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The Academy: Acolyte Ascension


Osetto

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The Academy: Acolyte Ascension

This story can also be read on Fanfiction.net

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Prologue

 

2 BTC

 

It has been over two decades since the start of the Great War, the enduring conflict between the resurgent Sith Empire and the Galactic Republic. The Sith's early goal of retaking their homeworld of Korriban and re-establishing the Academy to train their acolytes amongst the countless tombs of fallen Lords has long since been seen to fruition.

 

Force-sensitives throughout Imperial space are brought to the Academy to gain strength and to learn the ways of the Sith. Walking their path under the watchful eyes of instructors and overseers, these acolytes vie to prove themselves to their dark masters. But for every potential Sith Lord in waiting, there remained a plethora of far less worthy individuals. Typically, such failures would find themselves dead and forgotten, tossed into the nearest crags to be fed on by wandering Sith hounds.

 

But deep within the Academy's vast underground dwellings, a peculiar group of students learned and advanced amongst the rock and dust. Blood was spilled. Bones were broken. Spirits were tested. But none expired. None were expelled. Only the bare minimum of prospective talent was expected from the students within these halls. For what purpose, they did not know. In their minds, all was normal.

 

There was enough truth, enough tradition to entice and satiate the acolytes. Keeping them content with their position year after year even as they showed little progress. Their expectations aligned with reality in such a way that no singular facet could appear unusual. The strong trained as warriors, exponents of martial combat. The cunning trained as inquisitors, manipulators of the mind and Force. Yet neither would receive anything approaching the true Academy's trials. Only debased approximations.

 

The tenets of the Sith were present, but restrained. Held back. Chained. Competition and rivalry, without the true threat of death. Unlocked potential and uncovered secrets, whilst never fully achieving understanding. The thought that one day, they would be acolytes no longer, but apprentices to powerful Lords who would foster their rise to power. But the Lords never came. No masters arrived to free them from their classrooms, from their squalor, from their worthlessness. But none would give up hope. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. Year after year. They knew their time would come.

 

To convince them otherwise would prove an impossible feat. Regardless of the intent of their superiors, the Sith Code lay embedded in their young minds. All they needed was strength. All they needed was power. Then, they could shape their destinies. Unfortunately, those with power enough already were shaping theirs.

 

But the acolytes would not give up, not until they had achieved ascension.

 

 

Table of Contents

 

Act I: Initiations (Post #2)

Act II: Advances (Post #33)

Act 0: Memories (Post #71)

Act III: Supremacies (Post #103)

Act IV: Endings (Post #156)

 

Edited by Osetto
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Act I: Initiations

 

Chapter One: Rumors

 

Holocrons. Immense repositories of the past, sealed away in the most insignificant of packages. Prisms of arcane knowledge. Sith secrets lie hidden within these crimson pyramids, unassuming to the untrained eye. But those who have studied the ways of dark, followed the teachings, pledged his or her life to the Empire, they knew the truth… that this was actually just a plasteel paperweight.

 

Occupying his quarters, which in reality amounted to little more than a desk, a couple of footlockers, and a rather uncomfortable bed, a young Sith acolyte lay in his dark, form-fitting robes, manipulating the handheld, ornately covered, pyramid-shaped trinket. Rather than tend to his studies, the Force-user opted for a bout of relaxation and drifting thoughts.

 

However, lying down and staring at the cold ceiling composed of the same featureless carved stones proved lacking in most aspects of mental provocation. Such was the entire design of this wing of the Academy. Dulled rock carved out centuries ago made up the walls, the floors, the ceilings. It was more a tomb than a genuine institution. But it was all the acolytes knew.

 

Surrounded by such mind-numbing surroundings, the young Human instead stared at the faux-holocron he slowly manipulated between his fingers, turning it over again and again, gazing at each individual facet. But with a sudden release, the Sith dropped his raised hand to his abdomen, where it could join with his left. As his hands lay interlocked, the reclined individual kept the trinket afloat in the air with mere thought, and began rotating it through a mental whim.

 

The young adult didn’t fit the description of your typical Sith, at least, not from the point of view of your typical Republic propaganda. Then again, the pasty and decrepit Sith Lords that did exist didn’t help the image. The Human did possess fair skin, but as a result of shunning the Korriban sun rather than dark side influence. The dark brown hair topping the Sith’s head was short and unkempt. His rather boyish face was adorned with a thin set of stubble from one ear to the next. Most peculiar was perhaps the uncharacteristic smile that separated the acolyte from his peers.

 

“Lorrik!” an excited female’s voice called out. Breaking his concentration, the floating holocron had no choice but to fall with one of its many points jabbing the startled Human in the eye. His trademark smile lost and right hand covering his injury, the acolyte sat up in his bed to address the intruder.

 

“Jora?” Lorrik spoke with a pleasant surprise. A classmate of his, the blonde Human poked her head around the stone corner that served as one of the quarter’s boundaries. Three walled inlets, the acolytes didn’t possess ‘rooms’ so much as delegated personal space. Coming fully into view, the similarly dressed acolyte passed the threshold of Lorrik’s private quarters.

 

“Did you hear?” Jora asked, seemingly giddy with anticipation.

 

“That all depends,” Lorrik replied, still holding his eye in higher regards than the conversation. The two acolytes were friends, or at least as close as two could get to being friends under the circumstances. The overly competitive atmosphere of their studies didn’t lend itself to needless cooperation and companionship. But still, neither wanted to see the other dead, which was as good a foundation for friendship as any.

 

“Word is, the Academy’s got a new Overseer,” Jora slyly explained. Suddenly the pain in Lorrik's eye faded. Overseers played an integral part in an acolytes progression. A new one arriving would enough to catch any student’s attention.

 

Force-sensitives came to Korriban as initiates, either willingly or by force. Once they had begun their institutional education and displayed rudimentary knowledge, they were upgraded to acolytes. For Lorrik and his classmates, this was the insurmountable wall when it came to progress. They learned from instructors amongst the underworkings of the Academy, around ten of them to a class and eight classes in total. For these students, things resembled little more than an amalgamate of primary, military, and religious education. But unlike other schools, there would be no graduation. The only way they were leaving their classrooms was if they were apprenticed by a Sith Lord. An unlikely prospect.

 

There process of moving from acolyte to apprentice was a simple one. Earn the favor of a Sith Lord such that they take responsibility for one’s further training. But simplicity did not spell ease. Especially for the classes in the halls below. The chances of a Sith Lord interacting with prospects themselves was slim to none. Instead, they worked through Overseers, whose duty was not to teach, but to weed out the weak from the strong. Groups of acolytes would be handed to them at the behest of a Sith Lord. They would be tested, and those who succeeded would be deemed worthy of apprenticeship. More often than not, success was measured by simply being the last person left standing.

 

But no Overseers ever chose from the classrooms beneath the Academy. No masters ever showed interest in them. They were isolated, fated to continue their menial lessons in obscurity.

 

“New Overseer, eh?” Lorrik muttered, trying his hardest to remain neutral. “What’re the chances this one will bother picking from our class?”

 

“Here’s the thing,” Jora softly stated, almost whispering. The woman leaned in closer, bubbling with intrigue. “In actuality, he’s a Sith Lord acting as his own Overseer.”

 

“What?” Lorrik balked. “Why would he subject himself to the process of picking through acolytes himself? I mean, unless he’s got a thing for torturing his subjects, you’d think his time would be better spent elsewhere. Do we know how many acolytes he plans to review?”

 

“He’s actually already chosen four from the warrior classrooms,” Jora stated. What remained of Lorrik’s smile quickly faded as he looked onward, dumbfounded. As a member of the inquisitor branch, he really saw no reason to seem overjoyed by this recent news.

 

The warriors and inquisitors represented two opposing, yet equally important ideologies of the Sith Empire and were different schools of learning entirely. The warrior: the clenched fist. The inquisitor: the sleight of hand. One an embodiment of physical technique, the other an embodiment of mental prowess. Both pride incarnate.

 

“Good for the warriors, then. It doesn’t exactly concern us though, does it?” Lorrik regretfully asked.

 

“Except it does,” Jora clarified. Lorrik offered only his continued, blank stare. “He’s also taking on four inquisitors from our classes.” The revelation was enough to elicit a confused slanting of the head from Lorrik.

 

“Eight students?” Lorrik muttered, trying to conceive of a possible explanation. “Not entirely unheard of for an Overseer, but he’d be dealing with two completely different types of acolytes. Even if the Lord planned on taking multiple apprentices, our kind don’t exactly work well with one another.” The contemplative Human scratched his chin as he remained locked in his own thoughts. Nothing was adding up, yet everything seems far too ludicrous to not be intentional. “How is he choosing the inquisitors?”

 

“He’s not. The warriors are. They already met with the Lord and have been given then their first task. Finding an inquisitor who would serve as their equal. A partner of sorts.”

 

“From our classes?” Lorrik asked. “All four of them?”

 

Jora offered a quick nod. “That’s right.”

 

“So that’s about a one in forty chance of being picked.”

 

“So it would seem.”

 

“But we’ll be forced to be tested alongside warriors,” Lorrik stated, gaze slowly drifting lower and lower.

 

Jora offered a brief shrug of her shoulders. “To be fair, they’ll be forced to be tested alongside inquisitors as well.”

 

“This Lord has chosen four from the ranks of the most single minded, prideful ranks of the Sith and forced them to interact with those from an opposing yet equally single minded and prideful sect,” Lorrik stated. “I’m having a hard time determining if this is brilliance or madness. Any word on who this new ‘Overseer’ slash ‘Sith Lord’ actually is?”

 

“His name is Syrosk, or so the warriors say. Word is, he’s a Sith Lord who’s been fighting in the war,” Jora stated, emphasizing the title rather than the name.

 

“Well, technically, aren’t all Sith but our fellow acolytes ‘Lords’ to us? I mean, we don’t exactly carry a rank of prestige,” Lorrik muttered.

 

When it came to the Empire’s social structure, rank and title reigned supreme. Acolytes sat at the bottom of the Sith Order. Apprentices above them. Lords above them. Darths above them. But even the lowliest Sith was viewed as superior to their Force-blind brothers and sisters within the Empire. Addressing a Force-sensitive with anything other than a ‘my lord’ after every sentence was a good way to seal one’s fate as sacrificial material.

 

“All I know is that to be allowed to do what he’s doing here, he’s definitely someone of prestige. The various ranks and positions between ‘Apprentice’ and ‘Darth’ always fluctuate when it comes to authority and number. But right here, right now, a certified Sith Lord is nothing to sneeze at,” Jora stated.

 

The other acolyte saw her point. About the sneezing. Lorrik once heard about a student who sneezed on a Sith Lord. Beheaded.

 

“But the war has shown no signs of ceasing anytime soon. You don't just let a Sith Lord abandon the battlefield to pursue personal ventures. This is why we have Overseers in the first place.”

 

Once more, Jora offered a brief shrug. “Maybe Syrosk is such a great influence that him training an apprentice is more than enough to make up for his momentary absence on the warfront.”

 

“Training an apprentice is anything but momentary,” Lorrik said with a light scoff. “Taking on students, sifting through acolytes himself to find someone worthy, that takes time. Unless, of course, he plans to use the war as a testing ground instead of Korriban. But you don’t take that many people looking to stab each other in the back onto an active battlefield. Maybe the reason they let him do whatever he plans to do is because he’s incompetent. This is a time sink to keep him away whilst not blatantly forcing him out. And besides that, what’s his motivation for all this? There are far easier ways to obtain an apprentice.”

 

“Do you really need to know a master’s motivations if it means finally getting a chance at knowledge, power, and authority?” Jora asked with a heavy sense of sarcasm.

 

Lorrik cracked a smile. “Ignoring a Sith’s motivations is worse than ignoring a K’lor’slug’s appetite.”

 

“So you won’t be seeking a position under him?” Jora asked, now the one probing the other for information.

 

“Oh no, I most definitely will,” Lorrik stated with renewed confidence. “I’m done being just a lowly acolyte.”

 

“Shame. I’ll miss having a classmate whom I know with absolute certainty won’t attack me in my sleep,” Jora joked.

 

“For all you know, my kindness and generosity has been a well-played ruse orchestrated for selfish gain,” Lorrik said with an uncharacteristically sinister tone.

 

“We’ve been in the Academy together for years now, I know you better than that. Plus, if your intention was to succeed, you’ve been doing a horrible job so far,” Jora stated, toying with the acolyte.

 

“You’ve got me there,” Lorrik muttered, not noticing the obvious insult at first. “Wait, what are you saying? I have some of the highest marks in our class.”

 

“And they’re probably the only reason you haven’t been exiled from the Academy,” Jora bluntly stated. “When it comes to ‘Sithiness’, you’re well behind the curve. I honestly don’t know how you plan on getting the support of one of the warriors.”

 

“Unlike most inquisitors, I know a thing or two about humility,” Lorrik said with a contradicting sense of pride.

 

“So you’ll be taken the groveling route?”

 

“It doesn’t sound as good when you put it like that,” Lorrik mumbled. “So, for all your interest towards the subject, you don’t exactly sound as if you’re too intent in joining this new Sith Lord.”

 

“It all depends. If you do end up submitting to one of the warriors, the entire ordeal might prove too easy, should we have to compete.”

 

“You wound me, Jora,” Lorrik stated, feigning extreme disappointment. “Then again, you’ve never been much for the easy route, have you?”

 

“No, I guess I haven’t. And neither have you,” Jora said as she turned away from the acolyte’s personal quarters. The female student paused just before she was out of sight. “Oh, and Lorrik… if my intention was to wound you, I would have done so long ago.”

 

With that, Lorrik was once again left alone with his thoughts, a slight curl on his lips. Picking the fallen holocron up from its resting place near his pillow, the acolyte held the trinket in his hand for a moment before rising from his seat. Kneeling down, the student slid the Holocron beneath his bed before setting out to secure his future. That is, until he stood frozen outside of his room.

 

“Really wish I had asked for names and locations.”

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Two: Encounters

 

Lorrik walked the stone halls of the Sith Academy on a mission. He intended to use every skill he had picked up in his studies to find and befriend one of the warriors. What better use of the talents cultivated by years of classroom attendance than to escape even more years of classroom attendance. There was nothing left to learn from the instructors. A true master to study under was needed.

 

The halls were permeated with students privy to the knowledge Lorrik needed. All that remained was the process of extracting that information. Anger, pain, fear, and aggression. Intimidation, violence, coercion, and terror. None of these would work for Lorrik.

 

Passing by the combat training wing, Lorrik saw that the dueling rings appeared livelier than usual. Crowds gathered as two heavy-cloaked, hooded figures stood watch over the bouts, one of whom towered over the surrounding students. A scream echoed from the area as a combatant was struck on the leg by a training saber.

 

Lorrik kept walking. He intended to gain information by turning in one of the various favors he had earned over his stay at the Academy, none of which were held by the more belligerent students.

 

In the commons area, Lorrik found his man. An acolyte once out of favor with his instructor, supplying him with a written dissertation regarding the Sith Code and its significance to the various Sith Orders over the past thousand years was enough put him in Lorrik’s, as well as his instructor’s, good graces. After a few quick words, Lorrik possessed as much information as the other inquisitors.

 

Four warriors. Nesk. Kar’ai. Jresh. Isorr. The first two were the cloaked watchers in the combat hall urging inquisitors to fight for their spot. The other two were seeking their partners in the lecture hall.

 

A quick thank you and shared nod later, Lorrik made his way to the scholar wing of the underhalls. His target was the circular forum, a lecturing room similar to a small amphitheater, though it certainly lacked an open ceiling. The hushed murmurs of gathered of acolytes reassured Lorrik that he had reached the correct destination. Passing through the threshold, the acolyte took his first step into the broad, high-ceilinged chamber.

 

A small raised dais in the center of the room was occupied by a cloaked figure similar to the ones in the combat chamber. Circular rows of seats surrounded the figure on all sides, broken only by the ascending stairways leading to each of the room’s entrances.

 

Renovated after the true Sith reclaimed the Academy from its previous owners, the lecture forum possesses some architectural innovations and departures from the other areas comprised solely of carved stone. Departures like chairs. Chairs that were mostly empty, as the gathering students opted to sit and kneel on the floor level adjacent to the speaking cloaked figure.

 

“How far the inquisitors have fallen,” Lorrik mumbled to himself. “All it takes is hooded cloak and suddenly these people aren’t acolytes anymore? It’s almost as if…hrm?

 

Lorrik’s musings were broken as he noticed the cloaked figure leaning against the wall a short distance away, next to the entrance. Of peculiar note was the fact that he seemed to be the only warrior with his hood down, face completely exposed. That, and the fact that he was a Sith Pureblood, one of the red-skinned offspring of the original Sith species that inhabited Korriban and the Dark Jedi that had conquered them.

 

The warrior lacked some of the more prominent features of his species. A pronounced brow and cheekbones in place of the usual boney protrusions. A pair of fleshy tendrils hung from said cheekbones and reached down to just above his jawline. A trio of similar, stubby growths extended from his chin, granting his a fleshy goatee. His skin was a deep-crimson and was accompanied by a matching set of irises. His head was topped with long black hair possessing a subtle, reddish tinge. The fibers extended and fell to his upper back in a restraining braid. The warrior listened to the proceedings below with a stern, but tranquil visage, his arms crossed and eyes closed.

 

The inquisitor stopped and stared, studying the Pureblood in silence. His garb placed him with the other warriors, but his positioning seemed counterintuitive to recruitment. And for a Sith expected to channel and sustain themselves with an unbridled rage, he seemed intensely calm. Lorrik didn’t know whether it came naturally for his species, or if he was at ease because he had already completely his task. Regardless, he would have little more time to ponder.

 

“Inquisitor,” the warrior calmly spoke up without breaking his stance. His voice carried a deep, smooth tone capable of dominating the senses. The Human looked around for who the Pureblood might be talking to, not realizing he and the warrior were completely alone. “You can stop looking around. If you’re here about joining Lord Syrosk, you can head down and try your hand at impressing Isorr.”

 

“Isorr, huh? That would make you Jresh… correct?” Lorrik inquired with a positive tone. The Sith broke his relaxed stance for a moment to face the acolyte with his full attention.

 

“Correct. Jresh Takuul. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me how quickly the information spread amongst the inquisitors,” Jresh stated, returning to his previously composed position.

 

“Well, my name is Lorrik Velash, pleasure to meet-”

 

“He doesn’t care about names,” Jresh interrupted. “All Isorr cares about is that you are knowledgeable of the Code and a strict adherent to the Sith lifestyle. Hopefully that information proves advantageous.”

 

“What about you?” Lorrik asked, continuing his positive tone. “What do you care about?”

 

The Pureblood remained rigid. “Does it matter? I’ve informed you of the guidelines regarding the inquisitor the warrior below is seeking. You’ll no doubt have a speech ready by the time you reach the bottom of the steps.”

 

“Why should I approach him when you are right here?” Lorrik wittily asked.

 

“Because you know nothing about me? Take the easy route and try impressing Isorr,” Jresh advised.

 

“Taking the easy route teaches me nothing. I am a seeker of knowledge. I won’t achieve my goals by simply pretending to be some unwavering exponent of the Sith. I’m not going to throw away my principles for some shortcut towards apprenticeship.”

 

“Principles are a short road that inevitably leads to death.”

 

“You could say that about a lot of the paths Sith walk,” Lorrik said with a chuckle. There was a heavy silence as Jresh didn’t reciprocate the acolyte’s jocular mood. “You never did answer my question, regarding what you care about.”

 

“No, I didn’t. And there is a reason for that,” Jresh plainly stated, not even bothering to open his eyes when addressing the acolyte.

 

“What reason might that be?” Lorrik asked, continually goading the Pureblood. The warrior released a heavy sigh.

 

“Perhaps I do not wish for every inquisitor to know what I’m looking for in a partner,” Jresh gruffly stated.

 

“Oh, good. So you haven’t chosen your inquisitor yet,” Lorrik said with a grin. The acolyte could see the Pureblood’s cheek tendrils quivering.

 

“Why are you pestering me? Haven’t I made it clear I’m not like the other warriors?”

 

“That difference is why I’m interested. I’m not going to spout Sith tenants like some groveling student, and I’m not going to act like a duel is the only way to measure talent.”

 

“Are you not as capable with a lightsaber as your classmates? I have no use for a weakling, regardless of whatever principles you hold dear.”

 

“I’m more than capable in combat,” Lorrik heartily stated.

 

“Are you?” Jresh sternly asked. “Or are you simply stating whatever you feel garners you the highest chances of being picked as my partner? I don’t need someone who will tell me want I want to be told. I seek someone who will challenge me at every venture. Physically and mentally. Someone who is willing to go against me, and have the same done to them. That is how we gain strength. That is how we gain knowledge. Not the mindless competition the Academy would have you believe is the true path to greatness.”

 

Jresh finally opened his eyes, only to discover that Lorrik had vanished. “Hrmph. Moved on. Just like all the rest.”

 

“Actually,” Lorrik spoke up, on the opposite side of Jresh, “I just wanted to see if I could move around while you had your eyes closed and see if you noticed.” The Pureblood looked at the Human with a raised eyebrow.

 

“You certainly are different from the usual fodder that have approached me.”

 

“Two Sith, remarkably different from their peers. Sounds to me like a perfect match,” Lorrik said with a smile.

 

“Or a horrible one,” Jresh countered.

 

“Look, I’m sure if you just take at a look at the class rankings-”

 

“No need,” Jresh interrupted. “I memorized the names and standings of each of the inquisitor candidates. Thankfully, you were one of the few who introduced themselves by name. I know all about your qualifications.”

 

“So why did you bother asking me about my skills with a lightsaber?” Lorrik asked, dumbfounded.

 

“You are an inquisitor are you not? Your kind are the epitome of manipulation and deceit,” Jresh bluntly stated.

 

“You’ve got me there. I’m no more or less manipulative than my peers… but at least I’m honest about it.” Lorrik said, almost prideful of his admission. The Pureblood stared down the acolyte, studying him.

 

“I don’t need a partner that will selfishly stab me in the back,” Jresh stated. “I need a partner that will selfishly stab me in the front.”

 

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Lorrik heartily replied, extended his hand for a handshake.

 

“What makes you think I’ve decided to accept you?” Jresh asked, ignoring the acolyte’s hand.

 

“Nothing in particular,” Lorrik answered, refusing to redact his hand. “Except for maybe… that you’ve already seen my file, that I know more about you than any of the other inquisitors do, and that we’ve tolerated each other’s presence thus far. Oh, and I’m sure there are plenty of inquisitors who would love some of the information I’ve picked up regarding your search for a partner.”

 

“Inquisitors,” Jresh muttered.

 

“When I said I was honest about being manipulative… it wasn’t a lie.”

 

“You certainly know how to try my patience,” Jresh stated as he removed himself from the wall.

 

As the Pureblood left the lecture room, Lorrik finally conceded to withdraw his hand. His head hung low, the inquisitor began making his way down the steps toward the lecturing warrior below.

 

“Lorrik!” Jresh shouted from the hallway. “Are you coming or not?”

 

The inquisitor froze in his tracks. As his feeling of astonishment settled, the acolyte quickly made his way back up the step and out of the forum. Catching up with the his new partner, Lorrik walked by his side, taking careful notice to match his exact pace. The two walked in tandem through the halls. If there was a destination in mind, Lorrik did not know it.

 

“So, is it official? I mean, are you sure you want me as your partner?” Lorrik hesitantly asked.

 

“Truthfully?” Jresh replied, followed by a beat. “No. It won’t be official until we reconvene with our new Lord. Until then, I will entertain any applicants for the position, and you will defend yourself.”

 

Lorrik subtly bobbed his head in understanding. “When, exactly, are we reconvening?”

 

“Midday,” Jresh bluntly answered.

 

“Like, two hours from now, midday?” Lorrik stated in disbelief. “Syrosk didn’t exactly give you much time to select from the classes.”

 

“Yes, which is why I had hoped to take my time and not make any rash decisions. And yet, here I am, the first of the four to have chosen my Inquisitor.”

 

“I’m sure it was the right decision,” Lorrik assuaged.

 

“Do you believe in fate, Lorrik?” Jresh asked.

 

“Not entirely, no.”

 

“Good,” Jresh said, not pausing his advance. Lorrik listened closely for the explanation that he was sure would follow, but surprisingly found none. The two walked the halls in silence, garnering the attention of the passing students. As surreptitiously as he could, the inquisitor studied those who studied them, tabulating whether more eyes fell to him or his new partner. The majority looked to the Pureblood, but more than enough drifted toward the Human to sate his budding ego. Quickly losing track of time, the inquisitor snapped out of his daze, not realizing far he had been following the warrior.

 

“So. Any particular destination in mind?” Lorrik finally spoke up.

 

“No. I simply wanted to see how long you would follow me in obedient silence,” Jresh explained, not changing his pace. Lorrik continued to follow, but rubbed his forehead in frustration.

 

“I guess this sort of thing isn’t going to stop anytime soon,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“Correct,” Jresh replied in his usual taciturn way.

 

“Would you mind testing me somewhere closer to the mess hall? I usually respond better to mind games with a full stomach,” Lorrik joked.

 

“Very well,” Jresh said. Surprised the Sith took him seriously, Lorrik couldn’t help but grin. Not only did he consider getting what he wanted a small victory, but he was also getting some food, which was always a plus for him. The pair walked the halls much as they did before, but at least now they possessed some semblance of a destination.

 

“About those cloaks. Did the master mention anything… you know… about the inquisitors getting some?”

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Three: Meetings

 

Day one of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Pretty damn hot. Eight students of the Academy stood shoulder to shoulder, awaiting the arrival of their new master. They stood in a clearing atop the peak of one of the many mountains and ridges that surrounded the Sith Academy. Wind gently brushed the orange dirt beneath their feet, revealing intricate symbols and carvings lost to time. The eight prospects found themselves standing, unknowingly, near the boundaries of an ancient ring of battle, where tests of might were held during the Golden Age of the Sith.

 

Surrounded by steep cliffs, the disastrous falls they entailed, and subject to the intense scolding of the Korriban sun, the students waited, eyeing the singular return path back toward the Academy. And so the eight of them stood, resolved to show not a single ounce of weakness. Each warrior beside their inquisitor, arms folded behind their backs.

 

Lorrik stood furthest to the right, facing the Academy. As much as the acolyte despised outdoor activity when there was a perfectly good institution to accommodate them, he did take solace in the face that he and his fellow inquisitors were garbed in the traditional, two-layered, dark gray robes. While not the most suitable clothes for the occasion, they were certainly more comfortable without the black cloaks the warriors were sporting.

 

Jresh stood to his partner’s left, possessing the same stern face as before. At least this time he seemed to possess less notions of impatience and irritation than he did when he was scouting the Academy forum for an inquisitor. Subtle hints did suggest that the Sith did miss the act of leaning against a wall. But given the warrior’s nature, he most likely preferred the proving task of standing under the sun for an indeterminate amount of time.

 

Arlia was the inquisitor on Jresh’s other side. A female Twi’lek, her skin was a muted violet, free of any secondary markings. Instead, her lekku, that reached her mid-back, were wrapped in a dark cloth that encircled the twin head-tails from tip to base, culminating in a headband. Arlia belonged to a similar class as Lorrik’s, and possessed similar aptitude scores. Ever ambitious, she was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it. And as an attractive Twi’lek woman, there were few who would deny her. But woe to the man who suggested her robes could stand to bare more midriff.

 

Isorr was the warrior next to her. His hood since lowered, it could be seen that the lecturer from the forum before was in fact a male Zabrak, possessing a deep brown skin tone. Hairless, his head was instead topped with a crown a stubby horns, and his face was marked by black, thin-lined tattoos he received early in his life. An ardent follower of the teachings of the Sith, a ruthless fighter, and an equally intelligent thinker. It is unknown if he chose Arlia as his companion in spite of, or because of her manipulative nature.

 

Vurt was the next inquisitor. A male Nikto, he stood out from the others of his class in both looks and demeanor. His leathery skin was of a red-orange hue, and he lacked a traditional nose, instead bearing only a flat membrane of flesh between his eyes and mouth. Adjacent to each eye, three tiny horns jutted outward, accompanied by a similar pair of horns on his chin, and yet another at the base of his ridged forehead. Though somewhat muffled by his robes, a set of small organic respiratory tubes could be seen on both sides of his neck. Cold and brutal, he earned the reputation of a brutal sadist in classes he didn’t even belong to.

 

Nesk was Vurt’s partner, the towering cloaked warrior from before, now revealed to be a sandy-brown scaled Trandoshan male. Without the swarm of potential students crowding him, it could be seen that his robes ended their wrap just below the acolyte’s knees, allowing his clawed feet to bare themselves against the Korriban surface. A natural warrior, known for his fiery temper. Brash, combative, and a credit to his species, if not for the fact that he has all but replaced any semblance of Trandoshan culture with that of the Sith.

 

Ryloh was the male Twi’lek almost basking in the Trandoshan’s shadow. His skin possessed a light blue hue and his lekku were adorned with natural dark blue markings. An astute inquisitor, and a capable fighter, Ryloh was talented, but never possessed the raw determination to rise above his peers. Always willing to take the distanced route, rather the direct approach. His classmates could never decide whether he was simply a coward, or a brilliant calculator, always knowing the perfect way to hide his handsome face from a crowd. Yet something made him willing to fight his way into companionship of a warrior.

 

Kar’ai was that warrior, and a female Rattataki. Hairless, her pale white skin bared a series of intricate markings. Black cultural tattoos marked the entirety of her face and continued down to her body. Long lines of barbed tribal circles and barbed patterns wrapped around her torso and limbs, all hidden beneath her student robes. Aggressive and always looking forward to the thrill of battle. She believed there wasn’t a single conflict or quarrel that could not be decided by way of a duel. One of the top swordswomen in her class, she found weakness and quickly eliminated it.

 

“You know, now that you mention it, I’m kind of glad I don’t have to wear the cloak,” Lorrik said, breaking the silence.

 

“What are you talking about? No one mentioned anything,” Jresh sternly replied.

 

“Oh, you know, just making conversation,” Lorrik stated.

 

“Jresh, do try and keep your Human under control,” Isorr advised with a deep voice. Lorrik leaned forward from his far right position and examined the lineup before returning to his straight-standing stance.

 

“Hmm. It seems I am the only Human here. Not very Imperial of us,” Lorrik said to himself, before taking another look at the gathered students. “It would also seem that we are the only pair with any hair on their scalps so… go team. That’s one-zero. We’re already in the lead.”

 

“You certainly win the award for most annoying student,” Arlia stated, her sensuous voice riddled with annoyance.

 

“A victory’s a victory. That’s two-zero,” Lorrik countered.

 

“Do be quiet, I’d like to go one night without worrying about you being murdered in your sleep,” Jresh stated, his tone more tired than angry.

 

“I think we’ll be okay,” Lorrik said. “The only one I think we have to worry about is the Trandoshan. And so long as he doesn’t get snarly I think we should-”

 

“Make quiet, soft thing!” Nesk snarled in a hissy, debased form of Basic, not breaking his stance. The Human complied.

 

“If you all are finished… perhaps we can begin in earnest,” a mysterious voice spoke up from behind the lineup. The acolytes turned around to find their new master standing on the edge of the cliff, looking out across the vista with his back toward his students. The alien humanoid possessed a dark cloak much as the warriors did, hood lowered, but too far away for any discernible details to be seen. Though now turned around, no student dared approach the Sith Lord further without expressed permission. They did however, make passing glances to the surrounding area, looking for methods the Lord might have used to get behind them. They saw none.

 

The dark figure turn and walked toward his students revealing the armored garb beneath his open cloak. Chest plate, greaves, heavy boots and gauntlets, all there. Black plating, with red highlights, it was the outfit of a not just a warrior, but a soldier. Spots and lines of gray detailed the blaster marks and saber strikes endured during the Great War. But even with all the armor, the Lord did not cover his face.

 

Syrosk now stood only a few meters from his students. The alien male was of a species unfamiliar to Imperials and Sith. His entire visage was comprise of harsh features. His orange skin was rough and leathery, burdened by the additional wear and tear wrought though battle. Dual down-curved horns emerged from his cranium. Doubling the width of his head, they came down to a point under his chin, hovering a short distance in front of his chest. He stared down his students with a harsh visage.

 

“So these are the four chosen. I pray that you had not chosen them as mere trophies or pets. They will be your other half for your discernible future. Vital to your continued tutelage under myself,” Syrosk began, in a drawn out, raspy voice. The Sith Lord began pacing between the ends of the acolyte line up as he continued his speech.

 

“From this day forth, your training begins. You are my students. I am your master. However, do not be mistaken. You are not my apprentices. No. Not yet. Apprenticeship must be earned. From this day forth, you all are null. Whatever statistics, accomplishments, and feats you have attained or performed during your miserable attendance of this Academy is hereby forgotten and rendered inert.”

 

“I care not how high your class scores were. How many victories you obtained in your various practice bouts. How many arbitrary measurements of your inane actions that you believed to make you something more than the rest of the filth occupying this school. You were nothing. You are nothing. And from nothing I will create something of greatness. I will forge a greater Sith from the excuse for raw materials you call talent. And should the fires burned too hot, too bright. Should you begin to crack, and warp. I will toss you into the garbage and spit on the disgrace who bothered to waste my time.”

 

“Once you have proven yourself… then maybe you will have earned the right to call yourself my apprentice. Earned the right to take up a lightsaber. Earned the right to leave this Academy once and for all and prove your worth to the galaxy. If you are lucky, you might earn the privilege to call yourself my apprentice in as little as one year.” Making his way to the left flank of the lineup he addressed each acolyte, one by one. “Do I make myself clear?”

 

“Yes, m’Lord,” Kar’ai answered with a bow of her head.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Ryloh echoed.

 

“Yess, Masster,” Nesk replied.

 

Vurt offered a brief, but dutiful nod.

 

“Yes, Lord Syrosk,” Isorr declared.

 

“Of course, Master,” Arlia followed.

 

“Aye, Lord Syrosk,” Jresh stated.

 

“Did you mean a standard year or a Korriban year?” Lorrik asked. Suddenly the acolyte felt sixteen eyes figuratively searing his flesh. Though it certainly was possible one pair was literally doing so. “I mean… Yes, Lord Master Syrosk.”

 

The Sith Lord removed himself from the stare down and returned to his position in front of the lineup’s center. Syrosk closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the students looked onward in anticipation. A short exhale later and the alien was ready to continue.

 

“As my students you have already proven yourselves as better than those who would surround you not hours ago. Though you are still worth nothing in my eyes, the other acolytes are worth even less. You have all received new private quarters to accommodate your new status of ‘nothing’. Gather your things and talk to the quartermaster. He will provide you each with the keys to your new dwellings. Also speak with the weapons master. You will each receive a personal training saber. You are to treat it as a lightsaber, having it with you at all times and knowing that the consequences for losing it are just as dire. Know that me having provided you with this much means that your life is now worth less than your possessions.“

 

“I have but a single task to give you all, then you are dismissed until we reconvene at this exact spot, at this exact time tomorrow. Find whatever trinket or valuable you hold most dear, and give it to your companion, symbolizing the completed bond of your new partnership. Return tomorrow with your shared items. Dismissed,” Syrosk ended, turning his back toward his students and staring toward the distant horizon in silence.”

 

Each of the acolytes slowly bowed their heads toward their new master, before turning back toward the return patch down the mountain. The eight students made their way back to the Academy in near silence.

 

Jresh passed his gaze over his new partner before returned it to the path ahead. “Lorrik, do try to not get Force-choked by our new Lord.

 

“Yes, if I hear the Lord brutally killed you, I’d like the story to be one of mystery and intrigue, not your inability to hold your tongue,” Arlia offered.

 

“Inability to hold my tongue? What about you? We have certainly shared a conversation or two. We keep talking like this and your partner might think were conspiring against him,” Lorrik joked.

 

“No offense Jresh, but I doubt your partner is even capable of conspiracy,” Isorr coldly stated.

 

The Human’s face scrunched as he offered a quick glare toward the Zabrak. “You know, I’m right here. I’d rather not have disparaging remarks filtered through Jresh.”

 

“Pay them no attention, Lorrik. They will see the true nature of their egregious underestimations in time,” Jresh stated.

 

“That’s showing your Sith pride,” Lorrik said with a clenched fist. The eight continued to walk along the narrow and winding path back toward the Academy halls. “You know, it’s going to be awkward making the entire trip back in one large group like this.”

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Four: Provisions

 

The eight acolytes arrived at the quartermaster’s desk at roughly the same time. And it was indeed awkward. Rather than wait around looking like a fool, the Trandoshan pushed past the group, receiving the quartermaster’s attention with his immense size.

 

“It has items from Lord Syrosk,” Nesk brokenly informed the lulled Human behind the counter. The quartermaster remained silent, slowly passing his dulled gaze over each individual acolyte.

 

“You belong to Syrosk? All eight of you?” the quartermaster slowly asked. He found his answer with the acolytes’ collective nods. “Hmm. Let’s see…”

 

The quartermaster drifted off as he ducked beneath the counter slowly retrieving a small handheld datapad.

 

“Your… master… has provided the following provisions,” the quartermaster said in an even more pacified tone than before, reading from the electronic tablet. “A new place of residence in one of the Saarai suites. A new datapad, containing the access codes to said residence and a redeeming voucher for a personal training saber. Within your quarters, you will find a new set of robes that will serve as your uniform.”

 

Returning to the depths below the desk, he gathered eight identical, palm-sized datapads, and arranged them on the countertop in four stacks of two.

 

“Nesk, Vurt. These two are yours,” the quartermaster stated, pointing toward the far stack without peeling his eyes from his personal datapad. The two acolytes quickly snatched the devices and began awkwardly manipulating them with their un-dexterous clawed digits.

 

“Kar’ai, Ryloh. The next set belongs to you.”

 

As the next two went to pick up their devices, Nesk could be heard growling at his. The trouble lied in Nesk and Vurt looking at the information regarding their new accommodations. Both datapads displayed the same room number. The couples were officially roommates.

 

“Explain meaning of thiss!” Nesk snarled.

 

“I know very little regarding your master’s intentions, but the Saarai suites are very large with multiple beds. To give one to a single occupant would be irresponsible,” the quartermaster stated, in as condescendingly a way possible.

 

“What’s the matter Nesky? Buyer’s remorse?” Kar’ai joked. As the Rattataki and blue Twi’lek retrieved their datapads, they showed no evidence of dampened spirits by the news.

 

“Isorr, Arlia. You’re next,” the quartermaster continued. Isorr was keeping his cool, showing neither positive of negative feelings toward the prospect of a roommate. Arlia also showed no change, bearing the same haughty expression as always. Wasting no time, the Zabrak beckoned his companion to follow and they made their way toward the new quarters.

 

“Jresh, Lorrik. The last two are yours,” the quartermaster stated. Picking up the devices, the duo wasted no time heading for their objective.

 

“You all are worth nothing! Here’s a bunch of free stuff!” Lorrik said to himself in his best Syrosk impersonation. “Certainly has a strange way of doing things. I mean, usually Overseers use the first day to run their students through the gauntlet, so to speak. Still, can’t wait to see the new accommodations.”

 

“We should make our way toward the weapons master first,” Jresh calmly stated. “The last thing we want is to be without a weapon after the master has given us all a free day.”

 

“What? Those six upstanding Sith? You’d think they’d try and establish their dominance this early in the training?” Lorrik asked, oozing with sarcasm.

 

“The warriors alone are bad enough, but with the inquisitors whispering in their ears…”

 

“Should I be whispering in your ears?”

 

“No. Anything that needs to be said to me can be said as such that everyone can hear it,” Jresh plainly stated.

 

Lorrik cracked a smile. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

 

The two made their way to the combat wing of the Academy. With the absence of the recruiting warriors, the student occupation levels died down back to normal. There were still duels to be had, but only amongst the riff-raff that warranted little to no observation by their peers. The weapons master operated behind an enclosed desk, much as the quartermaster had, located next to the main combat area for students.

 

The arena was little more than a large, rectangular room with floor markings designating different sorts dueling rings for acolytes who had requisitioned the space and a training saber from the weapons master. One group managed to catch the eye of the traveling duo, an instructor and a class of ten or so warriors who were currently missing one of their fellows. Two acolytes were battling it out within the borderless ring, while their instructor berated their technique from the sidelines.

 

As Jresh and Lorrik approached the weapons master’s counter, they noticed a familiar face on the Human tending the Sith armory. Specifically a face resembling the one they had just seen not a few moments ago on the quartermaster. In truth, the two were brothers. Family wasn’t something you saw often under the Sith. Perhaps doctrine never truly covered who was truly qualified to manage the storing and distribution of supplies.

 

Placing their brand new datapads on the counter, the weapons master looked at the two acolytes in silence, before taking a look at the devices’ screens. A final glance towards the students, and the Human drifted off into the hidden back room. Upon his return, he clutched a training saber in each hand.

 

Deactivated, the device was little more intricate than a silver and gold metallic pole with a hilt. Closer inspection revealed four thin, rectangular emitters spanning the length of the ‘blade’. When activated, they produced a white glow from the saber’s energy producing ‘edges’. Not hot enough to slice through anything an acolyte might wish to slice through, but the emitters caused enough pain from burns to teach the students the harsh reality of failure. And its material made it a more than capable bludgeoning instrument.

 

The two acolytes took their weapons and held them in their hands, knowing that for once they were never going to have to return them. A single hook hung out from the saber’s cross-guard, allowing easy attachment to one’s belt. The weapons bonded easily enough with the gray acolyte robes, but the warrior’s cloak was meant for concealing flesh and an actual lightsaber, not a full length blade.

 

Jresh removed his cumbersome black cloak without hesitance. Only needed for the initial recruitment phase, Syrosk cared not if he wore it after the meeting today. As such, the warrior thought to rid himself of the frivolous garment. He folded the cloak and held it within his arms, looking around for but a moment before setting off. Jresh approached the instructor watching over the dueling students not too far away.

 

Lorrik was outside of listening distance, but when Jresh returned, cloak-less, he could see the instructor holding up the garment in the distance, promising it to the last duelist standing. Reunited, the similarly dressed pair acolytes could now make their way throughout the Academy without being caught without a weapon.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh began with his usual stern tone. The Human acolyte froze in place, unaware what would follow. The Pureblood could not help but raise an eyebrow at his wide-eyed partner. “Will you be okay gathering and moving your possessions to the new quarters?”

 

“Oh, uh, sure. No problem,” Lorrik stated with surprise. Jresh respectfully bowed his head and made his way toward the warrior quarters to pack his things. For once, Lorrik didn’t have a joke to tell. Rather, he did have one, but made the conscious decision to keep it to himself.

 

Lorrik made his way back to his personal inlet amongst the inquisitor quarters, and began rummaging through his rather limited possessions. He double checked the loose drawers of his desk and under the bed for any important pieces he may have left there during his previous studies. Nothing of importance except for his fake holocron. Only the contents of the locked footlocker at the end of the bed held anything of significance.

 

Kneeling in front of his bed, the acolyte punched a code into the container’s electronic keypad. Opening the lid only enough to allow sufficient amounts of light to reveal the locker’s innards, Lorrik quickly examined the container’s interior for any missing materials. A few extra sets of acolyte robes took up half of the container’s space.

 

The other half was occupied by a large, folding, dual-screened datapad, and a grand assortment of insert-able datacards. Opening the lid just enough, the acolyte tossed the pyramid-shaped paperweight amidst his other belongings. His attention so focus on his possessions, Lorrik did not notice the approach of one of his former inquisitor classmates. He didn’t even notice the subtle tug as his training saber became unhooked from his belt.

 

“So. Lorrik. I hear you’ve finally become an apprentice. That’s a surprise,” the male inquisitor spoke up, examining the weapon in his hand behind Lorrik’s back.

 

“Ornell,” Lorrik muttered as he shut the footlocker closed. Looking over his shoulder, Lorrik found the other acolyte leaning against the wall a short distance away, rotating the training saber in his hand. Familiar slicked back blonde hair. Familiar snidely face.

 

Ornell stood over the kneeling inquisitor, lips curled into a sharp smirk. “What I don’t understand is, why would they just give you a training lightsaber like the rest of us lowly acolytes? And dressed like us too? Tsk tsk.”

 

“Maybe it’s because I’m still technically an acolyte,” Lorrik state as he lifted himself from the floor. “Maybe it’s because even if I were an apprentice, one doesn’t just obtain their lightsaber in their first three hours. Maybe it’s because in the end it doesn’t come down to weapons and clothes, but knowledge and skill. Now give me back by saber, I must be leaving.” As he spoke, his eyes grew increasingly sharp, and his word increasingly hostile.

 

“Surely an acolyte of your caliber should be able to take back their saber, I mean you said it yourself right? It doesn’t come down to weapons, only knowledge and skill,” Ornell scornfully stated. “So go ahead. Knowledge and skill your way out of this.”

 

“I won’t validate your petty jealousies Ornell,” Lorrik countered. “You’ve always been envious of my talent, and now you just can’t handle the fact that my ascension has proven every inkling in the back of your mind that ever said I was better than you.”

 

“This proves nothing,” Ornell said with a snarl. “Have you heard the rumors of your new master? The Sith Lord from the Great War? Why do you think he’s returned here? Now? To take on students no less? The other Lords constantly question his authority. Some even say the war broke him. A shell of a Sith. Driven insane by his inability to cope with the conflict.”

 

“Ornell, if your wish is to drive me to anger, you surely must realize that insulting a man I only met hours ago is not the proper procedure,” Lorrik calmly stated.

 

“Oh, then what about the Pureblood that you seemed inseparable from for such a time?” Ornell asked. “To think an inquisitor sold himself out so easily to one of the brutes of the Academy. Lorrik. Apprentice to a false master. Slave to a mindless warrior.”

 

Lorrik remained silent for a beat. “That warrior, Jresh, in the few hours I have spent in his company, has already proven himself to be greater than anything our class, or any other class, could possibly muster. He has proven himself. As have I.”

 

“So you’ve gone soft for the swordsman,” Ornell stated as he readied the training saber in his right hand.

 

Lorrik stood silently, his head hung low. The other acolyte grew dismayed at the subdued reaction he was only able to get out of Lorrik. A flick of the switch later and the weapon ignited, energy bands lighting up. Ornell readied another insult, but it would not be heard that day.

 

Blue energy crackled around Lorrik’s right hand, arcing from fingertip to fingertip. Ornell only had time to raise a single eyebrow before the other inquisitor lunged at him. Lorrik’s left hand gripped the ‘blade’ of the training lightsaber. In shock, Ornell did not even notice the other charge straight for his face. Lorrik’s right hand surged forward, gripping the other inquisitor’s mouth and jaws.

 

Ornell watched with wide eyes as arcane energies crackled beneath his nose. With a surge of light, the lightning transferred from Lorrik’s hand to his enemy’s face. The target’s body convulsed as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Retracting his hand, Lorrik watched the inquisitor slump to the ground, a gentle stream of smoke drifting outwards from his open maw.

 

Lorrik looked to his palms, each searing with pain from the separate burns he endured. Gently, he retrieved his saber from his unconscious foe, deactivated it, and carefully reattached it to his belt.

 

"Not quite Force lightning, but enough to put you in your place,” Lorrik addressed the unconscious inquisitor. “Have a nice nap.”

 

Lorrik returned to his footlocker and pulled out an extendable handle from the container’s side face. He tried gripping the handle with his saber-burnt hand, but it proved too painful. Gripping it with his Force-burnt hand was only slightly less excruciating, but he would have to endure.

 

Lifting the locker by the handle, Lorrik activated the micro-repulsors implanted in the container’s base. Allowing for ease of transportation in the absence of wheels, the footlocker’s lower end hovered a few centimeters from the ground. Giving his fallen foe a quick kick, Lorrik was finally ready to make his way toward his new quarters.

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Five: Accommodations

 

Lorrik managed to make his way to the new residence. The Saarai suites were housed in a completely different wing of the Academy than the students had previously studied. In fact it was in a wing the acolytes were rarely permitted to enter. Built since the reclamation of Korriban and its Academy by the true Sith, it was all new architecture featuring the most innovation you could find on the planet outside of the large planetary defense systems installed outside the borders of the school. High ceilings and wide halls replaced cramped pathways.

 

Cool, dark metals replaced carved stone. Lights of red, purple, and white lined the surfaces that embraced the advent of electronics and technology. Beautiful tile, smooth as the most luxurious starship deck, replaced the lackluster rock that once graced the undersides of the acolytes’ boots.

 

The biggest difference lied in the area’s general occupants. Instead of droves of gray acolytes, actual Imperial officers on Academy business bustled across the halls. A cloaked figure would emerge from a shadow only to disappear once again in another. The traveling inquisitor actually saw an honest to goodness red energy field blocking a doorway. Dragging his locker full of possessions, taking in the sights, Lorrik finally realized that he had finally moved up. In status and in literal terms. He had to ascend a stairway to find his new quarters.

 

Lorrik’s journey ended in a hallway possessing doors to rooms that seemed separated by vast amounts of space. He did not even need to look at his datapad to see which room was his, as Jresh leaning against the wall near one of the doors was enough of a hint.

 

“Is this it?” Lorrik asked, his attention focused on the immense door rather than his patiently waiting companion.

 

“Correct, I wanted to wait until you were here before venturing in,” Jresh stated.

 

The inquisitor contemplated what possible reasons his partner could have had for the stay of entrance. The bigger question on his mind, however, dealt with Jresh’s lack of belongings. The only things in his possession were the robes on his back and the training saber at his side.

 

“Didn’t you pack your things?” Lorrik asked.

 

The warrior lightly shook his head. “This is the start of a new life. All of my belongings were those of a lowly acolyte, no longer needed. I gave away anything of significance and left everything else where it was.” Removing himself from the wall, Jresh took note the luggage Lorrik had been dragging. “What did you bring?”

 

“The datapad and info cards I use for recreational study,” Lorrik answered. “Tomes of knowledge. Techniques and practices of various Sith arts. Anything regarding Sith Sorcery that I was able to procure over the years. That and some spare robes to keep things from rattling around in there.”

 

Jresh offered a quick, singular nod. “Well, I will not fault you for keeping such things.”

 

Relieved that his partner approved of his belongings, Lorrik approached the door. Stopping just short of the apartment’s control panel, the inquisitor looked at the similar doors further down the hallway.

 

“These rooms. Do you know if any belong to the other students?” Lorrik asked.

 

Jresh offered another quick nod. “Yes, I saw the others enter their respective rooms a short while ago. It seems our master has provided us all with adjacent residences. One to our left, and two across from us.”

 

“Hmm. First thing I’m doing inside ours is checking for air vents,” Lorrik said as he read the door code from his new datapad. The immense door rose into its ceiling recess, revealing the splendorous dwelling that waited behind its boundaries.

 

The word lavish immediately came to mind. Ornately designed tile and wall panels adorned with fantastically woven rugs and draperies. The entrance opened into a large common room, containing a meditation area and a set of desks. To the left, a kitchen and dining area. To the right, two bedrooms. Lorrik rushed into the main room with excitement, setting his baggage beside one of the desks before storming into each of the rooms. Jresh sauntered into the living room, even he unable to repress his look of surprise.

 

“Can you believe it? Our own rooms! Within our own quarters! Restrooms that aren’t fifty meters away from the bed!” Lorrik cheered as he dashed from one of the bedrooms.

 

Maintaining his calm, the warrior patiently surveyed the room, passing his gaze over the various amenities. “We should find everything there is two of, and decide which belongs to whom.”

 

“Look! A kitchen!” Lorrik shouted, ignoring his partner’s recommendation.

 

Jresh watched as the inquisitor darted into the quaint kitchen area, an overjoyed expression upon the Human’s face. “Lorrik, please calm yourself.”

 

“I’m sorry, but we never saw anything like this back in the inquisitors’ hall,” Lorrik stated. His eyes now set towards discovering the chilled mysteries resting within the confines of the kitchen’s conservator, the inquisitor lost his grip on his short-term memory. As Lorrik eagerly clutched the tall icebox’s handle with his right hand, he let out an awful yelp.

 

“What was that about?” Jresh asked, recovering from the assault that just beset his ears.

 

Lorrik returned to the main room, clutching his injured hand with his slightly less injured hand. “Minor burns, nothing to worry about.”

 

Jresh’s eyes widened for a brief moment before settling back to their normal state. “You burned your hand on a conservator? Syrosk has laid quite the devious trap.”

 

“No. These were from earlier. Had a quick run in with a petty acolyte back in my old quarters. Took my training saber, so I had to use these,” Lorrik explained showing his palms. “Burnt one with the saber, burnt the other with a Force technique.”

 

“Defended yourself against an armed opponent whilst you yourself were unarmed, did you? Good work,” Jresh offered, the smallest touch of warmth shining through his stoicism. Lorrik could not help but crack a smile. “Now I can forestall the duel I had planned to gauge your abilities.”

 

Suddenly, Lorrik’s smile faded.

 

“Are you done shouting yet?” a female’s voice shout from beyond the residence’s walls. It was that of Arlia in the next suite over.

 

Staring toward the bedrooms, Lorrik began gently scratching his chin. “Walls must be pretty thin if we can hear each other from here. Oh well. At least those two are our neighbors instead of the Lizard and Horn-face.”

 

“Horn-face isn’t the Zabrak?” Jresh asked.

 

“No, the Nikto.” Lorrik answered.

 

The Pureblood offered a subtle arch of his brow. “Perhaps you should put a little more thought into your nicknames, then.”

 

“Whatever you say, Whiskers,” Lorrik warmly replied . Jresh offered only a vacant stare. “Now you. Think of one for me.”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“It’s okay. I give you permission to make fun of my species.”

 

“No, I meant that we don’t really resort to calling Humans derogatory names. You’re usually so unremarkable that we just let you belittle yourselves via your actions,” Jresh stated with an eerily positive tone.

 

“Funny,” Lorrik said, deadpan. “Especially coming from someone whose probably got plenty of Human blood in his ancestry.”

 

The Pureblood offered a quick shrug. “I am not entirely without humor or humility.”

 

“Considering we are of the two species that make up the majority of the Imperial populace, a little humility wouldn’t hurt. Well, how about we divide up the amenities?” Lorrik asked, jutting his thumb toward the desks along the back wall. Picking his luggage up from the floor, the inquisitor set it atop the left desk, closest to the kitchen area. “I’ll take this one.”

 

“Fine by me,” Jresh stated.

 

“Left desk, so I guess I’ll take the left bedroom as well. Keeps things even,” Lorrik said, pointing to the room closest to the back wall.

 

As the inquisitor lowered his hand, something caught his eye on the wall between the two bedrooms. An unassuming, yet substantially large, trunk rested on the floor. Twitching his head toward the container, Lorrik beckoned his companion to take a look with him. Containing no lock, all it required was a simple lift of the lid.

 

And lifted the lid was. A barely audible squeak emanated from Lorrik as he recognized the prizes inside. Robes. New outfits relevant to a new status. The black garments were quickly retrieved and studied by the two acolytes.

 

For the warrior, black with red trim. For the inquisitor, black with purple trim. By all accounts, the two outfits appeared relatively the same. Tight fitting robes, not dissimilar from his previous uniform, covered the torso and legs. The material, however, was much more resilient, but no less flexible, and utterly capable of conforming to any humanoid shape the Academy would harbor in its students.

 

The gloves and boots accompanying the robes were a fine departure. Pulled over the underlying garb, the accessories possessed moderate armoring, with disjointed plates providing ample protection. To top it all off, a coat to accentuate the outer layer. It was no cloak, with its sleeves ending at the elbow and tail bottoming out at the knees, but its neck went straight into a familiar hood. The outfit was finished with a sash to serve as the belt, to be used to bind the coat closed if so desired. Every fold or edge of cloth usually came with an adornment of colored trim.

 

Lorrik laid his new attire out on the floor, lining up the various garments as they would appear in relation to each other. Jresh, meanwhile, simply moves the folded clothes and accessories from the trunk to beside his bedroom entrance. The inquisitor gawked at his laid out attire, mouth agape in astonishment. For the first time, truly speechless. It didn’t last, however.

 

“He can say we’re not his apprentices yet all he wants, but these are not the clothes of an acolyte,” Lorrik stated. “I’m going to go try them on.”

 

The inquisitor was about to bend down to collect his new clothes, but suddenly rose as if stuck by realization. Rushing over to his own footlocker, the inquisitor quickly punched in the code to unlock it. Rooting around his belongings, the Human returned a moment later holding a trinket in his hand. The light caught the red pyramid in a such a way to aggrandize its appearance.

 

“You have a holocron?” Jresh asked, showing the first hint of genuine surprise Lorrik had ever seen from him. The inquisitor was tempted to play a quick game with his companion, but decided it was a time for honesty.

 

“No, it’s actually just a souvenir I picked up,” Lorrik stated, tapping the trinket’s surface with his finger, eliciting an sharp clink. “But, hey, I was thinking. You remember the task Lord Syrosk gave us?”

 

“Are you saying that fake holocron is something you hold dear?” Jresh asked.

 

“Well, it may not be worth anything really, but to me it represents my quest for knowledge. It’s one of the few things I’ve got, so I figure it’d be the best,” Lorrik said, somewhat abashedly.

 

“I applaud you for picking the object with sentimental value over your properties that possess actual worth,” Jresh stated. “If those datacards contain the types of information I assume they do, don’t let someone take them away from you. Not me. Not anybody.”

 

“Well considering those are the only things I own, it wasn’t much of a choice,” Lorrik plainly said. The inquisitor tilted his head as a new thought entered it. “Wait a sec. If you left all your belongings behind, you don’t have anything to give me do you?”

 

The Pureblood remained rigid, stoic, as he gazed upon his inquisitive partner. “I guess not.”

 

“That was part of the reason you did it, right?” Lorrik asked, seeking to confirm his suspicions.

 

“Correct. While I have nothing physical to give you, I hope you realize you have my respect and trust for the time being,” Jresh stated. “As for the task, I have nothing to give you, so you will have nothing to present to our master, and that is how it will have to be.”

 

“Now that you think about it, Sith training and all, that’s probably the way to go about it,” Lorrik said, looking dearly at the holocron in his hand. After a deep breath, the inquisitor tossed the trinket to his partner. “Oh well. At least this way, one of us will be correct. If one half of the team must succeed, it may as well be you.”

 

As the room fell quiet, Lorrik gathered his belongings and relocated to his new bedroom. Jresh stood in silence for but a moment before retreated to his bedroom as well, new robes in tow. Passing though the automatic door, the warrior partially understood the excitement Lorrik possessed. The room was a thing of luxury, at least for anyone who had spent numerous years as a lowly acolyte. A full-sized bed, covered with ornately designed sheets, softer than anything the warrior had ever touched in his recent life.

 

To the left of the room’s entrance, a closet nearly stretching the entirety of the wall’s length. To the right, the chamber’s private bathroom, containing a tub, toilet, and additional standing-glass shower. The black tiles, wall panels, and equipment of the room further served the quarter’s darkened aesthetic. Placing his new set of robes in the proper recess, Jresh returned to the suite’s main room.

 

In the center of the common room, the open area between the wall near the entrance and the far wall occupied by desks, there rest a single circular rug. Magnificent in size and decoration, the dark mat bore countless Sith sigils and patterns in bright red. Standing in its center, Jresh couldn’t help but feel odd. It prompted equal parts peace and chaos. Provoked and invoked thought.

 

Now kneeling, the warrior unhooked the training saber from his belt and laid it in front of him. After a pause, he also placed the gifted holocron before him as well. On his knees, Jresh neatly folded his hands upon his lap and closed his eyes. Ignoring what sounded like a faucet from Lorrik’s room, the Pureblood became rapt in meditation. Time slowed in the meditator’s mind and his surroundings washed away. Alone, in an empty realm, Jresh was at peace.

 

After a quick shower, Lorrik felt the cleanest he had been in quite some time. Rejuvenated, the inquisitor promptly began dressing himself with his new robes. More complex that he had originally foreseen, the entire process proved to be rather time consuming, but Lorrik would not stop until his clothes were perfectly set.

 

The underlying robes felt awkward as the inquisitor adorned them using the same technique as his regular acolyte robes. Realizing different folds in different directions were needed, he eventually reached a point where they felt flawless. Next came the coat. No buttons or fasteners meant it had to be worn completely open, or secured by the provided sash. Coat on, hood up, and belt applied. The opening on the coat appeared as an upside-down teardrop, with the interior trim rounding around the wearer’s face and tapering toward a point behind the sash, beneath which the coat continued to the knees.

 

The gloves and boots possessed the most weight to them. The material was thick, but not thick enough to inherently limit the wearer’s dexterity. The back of the hand was protected by a black armored plate covering the area between the knuckles and the wrist. The glove continued close to the elbow, where belted fasteners on the forearm could secure the loose material, keeping the gloves from slipping off.

 

The boots slipped on easily enough, becoming snug only after the attached buckles were manipulated to remove the slack. More plates covered the boots’ toes and shins. The shin guards extended past the actual boot material, protecting the wearer’s knees. Suited up, the inquisitor moved awkwardly as he got used to the additional weight at the end of his limbs.

 

“What do you think?” Lorrik asked, emerging from his quarters. As the inquisitor awaited a response, he saw his kneeling companion take a deep breath. In front of the meditating Sith, a training sabre hovered completely vertical, with an upside down holocron balancing on the upper tip. Slowly opening his eyes, the warrior brought the floating objects to a rest on the ground before him.

 

When Jresh finally turned toward his companion, he could see him frozen in front of the doorway, striking a pose. The inquisitor was turned to his side, with hands raised like claws, mentally prepared to unleash a torrent of Force energy.

 

Jresh slowly looked up and down his partner’s posed figure. “’What do I think?’ You are definitely going to have to be more specific.”

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Chapter Six: Tests

 

Day two of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Just as hot as the day before. Once more the eight students of Lord Syrosk found themselves upon one of Korriban’s local peaks. This time however, they each wore the robes that had been gifted to them, with their training sabers at their sides. Four warriors in black and red. Four inquisitors in black and purple.

 

Going from one set of uniforms to two only took several years, but the students were optimistic that apprenticeship would spell an even greater increase in individuality. Though it was hard for one of the students to not stand out from his peers. The relatively one-size-fits-all uniforms apparently didn’t for the Trandoshan. Sans boots and gloves entirely, sleeves rolled up, and his outer coat worn completely open, his clothing possessed equal parts too loose and too tight.

 

The eight students stood side by side in the same formation and order as the day before. This time, however, they waited facing forward, toward the cliff’s edge hoping to catch their master’s arrival should he use the same technique as the day before.

 

“You know, now that you mention it, the black clothes and hood don’t seem much hotter than the regular acolyte robes,” Lorrik stated, once again breaking the silence. “I guess it has to do with frame of mind more than anything. Or maybe the materials-”

 

“Not this again,” Jresh muttered.

 

“Honestly, there are Academy instructors who talk less than you,” Arlia said with a hint of animosity. Lorrik leaned forward to issue a harsh squint at his verbal attacker, prompting a grin from the haughty Twi’lek. “If you think staring at me is going to accomplish anything… well, you wouldn’t be the first, but you’d be just as wrong.”

 

“There’s a different between the idle gawkers disrobing you with their eyes and someone staring down his opponent,” Lorrik stated, still leaning forward.

 

“If you think you can affect my well-being with a harsh gaze, you’ve been sorely misled,” Arlia taunted.

 

Lorrik let out a light chuckle before returning to his regular standing position. “Give it time.”

 

“Time,” a raspy voice arose from behind the students, “is not something that should be readily given.”

 

Turning around, the acolytes discovered the Sith Lord standing only a few meters away. Once again he had managed to approach the mountain peak in silence.

 

“No… no… go back to the way you were facing,” Syrosk said as he circumvented the lineup of students. The acolytes complied, but at a slow enough pace that they could still watch their master’s every move around them.

 

The Sith Lord wore the same suit of armor beset by a heavy cloak as the day before. His hands folded behind his back, hidden beneath his sleeves, Syrosk slowly sauntered in front of the students before coming to a stop toward their median. His eyes drifted from acolyte to acolyte, as if studying them.

 

“Let’s see, since we started on the left last time,” Syrosk began, “it only makes sense that, today, we start on the left side again.”

 

The students were having trouble in masking their confusion regarding their new master’s eccentricities.

 

“Your task was to give your companion something of importance, and bring your received items here,” Syrosk stated as he made his way toward the edge of the lineup.

 

Once again he found himself in front of Kar’ai. Without words, the Sith Lord prompted the Rattataki to present her item. As the first to proceed, she was not entirely sure what the Lord was expecting, but her pride would not permit her to ask questions of him. Instead, she retrieved a simple silver locket from her pocket and placed in her raised palms for her master’s scrutiny whilst her head lay bowed. The size and shape of a large coin, though much thicker, the locket sans chain opened to reveal a portrait of Ryloh. The Sith Lord leaned forward slightly to examine the piece, but not actually touch it.

 

“Hmm, a locket bearing your partner’s image. Shows a genuine amount of care for the gift recipient, while also managing to keep the item fundamentally about the gift giver. Selfishly selfless,” Syrosk rasped. “Material and roughly cut photograph suggest it was a spur of the moment creation in response to the task given, not something held on to for years. Still, a picture in lieu of hologram indicates a taste for antiquity… or frugality. Overall, a fine sentiment.”

 

The Sith Lord paused as he waited from the acolyte to raise her head.

 

“Now destroy it,” Syrosk said.

 

The acolyte dared not question her master, but she couldn’t help but pass a glance toward Ryloh. Understandingly, the blue Twi’lek signaled for her to proceed. With a nod of her own, Kar’ai held the locket in her enclosed hand, audibly bending metal and shattering glass as she tightened her grip. As she relaxed her clutch, only a twisted bit of scrap lay in her palm. It was enough to earn an approving nod from her master.

 

Taking a step sideward, the Sith Lord found himself in front of the light blue Twi’lek, who was trying his hardest to keep a stern visage in light of what had just transpired. Syrosk produced the same silent glare as before, signaling for Ryloh to make his presentation. He followed his companion’s actions, retrieving a red ribbon from his pocket and laying it in the flat of his palm.

 

“Hmm, now this is different. A Korriban Academy Acclamation Ribbon. Rewarded to Kar’ai Tjensi for excellence in swordsmanship. Obtained during one of the annual tourneys by the instructors of your classrooms. Something that cannot simply be made, but must be earned. A declaration of skill to all who see it,” Syrosk evaluated. “As such, by giving it to your companion, you have proven yourself beyond keeping such petty qualifiers, yet each time your partner looks at it they will be reminded of your skill.”

 

Once more the Sith Lord paused.

 

“Now destroy it.”

 

Ryloh promptly ripped the ribbon into several thin strips before releasing them into the wind. With a nod, the Sith Lord continued down the line. One after another the acolytes would present their items, and the Sith Lord would analyze what it meant for the contributor and the recipient. Then promptly tell them to destroy it.

 

The Trandoshan smashed Vurt’s music box beneath his clawed foot. The Nikto snapped Nesk’s fang necklace, a prized hunting trophy. The Zabrak crushed Arlia’s ampoule of Ryll, a type of spice mined from her species’ homeworld. The violet Twi’lek held Isorr’s procured Sith Medallion, an archaic form of entry into the Korriban Academy, in her hand. Unable to break the medal with her bare hands, she decided that throwing the trinket over the nearby cliff would suffice.

 

“If that lands on anything important, you are taking responsibility,” Syrosk stated in his usual raspy tone, before moving on to the Pureblood.

 

Jresh followed the standard procedure, placing his companion’s holocron in his hand, ready for the master’s examination. Of peculiar note was the fact that this was the first item the Sith Lord felt the need to examine with his hands. Having manipulated it in silence, the horned alien ended his inspection with a ghastly chuckle before returning it to Jresh.

 

“It is a useless trinket of no significant monetary worth,” Jresh stated, offering his own analysis before the Sith Lord could offer his. “However, it does symbolize my partner’s ideals and motives regarding his quest for knowledge. It is the guiding principle of Lorrik’s continued studies at this Academy, and by giving it to me, he trusts me with a glimpse into his prolonged intentions and the inner machination of his psyche.”

 

A heavy silence fell across the mountain peak as the winds themselves stopped blowing.

 

“Hmm, not what I would have said, but that will suffice. You did leave off a bit at the end, however,” Syrosk rasped. “Shall I say it, or-”

 

Jresh clenched his gloved fist before the Sith Lord could finish, collapsing the hollow trinket onto itself. Syrosk let out another grisly chortle as he approached the last acolyte. One final silent look, as Lorrik was ordered to offer his item. He complied by showing his empty palms.

 

“You’ll have to forgive an old man’s eyesight, but I do believe your hands are empty acolyte.”

 

“Exactly,” Lorrik stated.

 

“Did your companion deem you not worthy of his possessions?” Syrosk asked in a rather accusatory tone.

 

“Not at all,” Lorrik stated. “It’s just that he had no possessions to give. He gave away his belongings, signaling the beginning of a new life under the training of a new master.”

 

“Oh? Did he give them away before or after I gave you this task?” Syrosk asked.

 

“Afterwards,” Lorrik answered with slight hesitance.

 

The Sith Lord persisted. “He could not save even the tiniest of items for you? He wanted to start his new life, but not have you be a single part of it? He had all day to procure something in his ‘new life’ to give you.”

 

The Human’s head dipped. “It’s not like that.”

 

“It’s not?” Syrosk asked.

 

“He didn’t give me anything physical, but he did give me his respect and his trust. It is the intangible that proves the lasting bonds of a partnership. You cannot simply order me to destroy respect or trust,” Lorrik firmly stated.

 

“You would not believe how wrong that statement is,” Syrosk quietly rasped. “And what of respect? Is it truly as effective a measure of connectivity as you presume?”

 

“It must be earned.”

 

“But how easily is it earned? I respect the Emperor. I respect the Jedi Grand Master. I respect my students,” Syrosk listed. “It is but the lowest indicator of having proved oneself.”

 

“Even so, trust is not as easily attainable.”

 

“How so? I’m sure you promised not to stab him in the back, and now he trusts you. Simple as that. Whatever he may have told you, it matters not. What you hold in your hands does represent something your partner has given you, that much is true. However, it is not trust, or respect. It is evidence, of the selfishness and the willingness to permit you no power in holding anything he could possible find attachment to.”

 

The inquisitor’s nostrils flared. “That’s not true.”

 

“It is true,” Jresh spoke up. Confusion dwelled beneath the outermost layer of Lorrik’s visage. Taking a few steps sideward, the Sith Lord once again found himself in front of the Pureblood. The horned alien’s piercing eyes pleaded for the acolyte to continue. “To give my partner an item of significant worth would have given him control over a part of me. If I am going to advance as a Sith I cannot allow such weakness to influence me.”

 

“That, is the correct answer,” Syrosk expectantly said with an expression only slightly resembling a smile. “As Sith, we are taught that allowing ourselves to controlled and manipulated will prohibit the attainment of power that will inevitably allow us to control and manipulate the unworthy. However…”

 

The Sith Lord’s half-smile quickly faded.

 

“The correct answer in not always the right answer. Or rather, it is not the best possible answer.”

 

Jresh’s eyes sharpened as he digested his master’s words. Uncertainty persisted not only in the warrior, but in his partner as well. Syrosk continually glanced between the two acolytes in front of him. Only the soft whispers of the Korriban winds could be heard, softly knocking at the acolytes’ ankles with the drifting sands carried therein.

 

The Sith Lord turned his back to the pair, longingly staring at the cliff’s edge. “The task I gave you was a direct order, from master to student. From judge to contender. As an acolyte it is your duty to follow through with it. Even if it makes you hurt. Even if it makes you yearn. Even if it makes you weak. If you have the nerve to stand up for yourself, to disobey me, you had better possess the will to directly oppose me. Maybe someday, as an apprentice, I will allow you to provide insights and objections. For now however, you are far too weak to possibly challenge me or influence my decisions.“

 

The Sith Lord turned around to directly address his student.

 

“You were true to the Sith way of life. Good,” Syrosk rasped. “You disobeyed a direct order from your master. Bad. However, by doing so you showed true strength. Good. However, by doing so you took away my chance at destroying something precious to you. Bad.”

 

The Sith Lord then directed his attention toward Lorrik.

 

“Not to mention, poor Lorrik was the only acolyte who didn’t get the chance to crush something of his partner’s.”

 

Before the inquisitor could reply, Syrosk raised a single gauntleted hand, ordering silence.

 

“If you would be so kind, could you unhook your saber Lorrik?” Syrosk not so much asked, but insisted. The inquisitor complied, though with substantial hesitance. The Sith Lord stared down the acolyte as he held the training saber loosely in his hand. “Jresh has proven that the thing he values greatest is himself. Therefore for the purposes of the previously issued task, his body will act as a substitute for his given item.”

 

A deep shiver ran down the inquisitor’ spine, almost making him drop his weapon.

 

“If the others could take a few steps back,” Syrosk requested, shooing the other six acolytes away. They promptly complied. “Now, take your saber, and strike your partner with the same conviction the others had in completing their task.”

 

Lorrik stood, unmoving, in a daze, unsure of how to proceed.

 

“Lorrik, this is a punishment for not following an order. Are you telling me that you too are going to disobey me? The alternative is me enacting the punishment myself.”

 

With those words, Lorrik had no choice but to step forward. Turning to his right, he locked eyes with the warrior for but a second. Jresh took a deep breath and closed his eyes, having accepted his fate. Holding the inactive training saber with two hands, Lorrik followed his companions lead before letting lose a swing toward the Pureblood’s chest. The strike connected. But lacked even sufficient force to cause Jresh to shift from his spot in the slightest.

 

“Now, now, that’ll never work,” Syrosk stated, shaking his head. “You are right handed, are you not? Your swing should have more impact from the other side. Try again.”

 

His head lowered, Lorrik relocated to Jresh’s right side. Eyes still shut, the warrior waited patiently for the next blow. Another swing, this time strong enough to force Jresh to take a single step back. Looking to his master, Lorrik saw the Sith Lord baring a displeased expression.

 

“If you are too weak to leave a proper impression ,you could always activate the saber’s energy array,” Syrosk coldly offered.

 

Emotions began to rise from the bottom of the inquisitor’s heart. Anger. Rage. Fury. At his master. At his companion. At himself. Not even thinking, Lorrik swung once more with passion, letting out a righteous battle cry. The saber came into contact hard with Jresh’s shoulder and chest, forcing the warrior to take a knee.

 

“Good. Good,” Syrosk said.

 

Lorrik bent down to render aid to his partner, but Jresh brushed the inquisitor away. Re-hooking his saber to his belt, Lorrik couldn’t help but notice the other acolytes silently whispering amongst themselves a short distance away.

 

“Oh? I ask my students to take a few steps back and suddenly they think they think the lesson is over,” Syrosk rasped as he peered toward the uncouth gathering.

 

Without hesitation, any slack in the other acolytes’ postures was immediately remedied as the students stood once more at full attention. His master’s attention elsewhere, Lorrik offered a hand of assistance to his partially felled companion. Jresh merely batted the hand away once more as he arose of his own accord. The warrior’s piercing eyes seemed to lash out at the surrounding scenery, but they harbored no ill intentions toward the progenitor of his wounds, instead bearing a sense of intense determination.

 

Standing once more, Jresh brushed the dust from his knee and ventured toward the gathering of students. Lorrik remained frozen in place, until the warrior beckoned him to follow with a subtle wave. The inquisitor heeded his companion’s call, but certainly lacked the exuberant presence that was his norm. Once more, the Sith Lord and his students were all together, ready to continue.

 

“Day one was special,” Syrosk stated. “From here on out we will train. Day in. Day out. Even during your spare time, your bodies, minds, and skills will be put to the test, whether you all know it or not. Regarding your first test, I now possess first-hand knowledge of how each and every one of you thinks. Now, the time has come for you to prove yourselves to me in combat.”

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Chapter Seven: Duelists

 

Sweeter words could not have been spoken for some of the acolytes. Smiles even graced the faces of the more combative students, relishing the fact that they could prove themselves in a fight rather than with arbitrary mind games. Jresh managed to preserve his stern expression through the news and his injuries. Lorrik meanwhile, was less than thrilled at the entire prospect.

 

“I suppose, as this is the first of many times you shall fight in my presence, I should keep this first trial simple,” Syrosk stated. “A series of duels. warrior versus warrior. inquisitor versus inquisitor. Repeat. Now, since you managed to break up the convenient line formation you had going earlier, I am without a suitable form of deciding who should go first. I suppose volunteering would be-”

 

“I volunteer to go first, my Lord,” Kar’ai enthusiastically interrupted.

 

“I suppose volunteering would be the best way to proceed,” Syrosk repeated, managing to finish this time. The Sith Lord stared at the Rattataki warrior with an extremely dull expression.

 

“Oh, it would appear we have our first volunteer,” Syrosk stated, oozing with faux excitement. “Would anyone else like to-”

 

“I will face her!” Nesk snarled. After a pause, the Sith Lord released the heaviest of sighs towards the Trandoshan.

 

“Very well, we have our first set of combatants,” Syrosk said in a rather unenthusiastic tone. “Allow me to set forth some rules. Not just for this duel. But for your continued tutelage under myself.”

 

“Number one: Do not attempt to kill your opponent in my presence. I possess a very precise set of methods that will transform you all into worthy Sith, but it requires patience and the continued existence of your peers to bring out your true potential for the time being. That being said, outside of my presence, Academy rules still hold true… so be prepared to defend yourself to your last breath at all times.”

 

“Number two: Do not deviate from the rule sets I put forth during any and all trials. I have designed the tasks I assign with the utmost meticulousness. To break free from the confines I provide is to incur my wrath. But that rule was sufficiently explained mere moments ago was it not?”

 

“Number three: Do. Not. Inter. Rupt. Me. When. I. Am. Talking. Do. I. Make. My. Self. Clear?”

 

The petrified students could barely nod in agreement, but they did so as if their lives depended on it, because is all fairness, it very well could have.

 

“Simple enough, yes? Now, I believe there was word of two volunteers. Step forward.”

 

Kar’ai and Nesk shared a combative glance as they removed themselves from the crowd of acolytes.

 

“The rest of you, remain silent and watch the proceeding fights very carefully. On one hand, you just might learn something yourselves. On the other, I don’t want to be distracted by petty sideline banter. Understood?”

 

Once more, the students answered with a quick nod.

 

Syrosk walked toward the center of what appeared to be the remnants of a ring carved into the flat mountaintop. The dueling warriors began to follow him, but were motioned to stay put towards the circle’s edge. In his intended position, the Sith Lord took a deep breath as he focused his energies.

 

With an exhale, and the quick jut of a hand, an invisible energy radiated from the horned alien’s body. Like a violent yet perfectly oriented wind, the shockwave blew away all traces of overlaying dust that had nearly concealed the markings of the ancient arena.

 

“Before you, rests an ancient Sith dueling circle,” Syrosk stated. “Small enough to always keep you but a short distance away from your death. Large enough to accommodate even the most agile and acrobatic of combatants. The petty rings you may have used to duel within the halls of the Academy were nothing compared to the wonder you see before you. These shallow carvings have endured thousands of years of natural erosion. Endured the various planetary occupations and desertions. It is as much an artifact as any weapon or trinket held by a Dark Lord of the Sith. It demands your sacrifice. Your blood. Your pain. Your life. Therefore, in order to prove yourselves as my students, you must possess at least what little power is required to disregard the demands of stone.”

 

With no more words to give, the Sith Lord summoned forth the two dueling warriors. They were directed to opposing edges of the ring, twenty meters apart. The two combatants simultaneously adopted their unique battle stances as they activated their training sabers. Nesk stood tall, holding his weapon at his side, pointed toward the ground. Kar’ai gripped her weapon with two hands, its tip pointing toward the sky, legs slightly bent as she readied herself to pounce.

 

“Why so eager to face me, Nesk?” Kar’ai asked, a confident grin gracing her lips.

 

“Settling its argument from yesterday,” Nesk answered.

 

“There was an argument? All I remember is you refusing to admit I was the better duelist,” Kar’ai toyed.

 

“It lacked proof!” Nesk snarled.

 

“Well, the torn ribbon that’s probably resting at the bottom of the mountain right now was a good indicator,” Kar’ai smugly replied.

 

“Not fair! Was dissqualified from tourney!” Nesk shouted.

 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with just as good an excuse for when you lose this duel,” Kar’ai stated. The primal glare Nesk had directed toward his opponent reached its peak. The match was about to begin, regardless of their master’s position between them.

 

Syrosk raised a hand, prompting the students to hold whilst he exited the ring. Once beyond the boundaries of the circle, the Sith Lord cut the air with his falling hand, signaling the warriors to begin. The signal did not go unheeded, as Kar’ai rushed toward her unmoving opponent. Only at the last moment did Nesk bother raising his saber. The Trandoshan’s own physical strength was more than capable of permitting the effortless blocking of the initial strike. The colossal warrior stood less of a chance, however, in countering the Rattataki’s blistering speed.

 

Utilizing the push back from her opponent’s blade, Kar’ai maneuvered toward Nesk’s flank. The follow-up backhand swing of her training saber was only barely defended against by the Trandoshan. Weapons crossed, Nesk let out a forceful snarl as he shoved the other warrior away. Pushed back, Kar’ai now found herself on the defense. Unable to block Nesk’s bold attacks with physical strength alone, she relief on utilizing her greater maneuverability.

 

The Trandoshan lashed out continuously with erratic attacks, fury the driving force behind each strike. Nearing the edge of the dueling ring, Kar’ai was forced to directly block one of her opponents powerful strikes. With a downward swing, Nesk was able to bring the Rattataki to her knee as their sabers clashed. Locked together, Kar’ai was barely able to roll to the side as her opponent’s clawed foot raced toward her.

 

The two warriors continued their bout with fairly predictable form. Their techniques were honed by the years of study and practice they had received at the Academy, but certainly lacking in refinement. Nesk relied on strength and endurance. Kar’ai, on dexterity and agility. The other students watched in awe as the talented contenders went on for minutes, neither seemingly holding an advantage over the other. The fighters themselves seemed to be reveling in the match themselves as passionate expressions graced their uncloaked faces. Their master watched patiently, noting every movement partaken by his students.

 

There was a lull in the conflict as the combatants found a widening gap of a few meters between them. Utilizing this space, Kar’ai leapt at her opponent intending on bringing her saber down with the mightiest of strikes. The other students could have sworn the ground itself shook when the two sabers connected. As if floating, the Rattataki had no footing to dodge Nesk’s twist of the blade, driving his saber’s handle into her face. The blow to the cheek connected with enough force to send the female warrior tumbling to the ground, putting an end to her acrobatic grace.

 

Nesk looked to his master, who’s expression bared no desire for the warriors to cease their match. With a nod, the lumbering Trandoshan approached the felled Rattataki. A sweeping leg from the fallen Kar’ai attempted to trip the warrior by her feet, but was unable to budge the firmly planted Trandoshan. Instead, Nesk ignored the trivial kick to his lower leg, gripping the Rattataki by her throat with his clawed hand. With his right hand holding his saber at his side, Nesk raised his opponent into the air with his left. Kar’ai’s weapon fell from her hand as she struggled to breath whilst hoisted in the air.

 

“Is it finished? Not impressed,” Nesk snarled.

 

Whilst gasping for air, sparse words seemed to emanate from the Rattataki’s lips.

 

“Oh? It tries to speak?” Nesk asked, slightly shifting his grip.

 

“I said… just needed… reach,” Kar’ai managed to mutter. Suddenly the Rattataki’s left leg stretched toward the sky. Nesk was only able to look up for but a moment before Kar’ai brought her heel down, smashing in the Trandoshan’s snout. Dazed, Nesk fell forward, releasing his grip on Kar’ai. Her opponent now lying face down in the dusty surface below, she promptly retrieved her training saber from where it fell. The Trandoshan could not recover in time to avoid the ignited weapon’s tip hovering only a short distance from the back of his neck.

 

From the sidelines, Syrosk initiated a round of slow applause for the warriors. With the Sith Lord’s normally sluggish movements, the students were not entirely sure whether his clapping was genuine or bordering on facetious. The horned alien bid the two combatants to rise and relax at their leisure.

 

“Well done my students,” Syrosk offered as the two warriors shuffled back toward the group. Ryloh seemed absolutely thrilled at his partner’s apparent victory. Complimentary remarks oozed from his lips as he affirmed his companion. Lorrik couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the positive display. Meanwhile, Vurt watched his partner’s return with the same permanently cold expression he always bore.

 

“Kar’ai,” Syrosk began, directing his full attention toward the Rattataki. “You were both the initiator and the concluder. You began strong and fast, and refused to let your opponents physical superiority deteriorate your flow. The embodiment of aggression. You show skill in a style of combat that would quickly drain others, but like all things, there is room for improvement. In your haste, and your reliance on acrobatics, you must ensure that you are never not in control of the situation. You must command your body in its entirety, whether it is on the ground, or in the air. Do not ‘jump at’ your opponent, for you can be stopped. Rather, aim to ‘jump through’ your opponent.”

 

“Nesk,” Syrosk continued, changing his focus to the Trandoshan still clutching his nose. “Though lacking the raw movement shown by your opponent, you fought with just as much energy. Bold and direct, yet equally chaotic. Though slow, you made up for it with powerful blows and a penchant for unpredictable behavior. The embodiment of ferocity. You draw upon an infinitely renewable emotional fuel to empower your attacks. That is where your greatest strength lies. But it is also your greatest limiter until you can master it. You must draw from your internal emotions. When you scream and shout on the battlefield, you are letting your true power slip away from you. The pressure inside of you lessens, preventing you from reaching your true potential. Your fury is your own. Let your opponent not see it in your face, but in your blade.”

 

“Overall, an adequate show from the warriors,” Syrosk continued, scanning the group from side to side. “Let us see how the inquisitors do. Would the partners of the two previous combatants please step forward.”

 

Vurt promptly left the side of his companion with his head held high. Ryloh was less than enthused. The two had seen each other fight for the favor of the warriors back at the Academy, leading to some predetermined estimation when it came the each other’s skill. The Twi'lek saw the Nikto shatter a student’s leg just the other day. The hesitance could be seen in Ryloh’s shuffle toward the dueling circle.

 

The two acolytes found themselves opposite each other, drawing their training saber’s at their master’s behest. The golden energy bands crackled as the sabers activated, eliciting a hum that would replace that of the passing winds. Syrosk raised a hand into the air, prompting the students to ready themselves for the ensuing battle.

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Chapter Eight: Clashes

 

The two inquisitors readied themselves in silence. No words. No taunts. No insults. Only the shuffling of material as the acolytes awaited the dropping of their master’s hand. Vurt adopted a low guard, his weapon held in his right hand. Ryloh kept his feet firmly planted below him, saber held high with both hands.

 

The two mirrored the positions of the warriors who came before them, though with a veneer of overbearing calm instead of the ferocity that came beforehand. Both stood unmoving, in regards to Vurt’s lack of emotion, and Ryloh’s lack of wanting to move from his spot.

 

“Begin,” Syrosk called out, dropping his raised hand. By appearances, it could have seemed that neither of the combatants had heard their master. But in truth, this match would be vastly different from the once preceding it. The two acolytes watched each other, examining every minute movement and technique.

 

Slowly, the inquisitors began their approach toward the center of the ring. Step after step was taken in moderation. Once finally together, Ryloh was the first to strike out. A wide diagonal slash came down upon his opponent, but was promptly deflected. The move’s intention was not to harm, but to gauge the opponent. Vurt was known to be as close to a true duelists as an inquisitor could get, and his actions did nothing to dissuade the notion in Ryloh’s mind.

 

The duel continued like this for quite some time. One would let out an attack and the other would defend, each never breaking eye contact. Eventually the pace would increase, bit by bit, until the match had escalated to its peak. Attack and counterattack would transpire within a period of a single second, only to be followed by a new set the second after.

 

Ryloh utilized long, flowing arc movements. Vurt utilized short, precise actions. Both acted and responded with utmost fluidity. The two circled each other, never moving more than a few meters from the ring’s center.

 

To the untrained eye, it appeared that the acolytes had reached a stalemate, but any true saber duelist could see Vurt had the advantage, which he was pressing at every opportune moment.

 

This advantage seemed to have run its course however, when Ryloh found the perfect moment to strike. After an attack, the Nikto had left the hand gripping his saber completely exposed. The Twi’lek knew the duel would be over if he could just damage his opponents dominant hand.

 

Unfortunately, Vurt was aware of this fact as well. In fact, he was even aware that Ryloh aware of this fact. It was all a feint by the Nikto, driving his opponent toward an apparent weak point. Ryloh’s training saber was able to contact the other inquisitor’s hand, however without proper footing, he was forced to rely on the blade’s energy field to do the majority of the damage. And as Vurt expected, the blade did little more than leave a dark scorch mark on the surface of the reinforced gauntlet.

 

Vurt, however, was able to do much more than leave a surface mark as he responded with a proper upswing toward the Twi’lek’s torso. Possessing more than enough power behind his swing, the Nikto was able to drive his blow past the layered robes covering his opponents body. Ryloh was forced to endure a pain much like Jresh had endured earlier, only this time complimented by the searing energy of the activated training saber. Ryloh’s saber fell to the ground as he was forced to clutch his wounded stomach and chest.

 

“Looks like I’ll be sending up replacement robes sooner than expected,” Syrosk rasped. Vurt had already begun his silent approach back toward the group, without any signal from his master, but the Sith Lord offered no objections. The victor of the match was clear.

 

Ryloh managed to bring himself to his feet, a diagonal line burnt into his torso, past the robes and onto his once blueish skin. He retrieved his weapon and returned to the side of his companion, attempting to withhold any expressions of pain or anguish. Though disappointed in his defeat, Kar’ai couldn’t help but respect her partner’s display of skill and endurance. Meanwhile, Vurt merely shot a glance toward his partner, bearing heavy notions of ‘that is how you do it’.

 

“Vurt,” Syrosk began, directing himself toward the impersonal acolyte. “You showed great promise in your skills with a saber. On par with, and perhaps even surpassing, the talents of some of the warriors. A proper offense. A proper defense. A proper duelist. What might appear as hesitance was merely a matter of judging your opponent and reacting appropriately. You were one with your weapon, holding it near the blade, ensuring you would sooner lose your entire hand rather than let go of your saber. Living for the fight. The embodiment of contention. However, your reliance on your saber skills will eventually betray you. There will always be a stronger foe. There will be attacks you cannot defend and guards you cannot pierce. As an inquisitor, it is your duty to never rely on a single font of power.”

 

“Ryloh,” Syrosk continued, directing his attention toward the wounded, but upright, acolyte. “You failed. And yet, you succeeded. We saw it in the beginning didn’t we? Any experienced Force-user should have. You were no match for your opponent to begin with. It was not a question of would you win, but how long would the duel last? And you did not disappoint. You fought whilst outmatched. You studied your opponents techniques. You continued. The embodiment of determination. I have seen your kind. The watcher. Never the first to strike without already being five steps ahead. Planning. Reacting. You possess a skill and technique with a saber that one would expect of any initiate given any set of proper training. The basics strikes and flourishes every student of the Academy learns, but you have refined them to a point resembling an actual fighting style. Be warned, however. All the planning in the world will not save you from defeat at the hands of someone wielding raw power.”

 

“A fine display from the two pairs. Then again it was to be expected. I know of the warriors’ backgrounds and the measures which they used to select their partners. A lackluster performance from you four would have nullified any excuse for your continued existence.” There was a pause as the Sith Lord studied his students for a moment. “Let us see how the warriors who fancy themselves ‘thinkers’ handle themselves in combat. Isorr. Jresh. You two are up.”

 

As the Zabrak made his way toward the circle, Lorrik noticed that his partner was still in pain. Without thinking, the inquisitor took a step forward, ready to unleash a comment, but was cut short by the hand of Jresh resting upon his shoulder. With a turn, Lorrik saw his companion subtly shaking his head.

 

“If you are hoping to delay my match in the hopes that I have more time to recover, you needn’t bother,” Jresh calmly said. “It matters not if I go into battle sooner rather than later. The damage has been done. Show that you respect me enough to allow me to fight for myself this one time.”

 

Lorrik responded with a dutiful nod. With that, the Pureblood flexed his shoulders before continuing toward the arena. Jresh’s stride yielded no overt signs of injury, but Lorrik knew he was not operating at peak performance. But the warrior would hear none of it. The two warriors faced off in the ring as the others did before them. In silence, they ignited their weapons.

 

Jresh gripped his saber tightly with both hands even with his eye line, angling the blade back as if ready to deal a crushing blow on any who would dare to take advantage of his wounded torso. Isorr stance countered his opponent, opting to keep a low two-handed guard in front of himself. Syrosk examined the two’s more subtle movements before finally calling for the match to begin.

 

The warriors closed in on each other, awaiting the inevitable confrontation in the center of the ring. They simultaneously struck out, Jresh bringing down his saber like an avalanche and Isorr sweeping upwards like a powerful gust. When the two connected, it brought about one of the greatest clashes the dueling circle had recently experienced. But instead of an explosive outburst, the connection brought stillness. For even the dust and the wind refused to budge until one of the warriors removed their weapon from the lock.

 

Jresh was the first to step back, adopting a defensive stance as Isorr pressed forward. The Pureblood blocked blow after blow, waiting for the perfect opportunity to parry and go on the offensive. But no such opportunity came. Even with his superior strength, the ache developing in his shoulder prevented Jresh from successfully overpowering his opponent. Instead, the defender steeled his defenses, reserving his energies.

 

Rather than continue a relentless assault, Isorr took a leap back. Seeing an opportunity, Jresh pressed forward with an attack. Unfortunately, the Zabrak did the same, only with a Force-assisted dash. This time, when the sabers connected, Isorr’s blow had enough power to drive past Jresh’s guard. While his own weapon may not have landed a blow, he did succeed in driving the Pureblood’s weapon against its wielder, and straight into his wounded shoulder. Before Jresh could properly recover, Isorr sought to capitalize on the situation with a downward swing.

 

His saber lowered due to his wound, Jresh could not provide a proper counter. So an improper one would have to suffice. Using his well-protected hand, he opted to swat his opponents saber to the side with his left gauntlet. His right fist followed with a blow to Isorr face, not bothering to waste time with a swing of the blade. The Zabrak spun away from his opponent after the hit. Using his free hand, Isorr thrust his open palm downward, telekinetically causing a plume of dust to rise between the two combatants.

 

Jresh threw out a quick shockwave of his own to clear the inhibiting cloud, just in time to see Isorr performing another dash. This time, the Pureblood was capable of defending without injuring himself, though only barely. With an upward block, Jresh sent his opponent soaring past him while he was brought down to the flat of his back. With a cartwheel, Isorr managed to recover first. As Jresh struggled to pull himself off of the ground, he found himself moving against his will. The Zabrak clenched his fist tight as he telekinetically drug his foe toward him. In mere moments, the Pureblood lay at his feet.

 

Before he could bring his saber down upon his opponent, Isorr found himself compelled downward. Jresh Force-pulled his opponent toward his grounded state, but interrupted his fall with a swift kick of his boot. Releasing his grip, the Pureblood found his opponent staggered. Spinning from his grounded position, Jresh swept Isorr’s leg with his own. Rather than avoid falling, the Zabrak brought himself down with all his might, delivering a strike with his elbow against his foe’s chest. As Jresh writhed in pain, Isorr was able to regain his footing, and his dominance over his opponent. With a training saber directed toward his face, Jresh had finally lost the match. The slow clap emanating from the sideline signaled the true cessation of the duel.

 

“Congratulations. You two have earned the honor of doing the most damage to each other sans weapons,” Syrosk stated. Isorr managed to make his way back to the group with relative ease, thought his entire body seemed to ache with each passing moment. Jresh on the other hand, rested firmly in his spot on the ground. When Lorrik went over to help him, he saw the most pondering look of serenity on his companion’s face as he gazed upwards toward the Korriban sky.

 

“That was impressive,” Lorrik complimented his fallen friend.

 

The warrior merely closed his eyes with a sigh. “It was never my intention to impress you.”

 

“Great! You’re succeeding at things without even trying,” Lorrik joked as he extended his hand.

 

Jresh stared at the hand with a few long, hard moments before finally accepting it. The inquisitor slowly helped his companion to his feet. Jresh promptly began dusting off his robes until he was overcome with a searing pain in his chest and left shoulder. Clutching at the singed fibers on his torso, he made his way back to the group with Lorrik by his side. The Sith Lord offered a curious stare at the duo as they integrated with group’s ranks.

 

“Isorr,” Syrosk began, focusing his attention toward the victor. “You obviously had the upper hand going into this duel. It would be foolish to say that this didn’t affect your fighting style. Just as it would be foolish had you not permitted your fighting style be affected. You adapted to the situation as you saw fit, not focusing on a single technique for more than a moment. You attacked and defended when it proved prudent. You used not only your saber, but your entire body and spirit. The embodiment of moderation. You relied on intuition and adaptation. However, will such a reliance aid or hinder you? There will come a day when creativity will not breach your opponent’s defenses. When quick thinking will not prevent a blade from plunging through your chest. Just as one must not rely on a single skill, one also mustn’t expect the sum of all their efforts to unanimously push them in the right direction. A warrior must be ready to end any confrontation in a single move.”

 

“Jresh,” Syrosk continued, focusing on the heavily breathing warrior. “You had the misfortune of entering battle while injured, disabling you from fighting at your best. Luckily, you have learned one of the most valuable lesson a Sith can learn. You will never be without your flaws. Some will be your own fault, but most will come from those who wish to keep you down. And you will meet many of such people in your lifetime. You will be beaten mercilessly. Time after time. In rapid succession. In war, the only true preparation comes from knowing that you will always be unprepared. All of you should heed this lesson well. Fortunately, it only took the beating of one student to illustrate it. Although, I will happily repeat the lesson myself lest any of you forget it.”

 

“But alas, such musings actually have little to do with how you performed in the duel,” Syrosk continued. “You were injured. Your swings lacked backing. Your guard lacked fortitude. But you continued. You bided your time, waiting for the opportune moment to block, parry, and strike. Unfortunately that moment never rightfully came. But still you did not yield. The embodiment of perseverance. However, one can only persevere whilst they hold enough power to do so. The second your attacks begin to weaken, or your body begins to tire, or your mind begins to falter… you’ve already lost.”

 

The warrior accepted his master’s lesson with a dutiful nod. Lorrik could not help but feel proud for his partner, at least until he realized it was now his turn to duel, at which point that became the sole focus of his mind.

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Chapter Nine: Validations

 

The time had finally come for Lorrik to prove himself in battle. To his new master and to his companion. As inevitable as the occurrence was, the inquisitor found himself hesitant. Not because of fear. His many years in the Academy had accustomed Lorrik to the usual hardships the life of a Sith.

 

He knew of pain. He knew of suffering. He knew of betrayal. Such things no longer left incurable wounds. Instead, self-inflicted matters bore the most influence. For deep within his mind, Lorrik still possessed one of the Sith’s greatest limiters. Doubt.

 

Even the rigorous upbringing of years past could not erase it. Perhaps, because it was never intended to be fully erased. Years were spent in combat, but only with fellow students and the occasional instructor. There was no power in proving yourself against your ‘equals’. No knowledge in the studying presented materials.

 

The Sith preached strength, but the classrooms demanded control. They could not allow mere acolytes to gain true power, true insight, lest they turn against their superiors. Notions of betrayal and usurpation worked finely as ideals, but not as a means of ensuring attendance. And so, the artificial weakness remained. The reliance. The doubt. The need for training replacing the want.

 

Every day they plotted their master’s downfall, but still they postponed any actions, lest they waste any potential not yet wrung from their tutor. That was the way of the acolyte. The way of the apprentice, however, trounced such notions, allowing selfish gleams of hope to permeate the mind and drive the young Sith forward.

 

But here, these eight student stood as enigmas, unsure of their own place in the system. They seem to have escaped the drudge of acolytes under paltry instructors incapable of becoming true Sith. And yet, by their new master’s own admission, they were not yet apprentices. There existed two paths for each student.

 

Rejection: to be cast back into the deep waters of worthlessness. Promise: to be deemed worthy. Not worthy of education. Not worthy of training. But worthy of apprenticeship. For that word held untold power in the hearts and minds of any student of the Academy. But alas, one unshakable force lingered. Doubt.

 

Doubt. The great snare of progress. And it gripped Lorrik’s soul now more than ever. For years, the only person he truly had to prove himself to was, in fact, himself. The instructors could threaten exile, torture, and death until their faces were as red as their Sith superiors. But such fates felt so unlikely that it eventually became a joke amongst the students.

 

Each student who possessed enough inkling of skill, it was simply a matter of persisting. But now, Lorrik had to prove himself not only to his new master, but his new partner as well. For the first time in his attendance of the Academy, the inquisitor actually found himself caring about what others thought of him.

 

“Well, we’ve but one duel left, I see no reason to simply stand around,” Syrosk rasped. “Arlia. Lorrik. Into the circle.”

 

The inquisitors shared a passing glance before making their way to the dueling arena side by side. An awkward silence persisted as each combatant awaited the other’s inevitable pre-battle taunts. Oddly, none were made before the two separated into their opposing positions within the circle. Even the most vocal of students knew when silence and preparation were most prudent.

 

The two ignited their training sabers and adopted their opening stances, with Arlia mimicking the one-handed low guard of her companion. Lorrik slid his right foot backward and his saber followed. His right hand gripping the weapon, he directed its tip directly toward his opponent. His left hand jut forward, parallel to his saber, adopting a clawed appearance.

 

One final drop of the Sith Lord’s hand signaled the duel’s start. Arlia would be the instigator, launching toward her opponent. Lorrik tried to keep his cool and study the charging Twi’lek in the mere moments he had before reacting. Arlia was using a very similar style as her companion, though failing to see each and every difference would prove disastrous. Subtle variations in footwork, her saber trailed her gait, her free hand instead leading the charge. Two seconds had not yet passed and the first move of the match was revealed. And it was not a mere swing of a training saber.

 

Arlia rescinded her outstretched hand with a frightfully quick gesture, attempting to telekinetically draw her opponent closer to her. Lorrik could not rightfully guard against the forceful tug of his entire person, upsetting his balance. The Human could only bring his saber in close, limiting the exposure of his torso. Weapons clashed in earnest, with Lorrik establishing a footing at just the precise moment. The Twi’lek withdrew, only to strike again a moment later.

 

She was faster than her considerably quick companion. Swings and strikes from all angles slowly encroached on Lorrik’s tightened defenses. Things appeared to take a turn for the worse for the Human when the barrage sent him to one of his knees. Capitalizing on her opponent’s weakened stance, she readied a finishing overhead swing. However, at the apex of her weapon’s rise, Lorrik let out a powerful Force-push up from his free hand, sending Arlia stumbling backward.

 

Rather than fight her movements, Arlia carried herself with the momentum, rolling backward until she could rise again within the blink of an eye. She sprung to her feet ready to face the advancing foe she had expected, but instead found something much different. Lorrik stood only a few meters away, unmoving, awaiting the Twi’lek’s recovery in a guarded stance.

 

Arlia renewed her assault, switching from wide swings to jabbing attacks. Precision was met with precision. Subtle parries and sidesteps ensured that nothing breached the Human’s defenses. The two combatants continued as such for minutes. Arlia would attack. Lorrik would defend. The roles would never change. A curious pause fell upon the arena once Arlia withdrew her assault. Once more, the two inquisitors found themselves staring at each other silence, though the silence could not last.

 

“Why aren’t you attacking?” Arlia harshly asked, showing signs of exhaustion.

 

“I’m just doing what I’m good at,” Lorrik casually answered.

 

The Twi’lek furrowed her brow as she gritted her teeth. “How?”

 

“Um, with this,” Lorrik said, gently waving his training saber in front of himself. “I thought that was pretty obvious.”

 

“No! I mean, how are you this good at something?” Arlia countered.

 

“When you’re as skilled at attracting the ire of classmates as I am, you learn a thing or two about defense,” Lorrik casually stated.

 

Arlia offered an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Congratulations, you managed to draw some form of strength from your inherent weakness.”

 

The Human countered with a shrug. “It doesn’t look like weakness on my end.”

 

“Oh, then why don’t you bother attacking?” Arlia taunted through drawn out breaths. “Scared to swing your saber at someone who actually has a chance to retaliate?”

 

Lorrik only offered a jocular scoff.

 

“Would you like for me to stand still?” Arlia asked. "Maybe close my eyes? Put my hands behind my back? Maybe then you could actually take me down, I mean, you’ve done that before haven’t you?”

 

The Human couldn’t help but have his mind wander to his partner’s condition. Though seemingly recovered, the Pureblood remained slightly slouched on the sidelines, his normally prideful stance missing.

 

“If it makes you feel better... even after you lose, you will have technically defeated at least one person today. Granted it was your own partner-”

 

“Are you done yet?” Lorrik asked, finally showing signs of depleted resolve.

 

“I don’t know, am I?” Arlia countered. The Human found a genuine hate brewing in his innards. Once more he directed his saber’s tip toward his opponent. The Twi’lek resumed her combat stance as well, though certainly lacking the eagerness she displayed before.

 

Once more, Lorrik studied his opponent. He noticed a subtle bobbing in her training saber’s guard, evidence that he had finally driven her to exhaustion. Finally sensing an opportunity, Lorrik rushed forward, bringing his weapon down from above. Arlia’s guard suddenly raised in retaliation and the Human’s swing was promptly parried.

 

Realizing he had horribly misjudged his opponent, Lorrik drew his saber closer for a tight defense. Predicting this action, Arlia closed the gap between the two, grabbing her foe’s weapon hand and maneuvering herself to his back. Tightening her grip, the Twi’lek pinned the Human’s weapon hand to his chest, his free hand caught underneath. Bringing her own right hand around his other shoulder, Lorrik found two sabers crossed directly below his neck.

 

Lorrik was trapped. Bound by Arlia’s grip, the Human dared not move lest he be scorched by one of the two sabers caught beneath his vision. In a desperate position, Lorrik could only think of one means of escape. His gaze turned to his opponent’s hand griping his own. He focused his mind. All the anger that had been building up. His contempt for his opponent. His disappointment in himself. His regret. Lorrik lashed out at the vile hand that still trapped his with all his emotion in his mind.

 

Then suddenly, with a crackling shock… absolutely nothing. No matter how hard he tried, nothing came. His form stayed as it had been, and would persist like that for however long Arlia wished it to. Lorrik had been utterly defeated.

 

“Next time you try and play mind games with someone, make sure you’re not completely outmatched,” Arlia whispered, having dropped her faux-exhaustion. With the beckoning of her master, the Twi’lek released her grip and shoved the Human away before making her way toward the gathering of students. With hesitance, Lorrik deactivated his training saber and followed suit.

 

“Arlia,” Syrosk began. “It would seem that Isorr made an excellent choice in his partnership. You possessed skill enough to break the unbreakable. Capable in areas of strength, speed, and defense, but ultimately it was your cunning and the combination of your skills that saw you through to victory. The embodiment of moderation, much like your partner. Whereas you might lack the raw strength of a warrior, you possess an mind capable of great tactical prowess. However, while your mind may be your greatest strength, it is also your greatest weakness. You seek control, for control is what will decide your battles. The second you lose even a single facet of that control, others will follow. It is one thing to fool your opponent. It is another to fool yourself. Don’t tell yourself that you are unaffected by notions of thought that are counterproductive to your goals. Doubt stalls those who see it within themselves. It destroys those who don’t.”

 

“Lorrik,” Syrosk continued, diverting his gaze toward the defeated inquisitor. “You would do well to heed those words as well. For the most part, you were carrying out your intentions with a fine degree of success. You defended. And defended. And defended. A fine tactic to wear out the rather inordinate amount of overly-hasty opponents you might face. You do not strike out of turn. You do not make unnecessary moves. You keep your guard closed and your mind open. The embodiment of resilience. But perhaps you kept your mind just a little too open. Your ability to block and parry a saber will do you no good if you are still susceptible to a sharpened tongue. If you wish follow the path of resilience… you must know what it is to persist. Your body must fail you. Your mind must falter. Your spirit must waver. Only then can you recover… learn… persist. You must suffer before you may endure. And after said suffering, you will still find yourself incapable of striking out against your foes in any meaningful manner. Ask yourself… is that a path worth following? Is it a path you are even capable of?”

 

Lorrik did not know how to take his master’s words. He had failed. Perhaps failure could lead to knowledge and improvement, but it was also a sign of weakness. Could strength born from fault be considered true strength at all? It would have to be. Lorrik desired strength. He needed strength. For strength was the only way anyone could make a difference within the Empire.

 

Because of that fact, Lorrik would persist. Endure. Survive. He didn’t know how, but he would. And for the first time he saw promise from external sources. His master was no mere Academy instructor. His companion was no mere Sith hopeful. But much more work would be required. Years of study yet remained until he would consider himself a worthy Sith.

 

With all of the duels out of the way, Syrosk looked over his students one by one in silence. The majority of them has lost the vigor and poise they had once possessed in their stances. Even some of the victors were drawing heavy breaths and bore sweat upon their brows.

 

Student after student tensed for a brief moment as they found their master’s scrutinizing eyes pass over them. Eagerly, they awaited whatever words of wisdom the Sith Lord must have been formulating in his head. Instead, they received a rather casual dismissal.

 

“That was a fine display from all of you,” Syrosk stated, drawing from no apparent pool of enthusiasm. “Class dismissed.”

 

The students glanced at each other in confusion. The day was still young. They still stood upright. This was far from the manner of teaching they expected from their new ,aster. The Sith Lord took a few steps toward the cliff’s return path before stopping.

 

“Something tells me you expected more,” Syrosk rasped, not bothering to face his students. “I suppose I could throw together some more physical trials. Make you run to the Academy and back, throw the slowest from the edge of the cliff. But I am not in the mood for such things. Your bouts today were for my own benefit. Not yours. I wanted to see what your bodies were capable of. Any experience or knowledge gained from these exercises were a mere bonus. My intentions rested solely in gathering information to be used in the months to come regarding your training. There is little more I could learn from you all in your various conditions, so I grant you the rest of the day to yourselves. Another test will be ready by the next midday. I would advise you to take this time to get to know your partner. Such a course of action would prove prudent for tomorrow.”

 

With that, the Sith Lord silently made his way back to the Academy, hands resting together behind his back. Some of the students began to follow, but deemed it awkward to be forced to pass their master, or match his slow pace. But such an act of avoidance only led to an equally awkward silence persisting between the eight students. With half having just been defeated by the other half, desire for pleasantries was understandably low.

 

Instead they divided into their various duos and recuperated their psyche while awaiting the initiative to descend the mountain.

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Chapter Ten: Ideals

 

An hour had passed since the end of the last duel. All the students except for two had departed the mountaintop. Jresh stood resolute once more, showing no signs of discomfort from the previous quarrel. As the Pureblood stared out across the vista of Korriban’s jagged hills, Lorrik lied upon his back beside him, feet dangling as his knees bent over the cliff’s edge. Each acolyte appeared locked in their respective thoughts, though Lorrik appeared as if he could have been taking a nap. Whether or not that was in fact the case, the silence was soon broken by the standing Pureblood.

 

“Lorrik. I find it quite odd that you have remained silent this entire time,” Jresh said, not bothering to turn his gaze away from this distant horizon. Lorrik responded by opening a single eye before wincing under the light of the Korriban sun.

 

“I’ll admit, I do enjoy conversation more than your average Sith,” Lorrik stated, his eyes shut once more. “But I’m more than content to be left alone with my thoughts.”

 

Jresh looked to his partner for a moment before casting his gaze back toward the horizon. “Going by your interactions with the other students, you’ll have to understand my confusion.”

 

“With the other students, it’s more just me trying to get a reaction out of them,” Lorrik plainly offered. “It’s the inquisitor way. You’d be surprised how revealing a few simple words can be depending on how they are uttered.”

 

Jresh sharpened his eyes as he continued to pan his gaze across the distant mountaintops. “I wouldn’t be in the slightest. I fully understand the capabilities of your given sect. However, is that why you have chosen silence? Do you not wish to ‘get a reaction’ from me?”

 

“I suppose. We’re partners now. History has proven that the more I talk, the lower someone appreciates my presence. I’d like not to ruin what we have going for us because I accidentally mention you losing your duel or-”

 

“Stop right there,” Jresh sternly said.

 

“See?” Lorrik replied, once again opening a single eye. “That was only half-intentional.”

 

“I want you to understand something,” Jresh bluntly stated. “Here and now. If you ever think to bring up any perceived weaknesses or deficiencies in regards to my person… I implore you to do so.”

 

The Human opened both eyes in confusion.

 

“Come again?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Going forward, if there is one thing you must know about me, it is that I am not like my ilk. I do not come to anger at every affront to my ego. I do not ignore that which makes me weak. I do not deny my failures. I remember them. Embrace them. For that is the only way I will become stronger. Through triumph over defeat, not denial of it. Do not be afraid to confront me of my failures. In fact, to do so would be the greatest thing I could ask of you.”

 

Lorrik released a soft chuckle. “Of all the obligations I’ve had placed on me, this… this I will have no trouble with.”

 

“Good,” Jresh stated. “And expect the same from me to you. But in the meantime, so long as we are alone, do not feel the need to hold your tongue in my regard.”

 

The Human offered his partner a curious look. “Well, so long as you’re looking for tips… whenever you’re accepting any punishments in the near future, maybe drop the whole immortal persona and pretend you’re actually being punished.”

 

“It is not my fault your swings lack strength,” Jresh countered.

 

“Maybe I was trying not to severely injure my partner before a test of said strength,” Lorrik countered back.

 

Jresh offer a light scoff. “Do I look like someone who wishes to be coddled?”

 

“No,” Lorrik replied. “But you look like someone who wants to win. Its evidently hard to do that with a wounded sternum.”

 

“True victory lies not after a single battle,” Jresh offered.

 

“Yes, but an untrue defeat is still a defeat so long as it remains so in the eyes of the one person whose opinion matters in the end.”

 

“Yourself?”

 

“Lord Syrosk. Being a winner on the inside isn’t going to help us become apprentices.”

 

“Is such a thing all that matters to you?” Jresh asked.

 

“At this juncture? Yes. Very much.” Lorrik answered. “As acolytes, you and I are pretty much worthless. No amount of strength, skill, or knowledge will permit you greatness so long as you go unnoticed by your superiors.”

 

“You do indeed speak the truth. A Sith Lord needs to prove himself to those around him rather than sate his own ego. But to bend and grovel at the feet of my new master… that will not earn me strength.”

 

“I wouldn’t dare suggest such a thing. I sense that you are a strong and capable individual, but that can only get you so far in Sith society. You’ve reached the peak of what an acolyte can achieve, but if you intend to take things to the next level, you will require a certain… charisma.”

 

“And steadily lose whatever power I have gained whilst I become preoccupied with adopting a silver tongue? My body and mind have spent years under the brutal scrutiny of training. If I must rely on deceit to solve my problem, I am not worthy of calling myself a Sith.”

 

“That, my friend, is where you are wrong,” Lorrik warmly stated. “Ragnos. Sadow. Kressh. Nadd. Kun. Malak. Traya. Lords of the True Sith and its splintered sects. All of them knew that every problem could not be solved through genuine displays of strength and wit alone. A certain dark cunning will always be required for a Sith to prosper. Honestly, what were they teaching you back during your warrior training?”

 

“Most of the instructors could not care less of such prospects,” Jresh muttered. “We were conditioned for battle. Tests of strength and the merit gained with it. Matters of the past were of no concern to us. We sought only to look toward the future. Obviously the inquisitors received a different regiment.”

 

“Curiously enough, not that different. Matters of history were often painted with broad strokes, giving only enough insight to fuel visions toward the future. All of what I consider true knowledge and insight I had to learn from external sources… those datacards you saw.”

 

“I would say the same, but warriors ultimately lacked access to such things. Since the earliest years of my enrollment in the Academy, I have sought power away from the confines of the halls. I have sought knowledge away from the limited instructors. I knew that there was more to being a Sith than what was being presented to me after all these years. Having met you… and Lord Syrosk… it seems my worries were not unfounded. Do you recall, after manners of introductions and names, the first thing we spoke of?”

 

“I asked you what you cared about, didn’t I?”

 

“Correct. And we came to an understanding that neither or us sought the easy path to prominence. I asked for someone who could challenge me in a way that the instructors could not. And I accepted you, believing you could provide that challenge. I have had no regrets regarding that decision as of yet. But underlying that very interaction was another notion. The notion of what it means to be a Sith. I have found faults with this Academy. And its peoples. And its codes. I have witnessed you. Open-minded. Sociable. Caring. As we continue to proceed, I ask myself… are we Sith? It is a strange prospect. But to be a Sith is a strange thing in and of itself. Sith… is strength. Sith… is knowledge. Sith…. is freedom. Sith… is control. Sith… is history. Sith… is future. Sith… is fact. Sith… is fiction. Sith… is contradiction. Let me ask you this, if Lord Syrosk told you that your final task was to take my life, what would you do?”

 

Lorrik stirred as he lay against the dusty bed of stone beneath him. His relaxed visage had begun to pace between thoughts.

 

“I… I don’t know,” Lorrik muttered.

 

The Pureblood offered a firm nod. “Good. That I believe, is the answer of a true Sith. Not the absence of knowledge, but the presence of personal will. For each task given, there is no immediate answer. No pre-defined course of action. Every Sith must deal with each occurrence only after they themselves have weighed their options. Count your wants and needs. Direct yourself. That is what separates us from the Jedi. Beyond the politics. Beyond the philosophies. There is one simple distinction. They are bound. We are not. Jedi are bound by their codes, bound by their masters. Once they reject them, they can no longer call themselves Jedi. But us… to reject what makes someone a Sith, can in fact cement one’s status as Sith. We challenge. We overcome. When you attempt to supersede your master, are you cast out? Not if you are victorious. Instead, you are rewarded. Who’s to say the same won’t happen if we challenge the supposedly set in stone ideals that the Sith have followed for centuries. So long as we are victorious in the end, we are what defines being a Sith. That is why I have chosen an honorable path. It suits me. It gives me strength. And as long as that strength earns me victory, no one will dare say that I am not worthy of the Sith.”

 

“And what if along that path you find victory unattainable?” Lorrik asked with a hint of provocation. Jresh turned to his partner to see that he had risen from his flat stance, sitting up at the cliff’s edge. “The fact is, you aren’t the strongest. And I’ll admit I’m not the most knowledgeable. Alone, I’m just a guy with who has read a few books and attempts witty comments. And you’re just a guy with a code of honor who falls down a lot in battle.”

 

Jresh looked to his partner, offering the arch of his brow. “What are you trying to say?”

 

“That in the end, no matter how much you train, you’ll still be struck down by a better warrior. And no matter how much I study, I’ll be surpassed by a more ruthless inquisitor. Unless… unless we work together,” Lorrik stated.

 

“I assure you, I had no intention of working against our partnership,” Jresh replied.

 

“No. We need something more,” Lorrik said, lacking his usual warmth. “The other students, they just see their partners as tools to further their goals. If we want to achieve our goals, we cannot simply tolerate one another. We must work together at every turn. Share our knowledge. Share our power. Bolster each other while other acolytes are too busy playing games of pride.”

 

“A Sith willing to share his knowledge? You truly are different from the others.”

 

“Well, it’s like you said. From this point forth, we define what it means to be Sith. Together, we can achieve that which we never could alone.”

 

“So we are to rely on each other. I could only imagine how the instructors would respond to that notion,” Jresh muttered, showing a flair of positivity that Lorrik had not seen until this point.

 

“Other Sith refuse to rely on something because they don’t want to have to face the challenge of losing it. And yet, we rely on our lightsaber, because it makes us strong. We rely on the Force, because it makes us strong. Rely on me, Jresh, and I will help deliver you to greatness.” Lorrik ended his words by jutting his right fist for emphasis.

 

Jresh responded not with words, but with the subtle extension of his hand. The inquisitor took hold and raised himself alongside the warrior. Lorrik could see that the Pureblood possessed something almost resembling a smile.

 

“What are your intentions?” Jresh asked, eyes locked with his partner.

 

“What? You think I have an ulterior motive?” Lorrik replied.

 

“No, what is your goal? Working together, we must each have an objective. What is it you want most, years from now, when you have achieved greatness?”

 

The Human puzzled over the question in his head for a few moments. “To unlock the secrets of the Force. To eventually possess enough knowledge that I’ll finally be able to make a difference in this Empire.”

 

“A fine ambition.”

 

“And you?”

 

“Do you know of the Sith’ari?” Jresh asked. Lorrik was a little taken aback by the suggestion. The word held special meaning amongst any who would enter the Academy. Any who would call themselves Sith.

 

“A prophesized figure. Perfect being. Fulfilled potential. Free of all restrictions. The Lord of Lords. The Sith to end all Sith. That Sith’ari?”

 

“Yes. I intend to take that title.”

 

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. “You certainly don’t set your standards low.”

 

“Exactly. That is why I seek it,” Jresh confidently stated. “I have set upon myself a goal that most would deem impossible and could not even be validated until long after my death. Any less of a goal, and I could become content with its accomplishment, but not this one. With this, I have no peak. I have no final stretch. It will always be just beyond my grasp, and that is how I want it.”

 

“So you, the fabled Sith’ari. And me, securer of a high leveled position of power. Quite the ambitious duo. Though, some would prefer the term foolish.”

 

“Some of the greatest deeds throughout history have been fueled by foolishness.”

 

“I won’t argue with that,” Lorrik replied. Standing next to Jresh, the two looked out at the unforgiving terrain of Korriban that preceded their gaze. “So. This is the moment in which things finally change. Not the years of study, the countless trials, nor the promise of apprenticeship, but the pact between two Sith. It’s strange. All my life, I sought to leave this place. To ascend to the point in which I was never burdened by the guidance of others. Born into slavery and delivered to the Academy. Constantly seeking the approval of instructors. At no point in my life have I experienced anything close to resembling freedom. And yet here on this confined peak, after entering what amounts to a lifelong agreement with a fellow Sith, I feel most free.”

 

“If you seek freedom, I shall oblige you with that request,” Jresh stated. “For now, let us return to the Academy. We can eat and prepare for tomorrows trial.”

 

With one final moment of reflection, Lorrik turned away from the vista and accompanied his partner back to the halls of the Academy.

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Chapter Eleven: Partisans

 

Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Two, Entry One.

 

I’ve decided to take up a journal. Something in which to document my thoughts. Why? I’m not entirely sure. Curiously enough, I’ve never kept one before, and now that I actually have someone I know will listen to me, I still feel the need to make audio logs.

 

I had a hard time figuring out which dating system I was going to go by. The Galactic Standard and Korriban’s cycle have a tendency to get out of sync. Since this is a personal endeavor, I figured I would adopt a new system based on the first day of study under Lord Syrosk. This might complicate matters when the transition from acolyte to apprentice occurs, but who knows? I might not even have this journal by then.

 

It amuses me that I still think it is a given that I’ll achieve apprenticeship. After today’s show, I don’t think I garnered any favors with Lord Syrosk. But there’s this funny feeling inside. Today I was bluntly faced with my inadequacies. It took a lot out of me. But Jresh, he reignited something. Something I thought I had lost long ago. A drive.

 

Before, I was content with study, but never found myself thinking more than a week forward aside from the occasional drifting thoughts that popped up when daydreaming. But now, not only do I have a goal beyond getting off this rock, I have a friend. A friend who dreams of the impossible.

 

I can only assume Jresh knows the fullness of what the Sith’ari is supposed to be. I mean… it is HIS language. Beyond the notions of a perfect being, there is legend of its actions. To destroy the Sith, all in order to make it stronger. A curious notion. Especially in a time of war. Patriotism is certainly an odd thing for the Empire. At least, amongst the Force users. I suppose you promise someone enough reward and they can look past that whole ‘seize power at any opportunity’ thing that seems all the rage.

 

The Sith, the Empire, has provided me much throughout my life, and not everything good. I often imagine how my life might have differed if I had stayed a slave. Not knowing the potential that rested within me. Or if I had been ‘liberated’ by the Republic. Would I chasten myself amongst the Jedi? Would I drift amongst the lower realms of some ecumenopolis, garbed in rags? My life under the Sith has been brutal, but I can’t argue with some of the results. But I cannot in good conscience say they cannot be improved.

 

A great many confusing things dominate the realm of politics. I have studied, in passing, the circumstances of the Great War, as well as the characteristics of the two main participants. The more knowledge I manage to procure in regards to the war, the more I find myself surprised. The Galactic Republic should have easily been able to defeat its invaders through various actions not taken.

 

Incompetence amongst its policy makers. Indecision amongst its defenders. Seeing so mighty an Order unable to defend itself gives great cause for support in the Empire’s methods. Corruption spread amongst the weak-willed and covetous politicians. And the ‘incorruptible’ Knights of the Republic found themselves unable to protect their realm.

 

So here I am, faced with these facts. The Republic is flawed and weak. The Empire is flawed, but ultimately strong. If the Republic manages to win the war, my life will be in danger. If the Empire wins the war, my life will still be in danger. I’ve come to terms with this lifestyle.

 

In the end, how these events affect me matters little. I shall come to adapt to whatever comes my way. What is more important, is how I will affect these events. What are Lord Syrosk’s intentions regarding the conflict? Will we have a part to play in this war’s continuation or conclusion? How long will the war go on? Our training is far from complete, perhaps the war will be over before we can even get off Korriban. No one here is certain whether the war will last one year or one hundred.

 

Perhaps the war should continue. Makes it easier to rise through the ranks when your superiors die on the battlefield every so often. Might even open up a few seats on the Dark Council. Now that’s something I wouldn’t mind having. That’s practically the only moment in which you start having the capability to change the way this Empire works.

 

Is that what I’d have to get to in order to achieve my goal? A spot on the Dark Council? I’d say even that is optimistic. If we’re going to reformat the Sith, we need to go straight to the top. The Emperor himself. You know, only after say this all aloud do I truly realize the ridiculousness of what Jresh and I have set for ourselves. Then again that was probably his intention. Insurmountable goal. Never stop trying.

 

But how could you live knowing that you will devote your entire life to something you know you cannot obtain? Maybe he doesn’t know he cannot attain it. Or maybe he actually can. No. It’d be impossible. There’s not even such a thing as a Sith’ari. It’s just a meaningless title for powerful warriors to bicker over. But still, Jresh possesses a genuine ingenuity. Who am I to say he can’t accomplish what he has set out to do so long as he tries? A sane person. That’s who I am.

 

Maybe that’s the problem. This galaxy isn’t meant for the sane. Become a fool, and a fool’s errand is just another errand. If the task is impossible for him, then I shall render aid. I promised him support. Mostly just as sentiment. But what if?

 

In the very minor library of secrets I have procured, I have witnessed a vast array of capabilities with the Force. Maybe that is it? That is what will allow us to attain our goals. After all, it says it right there, ‘The Force shall free me’. And what is it I desire if not freedom? Knowledge. Yes. Definitely knowledge.

 

I will learn the secrets of the Force. Beyond what any sect or order could possibly teach me. I will share this knowledge with Jresh. I will forge him into something greater than this Academy or Syrosk could ever muster. 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.

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Chapter Twelve: Musings

 

Jresh and Lorrik awoke the next morning to a curious advisement. A blinking notice on their datapads revealed a message from their master. A change of venue. It seemed the next meeting would be held instead in the lecture hall where the two Sith had first met. The warrior knew that full combat practices were forbidden within this particular venue, so the day’s challenge would be of a different nature than the previous one. The inquisitor’s thoughts could barely venture past the notion of a cooler venue than a hilltop exterior to the Academy. Still early in the morning, the acolytes readied themselves for the day ahead before meeting in the suite’s common room.

 

“The old lecture hall, huh,” Lorrik stated, sparking a conversation. “Wonder what trials are in store for us today.”

 

“Seeing as to how yesterday’s activities centered on our physical capabilities, I would assume our master has something more mental in store for us today,” Jresh replied.

 

“Makes sense. How are you doing by the way? All healed up?” Lorrik asked, expressing a genuine emotional investment.

 

“A little soreness persists, but a quick round of rest and meditation seems to have done away with most of my wounds.”

 

The Human gently scratched his chin. “Meditation, eh? Didn’t take you warriors for the meditative type. Usually it’s all rage and shouting with your kin.”

 

“It is something of a departure, I admit. I have always eschewed wearing my emotions as a mask, as the first thing people see. My passions are my own and I need not put them on display to prove myself Sith. I need not keep them at the surface to draw upon their strength.”

 

“Sounds like what Syrosk was trying to tell Nesk.”

 

“In a way, yes. I possess something of a distaste for chaos. Order. Control. I find power within these things.”

 

“A curious notion,” Lorrik stated. “Like you said, Sith is contradiction, as evident by its odd penchant for chaotic order.”

 

“Chaotic order,” Jresh repeated. “Yes, an apt description. Continuous change, guided by a maneuvering hand.”

 

“And there I find myself drawn back to our beginning. By almost all accounts, we aren’t fit to be Sith. No offense intended on your part. A calm, collected warrior and a kind, empathetic inquisitor.”

 

“The Sith breed conflict. Strife. Challenge. We are doing our part as much as any other acolyte. And in the end do we still not believe in the Sith code?”

 

“I suppose so, but with each passing day in the place I find less and less to believe in. I was lucky to have met you when I did, lest I lose any semblance of hope.”

 

“So what, at this very moment, do you believe in?” Jresh asked. The inquisitor met the question with an extended silence.

 

“Hey,” Lorrik began. “We have more than a few hours before we’re needed in the lecture hall. I don’t know about you, but I could use a meal. How about I cook up some morning foodstuffs, and we have something of a philosophical discussion. You know, to prepare us for our meeting later.”

 

The Pureblood gently stroked the fleshy tendril that hung from his cheek. “Syrosk did say we should get to know each other. I don’t know if that pertains to philosophy…”

 

“Answer me this. Do you find the discussion of the subject boring or tiresome?”

 

“Somewhat.”

 

“Then consider this me challenging you, in my own special way,” Lorrik warmly stated.

 

Jresh accepted Lorrik’s proposal with dutiful conviction. Reading his companion, the inquisitor hurriedly, and with glee, made his way to the suite’s kitchen area. Jresh took a seat at his desk, curiously watching the Human parade around the room as he made preparations.

 

“You seem rather excited, Lorrik,” Jresh stated, unable to particularly understand the inquisitor’s emotions.

 

“Did you ever get the chance to cook your own food in the years past?” Lorrik pleasantly asked as he peered into the conservator.

 

“I can’t say I did.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

“Are you… capable of preparing a meal?”

 

“Oh, yeah! You see, over the course of my many years trying to collect various tomes of Sith and Force related knowledge, I came across some less than profound texts here and there. Of note, were the many cookbooks that seemed to fall in my lap. At an early age, I thought I would need a hobby to distract myself from the happenings of the Academy, and I figured cooking to be more than suitable to my tastes. If you’ll pardon the pun.”

 

The warrior watched his partner dash around the kitchen rummaging through wall-bound cabinets and pantries, taking in the information of all the ingredients as his disposal. “But have you actually prepared a meal?”

 

“A couple of times. But, as you can imagine resources are rather scarce for a lowly acolyte. Funny story. I once prepared a meal for a classmate. Jora. Cooked up some K’lor’slug eggs. Bad idea. Misread the data. Turns out their species’ poisonous parts develop rather early in the gestation period. It took a while to convince her I wasn’t actively trying to make her ill. Learned that around here, you need to learn what not to do wrong rather than what to do right much earlier.”

 

“So what do you plan of making today?” Jresh plainly asked.

 

“Not quite sure yet. Never had this much choice in my life. Oddly prudent. It seems we have the necessary ingredients for some flatcakes. Sound good?”

 

“I suppose,” Jresh replied, rather dubiously.

 

Lorrik went fast to work, with Jresh watching from across the suite with subtle curiosity. As time passed, Lorrik found himself utterly engrossed in his activities, drawing upon his own passions as he stove-cooked a thin layer of batter laying in a pan. After a predetermined amount of time, the inquisitor focused and flipped the half-cooked flatcake over telekinetically. Lorrik grinned at how effortlessly he was accomplishing the task he had set out upon. In the end, there rest two stacks of three flatcakes upon separate plates. Adorned with various imported fruits and accompanied with a dispenser of syrup, Lorrik was ready to serve his first true meal.

 

Jresh studied the dish laid before him. Squishy slabs of bread lay stacked on a black plate. Topped with a powdery substance and a selection of berries, the meal seemed to be trying its hardest to contradict its atmosphere. Eschewing his purely visual examination, the Sith grasped the top flatcake and gingerly lifted it to study what might rest between the breaded layers before being interrupted by Lorrik handing him a fork and container of syrup.

 

“I’m not sure what particular kind of syrup that is,” Lorrik stated. “So I wouldn’t go pouring it over the whole thing. Maybe put some in the corner and you can dip a bite in to see if you like it.” With his words of advice, the inquisitor placed his own food and fixings upon his desk, and set down ready to partake in his work.

 

Jresh grasped the fork in his hand with a clenched fist, unsure of how to partake in the food placed before him. Peering over, he closely studied the Human as he took his first bite. Seeing a look of delight grace the inquisitor’s face, the warrior decided to mimic the cook’s actions.

 

“So, how do you like it?” Lorrik asked, mouth half full of food.

 

Jresh offered no immediate response as he slowly churned the flatcakes within his mouth, carefully analyzing and processing the new sensory information that flooding his brain. Upon swallowing, the warrior seemed no less puzzled than in the moments leading up to the meal. “What is this powdery substance?”

 

“Sugar. I suppose acolytes don’t have much access to it.” A renewed smile graced Lorrik’s visage as he saw his companion slowly return to partaking in the meal he had prepared. The acolytes dug into their meal in silence for a few minutes before Lorrik chimed in.

 

“So. Philosophy,” Lorrik began, waving his fork around in lieu of hand gestures. “Where should we start? Sith code? Sounds good. So… peace is a lie, there is only passion. As good a foundation as any, but I see some problems with it.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Well, peace. I’d say we’re pretty peaceful, by comparison anyway. I’m not one to pick fights. You have a knack for meditation. We seem to find an enjoyment in peace.”

 

“It all depends of how you define it. What is peace?” Jresh asked.

 

“Well, it’s a lie. It’s right there in the code, right? The infallible code,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“Since when do you believe in infallibility.”

 

“I don’t, but certain Sith of prominence certainly do.”

 

“We aren’t those Sith.”

 

“Right. We’re those other Sith. Those Sith who are Sith by nature of not being Sith.”

 

“You realized the more you say that the more it loses meaning.”

 

“And yet, that’s what we’re searching for. Meaning. What does it mean, peace is a lie? For us.”

 

“I don’t think peace is being calm and collected. I don’t think peace is restraint. Peace is merely the absence of conflict.”

 

“Makes sense,” Lorrik said. “The first to embrace the Sith doctrine were simply Dark Jedi who had turned away from the Order. In the beginning it was simply a reactionary response to the Jedi Code. They strive for peace. They elimination of conflict. We, on the other hand, enable conflict. And reap its rewards as well as its punishments.”

 

“Conflict is just as ill-defined a term as peace,” Jresh replied. “The mind of the average Sith immediately leaps to war, and the many instances of infighting and duels to the death that plague the system. Which I despise.”

 

“But not conflict.”

 

“Indeed. I believe that conflict breeds superior strength. I also believe that conflict can be brought about and controlled in such a way that it doesn’t inevitably destroy its instigator. I am not a simple minded killer. I do not murder my ‘allies’ in their sleep. I do not terminate every obstacle that lies in front of me.”

 

“So, if you met a Jedi on the battlefield, then what?” Lorrik asked.

 

“We would do battle until one of us could no longer continue,” Jresh answered. “If an enemy lie at my feet, broken and defeated on their knees, that it how I would leave them, not decapitated in a pool of their own blood.”

 

“But what if they should recover and seek revenge?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Good?”

 

“That is my vision of conflict,” Jresh bluntly stated. “Two forces come into contact. The superior force prevails while the weaker one retreats to rebuild its strength in the hopes of someday proving itself stronger in a future clash. Killing a strong enemy removes their influence from your life. Removes the countless challenges and conflicts that would bring to you. Only when my own life were in danger of being extinguished would I utterly strike down an opponent. Let them retreat. Let them fester in their hate and scheme of revenge. Let them continue to challenge me. As they gain strength, so do I.”

 

Lorrik offered a brief, subtle nod. “Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Peace inhibits emotion and evolution. Conflict promotes such things. With emotion comes the spark that drives progress and improvement. Through passion, I gain strength. I probably think of strength as you do with peace. An ill-defined term but infinitely sought after. I feel most Sith put an emphasis on physical strength. And those that do value mental acuity typically take it a few steps too far. Strength isn’t just the ability to overpower your opponent. I seek knowledge as my strength. But knowledge in and of itself is not strength, just as pure physical capability isn’t. There’s a culmination of the body, mind, and spirit. Physical, mental, and the connecting of them with personal skills.”

 

“Through strength, I gain power,” Jresh continued. “Power is freedom. Power is control.”

 

“Power is the ability to influence those around you. The ability to be strong enough to direct the action of others, while resisting the influence of those who would direct you.”

 

“Power pertains to the beginning of the self’s ability to shape the world around it,” Jresh explained. “Passion and strength are drawn from and consolidated in the person. Power is utilizing those internal aspects and manifesting them in the external realm. It is not as simple as the ability to defeat your enemies and keep your allies in line. It is understanding the forces that you encounter throughout your life, and driving those forces in the direction of your goals.”

 

“Through power, I gain victory,” Lorrik recited.

 

“Victory. Evidence of success.”

 

“Validation of one’s goals and desires. To be victorious is to prove your way of life is worth following. Worth continuing.”

 

“Defeat reveals our inadequacies,” Jresh stated. “And weakens the foundations of our tenets. Thus we must always strive for victory. Defeat is inevitable and cannot be utterly avoided.”

 

“But so long as we try. As we stay determined to prove ourselves. Our strength. Our power. Victory is never beyond our grasp,” Lorrik said with a confident smile.

 

“And therefore we must grasp it. Grasp victory and reap its rewards. Through victory, my chains are broken.”

 

“And whether we realize it or not. We are chained. By our masters. By the Empire. By the Republic. By ourselves. I was a born into slavery. Given a glimpse of hope when the Academy accepted me. I was promised that I could break my shackles by proving myself. By fighting. By learning. By ascending. With defeat, my mind is chained by the reemergence of every inadequacy that rested deep within my mental confines. But if I am victorious… I will be free.”

 

“And never doubt that you can be victorious. As a Pureblood I should have… I was born into place of prominence. Ready to rise through the ranks of the Academy and become a great warrior. But still I was chained. Limiters plagued my life. I could train. And train. And train. But still I would not be the strongest. If I am victorious, my chains will loosen. If I am defeated, the chains will tighten, pushing me to lash out and attain victory once again.”

 

“And I’ll be here to lend a hand. Together we’ll move forward. Bound, but not in chains. My strength is your strength. And yours is mine. Knowledge and skill reflecting upon one another until no mere chains can restrain us.”

 

“The Force shall set me free.”

 

“The Force shall set us free.”

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Chapter Thirteen: Reflections

 

Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Three, Entry Two.

 

Finished another day of training, if you can call it that. Had one of the best morning’s I think I’ve ever had in all my years of the Academy. Waking up in a soft bed. At a reasonable hour. Followed by a long, hot shower. Refreshing to say the least. And not just to my body. I’d say the last few days have had a most profoundly positive effect on my mental state.

 

It’s weird. Most of the time I managed to just skirt by, doing the bare minimum, saving my hide from expulsion or death. It’s been a while since I’ve been actually challenged and responded in earnest.

 

Yesterday brought about a cascade of emotions, both positive and negative. Having to strike Jresh, having watch his defeat, having to suffer my own. It brought about thoughts I thought I had long since laid to rest. Horrible thoughts. About myself. About my place in this world.

 

But in the end, I think it did me some good. It didn’t have what one might consider goals or ambitions. I simply thought, hey, if it can be learned maybe I’ll give it a look at some point. I would gather and examine holobooks, recordings, texts, for no real reason. I guess I was bettering myself in the process but the notion never really clicked in my mind.

 

But after today, I think I’ve finally come to the realization I had been searching for all this time. A purpose. I never really saw a place for me in the Empire, but I couldn’t see myself anywhere else either. Now, I see myself capable great deeds alongside Jresh.

 

Syrosk had gathered us into the lecture hall to test our mental acumen today. Walking away from it, it finally feels like me and Jresh came out ahead. Isorr and Arlia are knowledgeable in most matter Sith, but their words barely seemed capable of holding Syrosk’s attention. Nesk seemed utterly incapable of constructing a completed thought since he wasn’t being physically challenged. I think Vurt said all of ten words all day, none not addressing the master.

 

Kar’ai and Ryloh were a surprise though. The Rattataki seems a curious embodiment of the warrior spirit. It’s like she has little concern outside of matters of physicality. When questioned on codes, histories, and beliefs, she was utterly dismissive. However, there were moments when the situation arose that one of the other students would disagree with some minute thing she had said.

 

In that moment, something ignited within her visage. A spark of intrigue. She is a fighter in the basest of meanings. Kar’ai had little concern for discussions of philosophy or politics, until that is, she was challenged. At which she, she drew upon some hidden dispensary of knowledge, giving her some sort of insight that might allow her to ‘win’ an argument that didn’t involve the clashing of blades. Her Twi’lek partner fit into this equation with similar curiousness.

 

There were times when Kar’ai would find herself speechless, ignorant of whatever topic was currently being conversed. In those moments, Ryloh would offer hints, whispers into the warrior’s ears. What followed were oddly astute and academic observations stemming from the Rattataki’s lips.

 

Then Ryloh would return to obscurity. He wanted nothing of attention, praise, or acclamation. He would selflessly offer his knowledge to Kar’ai, and seemingly expect nothing in return. I suppose I am not as different from other students as I once expected. A curious development.

 

Ryloh belonged to a separate class of inquisitors than I. I had heard little of his accomplishments, and I made a habit of keeping tabs on the other students during my days as an acolyte. How he has managed to stay under the radar all these years is a matter than intrigues me. Handsome face. Overtly alien species. Sharp mind. Capable fighter.

 

These are not characteristics that go unnoticed by one’s classmates. Was Kar’ai the first to notice him? Truly appreciate his talents? Or was he the one who decided that after all this time he ought make himself known? Perhaps he was like me and sought something beyond the status of acolyte, intrigued by the prospect of an apprenticeship. Like me.

 

Is that where my intrigue lies? In someone who so remarkably mirrors my own situation leading up to and seemingly continuing under the training of a new master. What is his relationship with Kar’ai. Is she using him? Is he elevating her of his own accord? It would seem these two warrant my attention just as much, if not more than the more dangerous couples.

 

Speaking of which, Jresh and Isorr butt heads again. I have no doubt that Arlia and him will be our main competition for getting the apprenticeship. Nesk and Vurt seem too destructive to themselves to stay focused enough to earn Syrosk’s favor. But Isorr and Arlia are utterly capable of destruction, but possess the added benefit of cold, calculating minds powering their physically capable bodies.

 

The two warriors went at it much like their duel the other day. Brutal, impactful, dedicated. Yet simply with words did they fight, never rising from their seats, never raising their voice, never losing control. Any who looked upon them could see the passions flare as their each every word left their mouths with utter calculation, not one word misspoken.

 

Jresh raised points very similar to the ones we had discussed this morning over breakfast. Isorr was completely dedicated to his traditional interpretation of the Sith Code. Every once in a while there would be a break for me and Arlia to get our own words in. The sharp contrast in tone and emphasis with the warriors was almost staggering. Me and her had been involved in similar bouts before. It was in the nature of inquisitor training. At this point, battles of the spoken word are little more than games to us.

 

She is a peculiar one as well. I don’t think I’ve met as manipulative a student as Arlia. I’ve always been great at reading other people, seeing their emotional state, uncovering their intentions. But with her, I literally cannot tell the truth from fabrication. And that is something that scares me. Just as Jresh has met his physical match in the Zabrak, I have encountered my mental quarry. Normally I’d welcome any challenge of the mind, but there things I cannot wrap my head around.

 

Given the couple’s traditional Sith nature, it stands to reason that one of them is the dominant of the two. One of them had to have made concessions upon entering the partnership. But whom? Both of them exude the idea that they have allowed the other to partake in their excellence. Honestly, I’d prefer it if Isorr were the greater threat. Because of all I’ve seen, he’s honest. He’ll tell you how he feels about you to your face, often without provocation. Arlia, every word uttered carries an ulterior motive. A hidden meaning.

 

Which in the end, confounds me. What is her goal? If everything she has said and done was a fabrication, what truth lies underneath? Are all the lies and manipulations just a means to an end rather than an inherent personality. Are there truths in her lies. Lies in her truths. She’s combative one moment. Kind the next. Which is the true emotion? Maybe both. Maybe neither.

 

I should despise her. Yet, I respect her. I’ve seen the way the Academy and its student usually operate. She is performing at beyond the threshold of typical success. Regardless of the Empire’s views on lesser aliens, a female Twi’lek of her appearance could bend the wills of males with much quicker results than what she has done in the past. She has proven herself manipulative, yet has shown that some tactics appear completely absent from her repertoire. Why has someone who has shown that they would do anything to succeed, held something back?

 

This is the moment when things finally get real. Long have I thought myself capable of peering into the minds of others. Seeing what they see, knowing what they feel. Yet, here I stand, incapable of figuring out the other acolytes vying for Syrosk’s attention. All along I thought myself above the other acolytes in typical Sith fashion. But now I find myself surrounded by remarkable individuals, the master in particular.

 

Earlier in my attendance of the Academy, one always knew where they stood. Instructors made clear their favor of particular students, particular behaviors. Performances were graded. Practice battle had clear outcomes, with clear consequences. Debates and quizzes had clear right and wrong answers. But now, all of that has been thrown out for Syrosk’s training.

 

It’s difficult to read him, more so than the other students. Perhaps it is because of my limited interaction with Sith Lords, but he was not what I was expecting. His manner of testing feels nothing like what I had expected of him. And I still have trouble deciphering was he approves and disapproves of. The first day, when we all met, there was talk. Just talk. And then he gave us all a bunch of free stuff.

 

An apparent disconnect between his words and his actions are a strange mindset that I won’t be understanding anytime soon. Then we had the exchange of items. He would gaze upon a mere token, and gather from it in depth knowledge. In the end, even with my situation, he expressed little in the way of approval or disapproval.

 

Then came the duels. More words. More insight. More ambiguity. When he spoke with me, it felt almost like there was some negativity to his words. But also those of reinforcement, to push me on. Then the discussions today. He did little to make his own preferences and ideals known. He would just do his best to make sure there was never a lull in the conversation, probably to make sure we didn’t have time to plan responses.

 

He wanted to know how we truly felt and how we articulated those thoughts. Again, nothing we said garnered approval or disapproval. He most likely doesn’t want us to conform to his ideals. He wants to measure our capabilities in their rawest form, untouched by the idea of manipulation to gain the master’s favor.

 

The only reason I saw me and Jresh earn some points today was the way he watched us. He seemed to understand and digest the other students’ words with relative ease, but with us, it was like he was actively studying us. While I can’t say for certain such a thing is positive, from what little I know about the master, he seems to enjoy being surprised. Hopefully, we were able to keep his attention long enough to make up for our defeats the previous day.

 

Somewhat looking forward to tomorrow. Syrosk said that our bodies and minds had been tested, and now it was time for the same to be done with our spirits. If the test involves the Force, it seems the ball is yet again in the court of the inquisitors, but then again, nothing is ever what it seems with him.

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Chapter Fourteen: Forces

 

Day four of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. Tepid. The eight students stood in standard formation as they were burdened by the continuing stare of their master a short distance in front of them.

 

Lord Syrosk paced back and forth as he gathered his thoughts. “You all faced your first trial of the body. Some were victorious. Some were not. But in the end you were tested. You all faced your first trial of the mind. Some of you proved intelligent. Some wise. Others wallowed in silence. But in the end you were tested. Now. On this hill, you face your first trial of the spirit. I’m sure you all hold your individual outlook upon that word. Others know it by one of its numerous names. Spirit. Willpower. Soul. One’s connection to the Force. Like before, some of you will be victorious. Others will not. And in the end you will be tested.”

 

Without another word, the Sith Lord walked into the center of the ancient dueling circle that lay a short distance away. The students did not budge from their standing positions without expressed consent from their master.

 

“Everyone, make yourselves to the circle’s edge and stand there, equally spread out.”

 

The students hurriedly complied. Each duo took themselves to a cornered position before spreading out creating an octagonal pattern with each student standing on the precipice of the circle. Lorrik studied the peculiar situation. Jresh stood a short distance to his right. Isorr a short distance to his left. An equal distance separated each student, who stood the same distance from the master’s central point.

 

“A Sith must know how to draw upon forces that will ensure their victory,

Syrosk rasped. “Passions fuel our physical strength. Cunning broadens our mental capacities. But to bolster one’s spirit, one must meet a force with superior force. You must be challenged, and you must overcome said challenge. And I will be the one to challenge you. For the first time, I will be directly opposing you, not your fellow students. Your challenge, is to be the first to lay a hand upon my person. First to do so wins a free day for them and their companion. You may begin.”

 

The students all hesitated, unsure of how exactly to proceed. Seemingly a test of speed, but the acolytes knew better. The master was equally surrounded, and yet he stood with his usual casual pose, arms folded behind his back. Still the figures stood unmoving, no one willing to make the first motion, perhaps jeopardizing their chances of success.

 

Ryloh was the first to finally break the tension. One careful, calculated step toward Syrosk was all he could take before he found himself drug to the ground. As the Twi’lek lay flat on his front, he struggled to raise himself with his arms. As Kar’ai took a step forward to investigate, she too was overwhelmed by an oppressive downward force washing over her, bringing her to her knees.

 

One by one the acolytes entered the circle toward their master, only to be met with the same force. Looking up from the ground on which he now lay, Lorrik gazed into the visage of Syrosk. What he witnessed was a countenance of pure concentration. The Sith Lord was actively forcing the students down.

 

Slowly being crushed under their own weight, each student tried their best to inch toward the master and grasp victory for themselves. The warriors proved less affected, able to stay standing or upon one knee, but could not hold to take more than a single step every several seconds. The inquisitors tried to move forward in their own special way. Keeping low, Vurt began to crawl ever so slowly. Arlia dug her training saber’s tip into the ground, using it as a lever to slowly drag herself forward.

 

Lorrik and Jresh moved forward, slowly and anything but surely. Jresh remained standing while his partner lie to his side, prone, his digits digging into the Korriban dirt. The oppressive weight upon them intensified as each student drew ever closer to the epicenter. Eventually, the force was too much to bear and Jresh was forced to the ground. Individually, each student tried their best to reach Syrosk, but none proved capable of surpassing the master’s superior will. As Lorrik lay next to his companion, he was all but sure that it was hopeless for him to continue forward, but still he looked on as Jresh clawed himself forward. Looking around, a feat he was barely capable of at the moment, Lorrik saw that Isorr and Nesk were ahead of them.

 

The inquisitor envisioned defeat, stewed the idea over in his mind’s eye. He would not have it this day. But Lorrik’s body was physically unable to continue. He knew that he had to rely on Jresh to succeed. And with that knowledge, came realization. Using his last bit of strength, Lorrik lay his outstretched hand upon his companion’s pant leg. Looking back, Jresh saw his partner bearing a determined look in his eye, and his mouth silently preparing him for an upcoming action.

 

The duo readied themselves. Lorrik concentrated and let loose a primal howl, thrusting his hands forward. Jresh matched his partner in voice, but not in action. The warrior instead put all his energy into one final surge forward. The inquisitor put all his energy into propelling his partner forward with the Force.

 

Finally, with his companion’s telekinetic assistance, Jresh flung past the final stretch and lay his right hand upon Syrosk’s right ankle. As soon at the contact was confirmed, the forceful field dissipated, each student writhing upon the ground as they regained control of their bodies.

 

“It would appear we have our winners,” Syrosk stated, his soft admission barely audible over the student’s exasperated breathing. “Rise my students.”

 

Slowly, each student arose, lest they attract the ire inherent in disobeying their master. Jresh returned to Lorrik’s side, not bearing any overt positive emotions, but definitely filled with a sense of accomplishment.

 

Syrosk cast his sharpened gaze upon the successful pair. “It would seem that these two have learned much from my teachings. Your test only required a single person to touch me to succeed, and yet you each pressed on as individuals. When Lorrik saw himself incapable of accomplishing a task, he lent his strength to the more powerful Jresh. In the end, it matters not if you hold on to your pride if you are unable to attain victory. As a Sith, you must be willing to do what it takes to succeed, even if it goes against your precious sense of self-importance. Now, we are going to try again, and now that you know the answer, expect the question to be much harder. Jresh, Lorrik, you may return to the Academy.”

 

“Sir,” Jresh spoke up. “I wish to train as much as possible. I would like to continue the trials up here rather than have a day off.”

 

“Who’s to say your training for the day is complete? You and your partner have simply moved beyond this task,” Syrosk firmly stated. “You have the day to yourselves, now your task is deciding on how to utilize it.”

 

Jresh hesitantly accepted his master’s wishes. With Lorrik by his side, the duo began walking the return path to the Academy as the other students reset to their positions surrounding the circle.

 

“Look, I understand how the prospect of free time is abhorrent to you, so what would you like to do for the rest of the day?” Lorrik asked with characteristic pleasantness.

 

“Today was a test of the spirit, it is only right that I continue along that line.”

 

“How do you suppose we do that?”

 

“I’m not sure. I will probably return to the suite to meditate.”

 

“That sounds reasonable. Might find some insight. Dwell on the Force. That sort of thing. I might join you later.”

 

“Later? You have plans?”

 

“Well, our kitchen stock wasn’t exactly plentiful. I was going to see if I could procure us some more supplies,” Lorrik said. Jresh emitted a soft hum of uncertainty. “Don’t worry. I’d be glad to join you in meditation afterwards. I’m not going to waste the day. I’m as serious as you about this training thing… okay, maybe not as serious as you, but pretty serious.”

 

----------

 

Lorrik walked the familiar halls of the Academy interior while Jresh returned to the suite. The inquisitor pondered how he might get his hands on supplies. It was something he never had to do in his years of study. Occasionally, he would barter or trade with a fellow student in order to procure a meaningful text or datacard. But foodstuffs were absolutely out of the hands of anyone Lorrik traditionally dealt with.

 

Korriban imported practically all of its edible supplies, which meant if he wanted something of significance, he would have to go to someone close enough to influence those dealings. The inquisitor tumbled the idea around in his head, and could only come up with one person who might fit that description. The quartermaster.

 

With calm, Lorrik approached the same quartermaster who oversaw the underhalls, the one who had given the eight acolytes their new accommodations. The dull Human still bore the same dull visage he had on that day as well as every other day. As Lorrik drew near, the inquisitor’s presence was enough to warrant the quartermaster’s attention.

 

“I remember you. Acolyte. Under Lord Syrosk. I see the robes were delivered successfully. Are you enjoying your new accommodations?” The Human’s words seemed almost hollow, the quartermaster putting as little effort into emoting as humanly possible.

 

“Yes, yes. Everything is going great. I do have some questions about the suite, and its supplies…”

 

“Amenities are restocked every ten days at midday,” the quartermaster plainly stated.

 

“I understand that, but I wanted to know more about the food-”

 

“Edible supplies are replenished as part of the standard restocking arrangement.”

 

“Yes, but the type of-”

 

“The varieties of food are dictated by Production and Logistics, specifically the Domestic Supply Office.”

 

“So you have no control over the resupplying process?”

 

“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” the quartermaster stated after a pause, practically dropping his monotonous facade. Panning his gaze around the Academy halls, the Human finally began to show some interested in his company. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

 

“Well,” Lorrik began, “I’ve recently discovered my talents as a cook, and I was wondering if there was anything to be done that could maybe expand the supply of food that made its way to my suite.” The quartermaster stared at the acolyte for a brief moment before succumbing to a short fit of laughter.

 

“Ha! Is that it? I thought you were conspiring to poison someone’s food, or redirect some vital supplies. All you want to do is cook?”

 

“Well, when you put it that way…”

 

“Oh, the others are right, you are different.”

 

“Wait, others? Who’s been talking about me?”

 

“All of the students Syrosk took have become the hot topic around here. I hope you didn’t think your new position would go unnoticed.”

 

“I suppose I didn’t put too much thought into it. Oh, well, I suppose it was a stupid thing to ask.”

 

“Whoa, wait a moment, acolyte. I do have some influence over the moving and directing of supplies around here. If you want a few extra goods or something a bit exotic, I think I can send it your way.”

 

“Really?” Lorrik asked, giddy with delight overcoming any skepticism.

 

“Sure. It’s not often I’m privy to such un-malign machinations. I’m tired of having to deal with the usual miscreants the Academy sends my way. I’d be happy to give a favor for a favor.”

 

“Sure, what favor?”

 

“My brother, the weapons master, has been working on my lightsaber. Can’t leave my post, so it would be great if you could retrieve it for me.”

 

“That’s my mission? Fetch an item from someone a few halls down?”

 

“If you think it beneath you, oh great student of Lord Syrosk…”

 

“No, wait, I got it. Fetch your lightsaber… wait a minute, you’re a Sith?”

 

“Yeah, began my training back toward the beginning of the war. Wasn’t exactly fit for the frontlines and… they needed people to tend the Academy, so that’s how me and my brother ended up where we are. Honestly, if it weren’t for the Academy rules, we’d probably be the primary cause of death amongst annoying acolytes.”

 

Lorrik digested the quartermaster’s words with grim realization. The acolyte’s face prompted another bout of laughter from the Human.

 

“Don’t worry, it takes a lot to annoy us. We’re good though. We’ll be better if you can get me my saber. We’ll be even better if you send me down a meal once in a while.”

 

“Heh, you got yourself a deal,” Lorrik said, shaking the man’s hand.

 

Lorrik turned from the quartermaster with a grin upon his face. Amidst all the clashes and quarrels that happen within the confines of the Academy, the inquisitor was happy to make the acquaintance of someone not utterly corrupted by the place’s darker influences.

 

The acolyte continued his trek toward the dueling rings and the stationed weapons master. Passing through the narrow halls, Lorrik noticed that the Academy was sparsely populated at the time. Little of the hustle and bustle of students looking to prove themselves. No screaming or shouting of pains or pleasures.

 

Curiosity got the better of him, as Lorrik turned the corner he did not notice the figure to his back. He also did not notice the blow about to be delivered to the back of his head.

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Chapter Fifteen: Consequences

 

A forceful fist struck Lorrik on the back of his skull, sending the inquisitor tumbling forward to the ground. On his knees, the acolyte used one hand to steady himself whilst the other grasped his newfound wound.

 

“Ow. If that was intended to knock me unconscious, you need to do better than that,” Lorrik muttered through the pain, not bothering to look up from the floor.

 

“Oh, why would I want you unconscious?” a familiar voice resonated in the darkened halls. “Then you would be ignorant of all the pain you were about to suffer.”

 

“Ornell,” Lorrik whispered, clenched fists resting against the floor. “Well, if you knocked me unconscious so you could drag me back to your lair… oh wait, I forgot, you’re too much of a worthless insect to possess anything of the sort.”

 

Lorrik found his insults brought to an abrupt end as Ornell delivered a powerful kick to the inquisitor’s side. The injured acolyte rolled over with a muffled grunt of pain. Facing upwards, Lorrik could finally glimpse his attacker.

 

“No, I suppose I haven’t a lair yet, but I do have a legion,” Ornell enthusiastically stated, four classmates standing behind him trying their hardest to appear intimidating.

 

“Did the meaning of the word legion change while I’ve been gone?” Lorrik joked, before being stomped by the flustered acolyte once again. The injured Human writhed on the ground, trying to keep his smile through the fits of discomfort. “If this is how you plan on killing me, we’re going to be here all till sundown.”

 

“What makes you think I have any intention of killing you, Lorrik?” Ornell asked, kneeling closer to the grounded acolyte’s face. “Are we not still bound by Academy law? I’m sure if you screamed loud enough, someone would hear you. That’s all it would take to put a stop to this. So go ahead, beg for mercy.”

 

“Pass,” Lorrik bluntly said. Ornell’s visage twitched in anger before he promptly struck the prone inquisitor’s face with his clenched fist. Rising, Ornell paced in a small circle with his hand stroking his jaw.

 

“You know, that wasn’t nice what you did the other day. Still don’t think I’m back to tasting things right.”

 

“Sorry to hear that,” Lorrik stated with faux compassion. “If you’d like, I could cook you up something to accommodate your particular tastes.”

 

Ornell’s pacing increased as he became more and more visibly displeased, eventually getting right in the fallen Human’s face. “Why? Why are you like this?”

 

“I figured if I’m going to be the one on the floor, I might as well do anything that would prevent you from deriving any pleasure from this experience,” Lorrik warmly stated.

 

“Oh. No. It’s quite alright if you stay silent,” Ornell whispered, his breath warming the other Human’s ear. “This is nothing. I’ll show you pain. Real pain. We’ll see how long you can hold your tongue.”

 

“Since when have I been holding my tongue?”

 

“Make your jokes. Soon, you’ll understand the cost of your actions.”

 

“Is it still against Academy rules if I die of boredom?”

 

Lorrik provoked a primal response from Ornell as the enraged acolyte stomped on the fallen inquisitor’s torso. Collecting himself, the instigator turned his back on the writhing acolyte.

 

“Rough him up,” Ornell called out. The lackeys who had since only stood by with quiet contemplation began to move. With no weapons, the four plainly robed Humans went about continuing their boss’s work, delivering kick after kick to the already brutalized inquisitor.

 

The beating continued for what seemed like ages to Lorrik. Pain exuded from every nerve of his body. But aside of the wayward grunt of exhaustion, the inquisitor remained silent.

 

Only after Lorrik lay sufficiently battered, bruised, and bloodied, did Ornell recall his henchmen. “Come on, we’re done here.”

 

The lowly acolytes offered their own quick scoffs toward the broken inquisitor before returning to their master. The one nearest Lorrik did notice the hand grasping at his right ankle. The retreating aggressor stopped to look down, and was met with the sight of a soft blue light emanating from the inquisitor’s hand.

 

Sparks crackled for but a moment, before surging through Lorrik’s contact point. In a flash, the standing acolyte’s body had become wrapped in short arcs of Force lightning. The victim stiffened as the energies coursed through his body, before slumping to the ground unconscious.

 

“One down,” Lorrik muttered, still prone, head raised only enough to make eye contact with Ornell.

 

Finishing his words, Lorrik spat a glob of blood from his mouth onto the floor in front of him before succumbing to several fits of coughing. Ornell scoffed before he continued to go about his business, walking away from the inquisitor and his single fallen lackey.

 

As Ornell turned the corner, Lorrik rolled onto his back to gather himself. Looking up at the ceiling he found it hard to gather his thoughts through his own heavy breathing. Grasping his yet unhooked saber, Lorrik used it as leverage to pull himself up off of the ground.

 

Slowly but surely straightening himself out, Lorrik gathered enough strength to stand straight. Slightly twisting his neck, and emoting with his jaw, the inquisitor made sure all of his parts were still sufficiently functioning. He still tasted the presence of blood as he licked his lips, but was unsure if the source was his mouth or the thin strip stemming from his nose.

 

Wiping his face, Lorrik saw that his gloved palm received a brush of red. The sight provoked a slight grimace as the inquisitor hesitated to wipe the fluid onto his pant leg. With a heavy sigh, Lorrik propelled himself forward, intent on finishing the task he had been given.

 

----------

 

Tending to some supplies behind his counter, the Academy quartermaster hadn’t noticed the figure approaching him. The slamming of something solid on the counter’s surface caught his attention. Turning around, the quartermaster saw Lorrik had completed the task he had been given, albeit returning in a rather haggard condition. The person, that is. The weapon held within his grasp showed no marks of disuse.

 

Lorrik released his grip on the peculiar weapon he had retrieved for the quartermaster. Like nothing the acolyte had seen firsthand, the weapon was actually a long pole arm matching his height in length, similar to the pikes and staves he had associated with some members of the Imperial Guard.

 

“I spoke to your brother… asked him for your saber… gave me this… maybe he misheard me… or wanted you to have this instead,” Lorrik sluggishly explained.

 

The quartermaster studied the bloodied and exhausted acolyte before him. “I didn’t expect so simple a task to prove so hazardous for you.

 

“Oh, this… this was nothing. Something else. So… uh… is this what you wanted?”

 

“This is fine, Lorrik. Consider yourself a favor owed,” the quartermaster stated, retrieving the weapon and putting it in a secure area below the counter. “Would you like to request a med-kit?”

 

“No… no. I’ll be fine. It’s been a pleasure…”

 

“Well, I somehow doubt that. Take care of yourself, acolyte.”

 

“Will do,” Lorrik said, turning away from the quartermaster with a slight slump in his stature. The inquisitor forged a new path returning to his suite, his gait almost returning to normal, but still marred by the presence of a limp.

 

“Yes... quite different.”

 

----------

 

When Lorrik made it back to his dwelling, he fiddled with the door panel for a moment, wanting nothing more than to lie down in his comfortable bed and rest. As the door parted, Lorrik saw Jresh meditating on the inscribed circular mat as he was prone to do. Sensing the intrusion, the warrior broke his stance to gaze at his partner. His brow furrowed at the sight of his companion’s condition.

 

“Do you plan on explaining your current status?” Jresh stoically asked, not budging from his kneeling position.

 

“Backroom beatings and inflated egos, standard Academy behavior. You know how it is,” Lorrik said as he trudged toward his room.

 

“No, I’m afraid I do not ‘know how it is’. Did you initiate a confrontation? Was this the work of Syrosk’s students?”

 

“No… no. A, uh, regular acolyte and a few flunkies. Something of a conflict that was from before our training under Syrosk.”

 

“What exactly happened?” Jresh asked, an atypical level of investment in his inquiry.

 

The inquisitor paused outside his room, staring at the door. “I was doing a favor for the quartermaster, during which I was struck on the back of the head by an acolyte. Then him and his gang proceeded to knock me around a bit.”

 

“Did you fight back?”

 

Lorrik turned toward his partner, carefully leaning against the nearby wall. “Not really. It would have accomplished nothing. If I took them down, I’d just be the guy who was picking on lowly acolytes since entering the training of a Sith Lord. If I cried out, I’d have given him the satisfaction of seeing me beg for mercy or hiding behind Academy rules. All of which would have reflected poorly on me… and you.”

 

“Weakness,” Jresh muttered, fists clenching his pant legs.

 

“I’m sorry?” Lorrik asked, taken aback.

 

“These other students. Their actions contained no merit. They had no clear goal with which they could accomplish. If they were trying to do something of significance, I might understand the overpowering numbers, but to use such force to try and belittle someone such as yourself…”

 

“That almost sounded like an insult.”

 

“The actions you have described are the actions of weak, foolish cowards.”

 

“They probably weren’t trying to prove how ‘strong’ they are. They just wanted to send a message.”

 

The Pureblood quickly picked himself up off the meditation mat. “Consider that message received. Can you give me the names of the assailants?”

 

“Whoa, these guys are beneath you. They didn’t accomplish anything, it’s best not to waste your time with them.”

 

“I will not stand idly by whilst rodents nip at my heels,” Jresh firmly stated. “Every message deserves a response.”

 

The Human hesitantly scratch the back of his bruised and bleeding head. “I don’t know…”

 

“Lorrik. I promised to lend you my strength. Just as you promised to lend me yours. You proved yourself today. What other might consider weakness, I consider fortitude. Syrosk told you to test your limits, to endure whatever came at you. And you did just that. You gave me insight into your beliefs, your psyche. You’ve broadened my horizons, proving that I was not a fool for turning away from the simplistic mindset that the Academy expected from warrior like myself. The least you could do, is allow me to defend you from those who would see you beaten down.”

 

“And here I thought you’d expect me to defend myself.”

 

“I do,” Jresh plainly stated. “There will be times when we are separated. When you will be forced to rely only on yourself. I expect you to be fully capable of staying alive by yourself. But in this instance, you chose not to retaliate. I know what you are capable of. I know that you made a conscious decision to act as you did. But while we are together, we are one. An attack on you is an attack on myself. And I cannot abide by that. If it makes you feel better, consider this an act of selfishness.”

 

Lorrik took a couple of deep, careful breaths. “You truly plan to act on this?”

 

“I am nothing if not determined. Now, I’m going to need names and faces.”

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Chapter Sixteen: Retaliations

 

Jresh briskly exited the suite, leaving Lorrik behind to recover. The inquisitor sat on his knees, staring at the door with growing concern. For once in his life, he had no clue or estimations of what events would transpire in the near future. He sat amongst the quiet room. Everything was still, calm, and peaceful. But in the inquisitor’s mind, only chaos. Feelings and concerns flooded his conscience. Questions circulated over and over in his mind.

 

What if? What will be? How, and most importantly, who? The Academy had finally left its mark on the student, physically and emotionally. And yet, here he remained, unable to reciprocate. Unable, or unwanting? He did not know. He had allowed Jresh to charge off on his own. He didn’t want to burden his partner. But deep within his mind, he wanted revenge. He wanted the pain he felt to be met and repaid in full.

 

Lorrik wanted peace, balance, and whatever else he might need to reach an enlightenment capable of separating himself from this accursed Academy. He wanted knowledge, power, and the ability to control his own freedom. He simply wanted. A wont for want defined him. Burdened him. Peace, yet emotion. Contradictories plagued his mindset.

 

Slowly, the inquisitor raised himself from the floor and steadily walked toward his room. As he passed the threshold of his personal quarters, he began to shed the outer layers of his robe. Unbuckling various fasteners, the Human haphazardly flung the gloves and boots from his limbs, and let his outer coat messily fall to the floor. Limping to the bathroom, Lorrik examined his reflection on the sizable mirror mounted upon the wall.

 

Splotches of red and purple marred his visage. Long since dried blood ran from the corners of his mouth, from his nostrils. Bruises dotted the rest of his remarkably swollen face. Despite his injuries, the inquisitor had moved beyond the pain. He could no longer gaze upon his face and see the individual cuts and bruises. Now, he could only see the captured image of his entire countenance. A portrait. A painting that held many facets, and many meanings.

 

Lorrik gazed at his reflection. He saw weakness, someone utterly incapable of defending himself. He saw strength, someone capable of enduring previously unmatched levels of pain. Beyond the anguish, the inquisitor eventually came across a realization. He wanted this. He needed this. Because in the end, he was feeling something. Pain, assuredly, but also a well of emotion and confusing thought. It was invigorating for the inquisitor.

 

Lorrik continued to stare at his reflection, and watched as he slowly adopted a smile. He saw potential. He saw a challenge. Exiting the bathroom, the inquisitor carried himself to the center of his bed. But instead of falling prone and resting, he adopted a meditative position, sitting upright with his legs crossed above the plush covers that lay beneath him. Closing his eyes, Lorrik brought his hands together, as the air surrounding him vibrated ever so slightly, producing a visible aura that seemed to emanate from his person.

 

----------

 

Jresh, meanwhile, walked the halls of the Academy with purpose. Brisk and dedicated, the warrior moved with an atypically fast pace, though still falling short of a jog. In reality, he was marching, marching toward a sure destination where sure actions were to take place.

 

Not bothering to utilize the hood of his robes, all who gazed upon the warrior as he made his way toward the classrooms saw a fierce dedication. Whichever students populated the halls that Jresh currently walked through, quickly altered their position, lest they actively impede the warrior. Two students however, made no such effort. Isorr and Arlia were walking back to their suite, having successfully completed their master’s exercise.

 

Seeing the Pureblood marching toward them alone, Arlia couldn’t help but release a snide comment at the warrior. “Well, what do you know? Those two aren’t physically latched on to one another.”

 

Arlia was momentarily confused when the Pureblood offered absolutely no response. She was unsure if he merely hadn’t heard her, or if he was actively ignoring her. The Twi’lek didn’t have time for another comment, as Jresh passed through the minimal gap that separated the duo without a single word or wayward glance. The two students continued to gaze at the stalwart warrior as he continued his trek toward the lower halls.

 

“That was peculiar,” Arlia said, puzzling over the Sith’s presence. As she turned to face her partner, she saw the Zabrak bearing a peculiar smirk. “What’s got you so giddy, Isorr?”

 

The Zabrak kept his eyes affixed to the marching warrior. “I know that look.”

 

“Oh, and what look might that be?”

 

“The look of pain and hatred. The look of death." There was a paused as Isorr watched the Pureblood turned a corner. "Good.”

 

“Good?”

 

“I was beginning to think the Human was having an adverse effect on the warrior. Weakening him. However, it looks like I still possess a worthy opponent in him.”

 

Arlia could not reciprocate her partner’s musings of worthiness.

 

Reaching the lecture wing of the lower halls, Jresh ventured passed the area where he had first met his companion. It was there that he came across a classroom in the middle of its studies. The number etched onto the wall next to the door matched the one Lorrik had described. As the warrior approached, the metallic door lifted itself into its upper recess in response to the Sith’s presence.

 

Inside the classroom, the students and instructor were sufficiently interrupted by the intruding warrior. There was a clear path from the door to the classroom’s instructor, who currently stood behind a lectern, and in front of a wall with various Sith writings etched onto its surface.

 

To the left and right, two sitting areas. Cold, brutal seating, lacking in any ergonomically pleasing design, was situated in tiered rows, each row sitting at a slightly higher elevation the closer to the door it was. Jresh pressed onward into the confines of the room, garnering the attention of the less than pleased instructor.

 

“I’m sorry… my lord… but might you explain why you are interrupting my lecture?” the instructor asked, balancing respect and disapproval. Jresh offered the older Human no response as he continued forward. Finally, adjacent to the instructor, the warrior leaned in close and whispered into the teacher’s ear. The plainly robed Human paused for but a moment before leaving the classroom without a word.

 

Jresh now stood behind the lectern, gazing out toward the students that populated the room. As he panned his gaze across the gathered students, Jresh unhooked his saber and placed it at the base of the lectern.

 

“I require a word with a student named Ornell and anyone who would care to associate with him. Everyone else… leave. Now.”

 

The warrior’s words shook the students to the core, and they promptly complied. As the mostly Human group vacated the room, only a few figures yet remained, matching the descriptions Lorrik had given of his aggressors.

 

“Look, you may have tricked the instructor into thinking you're someone of rank, but we know you’re just a student here,” a sufficiently smug Human said from the front row.

 

The commenting student was trying his hardest to adopt an aloof stance and appear unfazed by the warrior’s intrusion. Jresh studied the individual. It was definitely Ornell. Abandoning the lectern, Jresh made his way toward the student’s position.

 

“Hey, we both know there's nothing you can-” Ornell began, before Jresh promptly gripped the student by his blonde hair, and slammed his head into the sturdy desktop in front of him. As Ornell recoiled in pain, the three students that had opted to remain leapt to his defense.

 

Weaponless, they opted to bring down the warrior with their bare hands. They failed. The first to enter Jresh’s reach found himself incapacitated with a quick jab to his throat. The next managed to grab a hold on the warrior’s exterior robes, and the Pureblood responded by simply driving his own skull into the student’s nose. The last defender leapt at the Sith from one of the back rows. The Pureblood grabbed the jumper in mid-air before slamming his body to the ground at his feet. As the student writhed on the ground, Jresh forcefully directed his heel down onto the fallen student’s chest, knocking whatever air remained out of his lungs. Ornell, clutching the side of his head, had not even begun to process the events that had just transpired.

 

“What do you think you’re-” Ornell began, before he found himself gripped by the robes near his chest. The warrior lifted the inquisitor in training and flung him over the desk, sending him sliding toward the lectern. As Ornell impacted against the solid fixture, he began to scuttle and panic, unsure of any way to escape. On instinct, he grasped the training saber Jresh had left at the base of the lectern, activated it, and pointed it at the warrior. Jresh merely stared down his opponent, watching as the weapon trembled in the wielder’s right hand.

 

“Y-you m-messed up!” Ornell shouted, desperation oozing from every syllable that left his mouth. “N-now I’ve… I’ve got your weapon!”

 

The Pureblood approached the frightened student with one slow step after another.

 

“Yes… yes you do,” Jresh plainly stated, before he batted the weapon free of Ornell’s grip with a powerful backward swing of his gloved hand. “You’ve also revealed your dominant hand.”

 

The warrior closed whatever gap remained and lifted the student by his neck before flattening him against the ground. As Ornell lied sprawled at his feet, Jresh planted a boot on the student’s chest, keeping him pinned to the ground.

 

“P-please! You can’t kill me!” Ornell desperately cried out.

 

“Oh, I most definitely can,” Jresh coldly stated, leaning downward closer to his victim’s face. “But, I won’t.” The warrior, still pinning the inquisitor to the ground, reached down and grasped the student’s right hand by the wrist. “You committed a great grievance against Lorrik Velash, and in turn, committed a great grievance against myself.”

 

Gripping Ornell’s hand with one of his, Jresh used his other to grasp the student’s index finger. In one single motion, he bent the digit back until an audible snap wrung out, followed by Ornell’s howls of pain.

 

“That… was for Lorrik.”

 

Jresh moved on to the middle finger, and repeated the action. Ornell repeated his response with more unintelligible shrieks.

 

“That… was for me.”

 

Jresh released the inquisitor’s hand and removed his foot from the student’s chest. Ornell clutched his abused hand, writhing on the ground in agony. The warrior took a knee, and clutched Ornell’s jaw with his hand. Directing the student’s head, he made sure Ornell’s gaze met with his own.

 

“The consequences of your actions have been dealt. So long as you do not continue to harass myself or my partner, no more harm will be departed upon you. You are free to wander these halls without fear of further retaliation. However, if our gazes ever meet again, you will have exactly five seconds to make yourself disappear. Or else. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Ornell nodded, his eyes glazed over in tears. Without another word, Jresh retrieved his training saber, attached it to his belt, and departed the classroom, passing the still prone group of students that had opposed him. Exiting the room, the class instructor leaned against the wall adjacent to the door. Jresh had no words for him, or anyone else, and began his solemn trek back to the suite.

 

----------

 

Back at the suite, Lorrik entered his bathroom yet again, having exited his meditative trance. Gazing at his reflection, the inquisitor examined every extremity of his face. No cuts. No bruises. Lorrik emoted in a wide range, stretching and flexing each facial muscle and offering the occasional inquisitive poke and prod with his finger. Everything had apparently returned to normal. The pain was nothing but a memory. Lorrik pumped his fist into the air, overtly excited with the success of his new Force technique.

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Chapter Seventeen: Dreams

 

With a deep breath, Jresh entered the door code to his suite and entered, baring a peculiar serenity in his visage. More than the usual calmness and blankness that graced his face. His expression told of a strange sense of fulfillment that was not the standard. A sense of satisfaction, of actions taken, of conditional delight. Passing the threshold of the warrior’s home, Jresh noticed that the same feeling could be extrapolated from the suite itself. As the warrior walked toward the bedrooms, there appeared to be no evidence of the anguish that populated the area a short while ago.

 

Stopping the warrior dead in his stride, was the emergence of Lorrik from his bedroom, garbed in a casual set of backup robes. Jresh puzzled as he gazed upon his companion's unblemished face, seeing no scars, only a peculiar smile, even for Lorrik.

 

The Pureblood softly furrowed his brow. “What happened to your wounds?”

 

“I know, awesome right?” Lorrik heartily replied. “Force healing. Never had the chance to try it before. Didn’t even think I would be able to do it.”

 

“Upon what source did you siphon sustenance from?” Jresh asked.

 

“None. I thought, hey, Jresh meditates and finds peace and what have you. Why can’t I? And I did.”

 

“When I meditate, I lock myself in with my own thoughts, and set out to achieve a certain understanding of the internal forces that make up my body and mind. What you did, sounds like drawing upon the light side of the Force. You’ll understand why I consider the act something of peculiarity for a Sith acolyte. I know your demeanor doesn’t match the other students, but this… this is quite different.”

 

“I think it fits perfectly with what we are trying to accomplish, procuring knowledge and techniques from any source so long as it increases our combined power. I mean, when you were injured on our second day of training, you eventually healed yourself over a long period with meditation. Imagine if I could have mended your wound on the spot. I mean, I'm not able to channel this power yet, to my knowledge, but given time and training…”

 

“I feel that such a course of action might be counter intuitive. If whatever injuries I sustain are immediately remedied, how will I be able to dwell upon then, learn from them, draw from them.”

 

“A good point, but think about it. How do we gain strength?” Lorrik asked. “We push our bodies to the limit, breaking down what makes us up so that it can repair itself and come back stronger. I think I’ve found a way to expedite the process. Regardless of your toughness, which I will admit is remarkably high, you will eventually find your actions limited by a fear of being incapacitated. Only a complete fool would possess absolutely no qualms about being injured. But now, with this knowledge, this power, we can push ourselves even further. We can press forward, beyond the other students, and ensure our continued success in the future to come.”

 

Jresh scratched his chin, as intrigued as he was reticent. “I understand your reasoning Lorrik, and I won’t presume to have as in depth a knowledge of the Force as you do, but everything I’ve known and experienced in this Academy up until this point unfortunately casts some doubts on this occurrence. As much as we differ from our peers by way of mentality, we still draw our power from the dark side.”

 

“That we do. I merely believe in diversification.”

 

“The dark and the light will always oppose one another. One will dominate the other or they will inevitably cancel each other out. Trying to utilize both will either render your power inert, or destroy you.”

 

“That is what we’ve always been taught, but then again, think of all the things the Academy has tried to push on us. Who’s to say the Academy and the Sith aren’t trying to impose some sort of artificial weakness on us? The Jedi keep their initiates hidden away from the influences of the dark side’s power. Maybe the opposite is true for us.”

 

“It is not a completely unthinkable prospect,” Jresh stated, still unsure of his companion’s thoughts.

 

“Hey, how about another chat session, like the other day. We’ll meditate, and I’ll explain all the crazy philosophies I got going on in my mind on this subject,” Lorrik calmly said, stepping toward the meditation mat in the center of the room.

 

Jresh stood in silence for a short moment before finally conceding to the inquisitor’s plan, joining him. Instead of sitting in the rug’s center, the two took opposing positions on the outer rim, facing inward and toward one another. Jresh unhooked his saber and laid it gently upon the ground next to him as he knelt across from Lorrik.

 

“So, early in my studies,” Lorrik began, “I came across numerous accounts of techniques created, lost, and rediscovered by various Sith throughout the ages. This process was only spurred on by the various wars and conflicts between Force-users in the past. Jedi. Dark Jedi. Sith. As a whole, each would follow a certain doctrine, and draw upon an equally powerful power source. The light side of the Force provided stability, preserved balance, offered bastion. The dark side of the Force provided power, enabled change, and always pressed forward.”

 

“The two sides of the Force opposed one another, in its base form and in its various wielders,” Lorrik continued. “But there was little in the form of exclusivity between the two forces. When each side witnessed a powerful Force technique, they would copy it, either exactly, or producing a purified or corrupted version of it. Jedi would use techniques thought only to be driven by hatred and fear, yet remained utterly calm and composed. Sith now are able to quickly heal grave injuries by drawing upon dark emotions, or siphoning energy from another living creature. This leads me to believe a few things. First and foremost, that regardless of the separation of light and dark, there is still just the Force.”

 

“Are you saying that the two sides of the Force are inconsequential?” Jresh asked.

 

“No. No. The Force now is absolutely divided. In ancient times there may have simply been one Force, the light and dark together and indistinguishable, but I doubt that lasted long, especially as soon as any living creatures started utilizing it. I merely believe that despite the divide, the two sides are still connected. Think about it. Throughout the entirety of our known history, the light and the dark have existed. Never has one side utterly compromised or defeated the other. Darkness would yet remain in the hearts of a galaxy guided by the light. A light would still flicker when utterly surrounded by darkness. The two sides continue to exist, and must exist. Together.”

 

“It is one thing to understand both sides of the Force,” Jresh admitted, “but to properly utilize both of them… that is something I don’t think anyone has been able to properly accomplish. As you said, when one side copied the techniques of the other, it was in the form of debased, altered versions.”

 

“I agree that it would prove to be a monumental task, drawing strength from both the light and the dark simultaneously. It would require an individual to possess the utmost connection between their body, their mind, and their spirit. None of these aspects could falter, or give way, otherwise the internal conflict would destroy the user from within.”

 

“You think yourself capable of such a feat?”

 

“I think myself capable of trying.”

 

“So the Sith’ari’s ambitions were suddenly matched,” Jresh muttered, the closest thing to a joke the Sith could muster.

 

“Early in my training, I had a dream," Lorrik explained. "I was far too inexperienced to consider it some sort of vision, but it has none the less guided me, and continues to guide my thought processes when it comes to training and acquiring knowledge.”

 

“A dream?” Jresh asked.

 

“Yes,” Lorrik emphatically stated. “Close your eyes, and see if you can picture it. I would fall asleep, and awake standing in a peculiar void. I was standing on a path that continued forever forward, stretching onward past the horizon. The sky was nothing but an unblemished white blankness. The path was made of immaculate material, not bearing a single crack or flaw, and was no wider than a meter. To my left, and my right, there existed not land, but two equally infinite pools of calm water, separated by the impermeable barrier that was the path I currently walked. The left pool, a completely opaque expanse of blackness. The right pool, completely clear, extending eternally yet offering a glimpse into the white void that surrounded it.”

 

“I knelt at the precipice of the black pool, and cupped my hand into the dark waters. Looking at the liquid that remained in my hand, at its thinnest point it possessed an almost reddish tinge. At its deepest, a tenebrous dancing appeared to be taking place in the murky depths, enticing and captivating me. It begged me to partake in it, and I complied, bringing my hand and its bounty to my lips. Drinking the dark water, the tongue immediately rejected the utter bitterness of it. But everything else wanted more. It burned the throat as it continued its travels, but still the body wanted more. The dark water seemed to provide an unknown sustenance. Gazing into the greater pool, the opaque waters spoke to me, beckoning me to dive into its depths. It promised pain. It promised relief. It offered hunger, only to sate it. It gave itself to me, yet expected me to give myself to it.”

 

“I resisted the call, though only barely, and turned and knelt at the opposite edge of the divide. Scooping the clear liquid into my hand, the liquid slowly vibrated in my cusp. It produced a sort of divine radiance in its edges, something capable of surpassing even the utterly white void that dominated the scene. The waters begged me to drink, just as the others had. And like with the others, I did. It was cool, and temporarily sated the burning sensation wrought by the dark pool. As it filled me, it also offered relief from the hunger the darkness had perpetuated. But it was fleeting. The pool begged me to dive in, offering more relief in its depths. Peace. Serenity. Absolution. As I scooped another hand into the clear waters, I was horrified to see the small amount of water resting in my hands slowly lost its radiance, turning into dull ordinary liquid.”

 

“That was when I knew that as different as the two sides were, there were exactly the same. They each wanted me to commit to them, offering true solace and sustenance somewhere hidden far out and deep, where I would have to forever turn my back on the other pool. It was at that point that I realized, devoting myself to either the darkness or the light, meant losing myself. I would no longer exist in my current form, I would become a slave. The darkness would grant me its power, only to eventually eat away at every fiber of my being. The light would grant me peace, only if I were completely and utterly dedicated to it.”

 

“And so I stood, and I walked forward, continuing along the immaculate path that divided the two pools. I would later partake in the two waters, and discover that further down the path, the darkness renewed its sustenance, and the light did not turn dull. So I continued, instead of diving deep into one of the pools, I would move forward along the path, taking in each side, one scoop at a time, until that spot would no longer provide for me. But no side ever abandoned its ambitions. They each tried to pull me toward their depths, knowing that refusing me their bounty even while still on the path meant that I would have no choice but to go to the other side.”

 

“I continued forward, believing that I had outwitted the two forces. That is when I started to notice, the path was ever so slowly narrowing as I moved forward. But I could not stop, as each pool would refuse me further sustenance and delight from a single spot for too long. So I vowed to press on, no matter what. The path continued, and still stretched eternally into the unapproachable horizon. But it became harder and harder to drink from the two pools. Putting one foot in front of the other, I was forced to achieve total balance to stay upright, knowing that one misstep would send me tumbling into one of the pools. And at this point, if either force could wrap itself around me, I knew it would not let me go. So I continued. Utterly focused. Keeping my body, mind, and spirit all devoted to the singular cause of progress.”

 

“The path still narrows as I moved forward. Eventually, it was as if I was balancing barefoot on the edge of a razor. Moving forward, the path that once offered protection from the two forces, now cut at the soles of my feet. Cut after cut delivered itself into the bottom of my foot. Looking down, I saw droplets of blood drip into each pool. The darkness welcomed it, almost as if feeding on me as it has always wanted. The light dissolved it, leaving practically no visible trace of its presence in the pool. Balancing on one foot, I hesitantly dipped the other into the darkness. I felt a slight tug, as if the pool was now drinking from me. But the pain from the cuts were numbed. Dipping the foot into the light, the pain returned, intensified. The dark waters that yet remained on my foot were purified. As I rescinded my foot, I discovered that not a single cut remained.”

 

“I continued my trek forward, replicating the actions I had previously taken. Cutting my feet, numbing the pain, and repairing the damage. I found I no longer required the ingestion of the waters to indulge in their benefits. I achieved a greater understanding. And still I continued. I faced pain. And continued to face pain. But I knew so much more about the two pools of water than when I had first started. The two sides were different, yet the same. They opposed one another, and always sought to strike out at the other. And me, in the middle of that conflict, bore witness, experienced the strife, and in the end, profited on the conflict.”

 

“My body, mind, and spirit had been strengthened, because they had systematically been broken down and repaired. This entire sequence, I believe, is readily transferable into the material world. That is why I am the way I am, believe the way I believe, and act the way I act. It is not a quick strategy. It is something that can only hope to be accomplished over an entire lifetime, and maybe longer. But I vow I will not give up in this endeavor.”

 

Lorrik had finished his thoughts with a deep breath. Looking forward, he saw that Jresh was in fact utterly devoted in meditation, digesting every single word the inquisitor had offer him. Upon opening his eyes, the warrior stared directly into those of his companion.

 

“I guess we’re not as dissimilar as I had once thought,” Jresh said, almost adopting a grin.

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Chapter Eighteen: Happenings

 

Lorrik and Jresh had lived a full, eventful day. For once, Jresh had no aversion to a little bit of rest for himself and his companion. The two acolytes filled out the remainder of their day with tasks of the mundane. Lorrik did a little bit of light cooking. Jresh studied his partner’s action and reflected upon his own thoughts. Their day continued with little in the way of intrigue. But whilst the duo rested, the rest of the Academy remained constantly in motion.

 

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At the requisitions counter in the bowels of the Academy, the quartermaster unwrapped a boxed meal in front of him. The Human lifted the white folds of the flexible container and laid his eyes upon the delicious foodstuffs that rested inside the unremarkable box. Using the disposable utensil that came with the meal, the quartermaster poked and prodded the various foods inside, examining what rested beside and underneath each item. Stabbing at one of the round balls of dough, the quartermaster skewered the sweet dumpling. The Human’s usually dulled expression changed to a pleasant surprise as he took a bite.

 

“What are you eating?” an approaching Human asked. Stopping in front of the quartermaster, the tender of the counter looked up to see his twin brother, the weapons master. The two Humans matched each other in overall appearance, including image and demeanor. The two tenders of the Academy underhalls were still in their youth, resting between the typical student and typical instructor in age.

 

“Don’t know,” the quartermaster admitted. “Some kind of cooked dough. Tastes sweet. Everything here looks sweet. Not sure the guy knows how to make anything but deserts and sweet stuffs.”

 

“What guy?”

 

“The one I sent to you to get me my saber.”

 

“Oh, the one you sent with the… uh… messed up face?”

 

“I thought he got those bruises after meeting with you.”

 

“Nope, came to me asking for your weapon, bleeding all over my workplace.”

 

“You work next to the dueling circles, it was meant to be bled all over.”

 

“Beside the point. Made me think you had beaten one of the students into doing your errands.”

 

“He wasn’t just another student. Didn’t you see his robes? Better yet, didn’t you recognize his face when he and his fellows got their personal training sabers?”

 

“Again… messed up face. Plus, I make a point to never commit any of the students to long term memory. If I did, I’d just end up holding grudges against the majority of punks that came my way.”

 

“The students that intolerable?”

 

“Well you know them. They’re not any different over here are they?”

 

“No, I suppose not.”

 

“Thank the Emperor, I thought being near the dueling circles gave them a case of the stupids.”

 

“Come on, we were young once. Students who had the same indignant attitude toward everyone around us on our journey to ‘power’.”

 

“Then we got stuck with these positions.”

 

“Better than being dead, which in all likelihood was a very real possibility for us.”

 

“Meh.”

 

“At least we have access to Academy supplies, even all the way down here,” the quartermaster admitted, taking another bite of his meal.

 

“Speaking of which, how do you like your saber?” the weapons master inquired.

 

“Haven’t really had a chance to test it out. Been stuck here. How’s progress on yours coming along?”

 

“Went back to the drawing board, did some redesigns, thinking of doing something different.”

 

“What?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why would you pick a different design? I thought we were going to both try using a lightsaber pike.”

 

“Well, I was messing around with yours before your lackey came to pick it up, and it didn’t really suit my combat style.”

 

“That wasn’t the point. When do we ever have to actually combat anything. I thought we were just doing it to stand out. Keep ourselves entertained. Be different.”

 

“Now you’re the only one here with one. You’re unique.”

 

“I don’t want to be unique. I wanted us to be unique. Now I’m just going to be the target of all the snide comments over an unorthodox lightsaber.”

 

“Oh, so if we both were the targets of snide comments, it would have been totally okay…”

 

“Yes! We would be brothers, using these awesome weapons.”

 

“Which we wouldn’t actually be using.”

 

“No, wait, that was MY point.”

 

“Well, for now, at least you’ll have something in common with the Imperial Guardsmen stationed throughout the Academy. Although, from what I’ve noticed, only the honor guard seem to use pikes. The ones who actually fight use something more resembling a double-ended saberstaff.”

 

“Great, that’s all I need is flak from those guys. ‘Oh take our ceremonial weapon and put a laser on the end of it’.”

 

“You seriously think that’s how those guys view our lightsabers?” the weapons master inquired.

 

“They’re not Force-sensitive. There’s got to be some strange feelings amongst them whilst they dedicate their lives defending the Dark Council and all the students running around the Academy.”

 

“Yeah, but they're conditioned to throw away their lives for us ‘betters’. They might take it as a sign of respect. Usher in a brand new venture in peaceful relations between us Force-sensitives and the ‘normals’.”

 

“Those guys are anything but normal. I mean they’re trained to kill anything, even Sith. They’re the Emperor’s chosen.”

 

“That’s a shame. They have every reason to feel superior, and yet they’re quiet and obedient. Wish that was the norm around here.”

 

“Just ignore the troublesome students, I mean, honestly, what can they do beyond offering an ungrateful comment here and there. Ignoring the actual status of the lower classrooms, we still technically outrank the acolytes, so they're bound by the Academy rules. And not the ones that go away once everyone closes their eyes and turns their heads,” the quartermaster explained, mouth full of food.

 

“So there’s obviously a story with this food…” the weapons master prodded.

 

“Yeah, made a deal with an acolyte, Lorrik, you know, one of the students Lord Syrosk snatched up. Nice guy. You’d like him. Doesn’t do that think those other acolytes do.”

 

“Be annoying?”

 

“Yeah, that. At least, from my conversations with him. He wanted some extra supplies beyond the allotted provisions. Says he interested in cooking. He fetched me my saber and promised to make a meal once in a while. And if this is what he can do with the typical stuff, I can’t wait to see what he makes with some nonstandard ingredients.”

 

“So it’s come to this. We’re so dissatisfied with our jobs that we’re getting our kicks out of something as menial as new foodstuffs every once in a while.”

 

“If you’d like I could ask him to make you some,” the quartermaster suggested. The weapons master stared at his brother with a long, drawn out stare that bordered on a scowl. He eventually looked down with a heavy sigh.

 

“Fine. Might as well get something out of him, before… well, you know…”

 

“What?”

 

“Taken by a Sith Lord or not… no one leaves the classrooms…”

 

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With the day fading into night, the students of Lord Syrosk retired as they completed their training. Following the departure of Jresh and Lorrik, the other pairs repeated the exercise of spirit, throwing themselves at their immobile master who bombarded them with oppressing telekinetic forces. With only three of the four duos remaining, the Sith Lord’s focus intensified, bringing his students to their knees in no time at all, and forcing them to draw upon even greater strength than before.

 

The next pair to succeed was Isorr and Arlia. The Zabrak endured his master’s test, and eventually laid hands on Syrosk with the aid of his partner. The next to succeed was Kar’ai and Ryloh, the two inching forward together with one advancing after the next and supporting one another along the way. Eventually, through strife and perseverance, Nesk and Vurt completed the challenge. With no visible signs of the duo helping one another, it appeared that the brutal warrior and inquisitor moved forward of their own accord, utterly selfish in their determination, each simultaneously laying a hand on their watching master.

 

What would have normally prompted a scolding from their master for not accomplishing a goal in the prescribed way, was accepted without a word. In the end, Syrosk could not deny the success of the stubborn pair. The purpose of the challenge was to test the students’ spirit and resolve, and it was thoroughly tested. As the last duo left his presence, Syrosk stood amongst the slowly falling Korriban sun. His cloak slowly wafted in the flowing winds, tickled by the dust that swirled beneath him. In silence matching the scenery, the Sith Lord walked the winding path back toward the Academy by his lonesome.

 

Passing through the main halls of the Academy toward his residence, the alien Lord possessed a pace similar to that of a sluggish march. His eyes eternally directed forward, he offered little attention to the Imperial officers and fellow Sith that populated the areas near his dwelling. Garnering little esteem from his compatriots, Syrosk possessed little incentive for conversation. About to turn down a hall, a hastily approaching figure managed to catch his attention.

 

“Syrosk!” the borderline exhausted Human called out, drifting between certainty and hesitance. The Sith Lord halted his pace, and directed his sharp gaze toward the speaker. He was garbed in official robes, those of one of the Academy instructors.

 

“Yes, can I help you?” Syrosk stoically asked.

 

“Are you aware of the actions your students’ have recently carried out in my classroom?” the Human inquired, bordering on an accusatory tone.

 

“That all depends on your definition of ‘aware’, however, given your tone I can only assume you disapprove of some of the actions taken by my student’s during their free time. Am I correct in assuming such?”

 

The instructor’s face twisted into a thing of hate, nostrils flaring as he stared up into the alien’s cold eyes. “They never should have been pulled from the classrooms in the first place, but one of your students you took from us returned!”

 

“So which is it instructor? Should they be there or not?” Syrosk asked, raspy voice oozing with snark. “You really ought to make up your mind.”

 

“Do not get smart with me cur!” the Human said with a hushed shout. “You have no right to be here. You have no right to interfere.”

 

“What’s done is done,” Syrosk bluntly stated. “I have no further interest in yours or the other classrooms in the underhalls.”

 

“Really? Because that obviously isn’t true of your new students.”

 

“Well… this does, in fact, come as a surprise,” Syrosk admitted, almost taking an interest in the instructor’s words. “Well, go ahead and speak your mind.”

 

“One of your students, the Pureblood, barged into my classroom in the middle of a session.”

 

“You certainly had the power to make an example of him, did you not?”

 

“He spoke to me, said he was acting as an agent of a Sith Lord’s will, said that he needed some alone time with a student of mine. At first, I didn’t recognize his robes…”

 

“Are you implying that a Sith spoke a mistruth? Surely you jest, instructor,” Syrosk joked, completely deadpan.

 

“The actions of you and your new ‘students’ are a mockery of this institution!”

 

“It is not us who are the mockery,” Syrosk coldly rasped. “Pray tell, what exactly did my student accomplish after you bent yourself to his will out of fear of retaliation from some unknown Lord?”

 

“He deliberately beat down four students.”

 

“Any fatalities?”

 

“N… no.”

 

“Then honestly, instructor, I am not comprehending the source of your contiguous ire.”

 

“There are rules in place. And as bendable as those rules are, it is done in ways founded in tradition. It is not the place of an acolyte to strike against his fellow in front of an instructor.”

 

“I was under the impression that you were absent during the event.”

 

“He informed me that-”

 

Syrosk leaned in close. “So which was it instructor… were you an imbecile, or a coward? You either fell victim to a ruse out of ignorance or fear. Tell me, do you know the reason why your students were assaulted? Hmm? I wager toward the option of no, you did not. You made a bad judgment, don’t act as if you are owed anything from me, whether it be an apology or an explanation. My student showed capability. He showed strength defeating four acolytes. He show intelligence outwitting an instructor. He showed determination following through with these actions of his own accord, on his free time, after his training for the day had finished. Tell me, what is it that you truly feel? Is it anger? Fear? That I plucked a student from the sea of utter worthlessness that persists in the classrooms of you and the other instructors? That within a few days my student has progressed to a point of overshadowing anything you could produce? Is it my student that you take issue with? Or is it me? Raging against the mere prospect that some alien, some debased life form that hasn’t been ‘touched by the great Sith peoples’, is capable of creating something of greatness? Tell me.”

 

“These students were never meant for greatness! And you knew that! These classrooms, these teachings, they served a specific purpose. These acolytes, they weren’t meant to be true Sith. They are tools. Meant to be utilized by a Sith of actual worth. They had a specific purpose, to be used against the Jedi. To throw their lives away. Aliens. Slaves. Impurities. Blights on the good name of the Sith Empire. Then you came along and start pulling ‘warriors’ and ‘inquisitors’ from the refuse. You are actively working against the war effort-”

 

The instructor’s speech was immediately cut off. He felt an unseen force softly clenching itself around his throat. Slowly, the pressure spread to his torso. Then his limbs. The instructor found himself unable to move a single portion of his body, all while the Sith Lord continued to cast an intense stare into his eyes.

 

“The war… what do you know of the war?” Syrosk muttered, showing the first, but still slight, sign of emotion. His voice growled and his eyes sharpened. “You dare speak to me of rules and traditions? You’ve done nothing but walk around this Academy, pushing students toward their inevitable deaths. You are weak, and take solace in the fact that the only people you encounter on a daily basis are even weaker than yourself. All it took was one individual, one student, to display a genuine feat of strength and the fragile world you’ve built for yourself comes crumbling down. And as you look at the shards that lie piled at your feet, you don’t know how to respond. All you know is fear. Fear of strength. Fear of power. You… you are not Sith. I have seen the past, through the code, through the histories, through the struggles. I have seen the present, through the battlefield, through the conflict, through the war. I have seen the future… You and your kin have your intentions. Now, I possess my own. I am doing what is best for the Sith. What is best for the Empire. Now, if in the future, you wish to challenge me or my students again, gather yourself some actual fortitude and actually CHALLENGE us!”

 

Syrosk released his grip on the instructor, causing him fall forward and struggle to catch his breath. Breathing heavily and clutching at his chest, the instructor snarled as Lord Syrosk continued his journey home.

Edited by Osetto
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Chapter Nineteen: Progressions

 

Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Five, Entry Three.

 

Today was a brand new day of training, seemingly in more ways than one. Our meeting with the master was surprisingly different this time. It seems as if he possessed a little something extra inside of him. A certain determination. A presence of emotion. I think he’s starting to recognize all of us as his students. Forgoing his usual monologue preceding the issuing of tasks, Lord Syrosk seemed utterly focused on putting us through our rounds. Maybe he was going easy on us for the first few days.

 

Then again, he did say that the first couple of tests were for his benefit instead of ours. Maybe the time has come in which he plans to test our limits, push us forward or cast us aside as he narrows his choices on who to take on as his apprentice. It would seem that from this point forward, we’ll have our work cut out for us. It’s funny, usually I’d abhor the prospect. But I find myself welcoming the upcoming challenges, even the physical ones. I guess Jresh is starting to get through to me.

 

And today’s challenge was certainly physical. A dual duel. With a few tricks thrown in…

 

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The eight students of Lord Syrosk stood in their respective pairs atop the usual trainings grounds the group usually utilized. As they stood rigid, trying their hardest to keep their stance upright, they looked forward at their master with beads of sweat beginning to form across their brows.

 

“My students,” Syrosk began, “you currently wear, upon your wrists and ankles, weighted bands, designed to limit your mobility. You will be forced to carry these burdens for the remainder of the day, and they will certainly play an important role in the upcoming test, which will be a series of duels. Two against two. You and your partner will be tested on your ability to combine your abilities, and defend against two opponents.”

 

“Heed my words, students. This is the start of a new type of training. Before, you would be tested by the merits of your body, or your mind, or your spirit. No more. No more will such aspects of your person be separate. From this day forth, every exercise will test the entirety of what defines you. As students. As acolytes. As Sith. And you WILL be tested. Every mistake you make could lead you to your death. Your instructors in years passed have been lax, incapable of producing anything of true worth. Now, the time has come to break you down and rebuild you, over and over, until you are worthy of apprenticeship. Shall we begin?”

 

The rigid students offered neither positive nor negative responses. Lord Syrosk offered a quick, low chortle at his students apparent dismay toward their weighted limbs. Burdening metallic weights clamped over the acolyte’s usual gear, heavy enough to even affect the usually steadfast Trandoshan. A fact that brought further delight to the Sith Lord.

 

“Nesk and Vurt. Since you were last to complete yesterday’s challenge, you will be the first to duel. Now… who should you face?” Syrosk asked of no one in particular. Lorrik saw Jresh’s eyes narrow eagerly awaiting his master’s answer as if possessing a preference. The Pureblood seemed to desire a particular matching, rather than wanting to go first.

 

“Isorr and Arlia. Step forward,” Syrosk called out. “You four will compete.”

 

A smile surfaced on Jresh’s face. Lorrik was particularly confused with his partner’s behavior.

 

“Hmm, figured you’d want another shot at Isorr,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“Oh, I do,” Jresh confirmed. The Human puzzled for a moment before being interrupted by his master.

 

“Given the limited mobility you will be experiencing, there’s no need to limit ourselves to the use of the dueling circle. Therefore, the other four acolytes will duel as well,” Syrosk explained. “Ready yourselves. The duel is finished when your opponents are forced to the ground. However, in order to be declared the winner, both opponents must lie on the ground simultaneously.”

 

The two groups of four made their ways to separate ends of the cliff before the pairs put a short distance between them and their opponents.

 

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All eight students engaging in combat at the same time, there was no time for passive observations, only the intense focus to be laid upon one’s foe. And meanwhile, Lord Syrosk would be watching all of us simultaneously. Keeping track of our movements and techniques, it would take someone of sufficient training to perceive such a chaotic scene. Then again, maybe he was done with in-depth analysis, and just wanted to stand back and watch us wail on each other. But somehow I doubt that, given the Sith Lord’s habits. He presents himself like someone utterly sure of himself and others. Little seems to pass by him without acknowledgement. Then again, the stunt Jresh pulled would be hard to miss by any instructor.

 

In the beginning, I thought Jresh would have wanted nothing more than to face Isorr in combat, entering without the injury that inhibited him before. If our pairs were grouped, we could combat them fresh, without the weights and duels striking us from the peak of our performances. Since we had to go through Kar’ai and Ryloh first, however, there was no way to ensure that. Except for one.

 

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Lorrik and Jresh stood side by side, facing their opponents who did the same. Unable to break their gazes from one another, the four acolytes drew their training sabers and adopted their respective stances. Bearing the same movements as their first duel under Syrosk, each acolyte had little time or reason to modify their combat techniques. As the winds of the high cliffs bustled, the students were ready to begin their duels.

 

“Lorrik, I’m going to have to ask you to follow my lead,” Jresh whispered to his companion.

 

“Well, I was planning on doing that anyway,” Lorrik joked.

 

“I just don’t want you to be too surprised.”

 

The conversation between the two acolytes was cut short by the immediate call to begin by their master a short distance away. Jresh wasted nary a moment to make his way toward his opponents. Kar’ai matched the Pureblood’s haste step for step. The two warriors clashed at the midway point between the two inquisitors. Lorrik was unsure of how to proceed.

 

Given Jresh’s request, he thought to charge Ryloh, but the Twi’lek remained on the far side of the dueling space, preparing himself for whatever future actions might unfold. Pressing forward, Lorrik saw Ryloh match his movements. As the two inquisitors drew ever closer, they remained on the defense, neither bringing their saber against the other. Glancing over to his partner, Lorrik saw Jresh locking his saber with Kar’ai’s, each pushing forward. Looking over for but a moment, Jresh offered only a nod of his head.

 

Propelling himself backwards, Jresh unlocked himself from the clash. To the shock of both his partner and his opponents, Jresh continued backwards, falling, until he lay upon his back atop the dusty grounds. The other three combatants were momentarily stunned, as Lorrik processed that his companion had no intention of rising. Suddenly, the Human saw the subtle movement of Jresh’s hand, commanding him to fall as well. Understanding the Pureblood’s previous words, Lorrik followed, falling upon the ground will little more than the wind affecting him. Kar’ai and Ryloh continued their puzzled countenance as Syrosk quickly declared them the winners a short distance away.

 

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Jresh did have his eyes set on Isorr. And only on Isorr. He knew that with duels separating their conflict, it was inevitable that the fights would begin to take a toll on the warriors’ resolves. Jresh wanted to be fresh when he eventually faced the Zabrak, and knew he could ensure that by throwing the fight. He seemed willing to accept defeat, at least in the eyes of Syrosk, if it meant furthering his own goals. Isorr meanwhile, was utterly too prideful to adopt such a course of action.

 

Honestly, I’m proud of Jresh. It reminds me of the conversation we had, on the cliffs after our first defeat. He took it somewhat hard. Then again I had just truck him across the chest and insured his defeat not too long beforehand, but the man was, and is, determined to win. It was I who tried to convince him that an untrue defeat is still a defeat in the eyes of our master. Funny how he turned that around on me.

 

“True victory lies not after a single battle.”

 

It’s amazing how different he could be, yet remain dedicatedly the same. It makes me happy to see it. I was beginning to wonder what our extended consequences on each other would be. I was afraid that neither of us might be the person we were entering into this pairing. But now I see, that remarkable individuals can survive this Academy without being forced to abandon what they think, what they believe. I can still gain strength, knowledge, understanding, and not compromise what makes me, me.

 

As short as our duel was, the other two groups continued for some time. We watched from the sidelines, while Kar’ai and Ryloh conversed out of earshot. The Twi’lek seemed relieved to have escape unscathed, and the Rattataki didn’t seem to admonish or reject her partner’s feelings. I’m almost disappointed our duel didn’t last longer. I would have loved to gain some insight into their behavior. Combat has a way of revealing such things.

 

When the other four did finish, Syrosk organized a new set of duels, without commenting on any of our performances. He declared that the victor would face the victors, whilst the losers face the losers. This meant we had another duel between us and Isorr. It was about then that I realized that I would soon be facing Arlia yet again. I didn’t harbor any real feelings of animosity. And I doubt she thinks of me the same way that Isorr and Jresh think of one another.

 

I’d like to think we have a rivalry, but her feelings of superiority seem to propagate an utter dismissal of those she views as below her. Isorr is similar. However, with him, I get impression that he views others as nothing more than objects, tools, or pests. Arlia seems to acknowledge the inherent worthiness of humanity and sentience present in others. I’d say this gives her a wider spectrum with which to affect those around her. She feels, and understands the feelings of others. A positive trait. However, her ability to manipulate those facets to her benefit is remarkably dangerous.

 

But we still had to get through Nesk and Vurt before we could face our rivals. Jresh seemed intent on continuing his strategy. It seems the monstrous pair was too focused on their previous duel to have broken away to catch a glimpse at our prior antics, as they possessed the same stupefied expression when we did it again. It was quite amusing, I must admit, seeing Nesk doing his usual snarly emoting when presented with something he didn’t understand. Vurt on the other hand, remained the expressionless, cold, brutal figure he always was, though I could have sworn he raised an eyebrow at the events that took place in front of him.

 

Once again, Syrosk declared our opponents the victor, without a comment directed toward our actions. Given the ridiculousness of our surrendering to two duels, I tried my hardest not to make eye contact with our master, but when I did make an errant glance over to him, I saw that he bore no inherent signs of disappointment. In fact, it seemed like he just wanted to understand our motives, and what we were ultimately hoping to accomplish. The next duel, he got his answer.

 

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For the third time, Lorrik and Jresh found themselves standing opposite a new pair of opponents. The last swap, the final duel in this series was to begin in a short moment, to the delight of Jresh. Across from the pair, Isorr and Arlia looked to be standing ready and able to compete, but the signs of exhaustion were beginning to show. Lorrik studied Arlia closely. Having fallen to her trickery before, he made important note of the differences in her stance between now and the faux-exhaustion she displayed in their previous duel. It was the genuine thing. Meanwhile, Lorrik and Jresh stood resolute, ready to proceed at peak efficiency.

 

“Looks like it’s time for a rematch, Isorr,” Jresh plainly stated.

 

“You think I didn’t notice what you were doing, Jresh?” Isorr shot back, noticeably angered with his predicament.

 

“It makes no difference whether you are aware or not. I still intend to defeat you this day,” Jresh explained.

 

Isorr sharpened his gaze, staring down the Pureblood. “What will that prove? You still lost two of your duels. You can’t statistically come ahead.”

 

“Today was never about statistics. Today, I will strike you down, and we will be even. We will enter combat, one of us at a disadvantage, just as before. Once this has been settled, we can begin our training in earnest.”

 

Lorrik and Arlia watched their partners go back and forth. Arlia was intent on not allowing herself to waste any more energy on pointless banter, and Lorrik was intent on allowing Jresh to receive the full satisfaction of what he had set out to do that day.

 

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In the end, all Isorr and Arlia had to do was lie down, use our own trick against us. Then, we wouldn’t able to experience the satisfaction of beating them in a proper duel. What they lost would be made up in the fact that our entire ruse was for not, and we effectively wasted a day of training, possibly earning the ire of our master. They just had to take a step back, and remove themselves from the monumental pride that drove their every action. Jresh and I, however, knew better.

 

They did not disappoint.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Chapter Twenty: Falls

 

Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Six, Entry Four.

 

Woke up this morning in a peculiar state. My mind was swarming with competing positive and negative emotions. Lord Syrosk ordered that we keep the weighted bands from yesterday’s training on the whole day, saying we could take them off at midnight. There was no threat if we didn’t, and no way for him to know within the privacy of our rooms, and yet we kept them on. Maybe we didn’t want to risk offending him with more deviant behavior considering our handling of the duels yesterday. Then again, he didn’t seem to mind how we handled them. After we won our duel with Arlia and Isorr, we delved into advanced saber training, focusing on refining our individual styles. Never did he speak ill of our actions. Rarely did he speak at all, unless to impart upon us some martial wisdoms. So we trained until we were sore. I went to bed, fully garbed and weighted down. Managed to forget about it overnight. Woke up in a heavy stupor. Feel embarrassed thinking about it.

 

Yesterday was a bit of fun for me and Jresh. We set out to accomplish a singular goal for the sole purpose of pride. If we’re going to improve, we’re going to have to be beaten down, face resistance, adapt. We took an easy route the other day to accomplish our goal, something I hadn’t thought possible of Jresh. Do I think it was a mistake? Not in the slightest. We’re in for a marathon of training. Forgoing a couple of duels isn’t going to inhibit us. In the end, I think it’ll prove to have been a good choice. While we may have missed out on a small bit of physical trauma, I think we struck a mental blow to our rivals. We showed that we are determined. That we will not back down if challenged. We beat Arlia and Isorr. They’ll have to live with that fact, no matter the circumstances.

 

But the circumstances are what allowed us to do what we did. Today’s trial did not allow for one iota of hesitation, indetermination, or fault.

 

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As the students of Lord Syrosk gathered once more for their day of training, there was much amiss. In the student’s positions. In their numbers. Instead of their usual spot atop the traditional cliff, the four inquisitors stood at the base of the ridge, at the bottom of the sheer cliff face they had oft looked over in previous days. The four students stood alone, their partners and master absent, gazing upward at the precipitous peak. Side by side, the acolytes stood focused and patient, embodying the archetype they had studied before their tutelage under the Sith Lord.

 

“I sincerely hope this isn’t the master’s way of punishing us for yesterday’s stunt,” Lorrik muttered, not breaking his upward gaze.

 

“Us who? Us us, or you and your companion?” Arlia snidely asked, also not breaking her upward gaze.

 

“Well, I was thinking me and Jresh,” Lorrik said. “But considering we’re all doing this, I’d guess this is just another one of his training methods.”

 

The female Twi’lek let out a singular, sarcastic chuckle. “Yes, a Sith Lord would never zealously overreach when designing a punishment for a particular person.”

 

“If this was designed to punish me it was poorly conceived. I’m probably the most likely to succeed in this task,” Lorrik nonchalantly stated.

 

“Ugh. I liked you more when you were pitifully timid,” Arlia replied.

 

“If it means anything, I like you pretty much the same amount as I always have,” Lorrik offered, completely deadpan.

 

“I don’t know if I should be worried by that statement,” Arlia muttered.

 

“You needn’t worry about me harboring feelings for you, I’d sooner find companionship in Ryloh,” Lorrik plainly admitted.

 

The male Twi’lek broke his upward gaze to look toward the Human. “Thank… you?”

 

“You simply haven’t had any profound impact on me Arlia,” Lorrik stated.

 

“You know that’s not true,” Arlia countered.

 

“Do I? Do you?” Lorrik asked, testing his fellow inquisitor. “I don’t hate you as much as you might like me to. Then again, I don’t hate much of anything.”

 

Arlia offered a playful scoff. “What is a Sith without hate?”

 

The Human offered a slight shrug. “Whatever. Try not to slip up on your test.”

 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Arlia admitted. “The others maybe, but not me.”

 

“You’re right,” Lorrik muttered. “Ryloh, you may want to take a step away from Vurt. If he fails, it could get messy for you.”

 

The blue Twi’lek looked to his left to see the orange Nikto staring upward with his traditional scowl, completely ignoring whatever banter proceeded around him.

 

Standing atop the cliff, ever so close to the precipitous edge, the warriors stood with their master staring them down. Despite the more traditional training local, the warriors managed to outclass the inquisitors in peculiarity. They stood with their backs to the cliff’s edge, where their partners awaited them directly below, roughly a hundred meters of height separating them. Their stance was utterly and completely rigid, with their hands by their sides and their feet together, though not particularly by their own volition. This was due to each of the warriors being bound, from their chest to their knees, in tightly wound rope.

 

“Warriors, you stand here today… with your life not held in my hands, as you might have oft thought, but in the hands of your partners,” Syrosk explained with his usual cold, raspy delivery. “They were inquisitors in their training before mine. I shan’t depart from that formula. It was their purpose, to harness the raw energies of the Force. To rend enemies asunder with only their minds, sapping the life out of a foe before they could even draw their saber. The Force, however… the dark side, requires something extra to maximize on potential. The inquisitor must be driven, thriving off of emotions. The inquisitor must be dedicated, understanding exactly how much they must give to accomplish a task. They must appreciate… the consequences of failure. Unfortunately, it is rather hard to instill these axioms in the mind of the inquisitor. Therefore, in order to prompt them to reach their fullest potential, we’re going to give them a little push… by giving you a little push. Now, do we have any volunteers?”

 

The warriors were understandably silent. A creeping look of indecision graced the faces of the acolytes. Their heels all but hinged on the edge of the cliff, their backs to the treacherous fall that awaited them. Suddenly, one of the warriors mustered up the courage to speak.

 

“I… I volunteer,” Kar’ai meekly stated, struggling to call upon her usual boisterousness.

 

“Ah, for a moment I was almost disappointed in you. I was sure the tumultuous Kar’ai would want to go first, and you did not disappoint. It matters not, however. That was just a little something for me. You don’t actually get to decide who goes first,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“Then who does?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“I do,” Syrosk plainly stated.

 

“No, I meant, who goes first?” Kar’ai clarified.

 

“Oh, no one goes first,” Syrosk answered. The warriors puzzled for but a moment before they saw their master quickly jut his hand forward, sending the four over the cliff’s edge with a Force push.

 

The acolytes fell backward and began their accelerated plummet toward their partners below. At the ridge’s base, the inquisitor’s caught sight of the falling figures. The Korriban sun above them, the students had the luxury of standing in the cliff’s shade, allowing them to fully concentrate on catching their partners. Unanimously the inquisitors stretched their hands upward, attempting to slow their partners’ decent with the Force. The warriors, utterly bound and unable to break free, were forced to rely on the proficiency of their companions to save them from death as they fell head first toward the rocky canyon below.

 

Lorrik, like his fellows, was completely concentrated on his goal. Invisible waves of Force emanated from his palms, surging upward toward Jresh, pressing against him, embracing and wrapping around his body in its entirety. Though the Pureblood showed signs of slowing, the weight and momentum of his fall pressed back against the inquisitor, straining his hands, his mind, and his focus. Jresh meanwhile, adopted a serene visage, closing his eyes and slowing his breath, as if resigning his fate to his companion.

 

The warriors closed in on the grounds below, however, most of them were sufficiently slowed. The aberrant team was that of Vurt and Nesk. Though slowed to the point of survival, the Vurt was unable to completely stop the hefty Trandoshan before he came crashing down upon him. The pair was knocked to the ground, kicking up a small plume of dust. The thud was enough to distract the neighboring Ryloh, who lost his grip on floating Rattataki above. As Kar’ai zoomed toward the ground, she called out to her partner, who in a moment of panic, was able to fully stop her fall as her eyes became level with his.

 

“Fine work,” Kar’ai breathlessly said to Ryloh before stretching to plant a soft kiss on the Twi’lek’s forehead. Lorrik and Arlia managed to gracefully prevent the impact of their partners on the dusty canyon floor, telekinetically rotating them right-side up and gently planting their feet upon the ground.

 

Despite the ordeal, Jresh maintained his usual stoicism. “Good to see your study and knowledge of the Force transfers into application.”

 

“Thanks,” Lorrik replied. “You looked pretty calm. Glad to see you were confident in me.”

 

“I was actually concentrating in case I had to Force push against the ground to slow myself,” Jresh admitted.

 

“Wait, so you didn't think I could do this?” Lorrik asked, his ego sufficiently bruised.

 

“I would never bet my life on the outcome of a variable I could not control. I trust you, and I’d trust my life to you, but you can’t expect me to do nothing while I am capable of action, as incapable as I may appear at the moment.”

 

Arlia offered a bout of teasing laughter. “Looks like the ‘most likely to succeed’ required some assistance in his trial.”

 

“Isorr was doing the same,” Jresh bluntly stated. Arlia shot a frustrated look at her stone-faced companion.

 

“Do I look like someone who would ever allow his fate to be dictated by another?” Isorr coldly asked. Arlia let out a quieted scoff at the Zabrak’s brashness.

 

With all the students together once more, they attempted to recover from the ordeal in their own ways. Lorrik offered a laugh alongside the placid Jresh. Arlia barked at the tiring Isorr. Ryloh absorbed Kar’ai’s further words of praise with a reserved smile. Vurt stood over a still prone Nesk, who growled and squirmed against the dusty foundation.

 

“Well, that didn’t take up too much time. I wonder what the rest of the day’s training will entail,” Lorrik unknowingly muttered. As if on cue, the acolytes' master shouted down at them from the peak above.

 

“Excellent, I sense that you all remain amongst the living,” Syrosk stated, uncharacteristically loud, yet unable to shed his usual raspy cadence. “Your next trial is to join me and reconvene at the top of the cliff. With the warriors still bound, it will be up to the inquisitors to tend to their mobility.”

 

“Wait… does he mean…” Ryloh whispered.

 

“We have to carry them,” Arlia stated, planting her palm firmly over her face.

 

The inquisitors breathed a heavy sigh of exhaustion before their next trial had even properly begun. Bearing the burden of their partners upon their back, the paired acolytes slowly began their trek out of the canyon and back up toward their master.

 

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That was a rather grueling task. I think I prefer the psychological games and intense trials presented in quick bursts rather than the prolonged physical trauma. Then again, training is training. I need to be in top physical condition if I am to outclass my fellow inquisitors or stand a chance going toe to toe with one of the warriors. Last thing I want is to be knocked out because Vurt gets in a good punch. And with the benefits I reaped from my ‘encounter’ with Ornell, trials of the body seem to be rather important in developing my mind and spirit as well.

 

Managed to get Jresh back up to the usual training grounds. Did most of the heavy lifting with the Force. As peculiar as the master’s methods seem to be at times, they all seemed grounded in traditional means of training adopted by the Sith. Perusing through some of the data logs I have in my collection, everything seems to sync up. Sustained use of Force lifting, like holding up a large rock for a prolonged period. We were holding up our partners for the long trip up the mountain. The drop off the cliff coincides with records of traumatic and shocking experiences triggering untapped power within a Force user.

 

It seems that Lord Syrosk has every intention of training us. Making us into actual Sith, or at least building us up until he can choose a proper set of apprentices. I don’t know if that should relieve or worry me. Such peculiarity in his previous actions. Why eight students? Why halves composed of separate teachings? Rarely does a Sith Lord move outside the realm of tradition unless intending to reap some untold reward, but I honestly can’t fathom what that might be for Syrosk. How could we be so special? What could we give him? I don’t know.

 

Today did shine some lights on a few things, luckily. I no longer believe Arlia and Isorr to be the prime threat to our apprenticeship. Isorr and Arlia are talented individuals, but they will always be just that. Individuals. They are too combative and counter-productive to one another, refusing to relinquish their selfishness. Vurt and Nesk still prove to be disjointed, primal in their attitudes and their techniques. A short-term danger if presented as opponents in combative trials, but nothing Jresh and I can’t overcome.

 

Kar’ai and Ryloh, however, prove to be an interesting pair. The interaction between the two show that there is a connection between them. Whether it is romantic or little more than playful back and forth is unknown, but as a team, they could prove to be a match for us. They thrive on emotions besides hatred and fury, finding joy in their activities. Kar’ai seems to be promoting and pushing Ryloh forward, bringing out something that might have never surfaced in other avenues. I can only guess that the same goes in the other direction. If they are indeed embracing this partnership, it would seem that they aren’t too different from me and Jresh.

 

As fascinating as it is troubling.

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Chapter Twenty One: Days

 

Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Seven, Entry Five.

 

Looks like we’ve finally reach a week of training. Though, with Korriban days being twenty eight hours, things become a little skewed when comparing with the standardized calendar. It’s something of a joke told around here that the Sith Lords squeezed an extra four hours out of the day as a way of punishing the acolytes. Because if there’s one thing that is pretty unanimously agreed on, it’s a Sith Lord’s adoration for giving out punishments.

 

I was rather lucky today, relatively speaking. The inquisitors had it easy compared to yesterday’s trial. It seemed that our roles were reversed today, with the warriors forced to face bodily hardship. They were forced to literally bear the burden of the inquisitors upon their backs. The warriors faced off against one another in a series of duels, all the while the inquisitors grasped on to them like a backpack. Legs hooked around the waist, arms over the shoulders and hooking across the chest.

 

We literally fought as one. Me and my ilk would throw out the occasional Force push, stabilize our partners, or talk the warriors through the duel. A peculiar trial. Metaphorical none the less. A little too on the nose. Speaking of which, flatfaced Vurt managed to make a comeback today with Nesk. I knew they’d be fierce combative competitors. Nesk seemed barely fazed by the additional weight on his torso, and Vurt seemed the accomplished dueling supplement. Ryloh and Kar’ai seemed comfortable with the prolonged embrace, and Arlia and Isorr managed to put their stubbornness aside for the task. All in all, none of the pairs are showing any signs of falling behind.

 

I suppose that’s good for me and Jresh. Can’t get any better ourselves if we’re only dealing with stagnant opponents. Makes me wonder what training will be like if we’re the master’s only apprentices. Thinking back to the beginning our of lives under Lord Syrosk, he did state that we could only be his apprentices after we’ve proven ourselves. But for the life of me, I can’t recall him ever stating the apprenticeship would only belong to one pair. Then again, I can’t remember him stating if apprenticeship would belong a pair at all. He could still order us to strike down our partners at any moment in our future. Maybe only one of will be his apprentice. Maybe all eight of us will be. Lord Syrosk is developing quite the habit of raising more questions than answers.

 

I am sure of one thing, I could never bring myself to kill Jresh. I know that may sound like weakness, aberrant Sith methodology, or what have you. But I think the two of us together could accomplish more than either of us could alone, even if presenting with the full on training of a Sith Lord. I know it sounds weird, finding more worth in two acolytes than a master and his apprentice. I also know that when we talked about this subject, I told him I didn’t know if I would kill him if ordered to, and that was the adequate answer. Always keeping options open, never relinquishing control of ourselves at the behest of someone else. By saying I could never kill Jresh, I’ve effectively shackled myself to an ideal. I'm not quite sure what to make of that.

 

With the intensity of the training over the past days, Jresh and I have had little time to converse. Utterly focused on the events of the day to follow and driven to exhaustion by the day’s end. I miss the talks of codes, and philosophies, and ideals, and motives. Oh well, training is training. There will be time to talk when we’re at the top.

 

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Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Eight, Entry Six.

 

Lord Syrosk has afforded us a day off today. I should be ecstatic, and yet all I can think about is how this is some weird test he has orchestrated for us. For some reason, I’m all but sure he’s monitoring us. Watching, listening, or something. He’s a Sith Lord, maybe he’s got some sort of power of cognitive awareness. Or maybe he gave us these rooms because they’re bugged with monitoring equipment. Which would mean.. he could hear me right now, couldn’t he? Hell, even if he couldn’t he could probably just read my mind. Sith Lords can do that, can’t they?

 

I’m recording today at midday. A boon of special requisitions from the quartermaster arrived today, ahead of the standard ten day resupply schedule. Now we’ve got some genuine meats for me to cook with. The slugs and hounds of Korriban aren’t prime sources for tasty parcels. Now we’ve got a fully stocked freezer. Which is good, because I don’t think Jresh would have put up with any more sweet stuffs. He seems the carnivorous sort.

 

We just finished lunch, overall Jresh seemed impressed with my work. With no official trials to prepare for, we were able to engage in one another in conversation, something I was happy to partake in. Jresh seems to be less reserved, though he tends to be a little blunt at times. He has no qualms of addressing any perceived faults in my performances in the master’s trials. Even with a mouth full of cooked meat he can remind you how your stance can be improved.

 

But it’s one of the things I enjoy most about his companionship. My time in the Academy has mostly presented me with people who would utterly ignore my presence, either through disdain or plain disinterest. It’s good to see he’s genuinely interested in my well-being and progression as an acolyte.

 

Unable to keep his body or mind still for a moment, Jresh has suggested we organize things around the suite. He has a particular meticulousness about him that is hard to notice. It makes sense. Always measuring, calculating, making sure that not one minute measure of energy or motion is wasted. He’s made standing still into a science, something that promotes mental acuity. But for today, we’re doing a bit of light cleanup. After that, not sure what we’ll do. I may record another entry.

 

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Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Fifteen, Entry Seven.

 

Emperor be praised, I finally found this blasted thing! What has it been, a week since I last recorded in this journal? Must have misplaced it when Jresh and I were attempting to organize the suite. I don’t exactly see how you can consider it organizing if I can’t find anything afterward! Picking up everything and tucking it away, under other items in a bedside drawer that I never use, is not doing anyone any favors. I don’t even know how it got there. I don’t think I put it there then forgot it. Makes me wonder, wonder if Jresh put it there.

 

There’s a chance it was Jresh. But that raises yet another concern, whether or not he partook in a listen before putting it away. Maybe he hid it from me because he didn’t like what he saw. Because he thought it was working against me. No. No. Can’t start getting paranoid about my own partner. Have plenty to worry about with the other acolytes. Thought Vurt was honestly going to kill someone the other day. Right in front of Syrosk. Bunch of crazies in this group.

 

Well, haven’t the time to record more. It’s still the morning and Jresh is rushing me out the door. Just wanted to quickly record something now that I’ve found this. Any more will have to wait.

 

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Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Sixteen, Entry Eight.

 

I guess I never got around to recording again the other day. Understandable, considering how exhausted I was after the day’s training. Today’s not dissimilar. I’m struggling to formulate the words. I can understand my arms and legs giving up on me, but feeling my mind slip is something an inquisitor never takes lightly. When Syrosk declared we’d be tested on every facet of our being, he was not kidding. Not that I once thought him the kidding type. Horned grump.

 

I have to admit, despite his raspy, overly articulative speech patterns, he’s not exactly what I expected of a Sith Lord. I expected far more death threats, declarations of “Insolent whelp!”, and such grandiose displays. He almost possesses a sense of humor, in a weirdly sordid, debased manner. Don’t think I’ve seen him crack a smile, but he’s let out a few chortles at our misfortune every now and again. Who knows, maybe as an apprentice, with some more time spent in his company, he could prove the enjoyable, conversational fellow. I’d hate to become his apprentice just to find out he’s an absolute terror to be around. Hate for the whole “Sith Succession” thing to be forced out of annoyance rather than a greedy power grab or mischievous backstabbing.

 

So this is what the Academy has done to me. Made me into someone who just thinks casually of his friend’s and master’s deaths. As matter of inconvenience rather than heart wrenching quarrels to be overcome physically and emotionally. Then again, I’d say we’re not too different from the Jedi in that fashion. They are taught to understand that death is a way of life, a natural occurrence that should not be negatively dwelt upon. We Sith just like to take the whole ‘natural occurrence’ to a new level.

 

Feels weird saying that. “We Sith”. I mean, we’re obviously Sith, me and Jresh, but we are obviously not as well. As ambitious as our goals are, we’d be fooling ourselves if we could move forward in this society and the galaxy at large without accruing something of a body count. I just can’t seem to find that inner drive to permanently remove someone’s presence from this realm. Then again, with Force-users there’s rarely anything permanent. But I can’t see myself marching into battle, slaying enemies of the Empire left and right. And I know Jresh isn’t one for needless slaughter. He has his, 'leave enemies alive so that they may challenge you again later', philosophy. I simply think of every foe as a potential ally.

 

At the end of the day, it’s accomplishing the same thing. One less enemy to deal with, with the added boon of a new force on your side. Then again, I guess our side isn’t much for long-term alliances. There is power in conflict. Yet I desire peace. Does cooperation truly breed laziness? Complacency? The Republic’s version does, for sure. Everyone united under a single ‘banner’ and yet rampant plagues of crime and disorderly conduct take place, if not thrive because of which. Survival of the fittest leave only the strong, but despite their strength, they will remain the few and eventually fade into nothing. Total unionization anchors the populace to the lowest of the low, or raises them to a point in which they begin to crack the foundational structures that support them.

 

Oh well, I can worry about the galaxy at large when I’m a Lord. For now, I need to rest.

 

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Lorrik Velash’s Journal: Day Seventeen, Entry Nine.

 

So today was a weird day. Woke up thirty second before my alarm went off. Everything for breakfast tasted… weird. Like, slightly off. Like maybe there was a little too much salt on everything. Everything. Even things I know I didn’t put salt on. Weird. What else... what else? Oh yeah, I had to duel Jresh today…

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Chapter Twenty Two: Companions

 

Day seventeen of training. Korriban. Exterior. Midday. The temperature had no place in the acolytes’ minds. Their concentration was completely and utterly focused on their trial. The task for the day had been set. By the decree of Lord Syrosk, one on one duels would take place, between the warriors and their allied inquisitors. Isorr versus Arlia. Kar’ai versus Ryloh. Nesk versus Vurt. Jresh versus Lorrik.

 

Each duel had been held in isolation, no others taking place alongside it, allowing the Sith Lord and the resting acolytes to gaze upon the proceedings with watchful eyes. And watch they did. To the slight detriment of Lorrik's confidence. As each duel took place, it did not carry a beneficial trend. In almost all contests the warrior bested their partner, with the exception of Vurt claiming slight victory over the Trandoshan.

 

The time had come for Jresh and Lorrik to finally duel. The finality rested not just with that day, but with the entirety of the students’ training under Lord Syrosk. Lorrik knew this day was coming, sooner or later. Honestly, the inquisitor thought it would come at the behest of Jresh rather than their master, and much closer to their first day together.

 

The walk into the ancient dueling circle had seemed bordering on an eternity for Lorrik. The same couldn’t be said for Jresh. For the warrior, this was just another opponent he had not yet tested himself against. A foe he had not yet the pleasure of engaging in martial combat. Someone he had only been able to gauge through his eyes instead of the competing clash of the blade. Improvement required one to be tested, and pushed to the limit. If such events could not occur for one, it could certainly for the other. The perfect design in Jresh’s mind. There was not a single negative aspect he could draw upon when it came to dueling his ally. His partner. His friend.

 

The two acolytes looked upon one another on opposing ends of the dueling circle, both possessing utterly calm and focused visages. As much as he didn’t relish the idea of charging straightforward into pain, Lorrik knew worse would befall him if he could not supply his partner with a proper duel.

 

“Lorrik. I hope I do not need to ask you to not take it easy on me,” Jresh calmly spoke up, his quiet voice easily carrying itself across the arena.

 

“Don’t worry Jresh, I know better than to try and go easy on you,” Lorrik calmly replied, masking any hidden hesitance that might yet remain within him.

 

“Good. I hope I also do not need to remind you that I will not be holding back,” Jresh further explained.

 

“I hear you loud and clear, partner,” Lorrik said, forcing out a certain degree of positivity. Situated between the duelists and their colleagues, Syrosk stood with his bitter gaze upon the two acolytes.

 

“Students! Prepare yourselves,” Syrosk called out in his usual tone. The acolytes complied, each adopting their preferred stance and igniting their training sabers. Lorrik raised his saber and directed its tip toward Jresh, sliding his right foot backward, his free hand raised parallel with the blade and possessing an open palm. Jresh gripped his training saber with both hands, but kept his guard low and at his front, rather than his usual high guarded stance. Already Lorrik had already begun to process the data of battle within his head as he studied his opponent. With a drop of his hand, Lord Syrosk had signaled for the duel to begin in earnest.

 

Expecting Jresh to remain still, with the idea of refusing to allow Lorrik the ability to study and counteract his opponent, the inquisitor was unable to retaliate when Jresh immediately rejected this plan, deciding to instead charge down on his partner at full speed. Trying to quickly reinforce his guard with his free hand, the inquisitor failed to adequately guard against the warrior’s first strike. Instead of a traditional swing, Jresh used the entirety of his weight supplemented by a Force-accelerated charge to drive his shoulder into Lorrik, tackling him and sending him tumbling across the dusty foundation. After a few bounces on the dirt, the fallen acolyte managed to cut his journey just short of dueling circle’s outer boundary.

 

Lorrik looked up to see his companion had not taken a moment of pause, charging down upon his person yet again, this time intending to bring his saber down upon him. Pushing himself off the ground, the inquisitor met with Jresh, clashing their sabers against each other's. Knowing he was outmatched strength-wise, Lorrik ceded the contest, allowing Jresh to push his blade forward. Ducking to the side, Lorrik maneuvered to his flank as the Pureblood’s momentum keep him moving forward. The inquisitor attempted to bring his saber down upon his partner’s back, but instead found his action interrupted by Jresh jutting his foot back, knocking the Human’s leg out from under him.

 

Tumbling to the ground once more, Lorrik lifted his face from the dust to see another boot about to impact against him. The warrior intently pursued the dexterous inquisitor as he attempted to roll away. As Jresh once more swung his saber down, Lorrik batted it out of the way with his own, causing the Pureblood to stumble downward himself. Capitalizing on the movement, Lorrik thrust the tip of his saber upward, digging it into the warrior stomach. As Jresh rolled away in pain, Lorrik was able to return to his feet. It wasn’t long before his partner attempted to do the same.

 

Going on the offensive, the inquisitor swung his saber down upon a kneeling Jresh. The warrior deflected with a twist of his blade, and delivered a staggering uppercut with the pommel of his weapon to Lorrik’s chin. Still reeling, Lorrik was unable to avoid Jresh sweeping his leg out from under him. Impacting hard against the flat of his back, Lorrik watched as Jresh raised a boot to stomp his chest. With his free hand, the Human drove a fist into the firmly planted leg of the Pureblood. Destabilized, the warrior fell forward intending to land the sum total of his weight on top of the fallen inquisitor. As his partner was falling, Lorrik let go of his saber and let loose a powerful telekinetic thrust from his coupled hands. Jresh immediately went flying through the air, landing hard against the dirt on the other side of the arena.

 

Grabbing his saber and returning to his feet, Lorrik was greeted to the light smattering of applause to his rear from three of his fellows. It had seemed the division between warrior and inquisitor had now taken precedence over competing partnerships. Enamored by the delightful display, Lorrik missed the upright Pureblood approaching him. Raising his guard, the Human was only barely able to bear the downward swing Jresh furiously brought upon his partner. The next was even less defended against. And the next even less. One after another, Jresh raised his blade before promptly bringing it back down upon the now kneeling opponent, bashing away at the depleting guard. With one final swing, Jresh pressed through impacting his saber against Lorrik’s shoulder.

 

Intending to end the duel, Jresh offered one more strike against the downed inquisitor. Ducking to the side, Lorrik was able to dodge out of the way, giving him the time and room to swing his blade at the Pureblood’s side, impacting against his hip. Still upon the ground, Lorrik unable to dodge the retaliatory boot to the gut that sent the Human rolling away as the warrior clutched his side. Steadying himself, Lorrik found himself incapable of firmly grasping his saber with both hand due to his injured shoulder. Jresh appeared no worse for wear, fully masking any detriment he might possibly be experiencing.

 

But Lorrik knew better. Jresh’s form had always relatively lacked mobility. With an injured hip, that weakness could be exploited. Lorrik made his way toward Jresh, directing the tip of his saber toward his opponent. His foe charging, Jresh did little to prepare himself or guard against the attack, barely raising his saber from his side. Now upon the warrior, Lorrik drew his saber back, intent on delivering a piercing thrust of his weapon. However, his want would have to go unfulfilled. With a deep breath Jresh let loose a primal shout toward his opponent. Coupled with an exertion of the Force, the powerful, deafening voice impacted against the entirety of Lorrik’s body, churning his insides and sending him stumbling back.

 

Walking forward, Jresh swung his saber horizontally at the inquisitor. The Human attempted to raised his guard, but when the two sabers impacted against one another, Lorrik’s went flying out of his hand, eventually landing outside the confines of the dueling circle. Defenseless, the inquisitor was unable to counter the warrior’s backhanded strike against his cheek, flooring the Human and sending him face first into the dirt. Slowly the fallen acolyte squirmed amongst the dust, eagerly trying to raise himself. His hands pressing against the surface below him, he slowly lifted himself off of the ground, until Jresh drove him back to his belly with a kick of his boot. Turning over, Lorrik saw the tip of his partner’s saber hovering only a sliver away from his face.

 

“Yield?” Jresh calmly asked. Rather than speak, Lorrik supplied his answer by gripping the ignited training saber, his gloves absorbing most of the heat, and drug his partner downward. His partner falling once more, Lorrik thrust his right hand forward until it touched his partner’s chest. His palm resting against the Pureblood’s sternum, the inquisitor unleashed a powerful torrent of telekinetic energy. As the Force wave passed through the warrior’s chest, he fell over, the entirety of his breath vacated from his lungs.

 

Trying his hardest to breath, Jresh relinquished the grip on his saber, allowing Lorrik to pick it up as he regained his footing. The powerful shockwave he emitted had actually torn the glove material from his hand, leaving only tatters of black cloth surrounding the inquisitor’s right wrist. Gripping the saber with his ungloved hand, the inquisitor directed its tip toward the face of his fallen companion.

 

“Yield?” Lorrik asked, breathing heavy and utterly exasperated. Rather than speak, Jresh supplied his answer by batting the saber out of his face with the back of his hand. Once more the saber flew from the confines of the dueling arena. Rising from the dust, Jresh and Lorrik now stared each other down, each without their saber. Jresh was the first to raise his fists, but Lorrik promptly followed. Creeping ever closer, the two were within each other’s reach.

 

Jresh threw the first punch. It passed by Lorrik’s head as he ducked out of the way. The inquisitor offered his own punch directed toward the warrior’s already injured hip. The hit landed, causing the Pureblood to yelp in pain. Jresh offered a retaliatory backhand that impacted against Lorrik’s already injured shoulder. Dropping to a knee, the inquisitor thrust his elbow into Jresh’s gut. Bending over, the warrior clasped his hands together and brought them down upon the back of Lorrik’s neck.

 

The Pureblood lifted a boot only to have the other one swept out from under him. The two struggled against one another on the ground, kicking up a small cloud of dust as they flailed their failing limbs against one another. Finally rolling away from each other, the two put some distance between them and slowly but surely rose to their feet. The two locked their gazes, each utterly committed to ending the duel. And end it would, as the two figures charged toward one another.

 

As they neared, about to trade blows one last time, Lorrik altered his course slightly to the side. Grabbing ahold of his partner’s shoulder, the Human swung around to the Pureblood’s flank. With one hand over the left shoulder and gripping his opponent’s robes, Lorrik wrapped the other around the opposite shoulder, placing his ungloved hand over Jresh’s mouth. Hooking his legs to the warrior’s waist, the inquisitor had locked himself in place. Jresh was only able to process the attack for a moment, before a sudden surge of electricity transferred from Lorrik’s hand to his mouth. It wasn’t long before arcs of Force lightning sparked across the warrior’s entire body.

 

Yet Jresh remained standing, enduring the debilitating attack. Lorrik renewed his attacked pumping his partner full of more crackling energy. Eventually the inquisitor stopped and the warrior remained standing rigid, a small stream of smoke emitting from his mouth and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Lorrik removed his hand from his companion’s face and raised it into the air in victory. This managed to offset the duo’s balance enough that the two fell backward, impacting against the ground with the entirety of Jresh landing on top of Lorrik.

 

On the sidelines, the entirety of the gathered acolytes looked onward speechlessly. Even Syrosk could not think of the words he might deliver in his usual sardonically raspy manner. The seven onlookers watched intently, waiting for either person to move. Several seconds passed. Silence. Nothing but the flowing winds gently passing dust over the two fallen acolytes on the top of the Korriban cliff.

 

“Alright,” Syrosk finally spoke up. “Someone go check on them.”

Edited by Osetto
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