Chapter Fifteen: Returns

 

The acolytes surrounded the fallen monstrosity for a closer look as it stewed in its lifelessness. As the pool of green fluid steadily flowed from the creature, the students looked with inquisitive eyes, unsure if it was blood or venom, or whether the two were even separable in such a dastardly beast.

 

“Did we just do… what I think we did?” Ryloh asked, his torso hunched over as he drew in a series of exhausted breaths.

 

“We did,” Lorrik stated, genuinely astounded. “We killed a terentatek. A creature whose sole purpose was literally to kill Force-users.”

 

“The ancient Sith left us such wonderful gifts,” Arlia joked through parsed breaths.

 

“How many points does this earn you with your god?” Kar’ai asked as she elbowed the neighboring Trandoshan.

 

“Is no servant to Scorekeeper,” Nesk muttered. “But… is satisfied.”

 

“I’d say we’ve more than proven our strength… all of us,” Jresh confidently stated, shooting a glance toward Isorr, who tried his hardest to keep his stance rigid despite suffering the same exhaustion as his peers.

 

The Zabrak righted his posture, turning his back on the fallen beast. “It’s dead. Time to move on.”

 

“He’s right,” Jresh admitted. “The Academy is in our sights and there nothing more this miserable planet can throw at us.”

 

“Please… please, don’t say things like that,” Lorrik offered with a heavy sigh.

 

“If you’d like, we could see where these caves lead. Who knows, there might be a tomb at the end of one of the passages,” Jresh joked.

 

“Is this seriously what it feels like to be on the other end of my snark? I’m so… so sorry everyone,” Lorrik muttered as he appeared on the brink of slumping entirely to the ground.

 

Placing a hand on his companion’s shoulder, the Pureblood reassured the Human of their purpose. Setting their eyes to the exposed skies above, they replaced conversations with an unshakable desire to proceed. Moving over to where the edge of the pit began, Jresh steadied himself before lowering his stance and coupling his hands in front of him.

 

“Come on, I’ll give you a boost,” Jresh stated.

 

With a deep breath, Lorrik approached his partner and placed a foot in the palms of the warrior’s hands. With a powerful lift, the Pureblood shot the inquisitor upward enough for him to adequately claw himself over the edge and back onto the surrounding plains of Korriban. The acolytes followed with similar measures of success. As Jresh offered his services to Isorr, the Zabrak simply cast one dismissing glance before leaping up unassisted. With a powerful jump, Isorr was able to just barely make it up to the edge. Jresh offered one harsh arch of his brow before doing the same. With the eight acolytes walking upon the cracked terrain once more, they set forth on a determined stride toward the Academy.

 

The students trudged along, their eyes glazed over with a dulled expression of fatigued determination. They had been beaten and battered, against stone and claw, and their attire showed as much. The acolytes finished off the contents of their beaten canteens, hydrated themselves for the final stretch home. A mountain range laid perpendicular to the horizon, blocking any true view to the Academy, but the tell-tale signs of monuments peaked over its ridges. The hind of bowed heads, hewn from stone and towering over the grounds in front of the Academy, revealed themselves to careful eyes. Heading toward the opening in the range to their left, the acolytes knew they were close to their return. Close to their apprenticeship.

 

And all eight continued. Their progression now fully within their sights, within their grasps, and none thought to deviate. None thought to cast their fellows aside. None thought to surge forward or drift behind. The eight students had survived together. Thrived together. They intended to arrive together. To see their master’s face. To face their master’s judgment.

 

The acolytes marched in silence. Time had lost its meaning. There was no distinguishing seconds, nor minutes, nor hours. So many things had lost their impact, lost their definition. Drive was the only thing that remained within the students, but it was a sufficient motivator to propel their drying husks across the cracked terrain. Finally, after all the toil, after all the sore steps of aching feet, the silence was broken.

 

A series of gasps and expressions of joy followed as the group passed the threshold of the surrounding ridge. There it was. In the distance. The Academy. Nestled in the rear of a protective wedge of mountain ranges, the dark prism had finally revealed itself. Beyond the statues. Beyond the tombs. Beyond the excavations. At the foot of the opening, a great many things loomed over the acolytes. A line of towering statues stood to their left and right. The raised, grandiose institution watched over the entirety of the proceedings within its domain. A security checkpoint lay between the students and their destination.

 

A military grade barrier had been constructed at the threshold of the Academy grounds, manned by Imperial soldiers donning red armor. As the students slowly shuffled toward the entrance, the sentries took careful notice. Upon the eight individuals’ approach, a pair of sentries raised their rifles and trained them on the acolytes.

 

“Halt!” one of the Imperials shouted.

 

“Out of our way!” Isorr shouted back. The Imperial shot out a warning bolt above the Zabrak’s head.

 

“I said, ‘Halt!’” the sentry continued.

 

“This isn’t the time to be testing the person holding a blaster!” Arlia harshly whispered to her partner.

 

Lorrik raised his hands, flashing his open palms as he stepped forward. “We’re from the Academy! We’re acolytes! Let us through!”

 

“Acolytes?” the sentry muttered in disbelief. Turning toward one of his fellows, the Imperials shared hushed whispers with another guard, each still refusing to lower their weapon.

 

“Don’t think you can fool us! Their kind aren’t admitted to the Academy!” the other sentry exclaimed. “You’re either escaped slaves… or Republic spies!”

 

Kar’ai balked, mouth agape. “What? That’s ridiculous!”

 

“We’ve been students of this Academy for years!” Ryloh attempted to explain.

 

“Everyone remain calm… we can talk through this!” Lorrik said to his allies.

 

While the Human’s attention was focused on the other acolytes, Jresh took a step toward the sentries.

 

“’Their kind aren’t admitted to the Academy’?” Jresh repeated, his voice bitterly cold and his visage following its lead. “Is that what you said?” The sentries hesitantly reaffirmed their rifles upon the approaching Pureblood. “And what of my kind? Surely you recognize the face of a Sith. Of someone who is your better by birth alone? Isn’t that what you’ve been taught? Red skin. Fleshy tendrils. The traits of someone you should needlessly respect and admire. Judge not by one’s action or abilities, but by their appearance and bloodline. Isn’t that correct?”

 

“We-” one of the sentries struggled to speak.

 

“These men and women are every bit my equals, and you would dare to deny them entrance to the place they have spent years shedding their blood, sweat, and tears to appease the whims of those as close minded as yourselves? We are acolytes, and now the apprentices, of Lord Syrosk. I demand that you step aside, and-”

 

Interrupting the warrior’s speech was the firing of another blaster bolt. Quickly, the Pureblood raised his fist, blocking the round with his gauntlet. Jresh remained adamant through the blast, even as it stripped the material from his glove and a layer of charred flesh from his forearm beneath. Ignoring injury and pain, Jresh pressed forward the last few steps needed to close the gap between himself and the sentries. Talking hold of the firing Imperial’s weapon, the Pureblood sent a charred backhand across the sentry’s facemask, driving him to the ground. As the sentry’s partner trembled on the spot, Jresh was already upon him, sweeping him to the ground and cracking his chest plate under his cascading foot.

 

The other acolytes rushed forward to join their compatriot, but a squad of Imperials were doing the same. Stepping beyond the threshold of the barrier, the eight students saw over ten sentries approaching their position. Stopping an adequate distance away, the Imperials stepped into a line formation, drawing and aiming their blaster rifles toward the intruding acolytes. The students remained utterly still, unwilling to challenge the sentries outright.

 

Suddenly, a dark figure landed from the skies between the students and the Imperial guards. Kneeling, his head lowered, all attention was drawn to the figure’s suffocating black cloak and his extended arm, wielding within its grasp the crimson blade of an ignited lightsaber. The entirety of his torso donned in black armored plates, the only discernible detail were the two curved horns sprouting from the individual’s cranium. Slowly raising his head, the figure looked upon the group of battered and tattered acolytes with an atypical smirk.

 

“Welcome back… my apprentices.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Sixteen: Apprentices

 

The eight students gazed upon their master with a curious wonder. The Sith Lord’s words stirred in their minds over and over. Apprentices. It was official. Rising from his knee, the staggering alien stood with his back to the halted Imperial sentinels. Slowly, one by one, the checkpoint guardsmen lowered their weapons in the presence of the powerful figure.

 

“I am Lord Syrosk,” the horned alien announced before turning to face the Imperials. “These eight individuals are my Sith apprentices. They are to be given the respect and recognition afforded to them, not by Academy standards, but by those of our glorious Empire. I trust none of you will obstruct our paths any further.”

 

The Sith’s words carried such weight that the sentinels silently parted their formation and bowed their heads, averting their gazes from the Sith, ignoring the pair of guardsmen who still lay beaten upon the ground. Their path sufficiently unobstructed, Syrosk concealed his lightsaber before beckoning for his apprentices to follow. The eight students were hesitant, most of all Lorrik, whose eyes were affixed to Jresh’s forearm. The Pureblood has a sufficient patch of flesh missing, but it offered no outpouring of blood nor pain. The warrior had achieved a control over his own body the inquisitor had to see with his own eyes to believe.

 

Syrosk halted his proceedings to turn toward his unmoving students. “Apprentices?”

 

“Syrosk… master…” Lorrik muttered, simultaneously combative and repentant. “Before we proceed… we require answers.”

 

The inquisitor’s outburst prompted a quick chortle from the Sith Lord.

 

“You’ve earned as much. But first, you must rest. Can’t have you making demands of your master in such a pitiful state. It sets a bad example,” Syrosk rasped before continuing back toward the Academy.

 

The apprentices shared a round in curious looks before silently following in their master’s wake. The nine Sith walked amongst the lower cliffs that sprawled in front of the Academy. The outer extremities of the Empire’s focused domain bore the machinations of war and archeology. Turrets sat atop the highest peaks, eternally scanning the skies. Cranes and excavators populated the lower reaches, digging up the remnants of ancients. The various levels were dotted with activity. Acolytes darted from area to area with intent. Slaves toiled under their overlords as their bodies served the Empire’s goals. Numerous faces, all of them unfamiliar to the apprentices. This area, none had laid eyes on it with such focus. Only the distant glance atop distant ridges.

 

Lorrik languished as he took in his surroundings. How could all this be new to him? After so many years of study within the Academy, how could it be that he had been kept from the outer workings that took place in such close proximity. He watched as young, upstart Sith carried out the desires of their superiors. Each of them much more powerful than he thought the Academy capable of producing. Purebloods and Humans, all of them.

 

“Today marks a new beginning for each of you,” Syrosk spoke up, not altering his attention from the course ahead of him. “You will soon reap the bounty of your progress. Your own personal lightsaber. Your own set of clothing and armor. Advanced training. Sovereignty. Knowledge. From this point forth, everything will be different. Different, not easier. In fact, your most difficult trials lay ahead, and not solely by my own devising. I know you have questions. You know I have answers. I am willing to part with such in time. But recovery comes first. You’ve no doubt suffered from your time in the wastes. The experience will have made you stronger, but your bodies and minds have degraded for the short-term. Return to your rooms. Eat. Drink. Sleep. When the sun has fallen, we will reconvene. Until that time, do not leave your rooms. Am I understood?”

 

The students offered their various affirmations as they continued to follow their master. Together, they made their way back toward the Academy, up the various lifts and walkways that stretched before the institution. Walking across the exposed landscape, the apprentices felt the burning sting of harsh gazes bearing down upon them. Acolytes, Imperials, they all expressed silent concern with the group’s presence. But the group marched on with their own silent resilience. For the moment, they cared not for their place in any establishment, in any social order. Far too many thoughts swirled in their head for them to focus on a single one.

 

Inside the Academy interior, the stark contrast between the harsh landscape and the cold interior shook the new apprentices to their cores. It hadn’t even occurred to them that they stood in a place of relative respite. Their minds were on autopilot, only guided by their senses. They saw, they heard, they felt, but could make no judgment on more than the barest of information.

 

Making their way through the Academy interior, the group eventually reached their destination. The Saarai Suites. Making his way to each suite, Lord Syrosk entered the door’s security code before turning his back on its residents. The pairs separated and partook in the solace of their homes within the Academy, away from the watchful eye of their master.

 

Passing the threshold of the apartment, Lorrik and Jresh stood dumbfounded as they surveyed their surroundings. Nothing had changed in the past week. Everything was as it was the moment they made their final departure for the Korriban wastes. Cabinets and drawers slightly ajar as they searched for anything that could be useful. Surfaces remarkably clean and orderly. It was a place constructed by a patient, guided hand rather than the tumultuous chaos that shaped the landscape surrounding the Academy. It offered peace. It offered safety. For the moment, the pair wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

The inquisitor dragged his feet as he shuffled toward his bedroom where he knew the bastion of comfort and rest that was his bed awaited. Just as he was about to enter his personal shelter, he turned to see Jresh had decided to take a seat upon the meditation mat that lay in the center of the living area.

 

Lorrik tried to catch his partner’s attention. “Jresh?”

 

Utterly calm and composed, the Pureblood took up his customary position upon his knees where we would lose himself within his own mind.

 

“Get some sleep, Lorrik,” Jresh calmly directed as he removed what remained of his tattered outer coat.

 

“What about you?”

 

“For me, this is rest.”

 

The warrior’s eyes remained closed as the inquisitor altered his path. Slowly, Lorrik approached his partner. Jresh flinched as his partner took ahold of his injured arm.

 

“Damn. This looks worse than I thought,” Lorrik stated as he gazed at the warrior’s wounded flesh with concern.

 

“It’s fine. It’ll heal with time,” Jresh said as he tried to rescind his arm. The inquisitor’s grip remained firmly attached.

 

“Are you kidding? I can practically see bone. Let me heal you.”

 

“Don’t exhaust yourself. I can handle this. Go to sleep,” Jresh directed. The inquisitor delivered a quick jab with his fist to the Pureblood’s shoulder.

 

“You don’t get to sit here and say things like that. Everything we did out in the wastes we did together. I’m not going to sleep knowing that you’re injured. Now shut up, and let me heal your arm!”

 

Jresh relaxed his limb, allowing the inquisitor to focus on the deep blaster wound. Lorrik removed the rest of the warrior’s upper clothing to prevent any obstruction or complication of the healing process. The Human’s hands began to glow as they passed over the injury. The two apprentices closed their eyes in deep meditation as the recovery process unfolded. The open wound began to slowly close as it repaired itself. Muscle fibers regenerated and reconnected. Nerves came back online. Crimson skin enveloped and concealed previous signs of damage. When enough time had passed, the warrior was left with only a light patch of flesh where the deep gash once was.

 

Releasing his grip, Lorrik returned control of the arm to its rightful owner. As Jresh inspected the wound, he began to flex and articulate his digits for any sign of malady. He found none. Clenching his fist, his grip was as solid as ever. Beside the Pureblood, Lorrik breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“I’d ask you to not underestimate my capabilities,” Lorrik offered with a smile.

 

The Pureblood’s head dipped. “After all that’s happened… after all you’ve done for the good of the group… I couldn’t make a request. You’ve already given far more than anyone could ask of you.”

 

“Heh. So selfish,” Lorrik joked. “Don’t you know by now that we’ve evolved beyond simple requests?”

 

“Simple requests? You hold within your hands a great power. One I’ll readily admit to not fully understanding. I can diagnose and analyze martial fighting styles to the most intricate details, but this? I know what effects a lightsaber will have on a body. I can’t say the same about the Force. I don’t want you to overexert yourself on my behalf.”

 

“And what do you call stomping about whenever I’ve been slighted? Hmm?” Lorrik teased. “We offer ourselves to each other. It’s what we do. As for the Force? You want to know what is required to channel it? Focus. Plain and simple. You know what gives me focus? You. Force-users draw upon multiple sources. Peace. Emotion. Joy. Hate. But in the end, we all require focus. Something to consolidate all of our wants and desires upon. Sometime unbreakable. A bond.”

 

Jresh’s eyes snapped open as he felt the embrace of his companion’s arms wrapping around his shoulders. Looking down, the Pureblood saw the inquisitor’s hands interlock in front of his bare chest. The Human rested his head upon the warrior’s shoulder, feeling the gentle rise and fall as his partner drew breaths. Jresh felt enveloped, suffocated by the unceasing hug. He steeled himself as he contemplated action, but in a moment of clarity, was overcome with a solace and warmth. A meditative state, not locked away within the recesses of his own mind, but within the embrace of his companion. Slowly, Jresh closed his eyes. Content.

 

Whatever troubles the two of them would face in the future, they knew deep in their hearts that they would face it together.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Seventeen: Answers

 

For the next few hours, Lorrik and Jresh rested and recuperated. Each attempted to cleanse themselves of not only the dirt accrued from a week in the wastes, but whatever baggage had managed to sink its claws into their psyches. A cleansing of the body and mind. Stepping out of the shower, Lorrik caught his mirrored image upon the reflecting wall. He had expected a haggard visage, one that had been through turmoil, through pain, through the physical and metaphorical grit of Korriban. Instead, he found a face of determination. One of resilience. One of vigor. He locked eyes with himself, gazing deep into the amber irises that stared back. He saw the image’s lips began to curl into a smile of confidence.

 

The apprentices suited up. Gone were the tatters they had to contend with the past week. A fresh set of robes were pulled from their closets. Black fibers with red and purple trims enwrapped the students’ renewed countenances. Gloves and boots slipped over and were secured to their hands and feet. Fully garbed in their robes, the apprentices stood tall, rigid in not only their stature, but in their state of mind. They stood at the precipice of a new dawning. Leaving their respective rooms, the pair met each other with symbiotic respect.

 

Simultaneously catching their attention was an unfamiliar ring buzzing through the apartment. Upon it’s cessation, the two apprentices made their way to the entrance. Poking his head out the opened door, Lorrik saw the other pairs doing the same. Next to each of their doors’ exterior control panels, there was a note posted. Utterly simple in its message and design.

 

 

 

Lorrik puzzled over his master’s directions. “Banquet hall? We have banquet halls? Let alone at least two?”

 

“Where there’s Sith, there’s expense,” Jresh plainly offered.

 

“At least we’ll be served food when we face our master.”

 

“Do we pressure Syrosk for answers this soon to our return?”

 

“It’s now or never,” Lorrik replied. Looking out and across the hall, the Human saw the confirming nods of the other students as they retreated into their rooms. “You think this is proper dinner attire?”

 

“We don’t know what could be thrown at us before, after, or even during this meeting. Dress to repress.”

 

“Should we be armed?”

 

“Well, I’ve no weapon…”

 

“If we’re upgrading to actual lightsabers soon…” Lorrik began as he eyed the training saber clipped to his belt. With a pause, he removed the weapon and gently placed it on a nearby counter. “I’d better get used to the lighter weight.”

 

“You seem unfamiliar with the consequences of directly confronting a Sith Lord, even as his apprentice,” Jresh stated.

 

“We know so very little about our actual place here… but there is something I firmly believe. Lord Syrosk wants us to succeed. He’s invested in us. He’ll not cast us aside for questioning his motives or our future.”

 

“You’re sure of this?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then you have my support. I am not as skilled in the matters of persuasion as you… at least, not without my hand reaching for someone’s throat,” Jresh stated.

 

“Nonsense. With that soothing voice, you make the act of strangulation sound downright pleasant,” Lorrik joked as he patted the warrior on the back.

 

The Pureblood offered a single chuckle as he and his companion turned from the door. They were scheduled to convene with their master in two hours. They planned to be fully ready.

 

----------

 

The hours passed quicker than any of the apprentices expected. Vacating the safety of their residencies, the eight students walked in tandem amongst the Academy interior. The banquet hall was tucked away from the forefront of the grandiose establishment, nestled high and deep within the upper halls. Passing through with little complication, the eight apprentices had reached their destination. An unassuming door stood in front of them, beside it a small plaque bearing its description. Banquet Hall B.

 

Lorrik placed a light hand upon the door, prompting it to automatically shoot up into its recess and grant the students an unbridled view to a wondrous scene. Beyond the threshold of the hall rest a living picture of decadence amongst the structured order of Imperial designs. Resting in the center of the elongated chamber was an imposing table that stretched from each end of the room, more than capable of seating the nine Sith intent on eating. Polished metal, the color of smoke, made up the majority of the furniture. Tapestries and cloths hung from them with a deep crimson, bearing the trimmings and signets that fostered the undeniable Sith image.

 

Across from the entering party, sitting at the head of the table, Lord Syrosk waited patiently with a short-stemmed glass resting within his ungloved palm. Seeing his disciples enter, the Sith Lord took a sip of brandy as he raised himself from his seat. The apprentices were confused to see their master had shed his usual battle regalia, replacing his usual set of armor with a simplistic set of black robes.

 

“Students… apprentices. Please… take a seat,” Syrosk directed with a warm rasp. Seeing eight seats situated in front of eight empty platters near their master’s end of the table, the apprentices could deduced what was expected of them. Silently, they took their seats, four on each side of the Sith Lord. “You all must be wondering… why I have gathered you here, of all places. The truth of the matter is… they are planning on converting this hall into another combat wing. I wanted to have a meal here before they install the training dummies.”

 

The students looked at their master flabbergasted as he nonchalantly took another sip of his brandy.

 

“In case you forgot,” Lorrik tersely spoke up, “we just got back from a hellish trek across the wastes of Korriban. You’ll understand if we expected some measure of seriousness.”

 

“That’s a shame,” Syrosk coldly admitted. “I always thought I could count on you to keep things lighthearted. Although I suppose even someone such as yourself would harden when they’re prepared to challenge their master.” Lorrik tensed within his seat. “Yes, I know you intend to wring as much information out of me as you can before you’ll continue your training proper. And I know you’re backed by the other seven in such desires. Very well. I’m an open book.”

 

“How do you know what I wanted? How do you know half things you manage to just pull out of thin air?” Lorrik asked, almost interrogating the Sith Lord.

 

“Being a telepath is almost worth the admonishment that comes with being an alien within the Empire,” Syrosk bluntly answered. The response prompted the eight students to uncomfortably shifted in their seats.

 

“You can read minds?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“Only those that are untrained,” Syrosk replied. “Unfortunately, your previous instructors did a poor job in that regard. In fact, they may have made you more susceptible.”

 

“Speaking of aliens… the guards outside… they said our kind weren’t admitted to the Academy,” Ryloh lowly muttered. “They didn’t look down on our presence, they rejected it.”

 

“The Korriban Academy is… rigid… in its traditions. Chief among them the selectivity of accepted candidates,” Syrosk explained. “No aliens. No slaves.”

 

“Then, how do you explain us?” Arlia asked.

 

“Easy. You are not, nor have you ever been students of the Korriban Academy,” Syrosk explained. The eight apprentices froze, staring wide-eyed at their master, trying to comprehend his shocking revelation.

 

There was a loud thud as Isorr slammed his heavy fist upon the table. “I have been here... for over a decade. Shed blood. Broken bones. Countless hours. Countless duels. You cannot sit there, and tell me I haven’t been a student of this Academy!”

 

“Oh, but I can,” Syrosk countered. “Your kind are not admitted to these halls. This is the most prestigious institution for training Sith in the entire Empire. They’d not have it soiled with impurities. I was trained at the personal behest of my master, far away from any of the Academies. Only by his influence and years of work am I able to operate within these particular halls.”

 

“What happened to him?” Jresh asked.

 

“He’s dead. Killed years ago by the same man responsible for your tenure here before I pulled you from your classes,” Syrosk explained.

 

“So, what? Are we part of some revenge scheme of yours to get back at your master’s killer?” Lorrik harshly questioned.

 

“I suppose you could consider myself motivated by hate. But hate of more than one single person. Hate of the ideas that person represents,” Syrosk admitted. “That person’s name is Darth Tash.”

 

“Tash,” Jresh muttered as stroked his chin. The Pureblood’s companion offered a curious glance. “In the old Sith language, it means ‘lie’.”

 

“He is a man of intricacies, and overlapping and interweaving plans. A man with enough years at his disposal to not just recruit likeminded Sith… but to grow them, raise them, cultivate them to suit his needs,” Syrosk explained. “You eight were brought here as pawns, to be used in Tash’s political games. He was given control of the ancient halls you all once called home. Each of your instructors were agents of his will. Your former classmates still operate under his dominion.”

 

“But why? What is he planning?” Lorrik asked.

 

“That, I am unsure of,” Syrosk admitted. “I have been guided by visions, premonitions. But there is a darkness that prevents me from seeing with clarity. A darkness that is not only his, but also my own. He is preparing for something. Amassing a legion, one of specific constructs and divisions.”

 

“Something you thought to disrupt by removing us from the classrooms?” Jresh asked.

 

“When he removed the warriors, you mean. Us inquisitors were ‘rescued’ by happenstance,” Lorrik added.

 

“There is reasoning behind all things, whether it is clear to us or not,” Syrosk rasped. “Darth Tash seeks to repress strength, and delay the progress of those under his domain. I sought to allow a select few to rise above. To see their potential realized. To be Sith. To be more than Sith. We both offer a guiding hand, but where he seeks to oppress, I seek to unchain. Tash’s followers believe him to be aiding the war effort, finding a use for the impure amongst the Empire without making them proper Sith… but he is only loyal to himself. Not to the Sith, not to the Empire. He tolerates only that which he can manipulate on his path of ascension. Everything else is destroyed.”

 

“Sounds like a proper Sith,” Isorr bluntly stated.

 

Syrosk cast his deadened stare upon the Zabrak. “The Sith are plagued by ideas of wonton destruction and manipulation. Being a Sith means strength. Being a Sith means freedom. Though these aspects often manifest in countless murders and betrayals, those come from the individual and the teachings of individuals. The most basic tenets of the Sith are about following passions, gaining strength, finding freedom through the Force. I’d like to see those tenets extended beyond the Empire’s chosen peoples.”

 

“So what? We’re to believe you’re looking out for us?” Arlia replied.

 

“No," Syrosk plainly stated. "You are eight individuals that represent an idea. Were there others more worthy amongst Tash’s crop, they would have presented themselves. I will train you. I will test you. If you are in danger, and believe me, you will be in danger… I will not save you. Only you have the capacity to prevent your deaths. I will simply be providing the teachings to facilitate that capacity. You all are my apprentices, I will push you toward greatness.”

 

The eight students looked upon their master with trepidation. Entire years of their lives had been practically invalidated. But they were on a new path. Though they didn’t know what to expect going into the future, they knew it was better than it would have been under Tash’s instructors.

 

“But… why the pairings?” Lorrik asked, shooting a quick glance to his companion.

 

“A good question, and one I shall answer with an upcoming trial,” Syrosk answered.

 

“I have a question. If those in Tash’s classroom were supposed to be ‘impurities’ within the Empire,” Arlia spoke up, “how do you explain Lorrik and Jresh.”

 

“Well, I was a slave before coming to the Academy,” Lorrik plainly admitted.

 

“And the Pureblood? I thought the Sith adored his kind,” Arlia stated. Jresh remained still, silent, and stern in his seat.

 

Lorrik concernedly faced his companion. “Jresh?” Silence followed.

 

“I see. So he hasn’t told you yet, Lorrik?” Syrosk asked, already knowing the answer. “Very well. That’s his choice.” Entering from a side door, an Imperial attendant entered the banquet hall and approached the seated Sith Lord. Whispering in his ear, Lord Syrosk nodded before dismissing him. “Well, I imagine you’ve all had not much to eat in the last few days. Let’s remedy that.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Eighteen: Questions

 

As the Human attendant disappeared into the whatever recesses lay beside the banquet hall, Lord Syrosk gently held the glass of brandy within his clawed hand.

 

“It’s a shame a shame Zellos lost Bothawui… makes it hard to get your hands on this kind of brandy,” Syrosk nonchalantly muttered.

 

Isorr’s nostrils flared, a heated dissatisfaction brewing within him. “So… that’s it? You tell us we’ve wasted years of our lives in service to people who couldn’t care less about our existence, and we’re supposed to feel better because you’ve so graciously decided to become our mentor. Give us some fancy new robes… give us food when we’re hungry…”

 

“This is Korriban,” Syrosk reminded with a raspy chuckle. “Your superiors couldn’t care less about your existence regardless of your social standing. The Jedi train their young to keep the peace. The Sith train their young to keep the war. You were merely taken advantage of as a collective rather than an individual. Acolytes aren’t destined for greatness. Acolytes aren’t respected. They’re expected to fight. They’re expected to lash out and kill each other until only the strongest remain. I wasn’t lying when I said you were nothing when we began our training. Honestly, even the bastardized teachings of Tash’s instructors couldn’t have concealed the nature of succession from you all. Were you expecting to walk out of this Academy with your head held high? Your fellows would snap your neck to prevent such a luxury.”

 

Entering from the side door, the attendant wheeled in a multi-tiered dolly bearing eight concealed dishes. Only the metallic clinks of utensils and trays permeated the room as the students and their master waited in silence. One by one, the apprentices had a covered dish placed in front of them, until all eight had been served. Lord Syrosk’s placemat, however, remained bare.

 

“Aren’t you eating?” Kar’ai asked her master.

 

“Oh, no. I’ve already eaten,” Syrosk quickly answered.

 

“Makes sense… Bothan Brandy is typically a post-meal drink,” Lorrik muttered, his voice utterly lacking emotion or care as he stoically eyed his plate. The others offered the peculiar Human a curious look before turning back to their dishes. As the students removed the covers from their plates, they revealed the steamy succulence of a warm meal. A hearty slab of meat, obviously from off-world, cooked and seasoned to near perfection, coupled with vegetation none of the students had laid eyes on in all their years on Korriban. Suddenly, a fire lighted in Lorrik’s eyes. “Where did this food come from?”

 

“There are perks to being a Sith Lord,” Syrosk explained.

 

“Even an alien one?” Ryloh asked.

 

“It helps if no one informs the chefs of which Sith Lord they are cooking for. Isn’t that right?” Syrosk loudly rasped as he shot a cold glare toward the attendant who froze in fear. In silence, the Imperial bowed out of the hall. “Well, go on. Eat.”

 

Arlia hesitantly stared at her food. “When everyone but the host eats it just screams of poison.”

 

“The purpose of this meal is to reinvigorate you all,” Syrosk explained. “The lesson in which I poison you all will only come when you are at full strength.”

 

Ryloh and Lorrik stirred in their seats at their master’s words.

 

As each apprentice hesitantly took their first bite, they soon found themselves unable to resist its tender call. Gone were any reservations of caution or decorum as the students tore into their meals. No longer did thoughts of their past plague their minds. No longer did the troubles of the future seep in. They were only aware of the present, and this food was definitely a present to be cherished.

 

The students ate as their master watched in silence. The meals, while sizable, couldn’t hope to last against the appetites of eight hungry Sith. Their plates wiped clean, the apprentices leaned back with an inner satisfaction unfamiliar to them. Their bodies had been tended to, only their minds required sustenance.

 

“So,” Lorrik spoke up. “Where do we go from here? I mean, this Academy, this mysterious Darth… there’s so many questions we don’t have answers to.”

 

“As my apprentices, you’ll be privy to whatever knowledge I can acquire with my various skills. That knowledge will not materialize overnight, but in the meantime, I will train you to be Sith, with all the strength and freedom that ought to come with it. Now, on the topic of freedom…” Syrosk trailed off as he reached into inner folds of his robes. His hands emerges bearing eight envelopes, which he handed to his neighboring students. “There is one package for each of you.”

 

“Are we allowed to open them now?” Ryloh asked.

 

“That's not for me to decide,” Syrosk plainly stated.

 

“What’s inside of them?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Freedom,” Syrosk answered. The students unsurely eyed their envelopes with confusion. “Literally. Not as some abstract, not as some mental test. Within each you will find a ticket off world and enough credits to take you wherever you want to go. You can leave the Sith, the Empire, and my teachings behind. You can walk your own path as a Sith outside the halls of this Academy. You all know that as Sith, true freedom will always be just beyond your reach. Until you’re at the top, there will always be someone above you trying to impose their will upon you. At this point, you stand in a unique position to just walk away. You’ve no ties to the Academy. You’re of no interest to Darth Tash so long as you don’t interfere with his plans. You’re not considered a lost asset by the Empire nor the Sith. Much of your lives have been controlled by covert, and sometimes overt, manipulations. When I sent you out into the wastes, I said I had plans no matter how many of you returned. That still holds true. I grant you the freedom to go your own way should you choose to do so. If you wish to remain one of my apprentices, then meet me atop the usual ridge at midday tomorrow. Dismissed.”

 

Without another word, Syrosk raised from his seat and removed himself from the banquet hall. The students looked at their envelopes with uncertainty. No looks between apprentices, no looks between partners, merely the unceasing stare at the physical manifestation of their freedom.

 

“What should we do?” Ryloh asked his fellows.

 

“What ‘we’?” Arlia replied. “We survived the wastes together, but this… this isn’t a group decision. We’ve each been given something. Something we each have to decide how to use.”

 

“If we stay, we’re inevitably going to have to go against Darth Tash,” Kar’ai stated. “Do we honestly understand what that means? The man was able to commandeer an entire wing of the Academy for his personal use, and keep the rest of it relatively in the dark.”

 

“For all we know this is all a fabrication of Syrosk’s design,” Isorr spoke up. “A Sith Lord’s a Sith Lord. You don’t get that way doing favors for those below you.”

 

The Rattataki eyed her envelope, gently scratching her chin. “We’ve all got our options outside the Academy. Nesk could probably take over any Trandoshan hunting clan he wanted to. Vurt could become a contract killer. Isorr and I could transfer to a less prestigious institution and practically dominate the competition. And there’s always a place in the galaxy for handsome and beautiful Twi’leks. Lorrik’s a Human so he could ingratiate himself anywhere he pleases. And I doubt Jresh couldn’t find a proper place within the Empire.”

 

“So you’re contemplating leaving?” Arlia asked.

 

“I’m just listing our options,” Kar’ai explained. “We can all go our own ways. But you have to admit we’ve done some pretty amazing things together.”

 

Ryloh passed his gaze over to the Human and Pureblood. “Lorrik? Jresh? You two have been unusually quiet.”

 

“I’m not one to quit something I’ve started,” Jresh admitted. “And I can think of no greater challenge than going up against a Darth.”

 

“That’s for sure,” Isorr added.

 

“Lorrik?” Ryloh tried again. The Human refused to rend his gaze from the envelope.

 

“Since before I ever stepped foot in this Academy… the only thing I desired was freedom,” Lorrik stated. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve studied… has been to see that desire fulfilled. All those years I thought I was progressing toward that goal, it was all just the elaborate ruse of some unseen Darth. For the first time in my life, I hold some semblance of control over the direction of my life.”

 

The students began to rise from their seats and make their ways back to their apartments, until only Lorrik and Jresh remained in the banquet hall.

 

Gently, the Pureblood placed a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “I know how important it is to you, your freedom. I’ll not see any notions of Sith pride or anything of the like stand in your way if that is your desire. Whatever you choose to do, know that I will not stand in your way.”

 

“Why were you in the classrooms… with the rest of us?” Lorrik stoically asked of his partner. Removing his hand, Jresh stared at the Human who had not yet shifted his forward gaze. “There is something wrong with all of us. Some flaw that prevented us from proper admission into the Academy. Aliens. Slaves. Not you. I’ve seen your body. I’d recognize a brand. You see this?”

 

Lorrik twisted his head away from his companion and tugged down the collar of his robes from the back of his neck. At the peak of his spine, a squared symbol bearing intricate interior markings had been seared into his flesh, creating a permanent mark that persisted in its entirety to this day. Facing his partner, he found the Pureblood adamant in his stoicism.

 

“I had asked you of familial ties before. You evaded the topic,” Lorrik stated.

 

Letting out a heavy sigh, the Pureblood lowered his gaze in embarrassment. “In our time together… I’ve not asked much of you. As a sign of respect, and understanding, I’ve limited the amount of requests I make of you. Now I ask, as a friend, to please give me some time. If you desire insight to my past, I will grant it. In time. That is all ask. All I will ever ask.”

 

The inquisitor rubbed his brow with concern as he digested his companion’s words.

 

“Alright. I can wait.”

 

“Thank you, Lorrik.”

 

The two apprentices removed themselves from the banquet hall in relative silence as they made their way back to the suite. Through the halls they walked, unburdened by the inquisitive gazes cast upon their alien compatriots. Without closer inspection, the two appeared as if they fully deserved to reside within the upper halls of the Academy. Back at the apartment, the two students retreated into their respective bedrooms for a good night’s rest.

 

----------

 

The next day came quick, the events of the previous one still deeply embedded in the apprentices’ minds. Rising from his slumber, Jresh prepared for whatever lesson Syrosk had prepared for their first official day of training as apprentices. The warrior suited up, ready to face whatever enhanced trials their master had prepared them, even without a weapon to call his own.

 

Stepping out into the common room, Jresh found no evidence that Lorrik had awoken yet. Without the gift of a warm meal, the warrior thought to pass the time with meditation to ease the troublesome inkling creeping into the back of his mind. Stopping himself, Jresh thought instead to check on his companion.

 

Cautiously and quietly peeking into the bedroom of his partner, the Pureblood was shocked to see Lorrik’s sheets completely empty. The closet had been opened and rifled through. No signs of activity in the bathroom. Stillness. Emptiness.

 

Lorrik had left.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

I can't tell you how much I SQUEE when I see a new post. I'm loving every minute of this!

I can't tell you how much I SQUEE when I see a new post. I'm loving every minute of this!

 

I can't tell you how much of a boon such a comment means for me. You have my most heartfelt thanks for your continued reading and support. I used to think little comments here and there were nothing compare to some sort of detailed feedback, but its the little things that manage to keep nudging me along as a writer.

 

Because I don't like bumping my own thread without adding something in regards to the story, I'd like to announce that Act II, if everything goes as planned, should be 25 chapters long like its predecessor. A hearty thanks for anyone that continues to partake in this journey, and I hope the destination proves satisfactory.

Edited October 27, 2013 by Osetto

Chapter Nineteen: Farewells

 

Under the rising sun of the early Korriban morning, a hooded figure emerged from the Academy. The Human, garbed in black and purple robes, intently eyed the envelope he caressed within his hands. Raising his gaze, the inquisitor’s eyes narrowed as he looked across the expanse of the Academy grounds. Nestled amongst the excavation sites and wandering acolytes, a landing pad hung over a precipitous cliff, occupied by a sizable transport shuttle. Returning the envelope to the fold of his robes, the hooded figure set forth on his intended path.

 

----------

 

Looking around the common room, Jresh saw that little had been altered from the night before. No remnants of cooked foodstuffs lay within the kitchen area. The desk remained unattended, with no signs of tampering. Adjacent to Lorrik’s, the footlocker bearing his acquired datacards and reader looked untouched. Without knowing the code, the warrior could only guess if it had been emptied.

 

Rushing into Lorrik’s bedroom, Jresh began looking for any signs, any whatsoever, as to the whereabouts of his companion. The bed was empty and unmade. The closet open and rummaged through. The bathroom hadn’t seen activity since the previous night. The Pureblood checked every surface with increasing haste. If he could find the envelope. If he could find a note. Anything more what he had now. Something more than nothing. Checking in every nook, looking through every crevice, he only wanted answers. He only wanted to understand.

 

But he couldn’t even offer that decency to his partner. Jresh dreaded the day his past would return to haunt him. Only now did he realize that trying to hide it would prove the greatest detriment. He had told Lorrik to disclose everything, with the promise he would do the same. Jresh knew he was at fault. He knew he drove his companion away. Lorrik was gone, and he had given him no reason to stay. Out of selfishness. Out of pride.

 

Opening the drawer to the bedside table, Jresh laid eyes on a small electronic tablet. Retrieving it, the Pureblood sat upon the cushioned bed as the screen came to life. It wasn’t Lorrik’s datacard reader, but a smaller, more personal datapad. A listing of entries appeared on the screen. Looking over the numerically titled items, Jresh hesitantly selected the first entry. Opening the file, the datapad’s speakers clicked on.

 

“Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Two, Entry One. I’ve decided to take up a journal…”

 

----------

 

The Human made his way down the steps of the Academy and into the open training grounds. He witnessed the harsh realities that took place each and every day, even this early in the morning. Acolytes vying for the attention of their superiors through the various demanding tasks set upon them. Achieving this, retrieving that. All the while their efforts in danger of sabotage by their fellows. In their want for ascension, they’d focus their efforts on keeping each other down rather than see someone else rise in their place. Selfishness given form.

 

The acolytes below had never been a part of the Human’s special tenure at the Academy. He looked much as they did. With his hood up, none could see the indicator of his impurity branded upon his neck. He was just another student trying to get by as his boots shuffled against the dusty terrain. The figure was confident in his ability. He knew he was their superior. In knowledge and skill. But an inferiority was baked into his past. Into his blood.

 

No longer would he have to submit to the Academy’s notions. Its desires. He had a ticket away from it all. Moving toward the landing pad, a curious thing caught the Human’s attention, however. There was little to concern him in the working below. Above him was a different story. Standing high atop a nearby ridge, an acolyte stood alone, looking down upon the morning progressions. The rising sun behind him concealed his image, leaving only a shadowy silhouette. Gazing upon the unfamiliar figure, the inquisitor’s interest was piqued.

 

----------

 

“… I am content with study. It is the root of anything I could possibly consider power for myself. But Jresh, he’s got ambition. And honestly, I want to see where it takes him. It’ll be entertaining none the less.”

 

As Lorrik’s recording ended, Jresh was left dumbfounded as he sat upon his companion’s bed. He struggled to piece together the thoughts currently swirling around in his head. Instead, he simply rubbed his brow as he harshly shut his eyes. Opening them, he once again gazed upon the datapad’s luminous screen, tapping at the next entry.

 

“Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Three, Entry Two…”

 

----------

 

The lowly acolyte stood upon the cliff’s edge of the high mountain ridge. Clad in the traditional gray robes, the unremarkable student looked out over the Academy grounds with a lowered gaze. His stance was rigid, frozen upright. His body appeared to have no intention of moving. The same could not be said of his mind. With a deep breath, the acolyte raise a foot and hovered it over the deadly precipice.

 

“Hey!” a mysterious voice called out to him from behind. The sound caused the acolyte to momentarily jump with fright, utterly destabilizing his previous rigidity. His legs stumbled and faltered, threatening to send the acolyte over the edge. Not a moment later, that threat was realized.

 

As the lowly acolyte was unintentionally propelled over the cliff, the second figure reached out with his hands, clawing at the air. Clenching his fingers, the robed Human swung his arms back, as if he had an invisible tether upon the falling acolyte. With the Force, the gray student was soon flung backward onto the relative safety of the mountain ridge, where he slid and tumbled before laying at the feet of his rescuer.

 

“What? Who are you?” the acolyte asked from the ground. The Human male was young, boyish, most likely in his late teens.

 

“Lorrik. Lorrik Velash,” the upright figure answered. Both Humans’ tones possessed an inherent confusion in their delivery, each unsure of the other’s intentions. Lorrik extended his hand down to the fallen acolyte, who hesitantly accepted.

 

Lifting himself from the ground, the young acolyte struggled to make eye contact with the hooded figure. “What are you doing up here?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Lorrik shot back. “Though I suppose your intentions were somewhat more apparent.”

 

“No! I… I only jumped because you startled me,” the acolyte begrudgingly stated.

 

His head lowered, the acolyte almost didn’t notice the hooded man walk away, venturing toward the cliff’s end. He watched as the figure sat at the precipice, his knees bent over the edge. Lowering his hood, the Human looked over the Academy grounds unburdened. With a wave, he asked the acolyte to join him. Slowly, the acolyte shuffled toward the familiar edge, and carefully lowered himself to Lorrik’s side.

 

“So, what’s your name?” Lorrik softly asked.

 

The acolyte other stared at his interlocked hands as they rest on his legs. “Rennis.”

 

“How long have you been at the Academy?”

 

“Two months… and you?”

 

“Over ten years,” Lorrik admitted. The acolyte stirred at the statement.

 

“Wow… how does someone survive that?” the acolyte asked.

 

“One could say they don’t. Whomever I was when I first arrived is dead.”

 

“How do you deal with something like that? How do you deal any of the things this Academy throws at you?”

 

“You just do. That’s the point of this place. To test the strength of its denizens. Sadly, many do not pass.”

 

“I couldn’t take any more of it,” Rennis admitted. “I arrived on Korriban alongside my best friend, and on week two I saw him killed before my very eyes. I couldn’t do anything about it. I still can’t. I’m too weak. I felt trapped, like there was no escaping, so I opted for the easy way out. That just proves my weakness…”

 

“You shouldn’t say that. You are strong, whether you realize it or not. Strength isn’t measured in your ability to defeat and control others. The fact that you were affected by your friends death means you are strong. A weak person would have simply ignored it. You tried. No one can take that away from you. This place doesn’t test your strength, it tests your willingness to become a Sith. Something everyone doesn’t, nor shouldn’t, aspire to. But the Sith know only to judge as they have been judged. You are strong regardless of what the Sith or the Empire has to say. You didn’t ask to be Force-sensitive. You didn’t ask to become a Sith. This was all thrust upon you by people who don’t understand what true strength is.”

 

“But none of that matters within the Academy,” Rennis muttered. “Once you’re in, you’re in. You either earn your freedom or you die. It doesn’t matter what kind of strength I possess if it isn’t the kind they prefer.”

 

“What if you weren’t burdened with the confines of the Academy? Of the Sith?”

 

“Idle wishes won’t make me any happier about my place…”

 

“Not idle wishes, but possibilities,” Lorrik warmly offered. “All things are possible. Remember that. If you no longer had to reside within the Academy and conform to the Sith ideology, would you have a plan of action?”

 

“I… I guess I would,” Rennis stated as he lifted his gaze. Looking to his neighbor, he saw the Human reach into the folds of his robes, and retrieve an unmarked envelope. “What’s in that?”

 

“Freedom. A ticket off world and enough credits to start a new life.”

 

“Why are you carrying such a thing?”

 

“Because I intended to use it before I came across you. But I’ve changed my mind. I want you to have it.”

 

“Whoa, I can’t take this from you.”

 

“You can’t take it… but you can accept it. I realize I have unfinished business in this place. No one deserves to have this life thrust upon them. Forge your own path.”

 

“I don’t know what to say… you really think they’ll just let an acolyte stroll off world?”

 

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.”

 

----------

 

Rushing out of the Academy, Jresh scurried out into the Academy grounds hoping to catch Lorrik before he departed. Running past the various guards and officers, the Pureblood had his eyes set upon the shuttle port a short distance away. The warrior eagerly approached the landing pad holding a docked transportation vessel. As he looked upon it in the distance, he saw a hooded figure donning black and purple robes about to board the shuttle.

 

“Lorrik!” Jresh shouted with a thunderous roar, hoping to stall the departing inquisitor.

 

“Yes?” said a familiar voice. Searching for the nearby source, Jresh saw Lorrik was in fact standing only a short distance away, his torso unburdened by the usual outer robe of his uniform. Turning to the shuttle, he watched as the mysterious figure boarded without hesitation. Facing his nearby companion, the two approached one another in relative silence. “Jresh, I-”

 

Before he could finish a full utterance, Lorrik found himself bound and constricted by the tightening loop of Jresh’s arms around his body. The inquisitor’s feet dangled as his entire body was lifted from the ground within the warrior’s powerful embrace. Through all the chaotic motions, Lorrik saw more than a faint smile upon his partner’s face as he refused to cease his enduring hug.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

HNNNNGGG

 

May I squee?

HNNNNGGG

 

May I squee?

 

Permission granted.

 

Always happy to see a positive reaction. Been doing a fair bit of writing for collegiate work, so I've had less time to devote to personal writing, so that's to blame for any week-long pauses between chapters. The good thing is, I am sufficiently motivated to continue the story. Typically deciding upon an ending has a way of inducing lethargy in me, but the effect hasn't struck me yet, thankfully. Might take a short break at the end of Act II, work on my other stories, maybe begin some new ones (because I have a problem). Thinking about trying something experimental between Acts II and III. Needless to say you'll be seeing some back-story in the near future, so stay tuned and such.

Edited October 27, 2013 by Osetto

Permission granted.

SQUEE

Chapter Twenty: Doctrines

 

Holding his companion up in the air, the two apprentices continued to indulge in their merriment without a care in the world. If the other Sith amongst the Academy grounds were gazing upon their revelry, they did not know. Rather, they did not care. In the time of their brief separation, they realized fully their attachment to one another. And in that attachment, they saw not weakness, but an enduring strength. A bond.

 

Setting the inquisitor back upon the soles of his feet, the Pureblood attempted to straighten up his image, wiping the smile from his face. As hard as he tried to return to the stoicism he had so readily relied upon, there was still an aura of emotion about him. Lorrik expressed a quick chuckle as his partner’s lips struggled to straighten themselves and the warrior slowed his breaths.

 

“I was… worried I might have missed you,” Jresh admitted, prompting quick series of nods and a smirk from his companion.

 

“Oh, I know you would have missed me.”

 

“I meant…” Jresh continued, increasingly flustered.

 

Lorrik gave his partner a firm pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry big guy. I know this emotional stuff doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue for you. We’ve got time, no need to rush things.”

 

“No. I can’t just keep putting things off,” Jresh stated. “When you left, I was certain it was because I had been dishonest. About my being here. About my past.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all figuring out our place in this Academy. In this Empire. Our pasts are behind us. Let’s focus on the future.”

 

“It’s not that easy. You brought up our lives before the Academy for discussion before, I evaded the topic. I was selfish. Concerned that my past would define me more than anything I’ve accomplished.”

 

“Nonsense!”

 

“Is it?” Jresh asked. “Isn’t that entire reason we’re in this situation? Why we were hidden away amongst the halls of the Academy rather than out here with the true acolytes? Slaves. Aliens. Impurities.”

 

“Our pasts are merely a sequence of events that shape our path. They don’t define it. And they certainly don’t define us,” Lorrik declared. “We can’t ignore our past. For all the painful, harmful memories, there is knowledge to be learned. There is strength to be drawn. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you’d never cast aside a potential source of strength. I’ll admit, we are not in the most prestigious of positions at the moment… but if given the choice, I’d not alter the path I’ve walked. We think the Academy a place of uplifting those who have proven their superiority, but we forget those cast down in the process. Or maybe we remember them and just think it a deserved fate. The Academy… it’s a horrible place. More so than we know. We haven’t faced what these acolyte’s have faced. Death was nonexistent amongst the classrooms. Out here… not so much. I could stand around, hating the years I’ve wasted under Tash’s instructors, but the fact is… I might not be alive right now had I been accepted as a traditional student.”

 

“I take it this has to do with the person I saw wearing your coat as they boarded the shuttle off world?”

 

“Yeah. Had a little talk with him. Younger than us and yet he’s been through things much worse. This Academy would have no doubt been the end of him,” Lorrik said as he gazed toward the landing pad. “I gave him my envelope. I saved his life.”

 

“A noble action.”

 

“He didn’t deserve to go through what he did. He didn’t ask to become a Sith. He was dragged here along with many others. Enslaved by the Sith, forced to earn their freedom from shackles they did not require. There is a path of ascension within the Academy, but it is buried under countless more that lead only to death and dismay. The Sith should be about freedom. We pursue the path we tread because it suits our goals, but we are the ones who should choose to pursue it! Our freedom is what sets us apart from the Jedi! The Academy is an institution of veiled enslavement, with true freedom reserved for select few. I cannot abide by this. We are Sith. We will not turn away from this path. But we cannot turn a blind eye to the contradictions… to the distortions placed upon that title. I used to think your idea of the Sith’ari as fantasy. Now, more than ever, I’d like to see that fantasy realized. I’ve moved past the manipulations of Darth Tash… of Lord Syrosk. My immediate thought this morning was to leave it all behind, but that would be putting my talents to waste. No. Instead, I will train. I will progress. And once I have achieved a sufficient level of power, I will mend this Empire. But alas, the foundations are much too warped. If we want to truly fix things, we’re going to have to break them in the process. Are you with me?”

 

“Yes,” Jresh adamantly answered. “Now and forever.”

 

Without another word, Lorrik wrapped his arms around his companion once more and squeezed him as much as his limbs would allow.

 

Releasing his grip, the Human wore a determined countenance. “Syrosk has a lesson for us. We shouldn’t miss it.”

 

“You’re right. Let us head back and prepare for the day ahead. You without a coat, and me without a weapon… it would be a rather embarrassing start for our new path, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Well, at least we can rectify one of those…”

 

----------

 

The eight apprentices had reconvened later that day, standing atop the usual mountaintop with an odd sense of nostalgia. Situated in an orderly lineup, they stood within the stern, penetrating gaze of their master whom remained rigid at their opposite. Back in his usual armored getup, the intimidating figure panned his view from student to student, holding his eyes on one for a few moments before moving onto the next.

 

“Well, it seems all eight of you have opted to stay. Good,” Syrosk plainly spoke up. “Given that you all stand here unscathed, I also take it none of you went out of your way to disclose the nature of Darth Tash’s plotting to the Academy at large. We mustn’t diverge from that choice. He is a dangerous and powerful figure who knows I still oppose him and his ways and would no doubt order his forces to strike against us… if, however, he weren’t so caught up in his pride and sense of superiority. No, instead, we are currently beneath his notice. Partly by design, partly by fluke. But it is a factor that I plan to capitalize on. There is nothing simple about being a proper Sith. You must understand when and where to bare your teeth. I’ll not send you out to fight my enemies. I’ll not be using you as dispensable tools. I will be training you to be proper Sith. No one will know of your progress. No one will know of your strength. Not for quite some time. Put away your pride, your selfishness, your ego, unless they directly serve in your ability to better yourselves. Is that understood?”

 

The apprentices all offered a steady stream of nods and affirmations.

 

“Good. One thing you all must understand is that you are not students of this Academy. You are students of a Sith Lord currently residing within the Academy, making use of its facilities and surroundings. As my apprentices, you have earned my respect, but I cannot say the same for the Academy staff and its acolytes. Lorrik and Jresh may have an easier time walking the amongst the populace without burden, but the rest of you will be looked down upon. Therefore, it is fitting that you possess something indicative of your status. A proper lightsaber.”

 

The students looked to one another with a budding pride, breaking from their disciplined formation at the thought of owning their very own weapon.

 

“With the traditional Force-user’s weapon at your hip, people will be wary of drawing you into open conflict, which is something we need to establish sooner, rather than later. Typically, a master would gift his apprentice a lightsaber upon achieving the proper rank. I do not have eight with which to part with each of you. I do not even own a second lightsaber from my own. This is by intention. In my spare time I could have easily acquired weapons to simply pass out, but that would not teach you to appreciate it. I simply gave you your personal training sabers, and I see that one of you has misplaced it.”

 

The others’ eyes fell upon the weaponless Jresh whose posture refused to budge even the slightest.

 

“It fell off a cliff, sir,” Jresh explained, his usual stoic self.

 

“No, it currently resides at the hip of Isorr. His lies twisted at the bottom of a darkened pit, not yours. Telepath, remember? After you all acquire your lightsabers, that will be the focus of our next training session. I may possess a gift for the art, but any Sith with sufficient training can dominate the mind of their opponent. Read it, control it, destroy it. Before we can continue, you all must be able to sufficiently defend yourself against the mental intrusions of your fellow Sith.”

 

The apprentices were in agreement with their master’s plan of action.

 

“Now, for your lightsabers, I can provide you the raw materials. Power cells. Lenses. Casings. Your responsibility will be acquisition of crystals. Fortunately, the Academy keeps a stock of such items. Unfortunately, they are kept remarkably expensive to keep them out the hands of lowly acolytes. Luckily, you all still possess the envelopes I presented to you yesterday, each with enough funds to purchase them.”

 

“Damn,” Lorrik muttered.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty One: Tools

 

Lorrik’s mind lapsed as Syrosk continued his speech. Words left his master’s lips and found purchase upon his own ears, but there was something preventing them from holding meaning. The Sith Lord offered brief, succinct directions for his students, detailing the process of requisitioning crystals from the Academy’s proper supply chain. The Human’s eyes were glazed over when the students were dismissed and the Lord made his way back toward the Academy. It took a firm shake of his arm to bring him back to the present. Wildly turning his head, Lorrik shifted to see his companion gazing upon him with an arched brow.

 

“I can guess what’s currently going through your mind at the moment,” Jresh admitted.

 

“That obvious?”

 

“Don’t need to be a telepath to see you’re in duress.”

 

“Duress is a… strong word.”

 

“For the predicament, I’d say it fits,” Jresh calmly stated. The pair watched the other students depart from the mountaintop without a fuss. “I’d say you’re alone in your lack of funds. Think we could get by with my allotment and some careful haggling?”

 

“I don’t know,” Lorrik admitted, his hand softly rubbing his brow. “Syrosk most likely gave us just enough credits to get our crystals.”

 

“Are you going to explain your situation to him?”

 

“He probably already knows. Hell, he probably knows about our entire conversation earlier today. The man is surprised by nothing.”

 

“He doesn’t come off as a man who knows his students plan on shaking the foundations of the Empire.”

 

“He doesn’t come off as anything,” Lorrik stated. “What you see is what you get, and all you see is a scowl and some horns.”

 

“What are you going to do?” Jresh asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Lorrik immediately replied. What followed was a heavy silence, broken only by the inquisitor’s heavy sigh as he scratched the back of his head. Just as he was about to turn and trudge his way back to the Academy, a spark appeared within Lorrik’s visage. “Go ahead and take care of your business. I’m going to make a… personal inquiry.”

 

“What are you planning?”

 

“You remember how Syrosk said not to interfere with Tash’s domain?”

 

“Quite.”

 

“Well…”

 

“Just one question. Are you going to need backup?”

 

“No. I got this.”

 

“Alright, then I’ll place my trust in you,” Jresh firmly stated. “Don’t die. Don’t do anything too disruptive.”

 

“What’s considered too disruptive?”

 

“Stomping about, making a mess of things.”

 

“Don’t worry. We inquisitors know how to utilize an indirect approach…”

 

----------

 

“So tell me about Darth Tash.”

 

The two brothers situated behind the requisitions counter within the lower halls looked up at the inquiring apprentice with pale faces. Paler than usual. The weapons master and quartermaster looked to each other without a shred of knowing how to proceed. Lorrik placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward with a confidence they had not seen before, not in him nor any of the usual acolytes that would grace their presence. That had witnessed bravado and stupidity, but not confidence. Especially in regard to their hidden master.

 

“Lorrik. It’s been a while. How goes the cooking?” the quartermaster spoke up, playing up a nonchalant demeanor.

 

“Honestly, the man knows about Darth Tash and your mind is on food?” the weapons master asked, refusing to face the inquisitor directly.

 

“So what if he knows? He’s outside the realm of influence.”

 

“No one is outside the realm of influence. Darth Tash considers half the galaxy within the realm of influence.”

 

“And he stops by for a status report how often? He was only here last week because one of the instructors called him in.”

 

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Lorrik interrupted. “He was here? Last week?”

 

“What, you weren’t here to see him force your master to his knees?” the weapons master coldly stated.

 

“I was… in the wastes…” Lorrik muttered, trailing to the point of being inaudible.

 

“Lucky you. Had you been with him you likely would have been made an example of as well,” the quartermaster explained.

 

“Though now, it’s technically our duty to report your activities to him,” the weapons master offered with no sense of urgency. “But…”

 

“But…?” Lorrik asked.

 

“But… that would require an effort neither of us are willing to make,” the quartermaster finished.

 

“Not interested in earning his favor? Offering details about the apprentice of his hated rival?” Lorrik suggested.

 

“Does he hate Lord Syrosk?” the quartermaster asked, turning to his brother.

 

“To hate would be admitting to being affected. He's much too prideful for that,” the brother answered.

 

“Yeah… we lean more towards the ‘getting by utterly unnoticed’ course of action. Darth Tash’s attention isn’t widely regarded as a boon.”

 

“You obviously aren’t trying to earn his favor, so why participate in his schemes?” Lorrik asked.

 

The weapons master released a quick chuckle. “You don’t seem to understand the nature of choice in this Academy.”

 

“We’re here because… if we weren’t, we’d be dead,” the quartermaster added. "We came to Korriban as regular students. Prime Force-sensitive Humans from families in good standing. Unfortunately, our survival skills didn’t exactly match our credentials. We were on our last legs as acolytes. Our deaths were certain. Darth Tash offered us a chance. We oversee some of the particulars of his personal wing of the Academy, we get to live outside all the ‘kill or be killed’ nonsense.”

 

“We don’t owe him. There’s no sense of duty. We just know what needs to be done to survive.”

 

“What about freedom?” Lorrik asked.

 

“What about it? It’s a fabrication. A lie. A cruel joke,” the weapons master declared. “I can show with my fingers the number of people in the Empire who are truly free. The rest of us are just trying to get by. Playing along with the schemes of deluded Sith.”

 

Lorrik leaned in close, speaking with a sly whisper. “How would you feel… about playing along with another?”

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

“Just another scheme from one… little… deluded… Sith,” Lorrik calmly stated.

 

The inquisitor cracked a smile to the confusion of the two brothers. The pair shared moment of silent contemplation with each other before turning back to the apprentice.

 

“Explain…” the quartermaster softly directed.

 

“I’ve encountered a roadblock in my training with Lord Syrosk. He’s instructed us to acquire crystals for the construction of our lightsabers. We were supposed to use credits he provided to purchase said crystals from the Academy’s ‘true’ supply chain.”

 

“And the problem is?” the weapons master asked.

 

“I am no longer in possession of my allotted credits.”

 

“What happened?” the quartermaster asked. “Get mugged? Waste it on cooking supplies? Discover the cantina?”

 

“There’s a cantina… in the Academy?” Lorrik muttered before shaking his head. “No… no. I spent them smuggling a student off world, giving an acolyte a new life, outside all the ‘kill or be killed’ nonsense.”

 

The brothers shared yet another look.

 

“So. You’re in need of some free crystals. That might be out of our reach,” the quartermaster admitted.

 

“Am I right in assuming Darth Tash wasn’t behind that saber pike you had me fetch some time ago? And I know you have greater reach than one would assume, given that you provided me foodstuffs after I left Tash’s domain. How hard could crystals for one measly lightsaber be to acquire?” Lorrik casually suggested.

 

“Of all the things our superiors would take notice of, a missing crystal ranks pretty high,” the quartermaster explained. "We’ve been scrounging together parts as a pastime, over months. Years! If we could help you in any other way…”

 

“We can help you,” the weapons master bluntly stated.

 

Lorrik brightened up. “You can?”

 

“We can?” the quartermaster muttered as his brother offered a stern glare. “Oh… right. I had almost forgotten about that.”

 

“Care to explain?” Lorrik asked, completely lost in the brothers’ musings.

 

“We have been sitting on… something… for some time. Something that might serve your needs,” the quartermaster explained.

 

“Your delivery doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“You’ve never been a big fan of tradition, have you?”

 

----------

 

Kneeling upon the meditation mat within his suite, Jresh gaze upon the finely cut crystal he had purchased from the proper supply channels. The bright crimson gem caught the light, seized it, refused to let it go. Grasping it within his ungloved hand, the crystal looked right at home amongst the Pureblood’s reddened skin. The warrior looked upon the item’s inherent magnificence, eager to see what would become of it.

 

A knock on the door interrupted his fascination. Raising himself from the mat, Jresh approached the suite’s entrance. Clutching the crystal firmly within his hand, he refused to allow it to slip from his grasp. With his free hand, he opened the door, revealing the return of his companion.

 

There were no words. Only the wide open smile stretched across the Human’s face. Within his hands, Lorrik loftily held a pristine blue crystal.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty Two: Bonds

 

Jresh eyed the blue crystal within his partner’s hands. “A curious choice, I must admit.”

 

“And I must admit that it wasn’t much of a choice,” Lorrik replied. “It’s all the quartermaster had.”

 

“The quartermaster? From our previous encounters? Did he give it to you… or did you have to take it?”

 

“No, it was given freely. No need to worry about consequences or retaliations…”

 

“I do hope you are not speaking generally.”

 

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. “No need to worry about that either. I took a calculated risk, openly confronting those whom are under Darth Tash’s employ, but it paid off. I have what I need to continue my training proper, and I may have secured some valuable allies.”

 

“More promises of home cooked meals?”

 

“You make it sound as if that’s all I’m capable of offering.”

 

“I’m merely weighing past interactions, I know your proper skills lie beyond the culinary. In our unique positions, there’s very little we can actually offer these people beyond the use of our hands. No credits. No assets. No place in society…”

 

“All of which can be earned. In time, of course.”

 

“Of that I’m certain, we must simply be aware of our restrictions going forward, lest we miss any opportunities to shed them.”

 

“That’s the kind of tempered determination I’ve come to expect from you.”

 

“Someone needs to keep you in line.”

 

“Whatever, Sith’ari,” Lorrik teased. Venturing deeper into the suite, the inquisitor peered into his opened bedroom, witnessing a scene of rife with past rifling.

 

“You should know I went into your room this morning… when I realized you weren’t here," Jresh admitted.

 

“Did you think I was hiding in the drawers?” Lorrik joked, eyes fixed on the ransacked night table.

 

“I also found your journal,” Jresh spoke up.

 

Lorrik took only the slightest of pauses. “Listen to any of it?”

 

“The first few entries. I was… in a peculiar state of mind when I thought you had left for good,” Jresh admitted. “I was distraught. I wanted some modicum of insight into where you had gone, what you were thinking.”

 

“As long as we’re being honest, I would have liked to have known what I was thinking this morning as well. I’d like to say I never intended to leave, but I don’t know what I would have done had I not come across that other student.”

 

“Well, like you said, remember the past, but don’t dwell on it.”

 

“Right, if there was ever a time to keep our wits about us, it’d be now.”

 

“Really? Not when we were walking across the blasted wasteland or face to face with a terentatek?”

 

“And if there was ever a sign that things had returned to normal, it’d be you calling me out on all the stupid things I say.”

 

“Now, now, there aren’t enough hours in the day to call you out on all the stupid things you say,” Jresh offered with the slight upturn of his lips.

 

The inquisitor let out a soft chuckle. “Hi. I’m sorry, have you seen a Pureblood by the name of Jresh? Big. Red. Stoic. Likes leaning against walls with his arms crossed. Befuddled by the concept of humor. I heard he was around here somewhere?”

 

“Given what we’re expected to go up against, I doubt there will be any shortage of seriousness in the days ahead. You’ll have to forgive me if I try and keep things lighthearted within our residence.”

 

“This is it then. The moment everything changes.”

 

“Lorrik, I do believe we are well past that point. Change is in our nature. Each day at this Academy will prove to distinguish itself from the preceding one. We’ve faced some harsh trials recently. Harsh revelations. And moving forward, I expect we’ll face even more. Some will be easier… some will be much, much more difficult.”

 

“But we’ll face them together… right?”

 

“Of course we will.”

 

“Then I look forward to it,” Lorrik declared. “What do you suppose our next trial will be?”

 

“Can’t say for certain. Though most likely yours will be facing the ridicule of the other students for possessing a blue lightsaber crystal.”

 

“You don’t think they’ll give me much grief over it do you?” Lorrik asked, his face scrunched in a seemingly genuine concern.

 

“A Sith… with a blue lightsaber…”

 

“Hey, our roots belong to the Dark Jedi who left their order. If anything, I’m a hyper-traditionalist.”

 

“An anti-slavery, anti-discriminatory, anti-Sith Sith traditionalist. It’s as if you’re trying to offend the people you surround yourself with.”

 

“Have I offended you?”

 

“Absolutely not. Just know that the boundary between harmless jibes and grievous offenses is relatively thin for most Sith.”

 

“It's almost as if you believe the denizens of this establishment are prone to overblown retaliations for any perceived slight. Outrageous. Not these fine, upstanding, murdering, subjugating, manipulating-”

 

“I have no problem with any new challenges that should come our way, just… like I said, someone needs to keep you in line.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not worried. I bet no one even notices anything tomorrow.”

 

----------

 

“I feel like everyone is looking at me,” Lorrik cautiously muttered through clenched teeth. The students had returned to their typical spot atop the mountaintop, each palming their acquired crystals within their hands. Eight apprentices situated in a familiar line across from their discerning master.

 

“To be fair, I don’t think they’re looking at you so much as your peculiar item,” Jresh replied.

 

Lorrik pursed his lips as he struggled not to turn and face his fellows directly. Instead he kept his gaze upon his master, who was most assuredly staring directly into his eyes. “He’s reading my mind. I just know it.”

 

“To be fair, he’s only a short distance away, he can probably just hear you.”

 

“Stop saying ‘to be fair’!” Lorrik harshly whispered, followed by a loud, drawn out clearing of the throat from the opposing Sith Lord. Immediately the inquisitor succumbed to silence as he softly bowed his head.

 

“Students,” Syrosk began. “I see that all of you were successful in completing your task. You’re all one step closer to possessing the proper weapon of a Force-user. It is, however, only one of many steps. And seven of you are ready to proceed to the next step.” Lorrik’s heart immediately sunk as the Sith Lord refused to break eye contact with him. “A lightsaber is merely one tool in the Sith’s arsenal. One just as potent, just as dangerous, is the Sith’s mind. Despite your flawed education of many years, it has served in bettering your martial skills. The same cannot be said for your mental aptitude. The acquisition process for your lightsabers will not be quick. You will design them. Construct them. Deconstruct them. Reconstruct them. Imbue them with the power of the Force. In the end, it will not be something you hold within your hand, it will be an extension of that hand. You will forge a bond. One of many bonds crucial to your progress. Considering the fact that this will be a long and arduous process, there will be… gaps… in your training. Gaps I don’t intend to waste.”

 

Moving closer to his students, Lord Syrosk panned his gaze from one end of the line-up to the other and back again, pausing his cold eyes upon each individual for the longest instant before moving on. The apprentices remained rigid in their stances, eyes forward, and minds clear.

 

“The first step, in a series of steps separate from those regarding your lightsaber, will involve one on one training sessions, in which we will focus on training your minds,” Syrosk detailed. “Strengthening your resolve. Fortifying your defenses. Honing your capabilities. Securing your thoughts from prying individuals. Your minds will be trained just as your bodies were. They will be broken down, so that they can be rebuilt upon firmer foundations. And like your lightsabers, this building process will not be quick, and it will not be simple. When the body wants to overcome pain, it relies on the mind to trick it. When the mind wants to overcome pain, it has only itself to rely upon. This leads to delusions, misconceptions, and weakness. All of which must be overcome. Seven of you will spend the rest of the day researching designs for your lightsaber. One of you will accompany me to my chambers for training. Lorrik. That privilege falls to you.”

 

The Human’s heart sunk even lower than before. His eyes danced against the distant horizon as his vision began to blur. Indistinct vibrations pounded against his eardrums. Murmurs. Declarations. Instructions. Everything cleared when the inquisitor felt a firm hand upon his shoulder. The gloved hand of his partner felt heavy against his robe, but amongst the weighted burden there was relief.

 

“Good luck,” Jresh directly spoke into Lorrik’s ear before taking a step back toward the Academy. The Human saw the other seven apprentices had begun walking down the return path, leaving only himself and Lord Syrosk standing atop the mountain as the Korriban sun hovered over them.

 

“So, what’s the thought process behind this choice? Does it have to do with my crystal, or are we starting with the person with the most potential… the least potential…?”

 

“We’re starting with the mind I’d least appreciate the contents of which being uncovered by unscrupulous parties.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty Three: Layers

 

Two figures walked the halls of the Academy, side by side, master and apprentice. Lord Syrosk lead. Lorrik followed. The two Sith walked in silence, the other denizens of the establishment passing them by, casting the occasional glance. It was a strange feeling for the student. He wasn’t used to being alone with his master. The only previous one on one time was spent tucked away, where the Sith Lord might impart his knowledge in relative peace. During such times, however, the only topic up for discussion was in regards to lightsaber forms and martial tactics. There were only a limited number of ways that information could be imparted upon a student. The same could not be said of what was in store for Lorrik this day.

 

The inquisitor had grown used to being in the dark. Accepted it as a way of life. But there was always a pool of underlying knowledge to draw upon. Lorrik knew that with each new day, Lord Syrosk would find some fascinatingly unique way to test and train his students. But in the end there was simplicity. Do this. Don’t do this. Expect pain and hardship and the threat of death. Simple. And for all the mind games and spiritual tests, they were always physical trials to be passed.

 

Mental trials. Mental trials were complicated. Not because the inquisitor knew nothing of them. No, it was within the inquisitor’s purview to know all too much about them. And yet for all he knew, he was still in the dark. Matters of a Force-user’s mind dwell between the simply complicated and the complicatedly simple. There were knowns, unknowns, and far too many contradictions. He didn’t know exactly what he was getting into, but he knew to be cautious. This was something new, yet just as much the same as everything else he’d faced.

 

“I sense a hesitation brewing within you,” Syrosk rasped, eyes and legs continually focused on the path ahead. Lorrik remained quiet, intent on preventing any peculiar outbursts in the company of his master. “It is, however, the only thing I can sense at the moment. This is good. If I could readily peer into your deeper thoughts without effort, I would be distinctly troubled.”

 

The inquisitor took a deep breath. “Emotive states are the outermost and most easily accessed layer of the sense-able mind. Any sufficiently trained Force-user can sense what someone is feeling, even if they do not know what exactly they are thinking. This, of course, isn’t taking into account defenses, falsifications, and the seemingly emotionless Jedi.”

 

“I see your training as an inquisitor wasn’t for not,” Syrosk stated, not turning to face his apprentice. “Then you are familiar with the five layers?”

 

“The surface, housing emotions and abstract feelings. Next, deep thoughts and inner dialogue. Then comes past knowledge, memories. After that, the internal thought processes that shape future actions. And finally, direct control.”

 

“The first three pertain to knowledge. The last two pertain to actions. I have access to the first three, assuming the individual isn’t sufficiently trained in keeping out intruders.”

 

“What of the deeper layers?”

 

“You of course know of the Jedi Mind Trick and the somewhat more… sinister… variants employed by the Sith. Allows for the manipulation of the deepest layers for a brief amount of time. Long term control against powerful subjects is reserved for only the most powerful Force-users.”

 

“I was asking if you had access to those layers.”

 

“I possess a certain distaste for such hands-on manipulations.”

 

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

 

“No. It doesn’t.”

 

“What about Darth Tash? If you two are rivals, I suspect you’d have similar capabilities.”

 

“Yes and no. We didn’t share a master, but we followed similar doctrines and were in contact with each other some years ago. As a Human, he never possessed the inherent talent for telepathy I did. You could almost say it was because of me that he put so much effort into strengthening his mind. It remains one of the most well-guarded I’ve ever encountered. But all his efforts have been focused on fortification. When it comes to outward manipulation, it’s one of the few things he is incapable of. At least, when it concerns the Force. You know just how capable he is of manipulating the minds he surrounds himself with.”

 

“It makes sense. Use the Force to pry into someone’s mind, you risk being stopped, found out, or even beaten. Better to keep things analogue.”

 

“Appealing to emotion, ambition, pride, greed. Why force others to follow you when they’ll do it willingly? That’s what makes him so dangerous.”

 

“But it seems that for the moment, we’re outside the realm of his direct influence. And if he isn’t a capable telepath, why are focusing on defending against a tool he doesn’t possess?”

 

“I can account for Tash’s capabilities,” Syrosk admitted. “I cannot do the same for his agents. Of which there are many. None worth worrying about within the Academy staff, but moving forward, we cannot risk a compromise. Also… the most important thing to keep in mind… is to not focus on one thing so much that you become blind to all else. You think Tash is the only person who will ever want you dead? This is the Empire, boy. We are Sith. And I can tell you right now, you don’t want any third party learning what you’re… plans… for the future are.”

 

“You’ve obviously… taken a recent peak or two into my mind…”

 

“Quite. I appreciate the ambition without the bloodlust. Just know that people much more powerful than you have failed trying to do much less.”

 

Lorrik’s stance loosened up. “I like to think it keeps me grounded.”

 

“Humor can be an ally should you learn to properly utilize it. It promotes a steady state of mind, makes keeping your wits about you simpler. There are other methods to accomplish the same, but… it seems to come naturally to you. Understanding the intricacies of your mind is the first step to defending it.”

 

“You should know that an endorsement of my habits could lead to strained relations with the other students.”

 

“Then don’t tell them. And I’ll know if you do.”

 

The two had reached Lord Syrosk’s chambers within the Academy. Nestled deeper within and less exposed than the students’ arrangement, the locked door the two found themselves in front of was rather unassuming. As much reverence he had placed in his master, Lorrik had forgotten that Syrosk wasn’t exactly in a place of high regard within the Academy. When the Sith Lord opened the door, the interior didn’t depart much from its exterior design.

 

The initial chamber was barren. Of furniture, of additions of any sort. Merely a compact room composed entirely of gray surfaces. The metallic walls offered no recesses, no shadows from the dim light in the ceiling’s center, merely two doors leading to unknown extensions of the Sith’s dwelling.

 

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Lorrik joked.

 

“Sit down. There, in the center,” Syrosk directed, paying no attention to the Human’s jibe.

 

The inquisitor complied without another word. He slowly lowered himself upon the cold, smooth floor. He bent his knees in the traditional meditative stance and kept his attention focused ahead, awaiting further instruction. In the center of the small chamber, Lorrik waited patiently for his master to walk into view, but eventually found that he had no intention of doing so. He puzzled over the matter as the Sith Lord hid, lurked, in a place smaller than his own bedroom. Lorrik thought to turn his head, but steadied himself, keeping his eyes and mind utterly focused.

 

“Now, close your eyes,” Syrosk instructed.

 

Lorrik complied.

 

“Now, open your eyes.”

 

Lorrik complied once more. However, upon opening his eyes, Lorrik found himself not within the dark, compact chamber, but within a vast, unending, white void.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty Four: Minds

 

Emptiness. Nothingness. An enduring, unceasing blankness in all directions. Looking down, Lorrik cast no shadow, but stood on solid footing upon some perfect surface. Some immaculate material. Like something out of his dreams.

 

Lorrik looked around, seeing his master calming standing behind him. “Where are we?”

 

“Our bodies are still within my chambers,” Syrosk explained. “This is the realm of the mind.”

 

“Whose mind? Yours or mine?

 

“Good question.”

 

Lord Syrosk approached his apprentice, each step of his armored boots echoing, pounding against the inquisitor’s senses. In no time, the Sith Lord was directly in front of him, his vision blocked by the master’s chest plate.

 

“Should I-” Lorrik began before being interrupted by an armored fist being driven across his cheek, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

The apprentice stumbled upon the ground, arms struggling to lift himself from the perfectly smooth terrain. A cough followed. Then blood. Lorrik spit out a good pool of it, staining the white surface beneath him. His arms straightened, locked in place beneath his body as he stared at the red splotch.

 

Syrosk lowered himself, crouching next to the floored Human. “Why are you bleeding? Why are you in pain? This isn’t your actual body. This is all an illusion. A manifestation of the mind.”

 

The Sith Lord raised himself, then delivered a heavy kick to the apprentice’s gut, eliciting a sharp yelp from the inquisitor as he rolled away, cradling his abdomen. Writhing on the ground, his vision began to blur. Things went dark. His eyes closed. His ears began to pick up the signs of faint whispers. Murmurs. Opening his eyes, he saw a blurred figure standing over him. The image cleared. It wasn’t Syrosk. It was his partner.

 

“Jresh…”

 

The warrior extended a hand. The inquisitor accepted it. With a firm bond secured between companions, Lorrik raised himself as Jresh pulled him up. Just as the Human was about to regain his footing, the warrior offered a smile before offering his free hand in the form of a punch to the gut. His reflex was to bend forward, but was incapable as the Pureblood gripped the back of his head and pulled it back.

 

“You have no friends here!” Syrosk’s raspy voice emanated from Jresh’s mouth.

 

Lorrik grabbed and slapped at the arm tugging his hairs to no avail. Releasing his grip, the warrior shoved the inquisitor away with the flat of his boot. Lorrik shuffled off, taking disheveled steps with legs that threatened to collapse at any moment. He came to a halt. Steadied himself. Looked back to see Syrosk staring at him with his usual cold, eternal stare.

 

“Your mind has been compromised,” Syrosk explained. “You cannot trust your senses. Your memories. Your feelings. Until you are able to fight… until you are able to gain control of your mind… there is nothing but hardship. Nothing but pain. Your opponent will turn good thoughts into bad ones. Bad ones into worse ones. Pain of mind will translate to pain of body. You die here…”

 

Syrosk’s hand swung from his waist. From it extended the crimson blade of his lightsaber.

 

“I die for real…” Lorrik muttered, tired, exasperated.

 

“Precisely. And you’ve nothing to rely on but yourself.”

 

Without another word, Syrosk charged his apprentice. Lorrik panicked, reaching for a weapon of his own. There was none. His training saber hadn’t made the transition from his master’s chambers to his mindscape, no matter how much he wished it had. Lorrik had no means of defending himself, and the Sith Lord was already bearing down upon him.

 

A wide swing of the blade. Lorrik ducked. Another. Lorrik ducked again. With each subsequent swing, the treacherous beam of death inched closer and closer. The dexterity of inquisitor’s battered torso had reached its limits. The Human instead focused on running. His back toward his master, Lorrik began to run as fast as he could. Limbs flailing, lungs failing, the inquisitor didn’t know where he was going or how long he could keep it up. The vast whiteness that surrounded him didn’t alter with his movement. Checking his flank for the slightest of moments, Lorrik found himself without a pursuer. No one… nothing behind him.

 

When his eyes returned forward, they were blinded by the crimson light fast approaching his face. Sliding to the ground, Lorrik narrowly missed the attack of his materialized master. At the imposing figure’s feet, Lorrik looked up with fear, like a bug beneath his master’s crushing foot. Another swipe of the blade came down on him, carving an arc into the pristine ground as he rolled away. The inquisitor raised himself with haste, promptly returning to his retreat.

 

“You must take control!” Syrosk shouted at him. “You cannot take control by running away!”

 

Lorrik stopped dead in his tracks. He began to take in deep breaths. The expected pain in his expanding lungs never manifested. The taste of blood was gone from his mouth. His legs straightened. Then his torso. His stance was rigid. Adamant. Renewed. Slowly, he turned to face his master. The two figures stood, opposing one another. No words. No movements. Just two Sith. Two forces.

 

The Sith Lord stood with his saber at his side. Lorrik still possessed no weapon, but he exuded confidence. Syrosk charged at the inquisitor with one final maneuver. Raising his weapon high, the Sith Lord brought down the crimson blade with all his power. Lorrik didn’t step aside. Didn’t dodge. Instead, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he was greeted with a smiling master. Looking up, Lorrik saw his right hand raised above his head, gripping the blade of the ignited saber, impeding its path.

 

“A lightsaber is merely one tool in the Sith’s arsenal…” Syrosk began.

 

“One just as potent, is the Sith’s mind,” Lorrik finished. Relinquishing his grip, Lorrik pulled his two hands in tightly, before shoving them forward, releasing a tremendous Force wave, sending his master flying backward. Just as he was about to land, however, Lorrik puzzled as Syrosk instead disappeared entirely without a trace. Desperately looking around, the inquisitor saw that he was completely alone. Surrounded by the vast nothingness alongside no one else. “Did I do it? Did I win?”

 

“You tell us.”

 

A voice. A familiar voice. A much too familiar voice. Lorrik shot around to see two figures standing side by side. One garbed in white robes, the other in black, their faces concealed by raised hoods. The figures raised their heads and locked eyes with the inquisitor. Lorrik was starting himself in the eyes. Twice over.

 

“Who are you?” Lorrik asked.

 

“We are you,” said the figures in unison.

 

“There are infinite paths open to you,” said the white.

 

“And yet there are only two,” said the black.

 

“The path of light.”

 

“And the path of darkness.”

 

“Though the paths may cross and intercede.”

 

“They are wholly separate… and incompatible.”

 

“The light burns the darkness.”

 

“The darkness consumes the light.”

 

“Two forces, locked in eternal conflict.”

 

“If you welcome both, you will be destroyed.”

 

“You must choose.”

 

“You must choose.”

 

“Submit to the light.”

 

“Give in to the darkness.”

 

“There is no good.”

 

“No evil.”

 

“Only the Force,” the two said in unison. “We offer you the choice.”

 

“Serve the Force. Serve the light.”

 

“Serve the Force. Serve the darkness.”

 

Lorrik’s gaze darted between the two figures, staring them down with a harsh glare. “I am Sith. I do not serve the Force… the Force serves me!”

 

“That is not an option,” the two declared. The two figures reached for their belts in unison, each unhooking a lightsaber. Light brandished a blue blade. Darkness a red one. “You must choose whom you serve.”

 

“Whom I serve? You two obviously aren’t me,” Lorrik muttered, closing his eyes. With a deep breath Lorrik reached for his waist. Something new was there. Something metallic. Something personal. In one deft motion, Lorrik whipped the object from his belt and with a flick of his wrist the sound of a lightsaber igniting resonated in his ears. Opening his eyes, the sharp glow of the purple blade extended from his hand, bringing with it a continuous hum. “If you knew anything about me… you’d know don't have a high opinion of servitude.”

 

Black made the first move. A quick thrust of the saber, intending to pierce Lorrik’s heart. Deflected. White followed. A whirling strike, more flashy than effective. He locked sabers with the inquisitor as Black regained his footing. Electricity began to arc between the dark one’s fingertips. He held his hand close before jutting out his clawed digits, a torrent of electric energy surging toward Lorrik. Shoving White back, the inquisitor intercepted the lightning with the tip of his saber. With a forceful push of his free hand, Lorrik sent the dark one backward, breaking the energetic chain. White was back, lashing out with a serene flurry of blows. The crashing sounds of saber on saber contact resonated throughout the void. Black recovered, and returned to the fray with a leaping charge.

 

The three figures combated, two against one. White striking with smooth, wide arcs and showy acrobatics. Black striking with quick, lethal jabs and furious movements. Lorrik countering every move with haste and utmost skill. Calm and collected. Fierce and determined. Attacking. Defending. In total control. With no progress being made, the two attackers backed off. The three had returned to simply staring at one another. The two figures disengaged, sheathing their lightsabers. Lorrik did the same. The duo wasn’t finished, however. They each extended their right hands, and Lorrik felt an invisible Force weighing down on him, growing more powerful with each passing second.

 

It was too much. The combined efforts of the beings of light and darkness had overcome the inquisitor’s defenses. A great weight beat down on his shoulders and eventually covered his entire body. His feet were firmly planted, but the Human’s stance could remain adamant no longer. Slowly, he began to bend. Began to crumble under the pressure. Lower, and lower his head fell. His legs began to bend, until finally he was forced to his knees.

 

Lorrik’s hands clenched into fists, then they violently snapped open. Thrusting his arms forward, his clawed hands reached out toward the two figures. Slowly, the beings of light and darkness found it harder to focus their energies upon Lorrik. Their outstretched hands rescinded, turning their attention instead to their own throats. Tugging at the collars of their robes, the two figures made gasping and choking motions. Lorrik rose from his knees, and the duo rose with him, their feet leaving the ground as they clutched at their necks. The inquisitor offered one final look into each of their eyes before he clenched his hands and sent the two figures crashing into the ground. Lorrik watched as the beings of light and darkness dissolved, leaving only their empty robes behind.

 

The inquisitor turned his head when the felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. It was the armored glove of Lord Syrosk. “That… is how you take control.”

 

“Is that it?” Lorrik asked, catching his breath. “Our training over for the day?”

 

Syrosk let out one of his usual chortles. “Oh my, no. We’ve only been here roughly twenty seconds. In real world time anyway. We’re not leaving until we’ve had a full day’s training.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Twenty Five: Achievements

 

The day was coming to an end. Jresh sat alone in the suite, until a firm series of knocks on the door broke his meditation. The Pureblood was quick to rise and answer the call. As the door rescinded, the warrior was greeted with the imposing sight of his master standing directly in front of him. More harrowing was the robed figure he had draped over his shoulder. It was Lorrik.

 

Without a word, Lord Syrosk unslung the unconscious apprentice and tossed him into the arms of his companion. Jresh deftly caught the inquisitor, and gently laid his limp body down a short distance into the suite. Looking up, the Pureblood found the cold stare of his master beating down upon him.

 

“Get some rest. You’ll face the same tomorrow,” Syrosk informed and retreated from view.

 

Jresh focused the entirety of his attention on his fallen partner. “Lorrik! Lorrik are you okay?”

 

A soft voice rung out within his head. “Never been better.” It was Lorrik’s. Jresh watched a smile crept onto the inquisitor’s face, and matched it with one of his own.

 

----------

 

The process continued with each new day. An apprentice would enter their master’s chambers whilst the rest waited and planned for the future. Each day, a student would submit themselves to Syrosk’s mental training, and each day a new student would emerge taking their place. Increased strength. Increased willpower. A new outlook. Each would face their master. Face themselves. Face their past, their future.

 

The initial round of training was complete, and the apprentices had begun construction of a potent tool in their arsenals. One that would not be alone. In the following months, the students would come to possess their own personal lightsabers. Proper implementation came with proper planning. The students weren’t allowed to touch any more materials until they had presented their master a proper set of plans. Length, width, style. Power cells, handgrips, adjustors. Everything accounted for in their construction.

 

Each apprentice forged a weapon as much an individual as they were. Unique in their function and makeup. The result of one’s pouring their heart and soul into their craftsmanship. Each lightsaber a manifestation of its wielders physical and mental capabilities. Each a symbol of their personality. A weapon as stern as its master. As stylish. As smooth. As brutal.

 

Training was kicking into high gear. With each new trial, Lord Syrosk pushed the limits of his students even further, edging them closer to exhaustion and death than the day before. And through their pain and anguish, the apprentices connected with their partners. Bonded. Shared knowledge and secrets. Pushed each other forward. Picked each other up when they faltered.

 

For months, they trained. For months, they endured. For months, they thrived.

 

Gone were the eight students, lost amongst the Academy workings. Nameless. Faceless.

 

Now, they had advanced to a state worthy of their hardships.

 

No more uniforms. No more hiding. No more fear.

 

They had achieved control. They had achieved freedom. They had achieved ascension.

 

 

 

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

SQUEE

 

 

Ready whenever the words pour forth from your keyboard.

these stories of yours are awesome and i just got to the point in the seven where it mentions this story and i was like no way!!!!!!!! i absolutely love ascension i cant wait to see what you have in store

SQUEE

 

 

Ready whenever the words pour forth from your keyboard.

 

Always happy to see you're still enjoying things. Although there may be less opportunity for 'squee's in Act III... things might get a little dark. Maybe that'll be offset by a look into the protagonists' childhoods. Then again, these people don't exactly have the fondest of memories from their youths.

 

these stories of yours are awesome and i just got to the point in the seven where it mentions this story and i was like no way!!!!!!!! i absolutely love ascension i cant wait to see what you have in store

 

Thank you very much for the added motivation to keep going. Aye, Lorrik and Jresh are doing something on Tatooine a year after this particularly story is supposed to conclude, which was something I was hesitant to write just for the sake of a cameo. So we know at least they survive for the time being. But I like to think it isn't the threat of characters dying that makes a story interesting, it's the threat of characters having to continue living.

 

 

 

In other news, I've had a change of heart regarding the "Intermission". It'll now be "Act 0". What was planned to be roughly two chapters may now be closer to ten. Lorrik and Jresh shouldn't have all the spotlight. If you were wondering how Nesk came to be a student in one of Tash's classrooms, its involves one tough Wookiee.

Edited October 27, 2013 by Osetto

put as much back story into this as you want i dont think any of us would complain im very interested to read what their stories would be

Act 0: Memories

 

Chapter One: Digs (Part One)

 

Don’t think. Just run.

 

The sun beat down on a vacant stretch of land. Flat. Sparse vegetation. Whatever life thrived here had long since moved on. Emerging from the flatlands, an imposing mountain range. And carved into the face of that mountain, a tunnel, not intended to reach the other side, but to traverse the depths below. The mouth of the man-made cave was wide and tall, granting passage not only to the denizens of the planet, but their wide assortment of tools. Resting mechanical excavators sat outside the mouth of the dig site as the indentured workforce toiled in the darkness below.

 

From the mouth emerged a figure. A child. Body in full motion, sprinting from the cave toward some intended location. Body and mind focused solely on one goal. Movement. Tucked beneath his arms, some round object wrapped in cloth. Arm waving, feet kicking up dust with each hasty step, the boy had his eyes set upon a lone building in the distance. As he continued to run, there was no one else behind him, but as he neared his target more and more people began to manifest.

 

Sprouting from the land of desolation, a lone monument to wealth and splendor rose and spread itself out for all to see. At its feet, a steady arrangement of armed guards surrounded it. Seeing the approaching boy, they raised their heads, but not their weapons. They were expecting him. Two men guarded the entrance to the palatial estate, each holding their hands out to halt the child. The boy was hunched over, panting, but kept the wrapped item raised, fully aware of its value. The two guardsmen shared a look before focusing on the package.

 

One of the guards reached out to take the item, but the boy quickly rescinded it, keeping it tucked close to his chest. The child would only part with it once it was in the hands of its intended recipient. The enforcers shared another look before hesitantly granting the boy entrance to the manor. The child walked with two armed escorts deeper into the halls of the luxurious palace. Utterly well kept, sculptures and artwork lined the walls on either side of the passing group. With each branch, each door, each new chamber, a guard was stationed, ever alert to any threats that might pass their way.

 

The boy kept his head down, knowing the honor of being granted access to the lord’s home, but also knowing the danger of overstaying his welcome. Reaching his intended destination, the boy marveled at the robust chamber he now stood at the precipice of. Rounded walls. High ceiling. A cruel joke of a facsimile to the caves in his mind. Standing within, eager, was Olto Yerrig. Human. Businessman. Slave Master.

 

The man’s chamber took a stern departure from the wanton halls before it, for it was a room of purpose. In the place of artwork were charts and maps. Geological surveys, market reports. A series of databanks and terminals were situated awkwardly against the rounded walls. Yerrig immediately took note of the boy entering his premises, and beckoned him with a flurried wave of his hand. The boy rushed forward, basking in the shadow of his master’s presence, the top of his head barely making it above the figure’s waist. The child dutifully presented his master the item he had so dearly held onto before. Yerrig unwrapped the object and his eyes lit up. Held ever so loftily in the child’s hands was a chunk of rock, embedded within were tiny golden crystals that shimmered in the room’s light.

 

Yerrig took the mineral from the boy, who took a step back, kept his arms by his side and his head bowed. “What is your name, boy?”

 

“L-Lorrik,” the child answered, keeping his eyes upon the floor.

 

“Right… Velash’s child. The Runner.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Yerrig held the chunk of mineral between himself and the ceiling, turning it over and over within his hand, admiring it with absolute pride. “Run along, boy. You and your family don’t have to work for the next three days.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you, sir,” Lorrik offered alongside the repeated bows of his head. Yerrig shooed the boy away and he was escorted from the estate, leaving the man alone with his prize.

 

There were movements throughout the mining operation as the hours passed. Yerrig began moving and allocating his resources, checking and double checking the preparatory facets of the operation’s next stage. The mine was shut down for the day, and its workers left the caves only to see Yerrig’s men lining the entrance in greater force than usual. Each worker was stopped before they could return to the tenements, checked for any unsanctioned holdings. Yerrig would not abide by any of his possessions stealing any of his other possessions.

 

The day turned to night. Lorrik and his parents returning to their housing, a single room meant for two, packed in alongside hundreds more just like it. Table. Two chairs. Bunk bed. Simple. Sparse. Cheap.

 

The two Human adults, two ordinary plain folk, sat at the table, eating their allotted rations for the evening. Lorrik meanwhile had taken his place atop a layer of blankets placed upon the floor beneath his parents’ bed. Dark. Secluded. His sanctuary. He slowly munched on his rations, face lit by a compact generator hooked up to an electronic candle. The boy’s full interest lied not with his food, but in the book he was pouring over by candlelight. Contraband, but the kid knew how to keep it hidden.

 

“It seems Yerrig finally found was he was looking for,” the father whispered.

 

“You know what this means…” the mother whispered back, trying to hide her growing concern.

 

“Yeah… yeah, I know.”

 

“If he knows there’s something valuable down there, he’s going to push us even harder.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Lorrik’s birthday is coming up soon. He’ll be old enough to work in the mines.”

 

“I know. But no one else needs to. He still looks young. Maybe… maybe Yerrig will let him stay a runner,” the father reasoned. The mother took a hold of her husband’s hand. The two locked eyes, sharing a look that confirmed that both of them knew their son would be working alongside them soon. “We have a few days of rest. We shouldn’t waste them.”

 

“But we can’t just pretend like everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“I know that. But we need to be strong. For his sake. Together, we can make it through. We can survive.” The two shared a loving look before casting a sideward glance to their son, mind still locked in the pages of his book.

 

Lorrik knew better than to intrude on his parents conversations. As cramped as the domicile was, there were no secrets within, as much as they may have wanted to believe there were. Lorrik heard every word spoken by his mother and father. That night and each night before it. He knew what awaited him. He knew that it was he who would have to be strong. He didn’t desire to be a burden. He wanted to be able to lend his strength to his family.

 

The child held his prized book firmly within his hands. The thing was a peculiar piece. A bound volume, information printed upon thin durasheets, rather than stored within some datapad. Vulnerable to moisture, Lorrik took every precaution in handling it, lest its contents be ruined. Turning the page, he read on with fascination.

 

In bold letters, the top of the page read, ‘Chapter Three: Naga Sadow’.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Two: Digs (Part Two)

 

Darkness overtakes the light.

 

The Velash family traversed deeper into Yerrig’s mine, accompanied by an assortment of fellow indentured laborers of various species. Mother and father walked shoulder to shoulder, their son directly in front of them. An armed escort led the line and closed off their tail. Black clad, faces like shadows, eyes like demons.

 

The lights lining the sides of the caves led the workforce deeper into the unnatural caverns. The lower they descended, the less ‘clean’ the shaping of the tunnel. They eventually turned down toward an expeditionary dig sit, where the only goal was to dig deeper, regardless of access or stability. The walls crept in on the inhabitants, threatening to crush, to suffocate. But deeper they went.

 

The group eventually made it to their designated dig site. They unpacked their tools under the watchful eyes of Yerrig’s enforcers. Compact, handheld mining lasers. Useful for cutting along natural faults, not as useful for armed revolutions. Yerrig was utterly invested in a long term operation, with as few bumps as possible.

 

The line dispersed as the workers took their places amongst the wall. The Velash family worked side by side, ready to cut into the softly glistening rock. The cutting laser was heavy in Lorrik’s hand, but the comforting hand of his father placed upon his shoulder offered him the strength to continue.

 

“Start low. Work your way up. You can rest the base on your knee,” the father whispered, calm and methodical. “Make as few trips to the cart as possible. Gauge what you can carry. Don’t overstrain your arms or your legs. Keep your balance. Understand?” The boy offered an affirming nod.

 

Work progressed without incident. Chunks of minerals were excised from the cavern walls and carted back to the surface. Everyone did their work, and they would retreat at the end of the day. But the work proved too much for one. Lorrik wasn’t used to working in the sparsely oxygenated environment, he was only ever forced to run between the top levels and the exterior of the dig site. His lungs were failing. His eyes stung from the mining laser’s harsh beam. His body grew weaker. Eventually, the boy went numb, his tool leaving his hand and impacting against the rocky floor, shattering the item’s casing.

 

Everyone around him took notice. The father attempted to rile the boy back to his feet, to no avail. One of the enforcers was approaching. The mother took over caring for the boy, as the father left his station to impede the guard.

 

“Get back to work,” the guard commanded of the father.

 

“In a moment, we just have to help our son.”

 

“We’ll deal with him. Return to your station!”

 

The father placed a gentle hand on the guard. “Please. He’s just a boy. If you hurt him, he won’t be able to work at all.”

 

The guard shoved the father back against the wall. “Don’t interfere!”

 

“Leave my son alone!” the father shouted, delivering a furious punch to the enforcer’s jaw. The guard reeled and stumbled a few steps back. The father found two rifles trained on him, and soon a third when the guard he struck recovered. He raised his hands in the air, surrendering himself. With all of Yerrig’s men focused on him, they had forgotten all about the collapsed child in the arms of his mother. Just what the father wanted.

 

With all the attention placed on the father, no one noticed one of the other slaves holding a large chunk of rock in his hands. Not what the father wanted.

 

One of the two guards at the site’s entrance found the back of his skull caved in by a stone wielding Evocii. The standing enforcer fired a shot from his blaster rifle, dropping the rebellious slave. More of the workers stepped from their stations, the two remaining guards ordering them to halt. The father returned to his family, crouching, shielding his child.

 

Lorrik slowly came out of his stupor, blinking erratically, seeing and hearing the signs of struggle unfolding at the dig site. One of the workers was wrestling with the entrance guard. The two both had their hands on the weapon between them. A bolt rang out, impacting against the cavern walls. Another rang out. Then another. Then a howl of pain rang in Lorrik’s ear. His mother was clutching at her arm, blood pouring down it.

 

“No! Nononono!” the father rambled, looking at his wife’s wound. Lorrik was lightheaded. Everything around him was moving too fast. Then, too slow. Sight was replaced with a blur. Sound was replaced with a muddled hum. Until it was interrupted by a loud bang. Another bolt rang out from the guard’s weapon, hitting a piece of larger mining equipment against the wall. The fuel source ignited. The machine exploded, knocking the inhabitants of the dig site to the ground. The ones who survived the blast, at least.

 

Lorrik emerged from his father’s embrace to see the dig site had stilled. Bodies populated the ground, unmoving. The silence, and the stillness, was cut short when the foundations beneath him began to shake. The explosion had upset the dig site’s stability. Lorrik found himself being dragged to his feet by his father, a stream of blood pouring over his right eye. The father then turned his attention to the mother, carefully lifting her by her good arm.

 

The three were alone in a collapsing corridor deep below ground. The father had lost an eye. The mother had lost an arm. The son was losing everything. The three moved out of their dig area with a careful haste as the walls and ceilings began to lose their structural integrity. The father knew that they would eventually reach the main tunnel connecting the entire operation, where there would be plenty of guards and plenty of questions. The family edged their way forward, uplifting one another along the way.

 

Stones began to fall from the ceiling behind them. Their pace was insufficient, more and more of the path behind them succumbing to the falling debris. The child stumbled, sending the entire family to the ground. Unable to rise, the parents instead spent their last moments embracing their child as the world crumbled around them. As the rocks above them loosened, the family bowed their heads and said their last goodbyes to one another before the final stone fell.

 

Lorrik was tucked beneath his parents. He knew they intended to shield him, his body and his eyes, so that he didn’t have to witness what was to come. But there was a crack in the shadows. A glimpse upward. A view of a boulder, hovering just above his family. Lorrik’s parents were confused, rather than relieved, when they found that death had not come. Breaking their embrace to look up, they were astounded to see the rock that had threatened to crush them was hovering of its own accord above their heads. Snatching their child by the arm, they moved out from under the stone just as it continued its resounding fall to where they once huddled.

 

The caves had ceased their tremors. An eerie silence permeated the corridor as the Velash family looked upon the stone riddled path they had just escaped. They had survived, but only just, and by seemingly miraculous means. Before they could ponder their position any further, Lorrik passed out in his parents’ arms.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Three: Digs (Part Three)

 

“Can anyone explain to me… just what the hell is going on?”

 

Yerrig’s words stung the ears of every enforcer wearing a comm, the majority of which had gathered at the mouth of the excavation site. The mountain had quieted, but the workforce had not. Panicked slaves rushed from the opening into the sights of the armed guards. Their weapons raised alongside their extended palms, the escaping individuals had no choice but to stop.

 

The sparks of revolution died in Sector Dorn along with the majority of its inhabitants, but the explosive shock affected the other sectors, shaking their foundations and crumbling their supports. No one was sure of the cause, only that to remain underground meant death. The enforcers eagerly eyed the entrance to the mines, pouring over every detail of every individual that passed into their sights. When two battered and bleeding adults emerged alongside their child, the guards believed they could get some answers.

 

And enforcer cast his helmed gaze upon the Velash family. “You three!”

 

“Please, you have to help them,” the father begged.

 

“Not until we get some answers. Yerrig’s orders.”

 

“They are in no condition to answer questions!” the father declared through gritted teeth. “We are the last survivors of Sector Dorn. If want information, you get them some damned help!”

 

The guard gave in to the father’s demand, leading them away from the bedlam to a place of care. A feeling of relief washed over the father, even if he began to see the world around him blur. His feet ached against the stern ground, but he’d not falter before he knew his family was out of harm’s way. But he knew the threat of harm still loomed over them all, so long as Yerrig had questions.

 

----------

 

Lorrik’s eyes opened, the unnatural light of the iridescent ceiling lights beaming down upon him. The flat of his back rested uncomfortably against a medical bed inside an unfamiliar room. Regaining his senses, the boy looked to his right to see his mother resting, a bandage encircling her left arm. He looked to his left to see only an empty bed. Hushed murmurs emanated from the hall outside. A frosted window made up the majority of the wall lying beyond the child’s feet. Lorrik counted four figures. As the child struggled to sit up, one of the figures was being escorted away by the other three. In no time, no one remained. Only his mother and himself, and the silence.

 

----------

 

Lorrik’s father sat in a darkened room, beset by armed guards behind his uncomfortable chair. He had been waiting, basking in silence and shadows. Stewing in them. Bandages wrapped his cranium, covering his right eye. With his left, the father saw his silhouette planted upon the wall when the door behind him crept open with a shrill squeak. Slow, measured footsteps impacted against the hard floor one by one until a man stood directly in front of the father’s gaze. It was Yerrig.

 

“I want to know… EXACTLY… what happened in the mines today.”

 

The father kept his good eye straightened, “Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We followed the line. We worked on the line. Everything was going fine, until…”

 

“Until?”

 

“Until I dropped my mining tool,” the father explained. “It struck the ground, shattered its casing. The ordeal caught the guards’ attention. One of the others took advantage. Took a chunk of rock. Assaulted a guard. Others joined in. I just wanted to protect my family.”

 

“One of my men is assaulted with a rock… OF COURSE! That explains why there were reports of cave ins in three different sectors! You’re not giving be anything here Velash!”

 

“One of the men attacking the guards, tried to take his blaster, they fought over it, blindly fired around them, accidentally struck a power cell, it must have been placed near a fault, thing explodes, caves start shaking, rocks start falling, my family barely makes it out alive. There! That’s all I know!”

 

“How do I know you and your family didn’t have anything to do with this little… uprising in Sector Dorn…”

 

“We were just transferred to the line! It was our son’s first day, we wouldn’t do anything to risk-”

 

“Exactly. Father, wants to see his son protected. Colludes with fellow slaves to stage a rebellion. Isn’t that right?”

 

“I would never-”

 

The father reeled as Yerrig’s back hand struck his cheek. “Do NOT lie to me.” Yerrig placed a hand to his ear. “Everyone. Search the homes of every worker assigned to Sector Dorn. Now!” Yerrig returned to the father, gripping the arms of his chair, staring the man directly in the eye. “I will find out if there’s more to this than you are saying. I will find out if-”

 

Yerrig stopped. There was a chatter in his ear. “Sir, there’s an unscheduled vessel landing outside.”

 

“Outside? What do you mean?”

 

----------

 

Yerrig stormed from his domicile into the company of his league of enforcers, who had their weapons trained on the starship that had inconveniently landed in his courtyard. Large and imposing. Black and gray. A Fury-class interceptor.

 

The entrance ramp lowered, and a lone figure began his casual descent. A Human in a vibrant red coat over a suit of battle armor. The young adult possessed a pristine image in both garb and face, fair skin unburdened by toil, short blond hair unburned by the passing breeze.

 

A pair of Yerrig's enforcers surged forward, intent on impeding the intruder’s advance. The man in the red coat slipped between them, politely pushing them aside with his hands, caring little for their threats, or their weapons. The intruder calmly pressed forward, spotting Olto Yerrig amongst his entourage.

 

“I presume you to be in charge of this operation,” the advancing figure stated. He was utterly smooth and polite. Soft yet utterly dominating in his tone and presence.

 

“I don’t know who you are, but-” Yerrig spoke up.

 

“Oh, you know exactly who I am. The more prudent question would be, why am I here? Well, I am here representing a very powerful man. A man interested in peacefully acquiring one of your assets.”

 

“A Sith. You must be interested in my crystals.”

 

The red-coated Human let out a soft chuckle. “Whatever it is you’re digging for, it serves us no purpose. What you seek is deemed valuable in measures of pithy factors, not true merit. No, my master is interested in something else. Someone else.”

 

“We’re in the middle of something here. I’ll kindly ask you to leave, before my men are forced to do something most unkind,” Yerrig threatened. A smile refused to leave the Sith’s face.

 

“Tell me about the incident, earlier today.”

 

“I never mentioned any incident.”

 

“No. No you didn’t. I’d like to meet with the survivors.”

 

“If you think you can just-” Yerrig mumbled before the Sith planting his firm hand upon his shoulder. The entourage immediately reacted, raising and aiming their weapons at the Sith.

 

The red-coated figure tightened his grip. “If you want to keep your loses for today confined to your workforce,” the Sith whispered, “I’d suggest you take me to the survivors.”

 

Yerrig hesitantly waved for his men to lower their weapons.

 

----------

 

The father saw his outline planted upon the wall once more when the door behind him crept open with a shrill squeak. Slow, measured footsteps impacted against the hard floor one by one until a man stood directly in front of the father’s gaze. It was someone unfamiliar. A lithe, vibrantly garbed Human knelt down in front of him, locked his gaze with his own.

 

“I'd like to know more about your son.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Four: Digs (Part Four)

 

“My name is Vai Thorel. I represent Lord Tash, a very powerful figure in the Sith Empire. I’m not sure what a man in your position knows of galactic affairs…”

 

“I know who you people are,” the father softly admitted.

 

“That is good. Then we can jump right into why I am here. We have reason to believe, that there is a child here of remarkable talents. A child who is gifted, in the ways of the Force. Your child.”

 

The father’s eye shifted. “It’s only been a couple of hours, how could you possibly…”

 

“My master and his associates are gifted with certain… insights… into events of great importance. Premonitions,” Thorel explained, “that led us here. We saw a child. Beset by chaos, danger, and death. And resting within, was the power to stop it. You and your family were the only survivors of a catastrophic event. And not by chance. Your son saved you, didn’t he?”

 

The father’s eye shifted once more. “I can’t explain what happened. We were trying to escape the mines, but the ceiling was caving in all around us. When we were about to be crushed… the rocks stopped falling. One, remained suspended in mid-air. I didn’t know what to make of it.”

 

“That… is the power of the Force. Your son is special, Mr. Velash. He possesses an affinity, one that my master would like to see nurtured.”

 

“I know of the Sith. I know what they are capable of. Death and pain…”

 

“What we offer is freedom. How your child utilizes it is up to him. We intend to enroll him into the Korriban Academy, a place of honor amongst the Sith Order, where his abilities will be honed and trained, so that he might find his own place in the galaxy, free of restrictions. I’ve met with Yerrig. Whatever actions to come regarding your family will not be pleasant. With us, your child will be safe. Your child will no longer be a slave. Do what is best for your child.”

 

----------

 

Lorrik sat at the side of his medical bed, legs hanging over the edge as he worriedly watched his mother rest. His heart began to race when he noticed two figures approaching on the other side of the glass. When the door to the room opened, panic turned to energetic relief at the sight of his father entering. Jumping from his bed, Lorrik rushed forward and wrapped his arms around his father, ignoring the unfamiliar figure trailing him.

 

The father guided the son to his mother’s bedside. As she slowly wakened from her slumber, a smile overcame her face at the sight of her family being okay, relatively speaking. She looked around for any of Yerrig’s men, seeing only the peculiar armored and robed figure who had taken an observatory position leaning against the door.

 

“Garen… who is…” the mother softly muttered.

 

“Meylin, save your strength,” the father replied, gently brushing the hair from his wife’s forehead. “There is someone here, who is interested in our son.”

 

“Our son… what do you…”

 

“You saw what happened in the mines. We were saved from certain death. And we both know how. Our son is gifted.”

 

The mother looked to Garen’s side, where a curious Lorrik stood in silent observation. Patting her son on the head with her good arm, the mother struggled to retain her smile. “Lorrik could have died today… he needs to recover. He’s in no condition to leave…”

 

“He’s in no condition to stay either. Yerrig will not forgive us for what happened in our sector. We can’t be sure of how he’ll react, but we can ensure our son’s safety.”

 

“So we just give him to the first mysterious figure who offers to take him off our hands? This is our son,” Meylin offered with a hushed declaration.

 

“That is exactly why I am doing this. This man can give our son a new life. He’ll finally have his freedom. He won’t have to toil in the mines for ten more years.”

 

“I don’t want to lose my son,” the mother stated, almost whimpering.

 

“Neither do I,” the father whispered. The two parents locked eyes as tears begun to form beneath them. The mother looked to her side, only to see Lorrik had slipped away. Peering beyond the father, Meylin saw her son standing directly in front of the mysterious figure.

 

“You’re a Sith, aren’t you?” Lorrik directly asked the man in the red coat.

 

The Sith knelt down and greeted the child with a warm smile. “That’s correct. Are you familiar with us?”

 

“A little bit,” the boy bashfully admitted. “I have a history book. It talks about old Sith Lords and their adventures hundreds of years ago.”

 

“Really? What kind of adventures?” Thorel asked with a tone of genuine interest.

 

“Well, I just finished a chapter… on Naga Shadow.”

 

“Oh, Lord Sadow. He is an interesting one,” Thorel replied, straightening his posture. “Did your parents get you that book?”

 

“No. I got it from one of the other workers. I had to learn how to read first… which took a while since my parents couldn’t teach me.”

 

“You’ve an inquisitive mind. One that yearns for knowledge. A valuable trait.”

 

“I really like reading, even though dad says we aren’t supposed to have any books,” Lorrik admitted. “But I keep it hidden under by bed.”

 

“Oh no.” Garen raised himself from his wife’s side. “Yerrig’s men are searching our home. If they find Lorrik’s book, they might think we were involved in the uprising! We have to-”

 

Thorel placed a firm hand on the father’s shoulders, looking him directly in the eyes. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. Stay with your wife. I’ll take care of this.” Returning to Lorrik, the Sith knelt down to his level. “Can you take me to your home?”

 

Lorrik nodded and extended his hand, prompting the Sith to take hold. The child led the way, escorting the red-coated figure from the premises with haste. Garen, meanwhile, took a knee by his wife’s side and took a soft hold of her hand.

 

“Everything… everything will be fine,” the father whispered, pressing the back of his wife’s hand to his lips.

 

----------

 

Lorrik led Thorel by the hand down the thin corridor that ran outside the minimalistic rooms the workers called their homes. Doors were opened on either side of the running pair, enforcers rummaging through the sparse belongings of the late workers of Sector Dorn. Fast approaching his own home, Lorrik saw a guard wielding a blaster rifle stationed directly outside his domicile. The guard raised a hand, intent on stopping the two individuals. Lorrik’s movement ceased. Those of the Sith did not. The enforcer raised his weapon, but found its path inhibited by Thorel’s hand gripping it by the barrel. The Sith closed in on the guard, and stared into his eyes with a cold, unceasing stare. The enforcer was frozen, unable to act.

 

“Leave,” Thorel directed, and not a moment after relinquishing his grip, the enforcer complied. A second guard emerged from the room, grasping the child’s book in his hand.

 

“Hey! Give that back!” Lorrik shouted at the perceived thief.

 

Focusing the entirety of his attention on the child, the enforcer knocked the boy back with the foot of his boot, sending him crumbling to the floor. The guard took another step toward the child before succumbing to an intense pressure forming at his neck. Lorrik watched as his book fell from the enforcers hand as he used it instead to furiously grip at his own throat. His breaths became more and more struggled, until the man collapsed, granting the child a full view of the Sith standing behind him, hand extended in a clawed motion. Lorrik shuffled on the ground to retrieved his prized book, holding it close as the Sith knelt next to him once more.

 

“You and I possess the same gift. Within you, there is an untapped power dwelling, waiting to be released. Within you, rests the potential to become a Sith. The potential to break your shackles and finally be free. Does that sound like something that would interest you?” Lorrik hesitantly nodded his head. “I can take you to the Korriban Academy, where you will learn the ways of the Sith Order, where you will have untold amounts of knowledge at your fingertips.”

 

“What about my parents?”

 

“I can only take you from this place. But if you agree to come with me, I can ensure they are taken care of.”

 

“Okay,” Lorrik replied, offering his hand once more to the Sith.

 

Thorel looked at the book tucked beneath the child’s other arm. A children’s book. A glamorized look at the history of the Sith. A thing of colorful lies, meant for lowly, malleable minds.

 

“Come on. Let’s go,” the Sith directed with a cheerful smile.

 

----------

 

Lorrik and the Sith returned to Garen and Meylin, where the family trio exchanged their final goodbyes, each individual believing themselves to be doing what was best for the other. The parents wanted to see their son off to a better life, the son wanted to see his parents treated better within the life they couldn’t escape. Thorel departed with the son alongside one last declaration that he was good to his word.

 

Venturing back toward his starship, Yerrig remained amongst his entourage outside in the plaza. Alone with the Sith’s ship, they should have been in a place of power, and yet, found themselves utterly submissive to the intruder’s will. Thorel gently waved for the child board the ship while he calmly approached the discontented businessman.

 

Yerrig’s eye began to twitch. “If you think you can just walk away from this…”

 

“Shut up,” Thorel stoically directed. “I can offer you a sum of credits for the child. Usual going rate for a healthy young boy. In exchange, your independent operation here will remain independent, with no interference from the Sith Empire. There are, however, some conditions that you will need to uphold. Most importantly, no harm is to come to the boy’s parents. Ever. From now until the end of time. They will not die in a mining accident, they will not succumb to disease, they will not be victims of some unfortunate accident. You will not trade them. You will not give them away. You will keep them here. Even if the excavation fails. Even if the mine is emptied. They do not step off this planet. If you fail to do so, the full force of my master’s fury will come down upon your insignificant little operation and everything you know and love with be burned until they are less than mere cinders. I control their lives, do… you… understand… me?”

 

Yerrig offered only the stunned movement slightly resembling a nod.

 

“Good. My master may have further interest in your mining. We’ll stay in contact.”

 

The Sith boarded the vessel with no further complication, departing the planet as Yerrig remained utterly frozen and speechless. Lorrik was heading for the Academy.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

Chapter Five: Secrets (Part One)

 

The sky is on fire.

 

Over the battleground of a contested ordinance world, Imperial starfighters howled above the heads of marching ground forces. The heavy treads of armored crawlers dug into the mud as they led the forward charge against a weapons depot. Bolts of energy from opposing troopers darted back and forth as the Imperials pressed the retreating Republic line.

 

Atop a distant hill, an armored figure watched over the unfolding battle through a telescopic visor held to her eyes. The warrior was clad in black plates beset by a matching cloak, only the crimson flesh of her face remaining uncovered. Lowering the binoculars, the Pureblood warrior took the entire scene in as the lambent flames of destruction warmed her young, but determined face. Turning upon her heels, the Sith tossed the visor to the ground, focusing her attention on the facility that stood in front of her. The building had been emptied of its personnel long ago, but not of its contents.

 

Reaching to her belt, the warrior retrieved not a weapon, but a compact holocommunicator. Holding the device in her palm, the digital image of her superior appeared. Human. Male. Supremely her elder. Layers upon layers of dark and extravagant robes.

 

“Master, I’ve arrived at the munitions depot,” the Pureblood calmly stated. “The Republic forces have fortified their position, but I’ll have the facility secured shortly.”

 

“Wait, my apprentice, Ravek is finishing his task in the adjacent sector,” the master slowly rasped. “He can join you in your siege.”

 

“I can handle this myself, Lord Zyos,” the Pureblood quick replied, shutting off the comm.

 

Walking past the threshold of the munitions depot, the warrior calmly made her way deeper into the unpopulated facility. Past the first hall, she entered a stockroom with crates of weaponry and explosive ordinance stacked high and lining each wall. Miniature devices baring flashing red lights had been affixed to the containers at random intervals only minutes prior.

 

Shedding her outer coat, she laid the garment at her feet before retrieving the lightsaber from her waist. Rotating the weapon in her hand, she offered it a longing stare before tossing it into the center of the storeroom. As the cylinder clanged and slid across the metallic floor, the Pureblood once more turned her attention to her comm device. Turning back toward the entrance, the warrior twisted a dial before setting the comm on a shelf and walking away. The device joined its flashing and beeping compatriots as it began to flash a warning light.

 

“Liasha, are you in trouble?” a voice called out from the communicator. “We’re picking up a distress beacon.”

 

Liasha continued her calm and composed exit out of the facility, free of physical and emotional burden. The Pureblood retained possession of only one single item. Held within her hand, a metallic cylinder far too compact to be a proper weapon. Instead, the nondescript device possessed only a single, vibrant, red button upon its tip.

 

Once more standing upon the hill overlooking the Imperial invasion, the sights and sounds of war were dying down, though the flames of destruction still lashed out at the sky alongside pillars of black smoke. They’d soon have company. Holding the cylinder within her hand, the warrior took in one last deep breath before triggering the detonator.

 

Explosions rang out one right after another from deep within the bowels of the munitions depot, consuming the facility in an unrelenting fire that conformed and contorted to the sprawling interior, before releasing a deadly exhaust from the building’s mouth. Not a moment later, the depot collapsed upon itself, trapping and sealing any evidence of past occurrences within.

 

The fire once more warmed the warrior’s face as she looked upon her work, basking in the heat emanating from her supposed burial site. Crushing the detonator in her hand, she tossed the wrecked device with a furious throw over the edge of the overlook, where it would land amongst the tracks and footprints of the emptied battlefield below.

 

Liasha only had so much time to gaze upon the remarkable scene. Keeping her feet upon sturdy ground, the warrior abandoned the premises with haste, making her way toward a nondescript shuttle she had tucked away. The Sith had cut her ties. She had died, so that she might start a new life.

 

----------

 

Over the gentle hills of a fringe Republic colonial world, a flock of migrating birds flapped their wings above a quaint homestead. Constructed upon a serene knoll, the discreet house offered respite amongst the flowing greens that surrounded it. The picturesque home was compact in its design, its interior possessing minimal rooms and partitions.

 

Entered into by way of the front door, the main living area was populated with sparse sitting arrangements and a circular rug, upon which sat a child. The young boy propped himself up upon his knees, making whooshing noises with his mouth as he waved around a toy starship held within his grasp. Sitting in an armchair in the same room, the boy’s father observed the child play with a reserved smile, eyes occasionally darting to the door before returning to his son. The boy possessed a vibrant red skin tone, while his father’s was a more muted orange. The elder possessed muted features and a thin build atypical of his heritage. The two were Sith. But not Sith. Not in creed. Not in status. Not in makeup.

 

The two Purebloods jumped when they heard a knock on the door. The boy hopped to his feet with a wide smile, while the father rose with a more tempered haste. Bringing his finger to his mouth, the father silently hushed his son as he made his way toward the door. Putting his eye to the entrance’s viewport, the man breathed a sigh of relief. Opening the door, the man adopted a smile as vibrant as his son’s when he laid eyes upon a woman with the same.

 

“Liasha…” the man muttered as he swung the door open, wrapping his arms around his beloved as they succumbed to an enduring embrace.

 

“Orbek… it is done. It’s finally over,” Liasha declared.

 

“Truly?” Orbek asked with wondrous disbelief.

 

“Yes,” Liasha admitted as the two broke off their tender cuddle. “Zyos and his other apprentices believe I perished in the last campaign. They won’t be a bother to us anymore. We’ve finally escaped the watchful eyes of the Sith. We can finally live a proper life together, with our son.”

 

“Mom!” the child shouted with joy as he ran toward his mother.

 

“Jresh!” the mother shouted back, catching the boy mid sprint and hoisting him up into the air. Hugging her son close, she gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek before setting him back on the ground. “It’s good to be home.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto