength and weakness.

 

The battle proceeded, the acolytes continuing to deal with the security forces whilst the other two engaged the skilled sentinels. The Trandoshan and his opponent proved themselves equally skilled, neither able to gain significant ground or advantage. Their strikes were continuous and endless, their guard unbreakable and untiring. But the Trandoshan wasn’t content with being an equal. He would slay his prey by any means necessary.

 

Ready to end the bout in an instant, the Trandoshan warrior swung wide with one of his blades. The Jedi moved to intercept, raising one of his blade upright and in the path of the strike. But he underestimated the warrior’s reach. Instead of blocking the blade, the lightsaber cut effortlessly through the Trandoshan’s unprotected forearm. But the momentum in the severed hand meant the strike proceeded without interruption, effortlessly slashing through flesh and bone as the blade made a clean cut from ear to ear.

 

As the Jedi’s body slumped to the ground, the Trandoshan moved to where his body part had landed, the severed hand still tightly gripping the hilt of his other sword. The warrior kicked his own hand free from the blade and bent over to pick up the weapon. With only a single hand, the Trandoshan was forced to hold the second blade in his teeth. Jaws clenched around the hilt of the black sword, the warrior once more had his two blades and did not hesitate to return to the fray.

 

Vaults Eight, Nine, and Ten. The next three vaults were forced to go without reinforcements. The eighth safehouse found itself sundered by a well-organized group of acolytes, a pair of Humans leading the invaders with great proficiency. Ornell and Jora divided their forces evenly amongst the defenders, striking out with poise and efficiency. The group would not be without casualties, but they would not suffer defeat.

 

The ninth safehouse shared a similar fate as the eighth's as the former classmates of Isorr sought to secure the contents of the vault. Instead of the calculated precision carried out by the inquisitors, the group of warriors charged forward guided only by righteous fury and unfiltered determination. The acolytes attacked in unison, not as well-trained soldiers but as a motley gang of misfits that knew the price of failure. They possessed a confidence and tenacity beyond mere pride, capable of fueling their actions and driving them forward.

 

The tenth safehouse found themselves in more dire circumstances. The class of inquisitors did not possess the bolstered training and preparation of Lorrik’s former classroom, and neither did they receive the additional aid Lorrik had sought to provide them. Their protectors elsewhere, the group of acolytes progress was halted, pinned down by the wall of blaster fire supplied by the security forces. They knew nothing of the progress the other classrooms had made in securing their vaults. They knew nothing of the protection afforded to the others. They knew nothing of the absent reinforcements meant to prevent the very situation they found themselves in.

 

Vault Eleven. In a grandiose chamber not dissimilar to the ten before it, a number of defenders lay motionless upon the ground, scattered about the empty chamber. Severed limbs and seared torsos littered the area around the vault’s reinforced door, only a single figure remaining standing. The Human was tall, powerful, garbed in the armored plates of a decorated lord of war. Heavy boots, gauntlets, and pauldrons reinforced an armorweave bodysuit, a dark cape hovering its tail just above the stained flooring.

 

Tash looked to the vault’s door, marveling in its simplicity. A smile graced the Darth’s gracefully aged visage. But before he could partake in his acquired bounty, he felt a powerful presence at the opposite end of the chamber. Turning around, the Human saw a familiar face step into the large room from the connecting hallway. The alien Sith Lord’s uncovered head possessed two long, down-curved horns emanating from the sides of his cranium, the tips of which came to an end beneath his chin.

 

The Sith Lord possessed his usual garb of battle-scarred armor plating beset by a heavy black cloak. He looked to Tash with a deadly stare, eyes sharpened, mouth barely containing the want for a snarl.

 

“Syrosk,” Tash said from across the chamber. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Eight: Fates

 

The chamber of the eleventh vault was quiet, stilled, as the two powerful figures stared one another down. They stood opposite one another, so near and yet so far. They had spent much of the last decade stars apart, but never out of touch, never beyond the other’s sights, never isolated, as much as one would like the other to think. The two Sith tightly gripped the ignited lightsabers in their hands, beams of crimson softly humming at their sides.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for Syrosk?” Tash calmly asked of his opponent, the entire length of the chamber remaining between the two combatants. The alien remained silent, continuing to cast his sharpened gaze at the unsettlingly warm Darth. The Human carried an uncompromising pride, a snide sense of superiority in every fiber of his being. “Could it be you know exactly how this is going to end?”

 

“If I did, would that mean I was right all those years ago?” Syrosk rasped, breaking his silence. The Darth offered the stern arch of his brow, his warm countenance giving way to a curt stoicism. Tash looked to the alien with a dulled expression, unwilling to give Syrosk the satisfaction of emoting.

 

The Human took his first step away from the vault. Then another. Then another. Syrosk broke his stilled stance as well, slowly closing the gap between the two as they simultaneously made their way to the center of the chamber. The pair of Sith came to a stop just out of reach of one another, leaving a safe buffer between them as they continued their exchange of looks and stares.

 

“After all this time, of all the things you could have chosen to hang on to, you decided it best to continue opposing me,” Tash stated, maintaining his sense of eloquence, but abandoning all pretense of cordiality.

 

“Someone had to,” Syrosk replied.

 

“No. Someone really didn’t,” Tash countered. “You could have stayed away. You may have faded into obscurity, but you’d still have your life.”

 

“The life I was left was no life,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“We all have to make do with the hand we’re dealt,” Tash declared.

 

“It’s not so easy for people like me and the acolytes to accept what we’re given.”

 

“It isn’t about acceptance. It’s about making the best of what you’re given. Not giving up because you had some vision.”

 

“Well you’re in luck,” Syrosk stated, raising his weapon. “Because I have no intention of giving up. I’ll not permit you to succeed here, Tash.”

 

“I don’t think you have much say in the matter,” Tash replied, raising his own weapon.

 

“I shall speak regardless, until I draw my last breath,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Alright. Let’s talk.”

 

Tash pushed his feet off the ground, gliding along the floor toward his opponent, readying a powerful strike. Syrosk reaffirmed his stance, raising his guard to meet the charging Darth.

 

Tash swung wide with an equal balance of speed and power, his blade clashing with his opponent’s. The entire chamber shook as the two collided, as did the defender’s arm. The blow was mere posturing, a strike delivered not to harm but to display the raw strength behind it. The Human was battle-hardened. For all his schemes and manipulations, he was a more than accomplished combatant, earning the title of Darth on the battlefield. Every motion was fueled by the Force, every muscle fiber pulsing with energy. Beneath Tash’s aged, stoic visage, was a passion that carried him through the war, drove him forward, allowed him to persist where others would falter. And all of this was communicated in a single blow. It was a reminder, so that Syrosk might not die in ignorance.

 

----------

 

There were sparks amidst the shattered and torn consoles of the downed shuttle. The transport’s system were nonfunctioning, lifeless aside from the repeated siren needlessly informing its passengers of the befallen catastrophe. In the half of the cockpit not shredded and exposed to the open, Jresh slumped forward in his co-pilot's chair.

 

There was a low groan as the Pureblood stirred, pushing himself up from the dashboard. Wiping the blood from his forehead, the armored warrior immediately began surveying his surroundings. Frantically he looked about the cockpit for his companion, only to find himself alone. Jresh quickly began searching for his partner, poking his head into the passenger bay with no evidence of injury in his movements. Looking through the giant hole in the right half of the cockpit, the warrior saw the ship had embedded itself into one of Coruscant’s numerous skyscrapers.

 

Beyond the chunk of missing shuttle was the interior of a commercial building, an office that had already been abandoned. Numerous desks and personal data terminals were pushed away and overturned in the invaded room. Resting amongst them was a lone robed figure lying prone upon the office floor.

 

Jresh immediately leapt from the disabled shuttle, passing through the metallic wound and rushing to his companion’s side. Placing a gauntleted hand on his partner, the warrior was greeted with the irritated groans of the inquisitor. Relief washed over the Pureblood. They were both alive, and neither seemed to have sustained any significant injury. Taking hold of Lorrik’s hand, Jresh carefully lifted his companion from the floor. The two surveyed their surroundings, taking note of the important details.

 

“We crashed,” Lorrik nonchalantly declared.

 

“I noticed,” Jresh stoically replied.

 

“This is the wrong building,” Lorrik added.

 

“We had almost arrived. This tower is likely adjacent to our target,” Jresh explained.

 

“Then we better get moving,” Lorrik stated, taking the first steps deeper into the building.

 

Jresh noticed his partner favoring a leg as he walked, but sensed no pain in the inquisitor’s mind. He moved forward with an unwavering resolve, unwilling to see their progress halted. The warrior moved to his companion's side, relishing in his confidence, offering his own so that they might sate each other.

 

----------

 

Within the large chamber of the eleventh vault, Tash and Syrosk were embroiled in a tempestuous duel. Each strike, each swing of the blade, seeped in the power of the Force. Decades upon decades spent honing their craft provided the Sith with a level of skill reserved for the greatest of their Order.

 

Tash controlled the flow of battle, lashing out alongside advancing steps whilst Syrosk remained on the defensive. The time for subtle maneuvering had long since passed. Now was the time for unbridled combat. Neither was content with the other's presence, seeking only to render the them as lifeless as the Republic defenders strewn about the chamber.

 

Seeing himself driven into a corner, the alien Sith Lord stood his ground as the Darth brought his saber down. The two connected, holding firm, blades sparking as they maintained contact with one another. The Sith pushed against one another, teeth gritted, eyes sharpened, but neither would yield.

 

“What are you hoping to accomplish here, Syrosk?” Tash asked, not breaking away from the clash.

 

“I’m taking my students back,” Syrosk rasped, putting the entirety of his weight behind his lightsaber. The two continued to cross swords, energy flashing between them.

 

“As always, you act beyond your capabilities,” Tash countered. The alien pressed forward, not with his weapon, but with his skull. Driving his cranium forward, Syrosk delivered a swift headbutt to his opponent, the tip of his right horn being clipped by the crossed blades between them.

 

The Human reeled from the first direct blow of the duel, clutching at his nose as he stumbled back. Before he could press the advantage, Syrosk felt an overwhelming wave of telekinetic energy wash over him. The shockwave emanating from Tash’s outstretched palm crashed against him, sending the alien sliding backward as he struggled to keep his feet firmly planted upon the ground. As his knees scraped against the metallic flooring, Syrosk finally came to a halt with a few added meters between himself and his opponent. He could see the severed tip of his horn on the ground in front of him, as well as the bloodied face of Tash.

 

The Darth released a blunt snarl as a stream of crimson lightly poured from his nostrils. “They were never your students, Syrosk. I control them! I control their lives! If not for me, you and every one of them would be dead!”

 

“Is this the point where I’m supposed to thank you?” Syrosk rasped, lifting himself from his knee.

 

“I’d never expect you to understand. After all these years, you remain just as blind as always. I tried to save you. From your master. From the other Sith. And you rewarded me with nonsense and slander.”

 

“All you’ve ever wanted was control,” Syrosk countered. “I had served my purpose. Gathered you acolytes to use as you saw fit. After that, you had no problem casting me aside. I simply provided you a means to justify it to your apprentice.”

 

“Vai recognized your willingness to surrender yourself to your visions himself,” Tash declared. “I have never been dishonest with him.”

 

“Then why does he believe this operation’s intent is to benefit the acolytes?” Syrosk asked. Tash offered the stern arch of his brow toward the alien. “That’s right. I’ve conversed with your apprentice. Mere days ago in fact. I don’t suppose he made you aware of that fact.”

 

The Human displayed a cold smirk. “Vai is free to act as he pleases. A certain level of independence behooves the trust I’ve placed in him. But what makes you think I’ve lied to him?”

 

“Because that’s what you do,” Syrosk rasped. “You lie. You manipulate others into doing your work and then reap the benefits.”

 

“Are you any different?” Tash countered. “If given the same opportunities could you honestly say you wouldn’t take them. I mean, come on Syrosk, it comes with the territory. The image your master painted for you of the Sith couldn’t have been all sunshine and rainbows.”

 

“My master taught me about personal worth. About honor. About bettering the Empire, instead of destroying it from within with wanton selfishness,” Syrosk declared.

 

“And if you knew what my master left me, you’d understand the necessity of the actions I’ve taken,” Tash defiantly stated. “You think I’m selfish? You think I’m not bettering the Empire? You think those acolytes would be better off serving you? Wrong on all accounts. But that’s your problem. You’re never wrong, are you? You can’t even fathom the possibility, because your master led you to believe you possessed a connection to some omniscient source. Your master instilled a petulant idea in your head, and you proliferated it to your students. You ruined their chances within the Empire, just as Omnus ruined yours. I thought that after everything had been taken from you, you would roll over just as easily as when you were beholden to your visions. That you would fade away, no longer able to spread your corruptive influence to other Sith. I was mistaken. As always, you chose to persists only when it could harm yourself or others. I spared you because you were once a friend, because I thought maybe you could change your ways. But after all this time you still blindly oppose me, all the while debasing the next generation of Sith. But no more. I lost eight acolytes to you, but I will not risk more. Nor I will not risk my apprentice to your influence.”

 

Darth Tash surged forward, closing the gap between the two of them in an instant. The Human brought his saber down above Syrosk’s head, but the alien Sith Lord effortlessly defended against the one-handed arc with his two-handed guard. As the two blades clashed in a vibrant display of crackling energy and sparks, electricity began arcing between the fingers of Tash’s free hand. A bolt of Force lightning leapt from the Human’s clawed hand, striking Syrosk in the gut. The destructive energy wracked the alien’s core as it surged through his body, eliciting a raspy growl of pain.

 

Syrosk pushed back the blade of his opponent, shoving Tash away and breaking the arc of electricity between them. An immense pain overtook the alien’s stomach, extending upward into his chest. Each breath of air brought with it a harsh sting as his lungs felt as if they were on fire. The Sith Lord maintained eye contact with his opponent, who continued to offer a cold, enduring glare as he readied his next attack.

 

----------

 

Lorrik and Jresh made their way through the empty halls and corridors of the Coruscanti office building. The dull and monotonous architecture resembled what the Sith had seen in Imperial designs, but it possessed a far less oppressive palette. The pair moved through tight corridors and passageways, path unobstructed, only the faintest of echoes telling them of the building’s fleeing occupants. Various desks and chairs not affixed to the floor lay upon their backs, overturned in the scurry to evacuate.

 

The occupants of the structure, as well as most of Coruscant, made their way downward, into the depths of the Republic capital, seeking the relative shelter of the Undercity. Though the towers fell and crumbled around them, there was something almost resembling safety beneath the ecumenopolis’ skyline. But the Sith had other thoughts on their minds. They had long ago abandoned notions of hiding away and hoping for the best. They vowed to take part in something greater than themselves, and unforeseen setbacks kept them from their destination. But they would not be deterred. Maneuvering though the beige halls of the office building, the Sith marched, side by side, subtly guiding one another, whilst simultaneously relying on pure instinct.

 

Lorrik and Jresh came to a halt as the hall they traversed did the same. Ahead of them, there was nowhere left to run, but they were on target. The entire face of the corridor’s end was composed of glass, allowing the two Sith a clear look toward the building’s exterior. The pair gazed into the skyline beyond the transparent barrier.

 

“We’re facing north,” Jresh confidently stated.

 

“Which means our target is right there,” Lorrik declared, eyeing the tower directly across from them. Between the two buildings rest enough space for a dense flow of traffic, currently nonexistent due to the civilians being forced from the airspace. An urban canyon rest between them and their destination, an industrial void shrouding the base of both towers. “How big do you suppose the gap is?”

 

“Less than a hundred meters, though not by much.”

 

The inquisitor panned his gaze up and down the target building looking for something, anything he and his partner could work with. “Look, down there. There’s a small outcropping.”

 

The Pureblood focused his gaze at his companion’s direction, spotting the small balcony that extended from the target building a few levels lower than their own. There wasn’t much to the projection, spanning the width of only a few windows and extending just far enough to give its user some semblance of walking space. “Small target.”

 

“It’s the only one we got,” Lorrik bluntly stated. Thrusting out his hands, the inquisitor released a burst of telekinetic energy, shattering the entirety of the window before them, and sending the fractured shards tumbling into the depths below. “How’s your leg?”

 

“Not exactly fit for this type of jump. Less so for this kind of landing,” Jresh admitted.

 

“What about your arms? They at full strength?” Lorrik asked. The warrior offered an assured nod. “Alright. We’ll go one at a time. You help me across the gap, then I’ll catch you on your way over.”

 

The Pureblood looked deep into the eyes of his partner and saw only a undying confidence. And if his companion believed they could do it, he would too. Jresh offered another assured nod as Lorrik made his way back down the hallways. As the inquisitor put some running distance between himself and his partner, Jresh lowered himself to his knee, breathing deeply as he concentrated, gathering his focus.

 

The Human signaled he was ready and the Pureblood did the same. Lorrik began running toward his partner, toward the hallway’s end, toward the gap that separated the two buildings. As his companion drew ever closer, the warrior began channeling the Force, searching for the right mixture of control and raw power. Slightly offset to his partner’s path, Jresh allowed Lorrik to run right past him.

 

In that final moment, as one passed the other, the two began moving in total cooperation. As the inquisitor bent his knees and prepared to launch himself forward, the warrior twisted his body supplying the accompanying sweep of his hands parallel with the Human’s movements. The second Lorrik pushed his feet off the floor, he received additional propulsion in the form of as calculated Force wave provided by his companion. The combined efforts of the two Sith sent the individual flying across the urban ravine, meter after meter of empty space passing beneath the inquisitor’s feet. Lorrik soared with a graceful arc, arms and legs extended as he approached the targeted balcony.

 

The journey that should have lasted only a few seconds persisted in the Human’s focused mind. Time slowed to a crawl, his eyes perceived every subtle motion and vibration that passed before his gaze, his ears picked up even the most minute sounds of the surrounding chaos and calamity. Finally, the inquisitor’s feet once more had a solid surface beneath. Impacting against the target building’s outcropping, Lorrik rolled upon the ground, skipping across the metallic surface before finally hitting the tower’s exterior wall.

 

Lying on the cold surface, halted, the Human blinked his eyes in disbelief. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lorrik leapt to his feet, pumping his fist in the air, releasing a series of jumbled, exuberant exclamations, the echoes of which could be heard by his partner who watched from afar.

 

The Pureblood looked to the shrunken image of his distant partner with a mix of relief and pride, releasing the breath he had been holding for the past minute. Moving himself backward, the warrior did as his partner had, putting some distance between himself and the open end of the hallway. With suitable room for a running start, the Pureblood focused his mind, adopting an almost meditative state. As he gathered himself, he could hear his partner speaking through his mind.

 

“Just remember our early trials. When Syrosk pushed you off a cliff, and I caught you.”

 

Jresh remembered. He remembered the early test, in which he and the other warriors were bound and shoved from a cliff, relying on their companions to slow their descent. He also remembered the second time Syrosk pushed him off a cliff, in which Lorrik crippled his leg and placed himself on the brink of death. He remembered. He could not force himself to forget, but he could choose which memories to hold dear. In the early days of their training, the Pureblood found himself constantly surprised by his companion. But not anymore.

 

There wasn’t much he thought his partner incapable of. Even in the first months of their relationship, Lorrik showed himself willing and able to care for someone other than himself. A fact the warrior could not immediately understand. He questioned the Human’s methods, questioned his abilities, questioned his strength. But he had proven himself time and time again. The day they faced that trial, they succeeded because of their combined efforts. But now, Jresh knew Lorrik could succeed by himself if given the same trial. But he also knew that together, they could do more than just succeed. They could thrive. They could accomplish more than any individual could alone.

 

The warrior shot a quick mental note to his partner, signaling he was ready. The inquisitor shot back a quick confirmation as he readied himself on the other end. With a calm exhalation, Jresh began running down the hallway. The Pureblood’s body was moving on instinct, his mind utterly focused on the destination. He ignored whatever possibility of failure existed. He ignored whatever pain he incurred with each stomp of his right foot. He ignored each and every thing that didn’t pertain to him successfully crossing that gap. Pressing down hard on his left foot, the warrior launched himself forward from the hallways with a mighty Force leap, soaring across the gap with a heavy arc.

 

Standing firm across the way, Lorrik reached out with his open palms, clawing at the air as he focused his mind and channeled the Force. Rather than a powerful wave, the inquisitor sought to carry his partner across with an enduring current of telekinetic energy. The Pureblood fell toward the outcropping, limbs extended, experiencing the same moment of clarity his companion had. But as time slowed for the warrior, he had the pleasure of gazing upon his partner who awaited him. But the force required to carry the Pureblood across the gap proved to be more than substantial. Jresh reached the balcony by slamming into Lorrik. The two were sent crashing into the ground, tumbling across the hard surface with their arms wrapped around one another.

 

The pair finally came to stop with Jresh on his back, Lorrik lying on top of him. The Human lifted his head off his partner’s armored chest, and the two Sith looked into one another’s eyes, hearts racing.

 

“I think we made it across,” Lorrik muttered, somewhat dumfounded.

 

“I think we did,” Jresh replied, still pinned beneath his partner’s weight. Before he could utter another word, the inquisitor pressed his lips against the warrior’s own, and the two shared a brief kiss.

 

Picking himself up from atop his companion, Lorrik offered a helping hand in raising him off the ground. With a gauntleted hand, the warrior accepted the offer and moved to his feet.

 

“Come on, I sense the acolytes nearby,” Lorrik declared. The Pureblood nodded, and the two Sith burst through the door between the balcony and the building’s interior.

 

Once more traversing the corridors of a Coruscanti skyscraper, this time they were only a short run from their destination. Moving through the otherwise business oriented structure, the pair made their way toward their original set of coordinates. Somewhere nestled within was the targeted vault, secured and hidden amongst the commercial dealings around it, more so a bank than a repository of military armament or forbidden secrets. A series of locations to be beneath the notice of would-be thieves, yet equally capable of deterring them. But they were not of Coruscant’s many criminals and gangs. They were Sith. And they were determined.

 

Maneuvering though the halls, moving through the various levels between them and their target, Lorrik and Jresh eventually reached their destination. Ahead of them, a number of acolytes gathered around the sole entrance to a large chamber. Most stood pressed against the walls, shielding themselves from the occasional volley of blaster fire sent their way, a few tending to the wounds suffered by the survivors.

 

The acolytes were in a huddled panic, unsure of what to do or where to go. One by one, they caught sight of the approaching Sith, but were unable to decide if the sight was a blessing or a curse. One encased in armorweave and hardened plates below the neck, the other garbed in form-fitting robes, the pair of approaching figures were immediately recognizable as Sith, but unrecognizable as individuals. Halting their rushed advance, Lorrik and Jresh pressed themselves against the wall alongside the students.

 

“What’s the situation?” Lorrik stoically asked.

 

“Who are you?” one of the acolytes replied, a mixture of confusion and hostility in his voice.

 

“Reinforcements. That’s all you need to know,” Lorrik confidently declared. Though the apprentices had spent many a year amongst the other students of the classrooms, the fact that they belonged to separate groups and wore atypical garb meant they went unrecognized. But the students recognized they were Sith, which while not a pleasant addition in itself, was better than the alternative.

 

“Two Jedi. A squad of security forces. Light blasters,” the acolyte listed, a level of distress hanging off every syllable. “We can’t get in, but they can’t get out either.”

 

“Well, that’s about to change,” Lorrik declared. “Everyone, get ready and follow our lead.”

 

Before the student or any of his fellows could respond, the inquisitor and the warrior removed themselves from the wall and launched themselves into the vault chamber.

 

----------

 

The sabers of Sith Lord and Darth clashed, sounds of the collision echoing throughout the chamber of the eleventh vault. Syrosk and Tash moved about the chamber, utilizing the open terrain as best as they could. But they were not acrobats. They were powerhouses of the Force, maneuvering with blinding speed and unleashed strength. The two brought their blades against one another, hoping each strike would bring them closer to breaking the other’s dwindling guard. But they would not prove easily broken. They continued, untiring, driven to see the other fall.

 

But their respective assaults would not go uninterrupted. Outside the chamber, outside the Coruscanti tower, the invasion was still underway, spreading its destruction as the Imperial navy razed the surrounding districts. As the Republic scrambled what it could of its defense force, the invaders seemed unstoppable, but that would not prohibit individuals from falling.

 

An Imperial bomber carrying a full payload had its wings clipped and was sent into an uncontrollable spiral, eventually crashing into the side of the building that housed the eleventh vault. The subsequent explosion blew apart much of the tower’s face and compromised the section’s structural integrity. As the Sith Lord and Darth did battle within, they continued unfazed as one of the chamber's walls slowly ripped itself free from its conjoined fellows. The faces containing the chamber’s entrance and vault stood firm, but the fourth wall fell alongside with the rest of the building’s eastern facade. The large chamber had become that much larger as it was exposed to the elements, the burning skyline of Coruscant resting within the combatants’ sights. But their focus remained on their opponent. So long as they had solid ground beneath their feet, they could continue their duel undeterred.

 

----------

 

Lorrik and Jresh entered the chamber to a renewed volley of blaster fire. The inquisitor’s defensive stylings meant he was adept at deflecting the incoming bolts. Drawing attention to himself, the Human intercepted the combined efforts of the security forces single handedly, opting for total protection rather than precise redirection. As the bolts bounced off the inquisitor’s blue blade, soaring over the heads of friends and foes alike, the Pureblood closed the gap and entered the fray. Witnessing the two Siths’ prowess, the acolytes weren’t far behind.

 

The Jedi quickly overcame their momentary confusion toward the color of the inquisitor’s weapon, and set their sights upon the approaching warrior. Igniting their sabers, the pair of Knights moved to intercept the Pureblood, only to find their blows expertly parried. The pair had the advantage against the single opponent, but they would not have the chance to exploit in as the inquisitor moved forward, taking his position at his companion’s side. The two Sith moved with martial grace, movements coordinated as they exchanged blows with their opponents, switching between each other’s foe at a moment’s notice.

 

Switching his style, the inquisitor shifted his lightsaber into his left hand. The Human could barely guard with his weaker arm, but it left enough of a gap to throw his free hand forward, electricity arcing between its fingertips. Lorrik’s right hand grasped the Knight’s mouth and streams of Force lightning transferred from his gloved digits to the Jedi’s body. The inquisitor’s opponent convulsed as the dark energy pulsed through his system before passing out and crumbing to the ground.

 

Meanwhile, the warrior engaged his opponent with a calculated, yet furious flurry of blows, clashing blade against blade time and time again , testing the Knight’s guard at every opportunity. But the Jedi would not remain on the defensive. Spotting an opening along the Pureblood’s flank, the defenders brought down his weapon with a fierce, diagonal swing. The warrior moved to intercept, blocking the strike not with his lightsaber, but by batting the blow away with the armored gauntlet of his free hand. The Jedi Knight’s eyes grew wide as he watched his weapon ineffectually bounce off the Sith’s forearm, the armor plating surrounding it possessing an almost inky blackness. His blow deflected, the Jedi could only watch as the warrior responded with a swing of his own, raking the crimson blade of his saber across his chest.

 

----------

 

Tash and Syrosk pressed one another, unrelenting in their challenge. As the fierce competition continued, each fighter’s strikes were slower than the last, each more cautious. But neither could afford to tire. Neither could afford to concede. They fought one another alongside the chamber’s newly created edge, the winds of Coruscant carrying in ash and dust in from the neighboring destruction.

 

The two found a gap had been placed between them and each paused their assault. The Human and the alien stared at one another with unrelenting glares as they drew heavy breaths. The first signs of exhaustion were making themselves known. Muscles ached. Sweat dripped from pores. Both combatant’s paused their unending exchange of blows, waiting for the other to strike. They waited for the other to make the first move, ready to counter, ready to retaliate.

 

But the missing wall had broken the previously sealed chamber. In the distance, one of Coruscant’s many power stations were stuck by the invading forces. An explosion unlike any that had preceded it rang out, shooting up a column of fire higher than even the tallest buildings and shaking the ground kilometers around it. The event rested firmly in the sights of Tash and Syrosk as the floor beneath them shuddered. It was only for an instant, but the Sith Lord’s guard momentarily faltered.

 

Rushing forward, Tash capitalized on the shaken alien. Syrosk thought to correct his stance, but as he place a foot forward, he found it intercepted by Tash’s saber. The Darth swung his crimson blade, lopping off his opponent’s right leg just above the knee. Syrosk let out a harsh growl as he struggled to maintain his stance. Wobbling upon his remaining leg, the Sith Lord was dangerously close to falling over the edge of the exposed chamber. But Tash wouldn’t allow it.

 

The Human placed his left hand on Syrosk’s shoulder, steadying him, preventing him from falling, before plunging the tip of his saber through the Sith Lord’s gut. The alien was silent as all the strength left his body, his hand unable to maintain its grip on his weapon. The hilt fell to the ground, deactivating as it struck the hard surface of the floor. Syrosk struggled to act, struggled to move, struggled to do anything, but he had already lost control of his body. The blade had passed through his spine and the only thing keeping him upright was Tash.

 

Hand still firmly gripping his opponent’s shoulder, the Darth pulled Syrosk closer, saber still piercing his abdomen, so that his mouth stood adjacent to the alien’s ear.

 

“I trusted you. I protected you,” Tash softly whispered, his voice lacking the previous animosity. “I spoke on your behalf. Accommodated you. Stood between you and every Sith who wanted you dead. And this is how you repay me? Well, I guess you were right after all. I hope it was worth it.”

 

Tash pulled the blade from his opponent’s gut as Syrosk released an inaudible rasp. The Sith Lord started to slump, but the Darth kept him upright. Returning his weapon to his belt, Tash supported the weight of the defeated foe as Syrosk held on to the last vestiges of life still within him. The Human slowly carried the alien across the room, toward the chamber’s entrance. Carefully he sat the paralyzed Sith Lord against the wall.

 

Tash made sure the alien was situated in such a way that he would remain upright propped against the wall. “Wouldn’t want you to die before seeing the fruits of our labor, now would we?”

 

Without another word, the Darth left the slowly rasping Sith Lord in his place whilst he crossed the chamber back toward the vault.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Ridiculously good. Soo hard to stop reading.

 

This is serious talent.

Ridiculously good. Soo hard to stop reading.

 

This is serious talent.

 

Thanks for the generous comment. Always happy to hear someone's enjoying my work, even as I near the very end of a story.

 

The next chapter is being proofed and readied, and should be ready to go up soon. As always, thanks for your readership.

Edited November 29, 2013 by Osetto

Chapter Nine: Ascents

 

Vault Ten. A large chunk of the reinforced door lay cut and thrown across the chamber, edges still aglow with the heat of molten metal. Acolytes carefully maneuvered in and out of the breached chamber, carrying in their arms an assortment of crates and lockboxes of varying size. Some resembled small jewelry boxes, others industrial containers, all holding items and artifacts lost to the Sith long ago.

 

Lorrik and Jresh watched over the proceedings from a distance, standing resolute at their apparent victory. Between the entering and exiting students, the pair peered into the emptying vault, seeing only a quaint repository of items categorized and arranged along the floor and wall-lining shelves with utmost order. The vault itself was large enough for only six of the acolytes to share the space, and even then they were brushing against one another’s shoulders.

 

The apprentices were arbiters. Protectors. Secondary to the students’ continued efforts. As much as it had been a victory for the pair, the acolytes had to believe it was theirs as well. They handled the artifacts. They gathered and collected them without fear that their spoils might be taken away.

 

As the motley group of acolytes removed the final containers, the apprentices felt a dark inkling in the back of their minds. An itch they couldn’t scratch. An announcement in the Force. Something wholly unfamiliar and yet somehow not. The warrior and inquisitor quickly looked toward the source, but the more they focused their attention on it, the more they realized it lied hundreds of meters away, and the more they realized precisely what it meant.

 

“You felt it, too, right?” Lorrik cautiously asked of his partner.

 

“Yes,” Jresh grimly confessed.

 

“Syrosk…” Lorrik muttered. “It’s faint, but I can still feel a part of him holding on.”

 

“Defeated, but still alive,” Jresh stated. “Why is that?”

 

“I don’t know, but we need to get moving. Now,” Lorrik answered. The inquisitor released a sharp whistle, catching the attention of the nearby acolytes. “What was your extraction plan?”

 

“The shuttle that dropped us off is supposed to come back to pick us up,” one of the acolytes explained.

 

“Fortify your positions here,” Lorrik advised. “Keep a watch for the shuttle, but don’t linger outside, and don’t hesitate to flee should the building come under attack. Understood?”

 

The students offered their nameless protector a series of hesitant nods and watched as he and the Pureblood fled from the chamber.

 

Lorrik and Jresh moved down the corridors that fed into the vault chamber, frantically making their way toward their master. They had no knowledge of the buildings between themselves and their destination. No idea if the path would be unobstructed or if one even existed, but they would persist, driving themselves forward regardless of whatever trouble might await them.

 

“If Syrosk was defeated, you know what this means,” Jresh stated, still able to hold a conversation at a full sprint. “It will fall to us to deal with Tash.”

 

“And that is entirely what I intend to do,” Lorrik replied, keeping pace with his partner. “We’re going to deal. No need to needlessly risk ourselves or the other students.”

 

“And if he’s not receptive to our dealings?”

 

“Then we convince him by any means necessary.”

 

The Pureblood offered a dutiful nod, accepting of the possible future they had embedded themselves in. Neither apprentice truly believed themselves capable of handling a Dark Lord of the Sith, but they could not afford to falter in the presence of one another. They each stood strong for their companion, giving the other something to believe in. Their power was their own, but they freely offered it to their partner, bolstering one another in a loop of confidence and determination.

 

Emerging from the tower out onto the previous outcropping, the two Sith began surveying their surroundings, looking for some possible way to proceed. The gap they had leapt across comprised one of Coruscant’s many skylanes, open paths for airspeeder traffic. The lane stretched far into the distance in both directions, creating a large space between the two ‘blocks’ of buildings. The area beneath the outcropping, the area they had previously traversed, offered only shadows as the base of the towers touched the Coruscanti Undercity. But further down the lane, there was more than an urban abyss separating the two neighboring sectors.

 

A series of walkways and plazas provided a route for pedestrian traffic between the skyscrapers to the west, the direction they were heading. A fair distance below them, the Sith studied their design, following the pathways with their eyes all the way to their destination. Sighting the building that held the eleventh vault, Lorrik and Jresh saw the intensely damaged state it found itself in. The facing side had been ripped free and deposited upon the walkway below, the vacant innards of several floors open to the Coruscanti skyline.

 

“That doesn’t look good,” Jresh stoically stated.

 

“No. No it doesn’t,” Lorrik grimly replied. “But we have to get over there.”

 

The Pureblood positioned himself at the overlook’s edge and peered into the depths below, only to find a sizable distance rested between themselves and the lower path. In addition to a disparity in elevation, the path itself didn’t connect to their building.

 

“I don’t think we can jump this,” Jresh admitted.

 

“We could make it, but the impact would be much worse this time around,” Lorrik explained. “And if the walkway doesn’t even make its way over here, moving through the building would be waste of time.”

 

“So would standing around and discussing out options,” Jresh calmly declared. The warrior placed a foot atop the short barrier that lined the outcropping’s edge before beckoning his partner to follow. Pushing himself off, the Pureblood leapt forward, but instead of falling, his hands firmly grasped the miniscule ledge at the base of one of the building’s many windows. He halted himself, studied his position, before leaping laterally, only to grasp another tiny ledge a few windows over.

 

The inquisitor followed his partner’s lead, carefully positioning himself near the outcropping’s edge, before planting himself upon the building’s outer walls. The ledges that lined the exterior were thin, barely able to accommodate the apprentices’ fingertips. But an innate resolve and determination allowed them to maintain their grip, even as the threat of a metallic abyss rest below them, even as the cacophonous echoes of war rang out around them. The warrior would blaze a path and the inquisitor would mimic his movements. They would move over a few windows, then drop down a few windows, slowly maneuvering themselves into a position where they could adequately reach the walkway below.

 

Jresh would release his adamant grip, dropping numerous levels at a time before effortlessly reaffirming his grip upon the tiny ledge that awaited him multiple floors below. Meanwhile, Lorrik moved much more conservatively, each movement calculated and brief, inching himself into the next position with due caution. His companion below him, the inquisitor was determined to match the warrior in pace and capability, but found his grip loosen as an unexpected explosive rocked the neighboring sector. The Human’s fingers slipped from their narrow purchase and he was sent plummeting into the depths below, only to find his descent suddenly interrupted by his partner. The inquisitor opened his bewildered eyes to see the Pureblood maintaining his grip on the ledge with a single hand, whilst the other held a firm grip around his forearm.

 

Lorrik offered an appreciative smile alongside a confident nod. Jresh replied with one of his own, releasing his grip and allowing the inquisitor to grasp onto the ledge beneath him. The pair continued their staggered descent, switching between lateral and vertical movements as they approached the end of the building’s outer face. The walkway was still out of reach, its nearest point connecting to the neighboring building. But instead of an entire skylane separating the two, a gap of only a few meters lay between the adjacent skyscrapers. Determining the remaining drop to be negligible, the Pureblood found whatever surface he could dig his hands and feet into, before pushing himself off the exterior walls of the building. The warrior leapt toward the walkway below, absorbing the impact with a swift tuck and roll. As Jresh moved to his feet, Lorrik followed in his wake, landing upon the walkway beside him with a similar flourish.

 

The two Sith steadied themselves as they studied the path ahead. Before them stretched a long winding walkway, fed by paths connected to each building along the way. As close to a street as one could find on Coruscant. In another time, it would have been a construct of sensibility and reserved grace, the linear plaza that made up its spine offering polite flora in the form of tended gardens and potted plants. But the invasion had shattered the pleasant image. Shattered stones and scrapped metals littered the surface of the walkway, a fine layer of dust and ash providing a harsh blanket. The flora had been broken, wilted, or burned by the surrounding battle, leaving only limping, blackened husks in its wake.

 

But as the apprentices studied the way ahead, their only concern was with whether or not it would impede them. And it would not. The Sith began their sprint down the walkway, circumventing whatever rubble of debris stood in their way. They ran and ran, the broken face of their target building never leaving their sights. Almost a kilometer rest between them and the open tower, but Lorrik and Jresh pushed themselves to their limits, opening themselves to the Force, letting it enhance their speed beyond what any standard Human was capable of.

 

The faster they moved down the pathway, the slower time progressed. Once more they found their senses heightened, capable of perceiving and distinguishing the numerous sights and sounds around them, but one held supreme in their minds. The slowly fading life of their master. A light beset by encroaching darkness, ready to be snuffed out at a moment’s notice. For all their master’s attempts to keep himself separate from his students, he had forged a bond with them. Not as intense as the one the companions shared, but strong none the less.

 

Minutes passed. Reaching the branch of the walkway that connected to the targeted building, the Sith saw their path obstructed by a large pile of rubble. The missing exterior of the levels above had been deposited below in a mangled heap that completely blocked off the tower’s entrance. The crumbled mass stretched upward at a steep incline, giving anyone skilled enough to traverse it a path to the fifth floor, but it would do nothing for the dozen more levels that rest between the apprentices and their target.

 

“I can barely sense Syrosk,” Jresh stated, staring up toward the massive hole in the building’s exterior.

 

“And I can’t sense anything else,” Lorrik replied. “If we’re lucky, that may mean Tash was already taken care of.”

 

“If we’re lucky.”

 

The pair steeled themselves, taking their first steps upon the fallen debris and beginning their slow ascent. Finding whatever purchase they could, they climbed whatever leaning slabs of rubble lied in front of them. Hands and feet coated in dust, the apprentices traversed the pile before the refuse could collapse beneath them. Reaching the crest of the hill of debris, the Sith grasped ahold of the building’s exterior and began climbing the side of the skyscraper. As the rubble shifted and crumbled beneath them, the pair paid it no attention, focusing only on moving up the vertical surface.

 

Lorrik and Jresh grasped ahold of whatever ledge they could. The tiny outcroppings surrounding the building’s windows provided something to grip, but the journey up the wall proved much more arduous than their previous descents. The inquisitor took the lead, the warrior followed in his wake, ready to catch his partner should he fall. But he would not fall. He would not fail. After coming this far, after getting this close, neither would allow themselves to halt their progress. Level by level they ascended, pushing themselves up one floor at a time, bracing themselves as they inched toward their goal.

 

Passing over crumbling ledges and shattered windows, the Sith endured. Even as his limbs ached, even as shards of glass from broken windows dug into the inquisitor’s ungloved hand, the Human continued, his companion trailing his every movement. Lorrik kept his gaze firmly set ahead, unwilling to look back, unwilling to look down. He had come too far to alter his course.

 

Moving up a dozen levels, Lorrik finally reached the lower threshold of the wound etched into the building’s exterior. With no more wall to climb, the inquisitor dragged himself into the exposed chamber ahead of him before offering a helping hand to his partner. With somewhat solid ground beneath their feet, the apprentices stopped to catch their breath, looking up at the remaining levels above them. An explosion had carved a rough sphere of destruction into the tower, its edge just gracing the chamber holding the eleventh vault.

 

Lorrik and Jresh looked upward and inward, the faint presence of their master still present, if fading. The jagged edge of the room’s ceiling rest beyond their respective reaches, but so long as the Sith were together, they would not be limited. The warrior cupped his gauntleted hands together in front of him, providing a foothold for his partner. The inquisitor stepped into the Pureblood’s palms before being launched upward a moment later. The Human scrambled to get a grip on the crumbling edge of the ceiling, quickly pulling himself up to the next level. Reaching down, Lorrik offered a hand to his companion, which he promptly took hold of after taking a mighty leap. The inquisitor let out a low groan as he slowly lifted his partner’s considerable weight, dragging him onto the floor beside him. The pair lied on their backs, taking deep breaths, struggling to hide the signs of creeping exhaustion.

 

“Alright,” Lorrik muttered from the floor. “Just two more to go.”

 

----------

 

A soft slap sounded out in the chamber of vault eleven. Syrosk stirred from his seated position, groggily rocking his head as he studied the room. Through his hazed vision, he saw no motion, only the breached door on the opposite side of the chamber. Believing his mind to be slipping, the Sith Lord lowered his head as the last vestige of life fled from his body, only to hear another quiet slap. Raising his gaze, the alien saw a pair of hands reaching over floor’s wounded edge.

 

The Lord couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched his apprentice lift himself up and onto the chamber floor, lifting his partner up shortly afterwards. The Human quickly darted his gaze across the room before focusing on his wounded master. The apprentices kept their heads low and crawled over to Syrosk’s side.

 

“Syrosk,” Lorrik whispered. “What happened?”

 

“Tash… won,” Syrosk slowly rasped, casting his gaze toward the breached vault. The apprentices looked across the chamber, unable to see beyond carved door, but sensed the powerful presence that resided within. Somehow it had managed to remain hidden from the pair’s minds until this moment. Whether it spoke of the source’s weakness, or strength, they were not sure.

 

“No he hasn’t… not yet,” Lorrik softly muttered.

 

“Listen, Lorrik,” Syrosk struggled to vocalize as his body grew cold. “This… my fault… I should have…”

 

“That’s enough. Save your strength.”

 

“It’s… a bit late… for that…” Syrosk muttered, coughing as he released a low chortle.

 

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Lorrik declared.

 

Before the Sith Lord could offer a response, the inquisitor placed his left hand over his master’s abdomen. A soft luminance began to emanate from the Human’s palm as healing waves caressed and penetrated the alien’s wound. Syrosk felt a warmth in his core, the first feeling he could recall in the past few minutes. The warmth grew in intensity until it was burning hot. The Sith Lord’s stomach churned and wrenched as pain overtook his core, but it was somehow preferable to the numbness that has consumed him prior.

 

Bone sprouted and fused. Muscle and sinew wrapped and connected and new flesh formed around it. The inquisitor was healing his master, repairing the damage Tash had wrought. Lorrik focused his mind, struggling to maintain his poise as the effort sapped what remained of him. As the inquisitor rescinded his hand, Syrosk looked down in disbelief, the previous void bored into his armor and gut now filled with regenerated flesh.

 

The Human grew weak, legs threatening to buckle under his weight. Carefully, he sat himself down, leaning against the wall beside his master. Jresh crouched in front of him, checking his partner and making sure he was okay, only to receive the Human’s dismissing wave. Lorrik offered a gentle smile as his breaths grew more labored.

 

“I may… have overexerted myself,” Lorrik said alongside a broken chuckle.

 

“Why…” Syrosk muttered, still weak, but no longer feeling on the brink of death.

 

“You may not have been the best master, but you were still a good mentor,” Lorrik replied. “Besides. The chance to prove you wrong was too great to pass up.”

 

“Prove me wrong?”

 

“You thought you’d die here, remember?”

 

“I stopped believing that a while ago,” Syrosk admitted.

 

“I’m sure some small part of you still thought you would,” Lorrik teased.

 

“Guys,” Jresh interrupted.

 

Lorrik lifted his gaze to see his partner looking toward the breached vault. Looking across the chamber, the inquisitor saw a dark figure begin to emerge from the prized room.

 

“Stay put and stay quiet,” Lorrik advised his master. “We’ll handle this.”

 

The Sith Lord offered no protest, alive but still suitably defeated. The inquisitor lifted himself from the ground with the help of his companion, and the two apprentices made their way toward the center of the chamber. They walked side by side, footsteps heavy with the gait of exhausted legs. They marched forward, unfaltering toward the shadowed figure ahead, steeling themselves for the inevitable confrontation.

 

Tash stepped into the light of the open chamber, cape swept to the side by the invading winds. Around his neck hung an ornate amulet, its red gem pulsing in sync with its wearer’s heartbeat. The Darth’s eyes fell to the two Sith approaching him and a subtle smirk crept upon his lips.

 

Lorrik and Jresh remained stoic as they laid eyes on the powerful figure, finally putting a face to the name they had heard time and time again. The elderly Human’s face possessed its share of new wounds and dried blood, but it wasn’t enough to disrupt his charismatic visage. He was tall, his body maintaining its athletic physique well into old age and encased in a suit of heavy armorweave and hardened plates. But drawing their attention was the oppressive, pulsating crimson glow emanating from the amulet around his neck.

 

“We keeping with the plan?” Jresh mentally asked of his companion.

 

“Assuming my legs don’t give out,” Lorrik mentally shot back. "Stay alert."

 

The apprentices continued their journey forward, stances rigid as they came to a stop in front of Tash, the two forces just outside of one another’s reach.

 

“Well, I take you two are some of Syrosk’s apprentices,” Tash cordially declared. “A Pureblood, you must be Jresh. And the Human, you must be Orrik.”

 

The inquisitor’s eyes deadened as the air seeped from his lungs. Gathering himself, the young Human straightened his posture. “It’s Lorrik.”

 

“Ah, my mistake,” Tash genuinely apologized. “My apprentice spoke well of all of you.”

 

“I assumed that’s why you offered us the chance to join you,” Lorrik replied.

 

“A chance you declined,” Tash stated.

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lorrik admitted. “As we speak, the other apprentices are out helping your students collect the contents of the vaults.”

 

“Mighty generous of you. Although I’m curious as to how you managed to locat them by yourselves. I had assumed Syrosk’s presence here was him exploiting the connection we still possess.”

 

“You know how it is, the more people you involve, the less likely it is to control the flow of information,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Did Vai tell you?” Tash asked.

 

“If only it had been that easy,” Lorrik joked. “Had to get the information from one of your instructors.”

 

“You’re rather resourceful. Though the simpler method would have been to just ask.”

 

“Simpler, yes. Buy not as effective,” Lorrik declared. “Didn’t want to you knowing we were involving ourselves until the right time.”

 

“Which is obviously now,” Tash stated.

 

“Correct,” Lorrik replied. “It allows us to negotiate on more equal terms.”

 

“Negotiate?” Tash repeated, his warmth slowly fading. “So you intend to come out ahead in all this?”

 

“Somewhat, though my interest lies in benefiting the acolytes,” Lorrik explained. “I intend to see that they walk away from this ordeal with the recognition they deserve.”

 

“I don’t see where the negotiating comes in,” Tash declared.

 

“Well, the thing is, I know you say you’re doing this all to benefit your students, but I have my doubts,” Lorrik admitted. “I know Vai believes you, but then again, that seems to be your strong suit. Syrosk believed you when you said you were out to change the next generation of Sith. The students believed you when you promised to deliver them to greatness. The instructors believed you when you told them they were to be sacrificed for the war effort. No doubt you’ve had to lie to certain parties to keep your operation undeterred, the only question is whom? Perhaps you truly are the benevolent Sith who is undermining the institution to aid these downtrodden outcasts. Perhaps you're just manipulating them into serving your own selfish goals. Maybe you’re doing a little of both. But at his point, I really couldn’t care less about your motivation or your methods. The truth is, all I care about is the result of today’s trials, where the students are given their lives back, where they are finally given the standing they deserve in the Empire. The thought had crossed my mind, that if you were doing all this for selfish reasons, you might not find yourself sufficiently motivated to follow through with the promises you’ve made. The acolytes believe their efforts here will earn them recognition amongst the Sith, as ignorant as some of them are of their current standing. I intend to see that their beliefs were not misplaced.”

 

The elder Human stared at the younger one with a firm arch of his brow, pleasantness draining from his face. “You speak of intentions. Not actions.”

 

“You’re right,” Lorrik replied. “Well, I can see now that you targeted this particular vault, as evidenced by its location in relation to the others, as well as the current artifact you have draped around your neck. Before, I had thought maybe the other ten vaults were simply an elaborate ruse to make sure you could access this one with relatively little resistance. That you didn’t care if the acolytes lived or died. In response to this thought, my friends and I decided to assist a few of the classrooms. Although my partner and I chose to divert our attention here, the others currently control the contents of their vaults. Five by my count. Almost half the total haul. Now, if it turns out you weren’t lying, that you truly intend to use the contents of these vaults to elevate the students’ standing, then we’ll happily turn over whatever artifacts we recovered back to you. However, if not, we’ll hold on to them, and use our yield to do what you refused to. You’ll be left with the gains of yourself, your apprentices, and the classrooms we didn’t manage to support. If you really only wanted the contents of this particular vault, then congratulations, you succeeded, and you really shouldn’t have any objections to either scenario.”

 

The Darth patiently passed his gaze over the younger Human and the silent Pureblood. Tash’s lips began to quiver and curl, until a light chuckle began to pass between them.

 

“You got me,” Tash confessed, raising his hands. “All I really wanted was this amulet.” Lowering his hands, the Darth moved one to gently caress the still glowing red gem that hung from the chain. “You see, this belonged to my master. It was the source of his power. It was how he maintained his control over me for as long as he did. After all these years, I wanted nothing more than to hold it in my hands. You see, before he died, rather than allowing me to inherit his belongings, he had them removed from Imperial space before we had even revealed ourselves to the galaxy. They were recovered by the Jedi, and placed in these vaults. But this piece, this piece right here, I knew I’d find it in this one. And now I finally have it. That which defined my master.”

 

Tash moved both of his hands around the pulsing amulet, almost petting the item, when without a moment’s notice, he tugged at the jewel, breaking the chain and ripping it from his neck. Clenching a fist around the amulet, the Darth pulled back before throwing the artifact out the opened side of the chamber, sending it plummeting to the depths of Coruscant.

 

“I hated my master,” Tash nonchalantly declared. “But you’re right, this venture wasn’t entirely unselfish. You needn’t worry, however. For the other items, I have something much greater planned.”

 

“So you do intend to help the acolytes?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Now what did I say about intentions and actions?” Tash coyly replied. “Now, I’m going to have to ask you to relinquish the contents of the other vaults.”

 

“I’d be more than happy to,” Lorrik declared. “Of course, I’d need some sort of proof that you were telling the truth. Until then, consider them to be in… escrow.”

 

Once more Tash offered the firm arch of his brow. “You are playing a very dangerous game.”

 

“This is no game, and I am not playing,” Lorrik stoically stated. “I’ve given you your options. Use every item from every vault to help the acolytes, or take what you’ve earned so far and walk away. It’s up to you. Pick a third option, are you’re going to have to go through me and my partner and six more just like us. Of course, I’m sure one of your apprentices would be none too thrilled to learn you murdered his son, so you’d have to face him as well. And when your other apprentice learned all this wasn’t for the acolytes’ benefit, I don’t think you could count on his support either. There’s a way in which we all walk out winners, it’s just up to you to make the right call.”

 

There was a heavy silence that consumed the chamber, only the whistles of the passing wind and the echoes of bombs ringing out in the distance present. Tash passed his gaze between the two Sith before him, staring at the stalwart inquisitor, the silent warrior. They stood tall, unrelenting in their stance and demeanor. Finally, after a prolonged quiet, Tash release a low, droning cackle.

 

It was Lorrik’s turn to offer the arch of his brow. “I'm sure you can-”

 

The inquisitor was interrupted as he and his partner were violently thrown backward as Tash flung out his hands, releasing a powerful telekinetic wave. The pair fumbled through the air before impacting several meters back, sliding a few more beyond that.

 

“You insignificant curs have the audacity to interfere with MY plans? To steal from MY vaults?” Tash shouted

 

Lorrik and Jresh came to a stop on the other side of the chamber. As he slowly writhed on the ground, the inquisitor released a low groan.

 

“So much for negotiations,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“Backup plan?” Jresh whispered as he lifted himself from the ground.

 

“Backup plan.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Ten: Resolutions

 

The two apprentices stood resolute, picking themselves off the ground following Tash’s powerful Force wave. As the Darth approached them, he did so with a cold determination, equal parts patient and ill-tempered. He had no need to run. In fact, doing so would be to his detriment. At the moment, he could approach the pair of challengers with a steady gait, prolonging the amount of time they were forced to gaze upon his chilling visage, slowly instilling the fear of a Dark Lord of the Sith.

 

All parties had drawn their sabers. From the Pureblood’s black hilt sprouted the familiar blade of crimson, and from the inquisitor’s, the ever peculiar blue beam. But as his face basked in the glow of his own red weapon, the Darth paid no mind to the younger Human’s weapon. He couldn’t be bothered to care for such insignificancies. As Tash neared his targets, mind firmly set on its path, the apprentices were pressured for their response. They had to decide, then and there, how to deal with their immensely powerful foe. The conflict was unavoidable, that much was readily apparent. The only question was how could they resolve it. And whether or not their exhausting bodies would even allow them to carry out such a resolution.

 

The two apprentices raised their guard and began sidestepping away from one another. If they had any hope of victory, they had to insure the battle would be fought at three points instead of a mere two. The line connecting the combatants had turned to a triangle as the apprentices separated themselves, forcing the Darth to choose whom to focus his attention. Tash could only fight in a single direction at a time, or so they hoped. One would bear the elder Human’s initial assault, whilst the other attacked his flank.

 

Tash set his eyes on the physically stronger of the pair, focusing his approach on the Pureblood. In the blink of an eye, the Darth launched forward, gliding across the floor in a single step to close the gap between himself and the warrior. A quick swipe of the Darth’s blade was intercepted by Jresh’s, the kinetic energy behind the blow shaking the Pureblood’s arms. But he would not budge an inch. Pushing back, the warrior had enough strength to force the Darth a step backward, toward the now charging inquisitor.

 

Lorrik thrust the tip of his saber forward, intent on piercing his opponent’s back, only to have him sidestep the blow at the last moment, the inquisitor’s blade only gracing the edge of the Darth’s black cape. Tash’s movements were fluid and continuous, utilizing the momentum of every motion enacted upon him. Spinning on his heels, the elder Human swung his saber toward the offset attacker who had just missed him. The inquisitor had no way of adequately blocking the strike, opting instead to sloppily roll forward beyond the Darth’s reach. Such a maneuver would have easily been exploited and punished, had Jresh not moved in to pick up the slack, clashing blades with the elder Human once more.

 

The Pureblood tightly gripped both hands around the hilt of his saber, sacrificing neither offense nor defense as he channeled the Force throughout his entire body. Every step, every swing of his arms was fueled by more than just muscle. But the same could be said for the Darth, whom had the advantage of decades of communing with the mystic source. Whilst the two powerful figures remained locked in a clash of sabers, the inquisitor righted himself and rejoined the fold.

 

The two apprentices attacked as one, much as they had when battling with their master. But this time they did not have the luxury of a fresh start. Despite the advantage of two bodies, the pair did not possess the strength to breach the Darth’s defenses. They were too slow, their legs almost crumbling beneath their weight, their arms almost refusing to maintain their holds. If not for their raw determination, if not for the Force, they would have long ago lost the ability to move, let alone engage in battle.

 

Lorrik and Jresh would attack, releasing a series of blows that Tash would block or parry. They would duck and weave about the Darth, avoiding whatever attacks they knew they were incapable of blocking. And as soon as they found themselves nearing a breach in their opponent’s defenses, the elder Human would release a powerful Force wave, shaking their stances and sending them tumbling backward.

 

As the inquisitor slid upon his back across the smooth chamber floor, the warrior slid upon his feet, digging his knee as well as his blade into the floor to slow and stabilize his forced movement. From his kneeling position, Jresh launched a renewed assault, leaping at the Darth, ready to bring down his weapon with all his might. But Tash would have none of it. Thrusting his hands outward, the Darth caught his opponent in mid-air with the Force, the Pureblood’s stilled body floating beyond his reach. With a wide swing of his arms, Tash sent the warrior flying across the chamber to impact against the still standing wall opposite the destroyed opening. The Pureblood’s armored body struck the solid surface with enough force to leave an indentation, as well an echoing thud, before he slumped to the ground.

 

“Jresh!” Lorrik exclaimed as he picked himself up from the ground. He feverishly eyed his partner who remained motionless upon the floor. Tightening his grip around his lightsaber, the inquisitor charged the Darth, only to find a stream of lightning released from the elder Human’s free hand.

 

The inquisitor raised his blade, the crackling blue energy connecting with the beam of plasma, surging from tip to hilt. The younger Human steeled himself, planting his feet and maintaining his guard, focusing all of his attention on keeping the lightning isolated in his lightsaber’s blade. Finally, the Darth relented, lowering his hand as the last arc of electricity left his fingertips.

 

“What is it you hope to accomplish here?” Tash taunted.

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lorrik curtly replied, saber still raised, face aglow with the blue light of his weapon.

 

The Darth let out a low chortle. “I’m making the Empire a better place.”

 

“Let me guess, by elevating yourself to a position of power, whilst letting the filth like us and the acolytes die in your place,” Lorrik chided.

 

“You truly are Syrosk’s apprentice. Seeing only what you want to,” Tash countered. “You think me like other Sith? You think I care one bit about the blood running through your veins? Those acolytes are just as worthy of being Sith as any other.”

 

“Then why lie to them? Why hold them back? Why do everything in your power to keep them from becoming true Sith?”

 

“You foolish child. Do you even have the smallest idea of how the Empire truly works? I’m not the one holding those student’s back. It’s every traditionalist with some measure of sway amongst the Sith. You simply can’t fathom the idea that I’m the best thing to ever happen to those acolytes. That without me, you’d be nothing.”

 

“I suppose you’d have me forget Syrosk’s involvement?” Lorrik asked.

 

“You’d be better off for doing so,” Tash declared. “Syrosk served his purpose, and had he listened to me, he could have avoided some of the troubles he’s been forced to endure. Sadly, he was too headstrong, too ambitious.”

 

“So you cut him out, because he had the audacity to challenge you, to challenge tradition,. He was punished because he held true to the ideals of the Sith, not the petty traditions it holds dear.”

 

“You still have no idea of what it means to be a Sith.”

 

“It means having freedom,” Lorrik emphatically stated.

 

The Darth released another low chortle. “Don’t you get it, boy? There’s no such thing as freedom. Whether you belong to the Jedi or Sith, Republic or Empire, everyone is somebody else’s slave. No matter have strong you become, no matter how high you climb, you’ll always be beholden to someone else. Someone will always control your life. Even as Sith. Even as Lords. Even as Darths and Dark Councilors. That was Syrosk’s problem. He thought he was alone, isolated. He thought that just because he was an alien, he somehow operated outside of the system. In reality, it just meant more eyes were watching him. Whilst he was scouting for Force-sensitive children, I was dealing with the repercussions. I was pressured to sever ties with him, but I wouldn’t, because I truly believed in the same things as he. I thought something could be made of those students. But in the following years, even after severing ties with Syrosk, those who called for his head were now calling for yours. I was pressured to purge the classrooms, their continued existence a blight on our homeworld, on the Academy. I made every excuse I could, saying they weren’t true students of the Academy, saying they were tools of war, that they would never become true Sith, all the while keeping their true purpose a secret.”

 

The inquisitor’s eyes sharpened. “And what was their true purpose?”

 

“They didn’t have one,” Tash bluntly explained. “You were intended to be blank slates. Unshaped forms to be molded toward some future purpose. You were supposed to be useful in some manner, some capacity, but you never were. You were originally going to be made into the perfect apprentices, beholden to and in reverence of your masters. You were commodities to be bartered and traded. The only problem? No one wanted you. I promised students who would never betray, never question. But you were tainted. Cursed. No one was willing to take on the trouble associated with you. I was stuck with almost one hundred dysfunctional products.”

 

“Then why keep us around? Why continue the classrooms if you knew nothing would come from them?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Because I still had to recoup my loses,” Tash answered. "I still had debts to pay and I wasn’t about to throw away a potential asset. I knew that eventually, the acolytes would find a way to make themselves useful. And they did.”

 

“The vaults,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“That’s right,” Tash replied. “You had a reason to exist, one I could play up to the other Sith.”

 

“But why? What’s so important about the vaults?”

 

“Their contents,” Tash plainly stated. “Ancient artifacts and treasures aren’t exactly a renewable resource. I spent years, decades, climbing up the Sith food chain. I’ve fought countless battles, slain countless soldiers whilst overseeing our own. I’ve delivered victory after victory to the Sith and the Empire, and as far as I’ve risen, there’s still more to climb. For every favor I’d earn, I’d wind up owing another. For all my strength, for all my knowledge, it was overlooked amidst the sea of countless warriors vying for recognition. But I knew a way to earn as much in a single battle as I had across the entire war. I knew of the vaults. I knew of their value. They were beyond my reach, but I knew Coruscant would eventually become a military target. And I knew I held in my hands a way of striking all the vaults simultaneously without dividing the spoils amongst other Lords.”

 

“Let the acolytes attack the vaults, believing that if they're successful they’ll have finally earned the attention of their mysterious patron,” Lorrik suggested. “Meanwhile, you take all the credit and items for yourself.”

 

“Truly the best course of action,” Tash declared.

 

“And what about the students?” Lorrik asked. “They get nothing? All this talk about benefiting them was as much a lie as everything else?”

 

“Of course not,” Tash replied. “Putting the spoils in my hands is what’s best for them. Spread out amongst the acolytes, the artifacts aren’t worth the effort. Consolidated under a single individual, and it becomes enough to shake up the Sith Order. You’d be doing them a disservice by putting the acolytes in charge of the vaults’ contents. They wouldn’t even know what to do with them, and they’d just be taken away by someone stronger.”

 

“Someone like you,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“If they were lucky,” Tash stated. “Your life under Syrosk has left you sheltered, blind the larger world around you. There are far worse Sith than I. But you don’t care, because I’m the villain. I have to be, otherwise everything you’ve assigned to me, all the blame you’ve placed on me becomes null and void. You’ll have to face the fact that you’re a far worse influence on your own life than I am. You’ll have to face the fact that I’m doing something that could better the Empire, and you’re trying to stop me.”

 

Lorrik recoiled. “Better the Empire? This is just another selfish Sith attempting to better his station at the expense of others. Everyone thinks the galaxy would be a better place if they were in charge. But that doesn’t give you the right to sacrifice and control the lives of others in the name of some greater cause.”

 

“Wake up!” Tash directed. “You think you’re any less selfish than me? You think there’s no blood on your hands? Every action has consequences. Something Syrosk never came to understand. How many lives have ended or suffered because of your actions? Do you even stop to think about it? Or are you so focused on your endeavors that you push it from your mind? I came to terms with the fact long ago. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. If a few dozen, or even a few hundred lives must be lost to serve a greater cause then so be it. Others have sacrificed far more for far less in return.”

 

“I understand sacrifice,” Lorrik admitted. “I have given up so much, so that I might live a better life, that I might share that life with my partner. But I do not throw away the lives of my fellows for my own sake.”

 

“And that is why you will never amount to anything,” Tash declared. “If you’re not willing to take necessary action, then you are unfit to call yourself Sith.”

 

“And if you would deny the next generation of Sith their right to exist, then so are you,” Lorrik countered.

 

“My actions are what will allow the next generation to thrive!” Tash replied.

 

“Oh, of course they will,” Lorrik sarcastically stated. “After all, you been nothing but unselfish thus far, why would that change after earning a position of power?”

 

“You still think this is about me?” Tash muttered before releasing a low chuckle. “I’m no immortal. As I grow older, I know my days are numbered. But whereas my master left me with nothing more than a life of pain and misery, I intend on leaving the tools to create a new age of Sith.”

 

“You mean…”

 

“That’s right. When I said the vaults’ contents would be consolidated under a single individual, I didn’t mean myself. No, that will fall to someone who has already surpassed me in strength and skill. My favored apprentice.”

 

“Vai,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“I realized long ago that I had reached my limit. There was little room for improvement, and all that was left was the slow decline that would end in my death. Even now, I’m older than most Dark Councilors. There’s nowhere left for me to go, but my apprentice still has his youth, and with his inheritance will be able to enact the change Syrosk and I never could. But in order for my plan to succeed, I need the contents of every vault, and I cannot allow you or your allies to stand in my way!”

 

Before he could speak, Lorrik found another stream of Force lightning surging his way from the Darth’s free hand. The inquisitor reaffirmed his guard, placing the blade of his lightsaber between himself and the bolts of electricity. The arcs crackled and danced upon the beam of plasma as Lorrik attempted to keep the assault under control. Disengaging his own weapon, Tash thrust his second hand forward, hurling more and more lightning toward the younger Human. The blue bolts lashed out, occasionally arcing free of the inquisitor’s lightsaber, striking the nearby floor in a brilliant display of sparks. The energy was fast becoming too much to handle, and Lorrik was unable to keep the steady stream of electricity bound to his weapon’s blade. The Force lightning traveled, up and down the beam of plasma, into the polished hilt at its base, passing through each connected component before finally igniting the saber’s power cell.

 

Lorrik’s lightsaber exploded in his right hand, embroiling it in a quick burst of energy and metallic shards. As Tash ceased his onslaught of lightning, the inquisitor was left clutching his seared hand, slivers of shattered hilt imbedded in his right palm. The glove that previously covered his digits had been completely blown off, leaving the blackened flesh visible to the younger Human’s naked eye. Blackened from two sources. After recovering from the initial shock, the inquisitor realized that he felt no pain in his right hand, even as he stared at the burns and shards of metal buried in his flesh.

 

The inquisitor was left in a stupor, trying to consolidate the simultaneous feelings of dismay and relief, of pain and numbness, of curiosity and misunderstanding. But regardless of how he felt, the apprentice quickly realized that he was now without a weapon. His lightsaber had been obliterated before his very eyes, leaving nothing but fractured crystal and hilt fragments on the floor. He knew he had to do something. He had no weapon with which to attack or defend. Would he have to barter for his life? Should he try to trick Tash? Could he continue to fight through the Force alone? As time seemed to slow to a crawl and the inquisitor weighed his options, he heard a whisper in the back of his mind.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh’s voice entered his head. He thought to look toward where he lay, but didn’t want to draw attention to the fallen Pureblood.

 

“Are you okay?” Lorrik mentally shot back.

 

“Worry about yourself,” Jresh calmly replied. “Things aren’t looking too good.”

 

“I noticed.”

 

“You know how when we’re in trouble, you usually think of something that for all intents and purposes shouldn’t work, but somehow miraculously does?” Jresh mentally asked.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything this time around.”

 

“Well, I might.”

 

A thought entered the inquisitor’s mind. Not one of his own, but one offered by his companion. The warrior had a plan, or rather, an idea. Lorrik had his objections, his protests, but he knew that their options were limited. But in order for it to work, he’d have to make sure Tash couldn’t retaliate. The inquisitor looked to his opponent, noticing his breathing to be heavy than before, that last attack taking more out of him than either had previously thought.

 

Lorrik steadied himself, straightening out his almost buckling legs, left hand still clutching his right wrist. With a deep breath, the inquisitor stood as tall as his failing body would allow.

 

“You call that lightning?” Lorrik taunted.

 

Darth Tash offered the stern arch of his brow alongside a firm scowl. The elder Human had grown tired of the inquisitor, and was ready to put a permanent end to his involvement. Raising both hands, the Darth made sharp clawing movements with his fingers, before a heavy stream of Force lightning leapt from their tips. In the fraction of time it took the crackling bolts of energy to close in of the younger Human, Lorrik maneuvered his right hand to intercept. The lightning connected with his fingertips and the dark energy crackled and arced across the entirety of his hand.

 

Lorrik could feel the surge of electricity flow into his fingers and palm, but it brought with it no pain, only the sights and sounds of seared flesh. The inquisitor had only intended to endure the destructive energies, but without his knowledge, he had begun to absorb it. The Force lightning not only connected with, but sunk into his skin as if conducted by the spot's previously cracked and blackened marks. Lorrik kept his hand raised as the Darth summoned more and more electricity toward the inquisitor. The energy would touch his right hand, arcing across his flesh as if frantically searching for something to cling to.

 

The energies circulating his hand grew wilder and wilder, until they could no longer be contained. The lightning bounced and arced further down the inquisitor’s arm, carrying with it the wracked patterns that had previously only graced his palm and fingertips. The paleness, the numbness, the seared and cracked flesh slowly crept up Lorrik’s arm, going from wrist, to forearm, to elbow. More lightning came and the younger Human would continue to absorb it. But unable to properly contain and control the dark energies, he could only subconsciously diffuse it. As the lightning crept further up the inquisitor’s arm, it flayed whatever clothes stood in its way, ripping the sleeve off of the Human’s robes as crispy flinders slowly floated to the floor.

 

The onslaught of Force lightning finally came to an end with the inquisitor possessing scarred flesh all the way past his shoulder, spreading to the right side of his chest and back. Half of the younger Human’s robes had been ripped, torn, and deposited in the form of ash as his feet, leaving the other half lightly hanging from his left shoulder. Much of the inquisitor’s right arm had been burnt by the stream of electricity, but plainly visible running up the entirety of the limb were what appeared to be black cracks, splitting and rejoining numerous times across the Human’s damaged flesh.

 

Tash’s hands dropped to his side, the Darth visibly exhausted as he drew more and more labored breaths. As he focused his gaze on the inquisitor, he marveled at the fact that he had not been reduced to a scorched corpse. Instead, he stood as he had moments prior, upright, baring a blackened arm that had managed to absorb the entirety of his assault.

 

“My turn,” Lorrik muttered. Raising his burnt, blackened hand, the inquisitor contorted his digits into a clawing motion as electricity arced between his fingertips. Focusing the entirely of his body, mind, and spirit, the younger Human channeled whatever he could into his next attack. Then, in an instant, a sharp bolt of lightning leapt from the inquisitor’s scarred hand. The blue bolt of electricity surged across the chamber, and struck the Darth directly in the chest. The energy pierced Tash’s breastplate, wracking the flesh beneath as it spread from its point of impact to harm the rest of his torso.

 

Lorrik had endured the entirety of the lightning thrown at him, but he had neither the skill or capacity to store it, let alone redirect it. What he offered in his attack was his and his alone, a furious bolt called forth from every emotion the inquisitor could muster, every feeling, every desire, consolidating into a single blow. The younger Human watched as Tash stood motionless and silent, until he finally release a low chortle.

 

“You call that lightning?” Tash taunted, no worse for wear. “I was electrocuted daily by my master. You honestly believed that pitiful display enough to harm me?”

 

“If lightning won’t work,” Lorrik whispered. “How ‘bout some thunder?”

 

Tash barely had enough time to raise an eyebrow before Jresh had launched himself toward the exhausted Darth. His weapon holstered, his energy spent, there was nothing for the elder Human to do as the warrior barreled toward him with a furious charge, eyes growing wide as the red blur approached.

 

The inquisitor was weak, exhausted, but not spent. For all he had mustered to conjure a bolt of lightning, he was willing to give just enough more. Hands outstretched, Lorrik used what little remained within him to push his partner forward, bolstering the unstoppable warrior’s advance. Jresh was one with himself, one with his companion, one with the Force. Every fiber of his being pulsed with unseen energies, fueling every motion he took, ensuring nothing could stand in his way.

 

In the briefest of moments, Jresh experienced a deep clarity almost beyond his own comprehension. A thought entered his mind, a thought provided not by his own brain or anyone else’s. A thought pulled from the Force, that drove him toward one singular point. One he could exploit. One he could shatter.

 

Time slowed to a crawl for the Pureblood, completely stopping as he neared his target. Whereas before, his senses would be bolstered, able to perceive the most insignificant of events around him, this time, it was the opposite. Everything faded from the warrior’s mind. He could not hear the sounds of battle. He could not taste the sweat and blood upon his lips. He could not feel the pain threatening to consume his body. His senses had abandoned him in favor on concentrating on a single point in space and time. One planted directly in front of him.

 

Jresh pushed off his final step as he found himself directly in front of Tash, releasing all the energy he had gathered, all the strength he held within him in a single blow. The warrior crashed himself into the Darth’s chest, crushing the elder Human’s torso before his entire frame was lifted off the ground. Jresh and Tash were airborne, the Pureblood’s immense momentum sending them flying across the chamber, still in contact with one another as they surged past the chamber’s boundaries, past the jagged edge of the wounded floor, past the threshold of the building’s interior. The pair flew across the open skies of Coruscant for an instant, before impacting against the adjacent skyscraper. The exterior wall cracked and cratered at the point of impact, the nearby windows shattering, but the pair did not breached the wall. Instead, they sat for a moment embedded in the crumbling exterior before gravity took hold of them, sending them both plummeting toward the walkway below.

 

The entire ordeal had transpired in a flash, leaving the inquisitor staring wide-eyed at what had just happened. Lorrik watched as his opponent and companion began to fall, and wanted to do everything in his power to stop it. Unfortunately he had no power left. Everything had been drained from him. The infinite source that had allowed his body to be pushed beyond its limits had ceased offering its boon. The inquisitor tried to take a single step, but was unable. Every part of the Human’s body was either aching or numb. And before he could think of how to proceed, his legs gave out from underneath him, sending him crumbling to the floor. Flat upon his back, Lorrik was forced to stare at the ceiling as he quickly lost control of his body.

 

Outside, Tash and Jresh fell toward the hard surface a dozen levels beneath them. The Darth was limp, making no movements or protests as he fell like a rock toward the walkway below. Jresh however, retained a bit more control. The exteriors of the two buildings were both beyond his reach. With nothing to grab onto, the Pureblood could only slow his descent by channeling the Force. Unfortunately, his previous exertion had left him drained. He did what he could, focused his mind, releasing whatever waves he could muster cushion his fall. The loud thud that accompanied his landing indicated he was less that successful. Jresh struck the surface of the walkway, and Tash did the same soon after. The two Sith laid on the cold, metallic surface, utterly motionless.

 

Time passed. Whether it was mere seconds or minutes, none of the combatants possessed an adequate means of knowing. The sounds of the invasion continued to echo throughout the city streets, fighters and bombers howling overhead as they made their way to their objectives.

 

“My… -ord,” an electronic voice crackled from somewhere on the Darth’s body. The communicator clipped to Tash’s belt had been all but shattered, blinking and sputtering its technological death throes. “Targ-…-quired. What a-… orders?”

 

“My Lor-…” another voice interrupted the channel. “Another… already here.” The voices continued to emanated from the battered communication, some speaking of success, some speaking of complications. All seeking the words of their master. Words not provided.

 

Finally, there was motion on the walkway. Tash shifted from his position, coughing up blood as he rolled upon his back. His entire body shivered as he was unable to properly right himself. Rolling onto his side, the Darth placed his hands upon the ground, struggling to push himself up off the cold surface, only to find his efforts unsuccessful. Tash’s arms collapsed beneath his own weight, planting his face against the hard floor of the walkway. The elder Human released a series of raspy wheezes as he carefully breathed through his injured lungs. Slowly, he tried again, planting his hands upon the ground, moving his knees between his torso and the cold surface.

 

The Darth staggered to his feet, stumbling and almost falling numerous times before finally resembling an upright stance. Reaching to his belt, Tash cusped the remains of his communicator in his hand, only for it to unravel the moment he unclipped it. The casing and electronic bits separated and fell to the ground, the crackled voices of the Darth’s underlings permanently silenced. The Human released a low grumble between coughing fits as he struggled to maintain his upright stance.

 

A series of scratches and thuds sounded behind the Darth. Turning around, Tash saw the Pureblood stirring from the floor, slowly picking himself up off the ground. The warrior braced himself against his fists, rolling onto his knees and he struggled to right himself. Wasting no time, the Darth drew and ignited his saber. Standing over the half-risen Pureblood, the elder Human offered no taunts, no words of wisdom or pride. He merely lifted his red blade, intent on driving through the meddlesome warrior.

 

But as the beam of plasma made its haggardly descent, it was batted away by the warrior’s armored fist. The black gauntlet than encased Jresh’s hand and forearm withstood the blade’s immense heat, and the force of the blow was enough to release the Darth’s grip on his weapon. The lightsaber flew from Tash’s grasp, flying over the walkway’s railing and plummeting to the urban abyss below.

 

“You have no idea… the mistake you’re making,” Tash struggled to vocalize. All he could do was watch as Jresh stood to his feet, his own body failing him. “This was the chance… to make a difference. Those artifacts… are worthless in your hands. You have no connections. In the Empire… you’re only as capable as your superiors.”

 

“I have no superiors,” Jresh declared.

 

“Then you… are nothing,” Tash countered.

 

The Pureblood stared his opponent down. Both of them were at the breaking point. Their bodies, minds, and spirits were at their limits. Neither was capable of calling upon the Force. But the warrior didn’t need it. All he needed was one more hit.

 

Pulling his fist back, Jresh released a wide, powerful blow against the Darth’s cheek with his fist, sending him spiraling to the ground where he would never move again.

 

It was finally over. The warrior’s hands dropped to his side, limp, exhausted. His legs began to shake. His vision began to blur. He had spent his last bit of energy. The Pureblood was frozen in place, unable to act, unable to move. Before he could even try, his legs buckled, sending him crumbling to the ground beside a defeated Tash.

 

Lying upon his back, the Pureblood could only watch as he saw an Imperial shuttle approach their position. The vessel hovered above the Siths’ heads before touching down in a clearing further down the walkway. The warrior’s vision was fading, large periods of time passing with each blink of his eyes. The shuttle docked in the adjacent plaza. Blink. A lone figure emerged, garbed in a vibrant red coat. Blink. The figure held a hand to his master’s neck, checking the Darth’s pulse. Blink. The figure stood over the warrior as his vision finally went black, fading to unconsciousness.

 

----------

 

Lorrik opened his eyes to find a lone figure standing over him. A Human only ten years his elder, garbed in a vibrant red coat. As Tash’s apprentice looked down upon him, Lorrik gazed upwards into his unmarred, unsullied visage. Vai Thorel stood resolute, not displaying a single sign of exhaustion.

 

“You are persistent, I’ll give you that,” Thorel calmly stated. As the inquisitor came to, he was still weak, still unable to move from his spot. He was completely at the mercy of the standing Sith. The younger Human’s lips began to quiver and contort, eager to release some sound, but no words came. “If you’re wondering, your partner’s over there, next to your master.”

 

“T…Tash…” Lorrik managed to utter.

 

The older Human hesitated. “He’s gone,” Thorel stoically informed. “But don’t worry. I don’t plan on killing you so long as you don’t give me a reason to. If you and your master have gotten this petty vengeance business out of your systems, there’s no reason to oppose one another. Ikton and I will pick up where Tash left off. You helped the acolytes of your own accord, so I’m sure you’ve no objections to our goals. Though why you felt the need to go through so much trouble in such a roundabout manner, I’ll never know.”

 

“Tash wasn’t going to help the students… he was going keep all the artifacts… give them to you…” Lorrik explained through bated breaths. “They were tools… whose purpose was to elevate you and you alone. He didn’t care about these students… he was willing to sacrifice them for the sake of the next generation… the next generation you would have a hand in shaping.”

 

“Did he tell you that?” Thorel calmly asked, straddling the line between belief and disbelief. The older apprentice let out a heavy sigh. “That would explain a lot.”

 

Thorel extended a hand, offering to help the inquisitor up. The younger Human struggled to lift his left arm, but eventually he raised to the point where the coated figure could grasp ahold. Thorel effortlessly raised Lorrik to his feet, but he would not be able to stay there of his own accord. Wrapping the inquisitor’s arm around the back of his neck, the older apprentice supported the bulk of the younger one’s weight upon his shoulder.

 

He began leading the injured inquisitor across the chamber. Looking ahead, Lorrik could see Syrosk and Jresh leaning against a nearby wall, resting. Unless the inquisitor had been unconscious for far longer than he’d thought, Thorel must have carried the warrior back up to the vault chamber.

 

“You want to know Tash’s most closely guarded secret?” Thorel asked as he carefully supported the limping inquisitor. “It wasn’t the fact that he associated with aliens, or his operations within the Academy. It was the fact that he was in debt. That was the legacy left to him by his master. When he died, he ensured Tash would never have to stop working a day in his life. When he was younger, he sought to climb through the ranks, put his past behind him. But he couldn’t. He had inherited something that would follow him to his grave. Every trick, every ploy, every battle fought was intended to chip away at that debt. But the world of a Sith is a tricky one. You can’t operate alone. And assistance is rarely given freely. Everyone expects something in return. So as the years went by, the debt stayed. It meant he no longer had control over his own life. But the items in these vaults? They could finally wipe away the debt and then some. With no more ties to the other Lords, he believed we could finally stop mucking about from the shadows, fearing whatever retaliation every action would bring. I never knew the extent of my master’s debt, but I knew it was the only thing he feared, because he knew it would eventually transfer to me. I would be just as shackled as he was. All he ever wanted was to be free. Though now, I suppose he was more concerned with me than himself. He wanted me to be the one who could do all the things he couldn’t. Earn a place amongst the Sith, one capable of influencing them without constantly looking over my shoulder as he was forced to.”

 

Thorel carefully unwrapped the inquisitor’s arm from around his neck, and lowered him back to the floor, propping him against the wall beside his resting companion.

 

“But we’re always looking over our shoulders, aren’t we?” Thorel continued. “Indebted or not, a Sith cannot interact with his surroundings without drawing the ire of another. Every cause has its effect. Every action its consequence. If Tash was willing to sacrifice his students to retrieve the contents of these vaults, these uncontested, relatively unknown vaults, how much sacrifice will be called for to truly make a difference in the Empire? I believe the Sith Order needs to change, but I don’t believe I am capable of bringing about those changes. Or rather, I’m not willing to do what’s necessary. There’s only one sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

 

Reaching to his belt, Thorel retrieved an intact communicator and held it to his mouth.

 

“This is Vai Thorel speaking on all channels. Darth Tash is no more. As his apprentice, I am assuming command. All pilots, prepare for departure. Your orders are to deliver the acolytes and spoils to the compound on Dromund Kaas. Those with contested targets are ordered to stand down, leave the items behind and instead provide transport for the surviving students.”

 

Thorel disengaged the comm, returning it to his belt.

 

“You know where the artifacts and students are heading, do with them as you wish,” Thorel declared. “Ikton will be able to let you in.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Nothing. I'm going to do what no other Sith is capable of. Walk away,” Thorel admitted.

 

“But what about Tash’s debt?”

 

“Since Ikton isn’t his official apprentice, it will fall entirely onto me,” Thorel explained. “I’ll absorb the burdens of the past. The burdens of the future, I’ll leave those in your hands.”

 

“You don’t have to do this,” Lorrik softly stated.

 

“We don’t have to do anything. But the fact that we get the choice is what makes us Sith.”

Edited October 20, 2014 by Osetto

Epilogue

 

Lorrik and Jresh stood at the edge of the wounded floor, gazing out into skyline beyond the open face of the vault chamber. Pillars of smoke and fire rose above the spires of the ecumenopolis, a constant reminder of the destruction wrought by the invasion. But even as the city burned, the Sith felt at ease. They were alive. They had succeeded. They now had the chance to give the acolytes their lives back, give them a place within the Empire. It would require sacrifice, it would earn the ire of the traditionalists in power, but they had the option they had so desperately searched for these past days, past weeks, past months.

 

Behind the apprentices, a small group of Imperials in civic garb ferried items from the eleventh vault through the building’s interior, to the nearby outcropping where Thorel’s shuttle had docked. Tash’s apprentice had led the injured Syrosk down to the landed vessel, to the confusion of the ship’s pilot. When the vault was emptied, when Lorrik and Jresh were ready to depart, they would leave together aboard that shuttle. They would visit the other apprentices and their allies, help them load up their ship with the artifacts ignored by Tash’s people. But for now, the apprentices were content to gaze out toward the evening sky, side by side.

 

“I can’t believe we did it,” Lorrik softly stated. The Human stood upright, having regained control of his body. He was still tired beyond belief, and much of his right side was still covered in burnt flesh and dark lines arcing up and down his arm, but in that moment he was content.

 

“Somehow, I didn’t think this is how it would all pan out,” Jresh admitted, trying to maintain his stoicism despite the weakness pervading his body.

 

“Today, or the past two years?” Lorrik offered alongside a chuckle. The Pureblood cracked a hesitant smile, playing off his partner’s revelry. Before the two could continue their conversation, one of the Imperials approached them from behind.

 

“Excuse me, sirs,” the sheepish male spoke up. Lorrik turned to face the individual, who had his hands cupped around a shining object. An amulet baring a red jewel, as well as a broken chain. “We found something in the refuse below. Shall we put it with the other items?”

 

“I’ll take it. Thanks,” Lorrik politely stated. With a respectful nod, the Imperial offered the amulet to the inquisitor before backing away without another word. Holding the item in his right hand, a soft luminance began to pulse from deep within the crimson jewel.

 

“So. What next?”

 

----------

 

The eleventh vault had been emptied. Lorrik and Jresh had retreated to the shuttle with Thorel and Syrosk. The vessel’s cargo bay contained the gathered spoils of two vaults, as well as the body of Tash at his apprentice’s request, to receive a proper burial. The ship lifted itself from its landing struts and began making the rounds to the others vaults, delivering to the other apprentices the news of their victory. One by one the vaults were visited, sounding the call for a return home. One vault, however, had already been completely abandoned. Vault Six had already been cleared out, and its attackers had long since fled, taking their spoils with them. The attackers of Vault Four, the two brothers formerly under the employ of Tash, had loaded up their shuttle and departed alongside the other apprentices, keeping a close eye on their cut, but not running away with it.

 

Passing through the Coruscanti atmosphere, the shuttles darted around the scattered debris of orbital stations and ships, ready to jump into hyperspace. Their eyes set on Dromund Kaas, the Sith left the Republic capital to burn under the heel of Imperial might. Or so they thought. Long after they had returned home, the apprentices learned of the apparent ploy enacted by the Emperor. They had gone into the core world expecting it to be razed, that after setting in their sights the home of the Jedi, the Sith would do everything in their power to see it utterly destroyed. But such was not the case.

 

In its state of extreme duress, the Republic was forced to sign a peace treaty to save their home. The previous call for peace that was intended only to lure them into a false sense of security had actually been followed through with after all. The war was over. The Empire had won.

 

And so had the apprentices. So had the acolytes. After all their trials, after all their sacrifices, they had finally ascended. And in their ascension, their lives were their own. The time had come for the apprentices to go their separate ways. The pairs would not readily shed the bonds they had forged, but they each had their own plans for the future.

 

----------

 

0 ATC

 

Korriban. The Academy. Even though the war was over, things were far from peaceful on the Sith’s ancestral homeworld. There was a fervor in the institution’s occupants, some relishing in their victory over their ancient foes, others furious that they weren’t able to partake in the ultimate battle. But the students and instructors continued as they always had. The Empire always needed Sith. Now more than ever to replace those who had fallen.

 

Deep within the Academy, Lord Syrosk stood in the center of a grand chamber, his right leg replaced with a prosthetic. A circle of thrones surrounded him as monumental statues cast their stony gaze upon the visitor. Twelve seats. Not all occupied. Some filled with physical bodies, others with holograms, others still went completely unfilled, their owners absent or fallen. A meeting had been called, between the Dark Council and a lone petitioner.

 

“Esteemed Councilors. My name is Syrosk,” the alien began. “Sith Lord, apprentice of Darth Omnus, and servant to the Empire for over fifty years. I took part in the first and final battles of the Great War. I, along with my master, provided the Order its favored sons and daughters, seeking out Force-sensitive children and delivering them to the Academies since before we revealed ourselves to the galaxy. I have given my life to the Empire, time and time again, even when it didn’t ask me to. I believe in the superiority of the Sith. I believe in the efficiency of the Empire. I have followed the Code, as have my students. But it is a Sith’s right, a Sith’s duty, to improve. To seek perfection. And after decades of living amongst the Empire, its imperfect nature has become more and more apparent. Selfishness runs rampant throughout its core. Not the kind that drives someone forward. Not the kind that instills confidence and pride. The kind that causes Sith to turn against their own rather than focus their attention on our enemies. Rather than challenging ourselves, we seek to remove challenge from our lives. We strike one another down because we perceive them as threats. We deny potential strength over fears of pride and sovereignty. We’ve eschewed our most basic and sacred tenets in favor of biased traditions and pithy motives. Who are we to deny strength? To deny power? The Sith were born from those who had been held back, restrained in their studies, unpermitted to harness the Force in all its forms. Now we do the same to our own. There are those willing to fight and die for the Empire, for the Sith, but we deny them because of perceived inferiority. Because we believe they sully the reputation of the pure blooded. I would understand the hesitance to invite weakness into our midst, but do we not possess the means to discern the weak from the strong beyond petty ideals? A Sith’s worth ought be measured by their skill. So long as the Force flows through their veins, what does it matter the purity of their blood? Aliens. Slaves. Impurities. There are those willing to devote themselves, those willing to face the trials, those willing to live and die in service of the Empire. Almost a hundred students, whom the Order would consider unworthy, fought in the Battle of Coruscant. Jedi and Republic defenders alike fell by their hands. Due to their efforts, they recovered the largest cache of Sith and dark side artifacts in our recent history. They are not weak. They are strong. But some would fear their inclusion because of their heritages, despite the fact that the Empire is stronger due to their efforts. And all they ask in return is recognition. They’ve handed over their spoils, wanting only a place in the Empire, wanting only to be seen as Sith. We may have won the war, but we did not avoid loss. Sith from the lowliest acolytes to members of the Dark Council perished in the final hours of the our conflict. Our ranks will need to be replenished. The standard supply of worthy children will not be sufficient. If the Sith are to survive, they must be willing to adapt.”

 

The present councilors stared down the alien Lord, their chins resting on interwoven fingers. The figures of immense power remained stoic to the petitioner’s pleas, but his words did not fall on deaf ears. They had listened, and each person had their opinions on the matter, but none were willing to speak. Some found something of worth in Syrosk’s words. Others were utterly reviled by the suggested notions. Most remained indifferent, willing to form an opinion only after being sure of its consequence.

 

But one councilor was willing to speak. A dark figure, garbed head to toe in armored robes, face concealed beneath a hood and all-encompassing mask. The Darth possessed a powerful frame, and an even more oppressive aura. Simply standing in his presence was to bask in the dark side.

 

“We are aware of the actions your students have taken,” the councilor declared, his voice utterly low and penetrative. “Their efforts have proven them capable, worthy of a place within the Empire. But now is not the time for haphazard inclusion and change. Even in victory, even in defeat, we maintain our strength. Until such circumstances arise that such is no longer true, Academy standards will not be lowered. Dismissed.”

 

Syrosk dutifully bowed his head, offering no further words as he turned on his heels and moved toward the chamber exit with an uneven pace.

 

Outside the council chambers, the alien Lord slowly made his way toward the Academy halls, favoring his left leg. His sluggish pace meant it was easy for someone to catch up with him.

 

“A fine speech,” a regal voice softly called out. “Not the best I’ve heard, but remarkable given the setting and speaker.”

 

Syrosk turned to see an elderly Pureblood garbed in long, ornate robes calmly walking toward him. The alien offered a respectful dip of his head. “Darth Vowrawn.”

 

“It’s a shame they weren’t more reticent to your pleas,” Vowrawn politely stated. The Dark Councilor exuded a level of charm and charisma that rivaled Tash, a fact that simultaneously endeared and unsettled the Sith Lord. “If there’s anyone whom understands the importance of a numbers game, it is I. But all things in time, I suppose. Restrictions will eventually be lifted to replace the dwindling number of Sith acolytes.”

 

“We can only hope,” Syrosk muttered. “But at least my acolytes will have a place amongst Sith now.”

 

“They’ll be just as hated, overworked, and undervalued,” Vowrawn bluntly stated. “But what is a Sith without a little hardship? Now they’re free to live as they wish, and I’m free to renovate the under halls of the Academy now that they’re no longer being used. What about you? What are your plans for the future?”

 

“I don’t know. The acolytes no longer need me. And with nothing left to teach them, I’ve parted ways with my apprentices,” Syrosk explained.

 

“It’s a shame about the two you reported as killed during the invasion,” Vowrawn playfully stated. “Then again, there’s practically no way to confirm them as casualties.”

 

“They wanted out. I provided them means to do so,” Syrosk declared. “Those who wished to remain as Sith are ingratiating themselves into the Order proper. But from now on, how they live their lives is up to them.”

 

“And what of your life? Surely you’re not content with retirement?” Vowrawn suggested. “You know, you and your master provided an unmatched service to Production and Logistics. I know of a way you could make yourself useful.”

 

“I’m no longer a Seer,” Syrosk admitted. “If you need someone to find Force-sensitives, you’ll need to find someone else.”

 

“Oh, no. What I propose is much more conducive to your current skillset,” Vowrawn declared. “It’s not your visions I’m after, but your capabilities as a mentor. You’ve taken individuals of relatively little worth, and elevated them to truly remarkable levels. I’d like to see what you could do with students of exceptional promise.”

 

“You want me as an instructor?” Syrosk asked.

 

“No, nothing so mundane. I have a special project I’ve been putting together. One I believe you’d be very interested in,” Vowrawn declared. “And after all, you still owe me for all the shuttle’s I’ve lent you, as well as helping the Thorel boy with his debts.”

 

The Sith Lord eyed the regal Darth, finding no answers behind his charming visage.

 

“Alright. What did you have in mind?”

 

----------

 

“So who is it we’re supposed to be meeting with?”

 

“I don’t know. Some hotshot artifact hunters.”

 

“Artifact hunters? Like, that’s all they do?”

 

“No, but that’s what they’re known for. And they’re pretty damned good at it. I hear they’re the ones who masterminded that heist on Coruscant. You know, the one that took place at the same time as the invasion?”

 

“What? No way. They’re the guys?”

 

“Yeah. And whatever you’re looking for, they can find it. They say what needs saying, do what needs doing, everything.”

 

“Who’s their master?”

 

“Don’t got a master.”

 

“But who do they serve? Who do they report to?”

 

“No one. They’re independent. Completely. No masters, no apprentices. They bounce between the spheres with no permanent station. Lets them operate as they see fit whilst stepping on as few toes as possible.”

 

“Gentlemen,” a confident voice interrupted from across the room.

 

The two Imperials looked up to see two men standing side by side at the chamber’s entrance. One was a Human, face soft yet utterly determined and carrying a warm glint. The other was a Pureblood, standing tall and firm, visage unfalteringly stoic.

 

“Lorrik and Jresh, at your service.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Edited December 3, 2013 by Osetto

This has been an engrossing read from the start. I have been reading this on my iPad and I always leave this tab open and I check it regularly.

I am sad to see it end but hopeful that maybe we will see Jresh and Lorrik again someday?

Are there any plans to convert this into a adobe document or into an ebook? If yes I would love a copy

 

Of all your stories Osetto this is my favourite. Thank you for this.

 

Avid fan Nicehunter.

I have never commented before but, I have been following this story since about the middle of chapter 2. I wanted to say that you have inspired me and encouraged me to write my own stories and while I am no where near the writer that you are I hope to one day be good in my own right. It is a bittersweet moment to see this story end. On the one hand I thought the ending was very well thought out and executed, and on the other it's now over. Honestly I think you should be one of the official Star Wars novelists because this kind of storytelling is that which can be read over and over and still be jus as enjoyable the 119th time as the first. Not to mention the fact that the narrative is far more compelling than some of the more recent SW novels. Thank you for writing this fascinating story and good luck on whatever your next project is, I know I'll be on the lookout for it.

I have one more thing to say...

 

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

 

I look forward to the next story you work on. I have truly enjoyed every single chapter of this one, and I intend to re-read it, most likely several times.

 

Bravo!

This has been an engrossing read from the start. I have been reading this on my iPad and I always leave this tab open and I check it regularly.

I am sad to see it end but hopeful that maybe we will see Jresh and Lorrik again someday?

Are there any plans to convert this into a adobe document or into an ebook? If yes I would love a copy

 

Of all your stories Osetto this is my favourite. Thank you for this.

 

Avid fan Nicehunter.

 

I can't tell you how much of a relief it was to finally end this story. Not because I wanted to see it end, but because, it the first one I've ever seen through to completion. There was a feeling of creative accomplishment I'd not felt before. Of course, as the author, I can tell you this really isn't the ending, but a series of beginnings. This is the point where the story splits. It won't have a sequel, but instead multiple follow-ups. It will likely be some time in the future, as I'd like to focus on my unfinished stories, especially the ones currently in the middle of an episode or arc.

 

As for making copies of this story available, I'd want to go through the story a few times, proofreading and making subtle revisions first. Then again, I'd probably have to read through the whole thing, which I've yet to do.

 

I have never commented before but, I have been following this story since about the middle of chapter 2. I wanted to say that you have inspired me and encouraged me to write my own stories and while I am no where near the writer that you are I hope to one day be good in my own right. It is a bittersweet moment to see this story end. On the one hand I thought the ending was very well thought out and executed, and on the other it's now over. Honestly I think you should be one of the official Star Wars novelists because this kind of storytelling is that which can be read over and over and still be jus as enjoyable the 119th time as the first. Not to mention the fact that the narrative is far more compelling than some of the more recent SW novels. Thank you for writing this fascinating story and good luck on whatever your next project is, I know I'll be on the lookout for it.

 

Hearing that I've provided inspiration and encouragement is infinitely more satisfying that praise (not that I don't appreciate the warm comments I've received over the course of writing. Without them I don't know if I'd have managed finish this story. For people who are just readers, you have no idea the impact your attention and support can have for a writer.).

 

Glad you felt the ending was satisfactory. As I approached it, I desperately feared it would quickly unravel as I tried balance everything without forgetting or omitting all the elements of the hundred chapters that preceded it. During Act I, I had no idea how this story would end, or if it even would. I had just created something with no idea of where it would eventually lead.

 

In fact, the origins of this story lay in a old post, lost to time, by Darth_Slaine, the creator of the old Fanfiction Index and 'The Writers' Corner'. In a discussion thread. they had posted a personal rating system for Sith stories, listing various played out stereotypes as detractors. Every time a hood was raised or lowered, every time a character smirked, every time characters had a duel within a tomb, points would be deducted in their mind. Points would be added for things like a chapter having no combat, characters being defeated, characters having a hobby that didn't pertain to being a Sith. In the beginning, this story was a conscious effort to max out that scorecard. To write a story about an un-Sith Sith. But then I realized how capable an atypical Sith could actually be. It became a story about isolation and acceptance. About freedom and control. About personal and selfless desires. About transference and inheritance.

 

I wanted to write something completely different, whilst keeping it utterly grounded and adherent to actual Star Wars canon. I didn't want to break any rules, bend them maybe, but not break them. I wanted everything to have a reason behind it. Every action credible, every motivation sensible.You wouldn't believe how freaked out I was when in the middle of the story, I found out Syrosk's species might not have been exposed to the greater galaxy. But in his origin, I kept the details mysterious. There's no telling how he came to Dromund Kaas as an amnesiac, street-dwelling orphan child, both the reader and the character himself being utterly in the dark, but there's still room for explanation. Plus, I saw it fitting to remove references to his specific heritage, simply describing an Iktotchi without mentioning it by name. It worked well with the idea that all anyone considered him was an alien. Practically no one even knew of his species, and couldn't be bothered to learn it.

 

But as time went on, I knew I wanted to have the story approach something bigger. Whilst following the lives of a few acolytes as they vie for apprenticeship is a good enough story, I wanted the focus to be something more than the basic 'man vs. man' dynamic. Man vs. nature, man vs. society, man vs. self. These were what I wanted delve into, the antagonistic relationships simply serving as a foundation to stand on.

 

This wasn't a story about good and evil, about heroes and villains. It was a story about worth. Worth to a group. Worth to a nation. Worth to a family. Worth to a lover. When I introduced Tash, I didn't know what his plan was going to be, only that he was the one responsible for the version of the Academy Lorrik and the others had been pulled from. One my my first ideas was that he was pulling a Zash, raising the students to steal their life force, but the ritual only working if done willingly by both parties, causing him to cultivate a sense of loyalty and adoration in the students. For the longest time, he was determined to possess his master's amulet, which originally siphoned power from positive emotion, later redesigned to let the user forge one-way bond with an apprentice, giving the wearer direct access to that student's thoughts. In the end, I realized his hate for his master and seers was greater than any potential acquisition of power. With that amulet he could have finally read minds, finally used mental Force abilities like his master, like Syrosk. But I decided he didn't want that power. Every seer he had known was beholden to their power, rather than the other way around. He did not want to compromise his integrity. He had spent his entire life on a leash, and he wasn't about to voluntarily put another one around his neck. He was greedy, willing to sacrifice others for his own gain, but he possessed his own uncompromising ideals. That's what I feel made him a great foe. Not the fact that he was dangerous, but the fact that in another story, he could have been the protagonist.

 

But I could have more fun talking about the story than I did writing the actual story.

 

Anyway, happy to hear you enjoyed it. More than happy to hear you think it's a quality work.

 

I have one more thing to say...

 

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

 

I look forward to the next story you work on. I have truly enjoyed every single chapter of this one, and I intend to re-read it, most likely several times.

 

Bravo!

 

Thank heavens, I thought you'd run out of squees by the time I got around to finally ending the story.

 

Now I just need to get around finishing the others. The Seven have been in that facility for quite some time now, haven't they? Assuming I don't start up yet another story right after this, I'll likely focus on finishing that one, considering its the closest in the timeline. Guiding Lights will be where I direct the rest of my Force-sensitive musings, and I'm looking forward to where that one goes.

 

But as for Lorrik and Jresh, they'll be back. The other apprentices have gone their separate ways, but their stories have in no way ended. Nesk and Vurt become combat instructors on Ziost. Kar'ai and Ryloh try making a living outside of Imperial and Sith society. Isorr and Arlia are too invested in the game to leave it behind, doing whatever they can to make sure they don't fade into obscurity. As for Syrosk, well, when a Dark Councilor asks of your services, you don't turn him down.

 

That proposal will likely be my next major project. I want to build something more than a story. I want to provide a foundation for creativity. A base for cooperative fiction. Something that will entice and invite fanfiction writers to create and develop original characters and stories in an established world. I'd love it if more people tried writing something separate from the events and persons of the game. As much as we love shenanigans between various Wraths and Quinns, each author's piece must be wholly separate from another author's. But as rife with potential this fictional universe is, as filled with opportunity this timeline is, it is a daunting task to just jump in and create something from scratch. Especially when the only reward is your own feelings, a few pageviews, and maybe a comment or two.

 

But I'd love to give people the tools to create. Syrosk is going to head an organization. One that provides the means for a multitude of characters to exist and operate concurrently. Individuals. Groups. Room for intrigue, for romance, for action. A world within a world that I'd invite others to take part in. A repository of shared people, places, and events that other writers could help expand.

 

But that'd be further down the line, when I have more free time and less unfinished stories. For now, I'll work on my other stories. Thank you everyone for your support and readership. I welcome any further questions or discussions.

Edited January 2, 2014 by Osetto

I'm one of those people that only rarely comments on the fanfiction they read across various fandoms. This is simply because if I've truly enjoyed a story, I find it extremely difficult to portray that. But given that you've put a lot of work into producing this epic, it's only right that I post to reaffirm what everyone here is saying: it's amazing. This is equally as grabbing as the novels, if not more so. Your characters are all so different and interesting, I really enjoyed the variety of species, personalities and skills.

 

It was always hard to see where this was going and you left a lot of things unanswered till the very end, which is good because it prompts further reading. I know an author doesn't always know themselves exactly what might happen, but you made it work along the way. I am grateful that I started reading this towards the end, because I would have likely died of impatience waiting for the new chapters to be released. That isn't a dig at your writing speed, it's an acknowledgement of the fact that it's a great story and waiting for my email to tell me you'd updated was torture. And when it finally would arrive, the latest chapter was able to brighten the most horrible of days.

 

One of my favourite aspects of any story are friendships and close relationships, especially of the male variety (platonic or not). As close as Jresh and Lorrik ended up becoming, I will just say I never saw *that* coming. That lovely moment when he finally kissed Jresh. I had just assumed all of the relationships would be hetero so you made me very happy by sticking those lovely boys together, I was like, WHATTT

 

Then I was all :D:D:D

 

They are perfect for one another in many ways and I hope we see more of them in future.

Edited December 5, 2013 by Dractonis

This has been amazing throughout, and the ending was a triumphant conclusion which still leaves things open for more (*hints*) I've really looked forward to each new installment and never been disappointed. Definitely very high quality stuff, thank you for all your work writing it and for sharing it with us *applauds long and loud*