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Conquering the Darkest Places


Diviciacus

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So, some time ago, being last summer, I started participating in the Short Fiction Weekly Challenge Thread (big props to Striges for running it for years and years!) I really enjoy the community and stories there, even if I haven't posted anything for a long while. But as August started to close, I had been playing my Sith Warrior, leveling through the story. And I wanted to do something more than short stories, something longer, more coherent. Warrior was the first character I ever played on the live release of TOR (we don't talk about my bug-fueled Shadow from closed beta), but I had been putting it off doing it again three years later, partially for some painful memories that accompanied the story. But you know, I finally started it and had a blast. I played more pragmatically - my previous playthrough had been a lot of MASH BUTANS! DARK SIDE CHOICES! as a narrative sacrifice in the name of hitting gameplay dark V. Oh sure, this new warrior - Authenta - was merciless, but she wasn't an idiot. She also maybe kind of had a compassionate streak. Sometimes.

 

"Treat your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look upon them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you... even unto death."

 

And I completely fell in love with this much different take on the story; it was, honestly, fairly close to how I am as a person. I paid very close attention to the Warrior story, and knowing I would forget it all anyway, recorded videos of every cutscene and every conversation, from level one through to smashing the Skytrooper factory on Darvannis with the Mandalorians. (non sequitur, but dubya tee eff, mate, why there? Darvannis is a terrible, worthless planet. But that is an exploration for another day). I kept a notebook... trying to figure out random plot points: both of my own devising and trying to explain the more silly ones, we'll say from Bioware's. I built personalities, histories, names, faces, civilizations. I've always had a fantastically active imagination, but I could never draw for ****, and honestly never well. But I have a gift for language, and so I decided due to the influence of the short fiction thread that I would put everything thundering around in my head to page. You know, after "only" ten months. An homage to writers far greater than I. This, I think, is going to take more than one post. I hope you, dear reader if you are still with me, are ready for a long ride. It may be amusing, or terrifying, or inspiring, or compelling, or heartbreaking... or a thousand other emotions for which there are no words. But what comes to mind first is probably "mediocre."

 

 

Copyright Kelsey "Diviciacus" van Muyden, 2016. All resemblances of characters, names, or events to real people is entirely coincidental. To Striges, the incredible authors of the Short Fic Weekly Challenge Thread and all the standalone stories I offer my deepest thanks for inspiring me to write more, to George Lucas and his creativity for giving life to Star Wars, to the writers, designers, and editors of more than twenty years of Expanded universe novels, comics, video games, and other stories, and last but not least, to Bioware, for creating a Star Wars experience and universe like no other and letting us in to play it.

 

Also sorry I rambled on for like twenty minutes there.

 

 

 

So, this is that story. This is Authenta's story. This is...

 

Conquering the Darkest Places

Episode I

 

 

Farridan Monk stood in the spartan captain’s quarters of the Granite Citadel, fussing with the sleeves of his crisp new uniform. He kept eying the personal holocom transceiver across the room as he adjusted and readjusted his cuffs, trying in vain to put off the call he knew he had to eventually make. Sighing dejectedly, he dropped his hands and walked slowly over.

 

Kneeling in front of the desk, he popped open the access cowling on the comm array and slipped a small dataspike from the inside pocket of his uniform jacket into the processor. We can’t have anyone spying on spies.

 

He replaced the panel and stood, tugging nervously at the bottom of his uniform jacket to straighten it. Tapping in a quick series of commands, he entered an address that couldn’t be found in any Republic comm registry. Taking a step back from the burnished desk, he took a deep breath as the holocom hummed to cerulean life.

 

The figure on the other end was turned away, dark robes shaded a deceptively pleasant blue. Without moving, a flat, commanding voice with the metallic undertone of a full face mask ambushed Monk’s ears. “Admiral Monk. I am disappointed you are late with your scheduled check-in. What news have you to report?”

 

“My Lord, I was unable to contact you earlier because I was concerned for increased scrutiny with the recent promotion. I was going to-”

 

Enough prattling. The reason for your delay is inconsequential. I trust it will not happen again?”

 

“No, my Lord. Along with my promotion, I have been given command of a task force to patrol Republic hyperspace lanes into Hutt space; specifically, to a planet called Quesh. The Republic has a joint mining operation there with some Hutts of small importance.”

 

Seeming to rotate more than to turn, the holoimage of his master faced Monk, transparent hands clasped behind his back and countenance shrouded by a gleaming, faceless mask. “Continue as your orders suggest. I am making preparations to travel to Korriban as we speak and do not wish to be disturbed. I will contact you when I next have need of you. Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, Lord Baras.” Monk bowed his head in supplication.

 

The image of the Sith Lord winked into nothingness and Monk slumped heavily into the high-backed chair behind the desk, taking a deep breath and sighing once more.

 

* * * * *

 

Darth Baras swiveled away from the darkening holocom, robes flaring out in shadows edged with turquoise. Monk had best not fail.

 

Stabbing the control panel on the edge of his desk with an index finger, he barked out orders to the underlings and servants stationed in his compound. “Prepare my ship. I am leaving.”

 

He gathered the worn clothbound treatise and padd from his desk and placed them in a briefcase, for he would need them at the Academy. “You, slave. Carry this to the hangar as I walk,” he said coolly as he stalked off towards the shuttle bay.

 

* * * * *

 

Boots clicking on the blued durasteel flooring of the newly refitted Sorzus Orbital Dock above Korriban, Authenta followed the gently arcing hall as it curved away from the tan dayside surface of her people’s ancient homeworld below. Looking for her appointed cabin, room 501, she passed door after unadorned door, until finally finding it near the hallway’s end. She swiped the keycard past the reader, the door hissing before her as it slid into the wall.

 

The cabin itself was sparse and rather unappealing; the bed was little more than a cot and a durasteel plate welded to the wall passed for a small desk. The cabin itself was smaller than a lavatory at her family home, and for being in an orbital station named after one of the most famous Sith in history, had corners filled with dust and grime. The refresher was most likely behind the hinged panel on the back wall, and doubtless miniscule.

 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped over the doorframe. Here I am no admiral’s daughter, no heiress to an ancient home. Another acolyte now, nothing more. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. “Through passion, I gain strength…”

 

Continuing to recite the sacred mantra under her breath, Authenta tossed her bag onto the bed. Rolling her shoulders backward to shed her greyscale travelling cloak and pouring it over the small chair, she entered in the code sequence to unlock her duffel. Removing her personal holocom unit, she dialed out to the commanding officer of the Fist of Tulak Hord. Pulling the elastic cloth band out of her tied-back hair, she combed her fingers through garnet locks to untangle any knots while waiting on the connection.

 

When her father failed to answer a second time, she turned to her cloak, rifling through the pockets until she found her engraved heirloom timepiece. Cheking it told her that father would be on bridge duty now and wouldn’t be able to answer for more than five hours. She tapped the slim crimson record button on her holocom twice to begin a message and activated the microrepulsor.

 

“It’s me, father. I’ve arrived in Korriban orbit and thought it prudent to apprise you. The shuttle was ahead of schedule and I am not due at the Academy to meet my overseer for another two days; hopefully in that time we’ll have a chance to speak in person.

 

“I am well, but nervous: it is one thing to have a lifetime of martial training, but another entirely to learn to conquer the Force in the shadows of the ancient Lords. I am confident, however, that I will do our Empire – and you – proud. Call when you have an opportunity. I love you, dad. Auth out.”

 

The turquoise shimmer from the projector died with its accompanying hum and the holocom unit lowered itself to the desk, powered down. The record button flashed blue once to indicate the message had been successfully sent. She traced her left thumb over the bony ridge on the side of her chin while she considered her options.

 

With forty-two hours’ downtime, I ought to relax, perhaps see what there is for nightlife on the station, she thought to herself with the barest hint of a feral smile.

 

Opening her duffel wider, she pulled out carefully folded changes of clothing, her padd, and a petite case of deep ultramarine leatheris with catches of aurodium. A pale, ivory slip resting beneath her effects that should not have been there caught her notice. Unfolding the small scrap of paper, gently crumpled from the journey, the flowery script of her friend Beraxil greeted her.

 

Snuck this into your luggage while you weren’t looking. This may be the last you ever hear from me… you’re going to go places, you’ve always been strong in the Force. Just like my mother always said of yours. Maybe we’ll see each other next year when I’m finally able to attend the Academy as well! Maybe you’ll have graduated already! Just don’t get yourself killed over on Korriban. Remember what you always tell me when we spar? “All warfare is based on deception, Bex! Attack where your opponent is unprepared, appear where you are not expected.” Stay sharp, Auth!

Love and wine,

Beraxil

 

Authenta smiled wistfully, delicately refolding the paper before placing it on the shelf beside her holocom. “We’ll see each other again, Bex; I have no intention of dying here. Not today.”

 

Returning to her plans, she swiftly stripped bare, tossing her travelling clothes in a rough pile on the bed. She appraised herself in the small mirror, running a hand down her side. She frowned and opened the refresher door and stepped into the sonic shower. It was in much better condition that the rest of her cabin, and must have been recently replaced.

 

Minutes later, Authenta stepped back into the cabin proper, squeezing excess water from her dark hair with the complimentary towel, embroidered with the Imperial banner in vermillion and silver. Hanging the towel to dry, she once again ran a hand down her side. Much cleaner, she thought. Carefully unfolding the black shimmersilk dress, she slipped it over her head and pulled it down her body. Tugging at the hem and pushing down on the material against her skin, she managed to remove the wrinkles. Rolling her shoulder, she fiddled with the wide, single shoulder strap to make it lie flat. She pulled on the matching boots, short heeled and ending mid-calf, lacing up the back of each.

 

She ran her fingers through her hair of midnight red, giving herself a look that suggested she might have just gotten out of – or into – bed. Unlatching the catch on her pyxis with due precision, she studied her countenance in the mirror, applying smoky sanguine eyeshadow to match her hair and counterbalance the gold of her eyes. Finishing off her look with semi-gloss jet lipstick, she resealed the deep sapphire case and tossed it into her bag.

Grinning wickedly to herself, she slipped the keycard into one boot, a credit chit into the other and pressed the button to open the cabin door from the inside.

 

* * * * *

 

Despite the cantina being in full swing, the bar itself was mostly empty; the majority of patrons at this hour either sat at tables drinking with companions or dancing on the floor to beat-heavy remixes. The few at the bar were by and large drinking out of fear for what the Academy might hold in store, but not Adikemos. He sat, clutching a tumbler of accarrgm, celebrating his promotion to apprentice of Lord Saviel, as he was the sole survivor – heh – of his group of acolytes.

 

He had a second purpose at the bar, and that was to intercept all the pretty things looking to get a drink. He’d eventually find one drunk or stupid enough to accept his advances, and then he’d have his fun.

 

As he smirked to himself and took a sip of his liquor in the dim, pulsing light, a new and enticing face sauntered into the cantina. She was exotic, with deep red skin and black hair, wearing a dress so short that he idly wondered if both sets of lips were painted to match. Walking up to the bar, it looked like her dress was some kind of fancy material that changed between black and red. But in the brighter light at the bar, his eyes got wide when he realized her dress was black only, but thin enough that her body could be seen through it. Her naked body. Heh.

 

Authenta sidled up to the bar, offering a wave to obtain the attention of the bartender, occupied with drying glasses and storing them in the racks above the bar. He tossed the damp towel over his shoulder, obscuring one side of his vest and clapped his hands together as he scurried over to her. “Hey there! Dressed pretty fabulously for a station cantina, aren’t we? Celebrating something?” He stroked his sable goatee as he pondered her. “What can I getcha? Got a new shipment of wines from a Ziosti vinyard you might be interested in.”

 

Authenta shook her head slightly. “No celebrating, just looking to spend some excess time. I’ll pass on the wine; would rather not gamble against homesickness, but perhaps something with a little fire. Surprise me.” As the bartender nodded in understanding, she glanced to the burly, clearly intoxicated human off to her right who wasn’t even attempting to hide his leer.

 

Returning with a tall, thin glass of a dark liquid, the bartender set it down before her. “What about a little smoke? Mandos call it ne’tra gal; “black ale,” or somesuch. Good flavor, little sweet for me, but not too strong – unusual among Mandalorian drinks. Think you’d like it.”

 

Authenta lifted the glass and eyed this mysterious black ale, swirling the glass and watching the persisting legs. Taking an experimental sip, she found it sweet but not overpowering – rather enjoyable, in point of fact – and raised her glass in thanks to the perceptive bartender.

 

Dark tendrils of the Force pull at her consciousness as she drank; something terrible was about to happen. She turned and cast her gaze across the tables surrounding the bar and the open area full of dancing patrons, but could see nothing amiss.

 

Slam! The impact of a glass on the bar jolted her and its owner, the drunk from before, swaggered over to her, smirking. She held up a hand. “You’re too drunk to be my type. Walk elsewhere.”

 

“Ohhh, but you’re my type, sexy, heh” he sneered, slurring his vowels. “Lookit you, wearin’ a dress like that. You want it same as I’m gonna give it to ya. Sith take what we want!”

 

Authenta glanced at the thin metal cylinder hanging from his belt. She would have to tread carefully, but was confident that as drunk as he was, he would have difficulty wielding either lightsaber. She offered him a small, derisive laugh. “Sith in name only. And if you’re what the Academy turns loose on the galaxy these days, we’re going to have to conquer the Republic rather soon, or someone like you will stagger into a position of actual power and hand the Empire neatly over.”

 

“B.itch, you’re gonna come with me!” He tried to grab her arm, but she caught his wrist and turned it aside. The bartender shook his head in dismay and checked to make sure his saber was still safely tucked under the bar.

 

“If you attempt to touch me again, the only place you’ll be going is the infirmary.”

 

The man roared in rage and kicked her bar stool out from under her. She rolled to her feet at the edge of the dance floor as she heard an unmistakable… and at this very moment, quite alarming growling hiss.

 

 

 

Tune in next week! Same Sith time, same Sith channel :)

Edited by Diviciacus
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You did it! Good for you. And a promising start too. :D I don't think I can compete with your awesome reviews, but I'll give it the ol' college try. :D

 

Chapter One:

 

I do enjoy the idea, that you'll be exploring what happens between Baras and Monk.

Monk sure does come across quite nervous, I guess the promotion is freaking him out more than a bit. :D

 

You've captured Baras' voice really well, I could hear him speaking inside my mind to the dialogue, so that's a really good indication that you know him well. I liked Baras and I would have served him, if he hadn't done what he did lol.

I love his authority...'You there...slave...carry this!' Who's gonna say no? :D

 

Authenta has an interesting background, I look forward to learning more about her. A little point of confusion for me...you mention early on that she has' garnet locks'...then 'midnight red' and then later they're black... 'deep red skin and black hair'...I'm not being a nitpick, just trying to get a bead on her look. Did you simplify her description because it was what Adikemos was seeing? Men tend to have 'simpler' descriptions for colour than women do...

 

I think you dropped the 'O' in this line... 'pening her duffel wider'

Pyxis an interesting word...meaning container or box, if I'm not mistaken.

 

Ahhh....black shimmersilk. The material all awesome sexxxy dresses are made of. :D Accarrgm! And Ne'tra gal! New and interesting booze choices. :D The latter seems to resemble a beer the hubby liked drinking before they stopped selling it here...perhaps you've heard of Trois Pistoles... :)

 

And no fun night out at a bar is complete without an intoxicated PITA. I look forward to see what Auth does to him. I have my suspicions about his identity :D

He sounds like Vemrin's sidekick

 

 

Great start, I'm looking forward to more! :)

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You did it! Good for you. And a promising start too. :D I don't think I can compete with your awesome reviews, but I'll give it the ol' college try. :D

 

ERR. MAHGERD. A reply! :o

 

So I fixed a couple of the weird clerical errors, such as the missing letter... probably me doubletapping delete accidentally during formatting. Speaking of missing things... not too abrupt an ending there? I felt like it might kind of be; but then it's not like TV shows historically (or every damn week *cough*GOT*cough*) haven't cliffhangered that hard, either.

 

And now I have this thing going where figuring out a nicely formatted and easily readeable reply system is harder than it looks. Does the partial quote+ spoiler tag work or is it too clunky? It seems really long.

 

 

Chapter One:

 

I do enjoy the idea, that you'll be exploring what happens between Baras and Monk.

Monk sure does come across quite nervous, I guess the promotion is freaking him out more than a bit. :D

 

 

It's that scrutiny! He even tried to explain it, but Baras was having none of it. I don't know how often Monk specifically is going to show up as a character; he kind of has his orders from the Republic and from Baras, and with the two interacting I kind of accidentally wrote him into a corner a bit.

 

 

You've captured Baras' voice really well, I could hear him speaking inside my mind to the dialogue, so that's a really good indication that you know him well. I liked Baras and I would have served him, if he hadn't done what he did lol.

 

 

Baras, curiously, comes really easily to me as far as dialogue goes. I'm going to struggle with his plotting skills, though.

 

 

I love his authority...'You there...slave...carry this!' Who's gonna say no? :D

 

 

Someone with a deathwish! Or, you know, eventually a certain future Sith Lord. But then that's the same thing, right? ;)

 

 

Authenta has an interesting background, I look forward to learning more about her.

 

 

I'll certainly try, especially as the story progresses. I took what little the game implies about the Warrior background and ran with it. To the moon!

 

 

A little point of confusion for me...you mention early on that she has' garnet locks'...then 'midnight red' and then later they're black... 'deep red skin and black hair'...I'm not being a nitpick, just trying to get a bead on her look. Did you simplify her description because it was what Adikemos was seeing? Men tend to have 'simpler' descriptions for colour than women do...

 

 

Part of the problem is that Auth's hair is that super dark purplish red color one slider tick away from black that Purebloods have in-game. Despite it being a super popular color for women to dye their hair in the real world also (I have several friends who had or have their hair dyed that color), I haven't the faintest idea what it's actually called. So I'm struggle to coherently describe it, especially since using eldritch words for color is one of my favorite things to do in a story. (The random things that end up super challenging, right?!)

 

The other half of the problem is that stupid me had the orbital station cantina look clear in my mind: most people coming to Korriban are going to be late teens, early twenties, so I thought it would make sense if the cantina had more of a club/rave atmosphere. But then at no point did I mention that, or describe that the lights are going to be low and/or odd colors, and thus her hair would look black if she wasn't standing in proper light. I forget sometimes, that just because it is in my head does not mean it is there on the page (high school essay problems!). It was also a little bit of experimentation with a 3rd person limited narrator; the guy isn't completely stupid (he did end up an apprentice, after all), but his general vocabulary is somewhere around the old joke "all men see in 16 colors, like the Windows default settings." So yea. I'll edit that for clarity. >.>

 

 

I think you dropped the 'O' in this line... 'pening her duffel wider'

Pyxis an interesting word...meaning container or box, if I'm not mistaken.

 

 

Fixed the typographical error! And yes, that is what a pyxis is :) The Greeks were... very particular, we'll say, about their nomenclature: words have very specific meanings. A pyxis is a specific type of pottery with a specific shape that was used specifically for storing makeup or perfume (although originally, pyxides were made out of wood). It has survived into modern English to mean a small box or case, because they were very small. I took both definitions and combined them here.

 

 

Ahhh....black shimmersilk. The material all awesome sexxxy dresses are made of. :D Accarrgm! And Ne'tra gal! New and interesting booze choices. :D The latter seems to resemble a beer the hubby liked drinking before they stopped selling it here...perhaps you've heard of Trois Pistoles... :)

 

 

Well played with the extra x's there, haha! Yes, I tried to describe Auth as a bit of a manslayer. We'll see how that turns out. :p Oh man, Trois Pistoles is so good! Sorry you can't get it anymore :( Unibroue (the company that makes it) beers are all over the place in Ottawa, but I guess that's because it's so close to Quebec and the brewery is in Montreal.

 

 

And no fun night out at a bar is complete without an intoxicated PITA. I look forward to see what Auth does to him. I have my suspicions about his identity :D

 

 

You'll just have to wait and see! I'd like to think I could stick to a regular update schedule, but we'll see how that goes >.> ("Once in a blue moon" is still technically regular, right?) Although he's not Vemrin's meatshield; that guy actually has a name, Dolgis. He might show up too. "Adikemos" though, I'm making people wear their hearts on their sleeves as Easter eggs for people of Classical bent. It means "an unjust man" in Greek. :p

 

I really struggled writing the part from his point of view.... to portray someone so blatantly planning to r.ape someone like that was very draining. And a lot of why it took me so long to actually post this; the majority of it has been written for almost two weeks!

 

 

Great start, I'm looking forward to more! :)

 

YAY! :D

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I'm actually going to try and do a spoiler cut, go me! :)

 

 

I'm glad you're happy :) I wouldn't worry too much about the mistakes, they happen to everyone, and I've always felt it's better to know about them and fix it than not. Tired eyes can miss quite a few things, in my own experience.

 

I didn't feel that it ended too abruptly, the abruptness quotient was just right :D No really, it was fine, and especially cause you plan on adding more soon. It's all good. Cliffhangers can be fun. So long as we don't have to wait seven or eight months (or a year) for a resolution, like they do with Supernatural and Game of Thrones :D

 

The partial quote and spoiler tag work fine for me. It's up to you how you answer, your thread, you're the king of it. :D I'm lazy myself, so I just answer in another colour, but your way avoids revealing too much, so I think it's probably better in that way, and if you're up to the task, go for it :D

 

Mmm, I do agree coming up with Baras caliber schemes will be a challenge, but I think you're up to the task.

 

I think I have a good idea of her look now that you've settled the hair thing. Not sure why I get hung up on certain details, but that's me lol.

 

And yes, Dolgis, I had drawn a blank on his name at the time of commenting, and was too lazy to look it up. So, colour me intrigued. I have to admit I didn't pick up on the meaning of Adikemos's name, but it's always cool to learn things like that. And it's fun to see if anyone will get the clues. :D

 

I do get where you're coming from about writing someone who is extremely evil and dark minded. It is mentally and physically taxing, and for me, I tend to see things quite clearly in my mind's eye once I've imagined them, and it's not always pleasant to have certain images pop into your head when you least expect. What was that quote about staring into the abyss? It tends to stare back? I think we've had this realization before.

 

Anyways, keep it up, and I do hope updates are a bit more frequent than 'once in a blue moon' lol.

 

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It's technically still Tuesday because I haven't gone to bed yet (right?), so I managed to stick to my self-imposed weekly update schedule. Next week's episode will be almost assuredly late since my best friend is getting married Saturday; I just won't have time to write much over the weekend. Anyway, new episode, woo! Word of warning because I forgot this last time:

 

Conquering the Darkest Places may contain spoilers for all class stories, as well as all sidequests, planetary questlines, operations, and expansions of TOR. And also Game of Thrones, because I am cruel and unusual.

 

Also, credit to In This Moment for lyrics from their song

contained in this week's episode. (Giant metal fan warning.)

 

Episode II

 

 

Authenta stiffened at the telltale sound of an igniting lightsaber, the shrill screams of startled patrons following on its heels. She turned around while simultaneously starting to slowly backpedal. The flickering crimson glow of the typical Sith blade competed with the pulsating multicolored lights overhead, but the b.estial snarl of its wielder was quite familiar. What part of “tread carefully” didn’t you listen to, Authenta? She chided herself, backing up until she bumped into the edge of a table.

 

She glanced at the faces of young men and women barely out of their teens, terrified expressions reflecting the ruddy light emanating from the man’s lightsaber. She swallowed her own fear and called out to them. “This is between he and I; everyone stay as far back as possible. Don’t do something foolish!”

 

He lunged, roaring obscenities. Spinning around as she sidestepped to remain facing her assailant, the screeching hiss of a lightsaber sawing through metal took her place at the table against which she had been standing. It collapsed under the man’s weight, a molten streak jagging through it. The bass-laden music pounded from all directions, oppressive in its volume as he whirled around at her.

 

“…come right in. It's time for you, let the show begin. You're so pretty, dripping sin…”

 

The wretched drone of a lightsaber swung at her again and she narrowly avoided the crimson tip of it aiming for her neck. Her opponent may have been heavily intoxicated, but there was little she could do to defend herself against a real lightsaber beyond avoidance. With her shimmersilk dress woefully impractical for combat, she could feel her list of options growing thinner with every swipe of the drunk’s blade.

 

“Your eyes are screaming, I take the stage: a fatal dance of primal rage…”

 

Endeavouring to stall or hopefully even take some measure of offense, she reached out with the Force, coiling it around another vacated table to her left and slashed her hand, heaving the duralumin table at him. To his credit, even addled with drink he managed between his saber and the Force to not be completely flattened. Just as she’d hoped, his ill-wielded blade severed one of the table legs at what appeared to be a high enough angle to make the broken end dangerous.

 

Leaping at him to close the gap, she exerted her will on the leg, catching it in midair and reversing her grip to drive the sharp end into his back with both hands. Just as she passed the apex of her jump, he recovered enough to swivel his lightsaber, pointing the tip precisely at her chest.

 

* * * * *

 

The bridge crew of the Terminus-class destroyer Traya worked diligently, preparing to break orbit in hushed tones so as not to disturb their master where he stood, observing the starfield through the transparisteel viewport. Without word or warning, he stalked across the bridge and through the double doors leading to his secured private chamber.

 

As the doors hissed shut, nipping at the turquoise trim of his robes, Darth Baras adjusted the placid expression

of his mask, fitting it more firmly over his gaunt countenance. Activating the holocom unit, he stood in the centre of the dais, impatiently awaiting the answer of the overseer on Korriban. Before long, a small image of a man stained blue appeared on the pedestal.

 

“Tremel. What is the status of Vemrin’s group?”

 

Overseer Tremel scrambled to stand from behind his desk to show respect to his superior, scattering papers and a padd as he did. “My lord, this is unexpected!” He cleared his throat before continuing. “There are still seven remaining acolytes. No more have gotten themselves killed since your last check-in.

 

Vemrin has become the… obvious contender for your newest apprentice. He is the strongest in the Force of the group, and is cunning enough to play the other acolytes against each other. He also has a lackey in Dolgis, who makes up for his lack of skill in the Force with physical strength. If he were smarter he would be planning to betray Vemrin, but I suspect he will remain loyal until the… bitter end.”

 

Baras gave a curt nod to the scaled down hologram of Tremel and clasped his hands behind his back. Good, good. "I want progress reports on Vemrin every fortnight. Martial skill. Force use. Everything.”

 

It will be done, my Lord.”

 

"And what are you hiding from me, Overseer?

 

Tremel spread his hands in a gesture of supplication. “From you, my Lord? Only disappointment that the star pupil of this group is so far above the rest. After thirty years of overseeing at the Academy, very little entertains me beyond acolyte rivalry.”

 

"See that it stays that way. I am on my way to Korriban as we speak.” Baras killed the connection to curtail further recalcitrance from Tremel, cocking his head slightly and contemplating the report. Tapping his chin as a scenario played out in his mind, behind his mask he frowned at the predicted conclusions.

 

Punching in another holocom address, he wasted no time on pleasantries. “Elizhis, you have work to do…”

 

* * * * *

 

Unable to change her trajectory in midair and dodge the impaling strike, Authenta scrambled to salvage the situation without dying for her troubles. Jerking her upper body backward and to the side, she flipped her grip on the table leg, swiping at the man’s saber hand – parrying the blade would do nothing. The reverberant clang of metal on metal rewarded her, but victory was short-lived; she screeched in agony as the tip of the saber raked across the right side of her face. Lashing out blindly with a savage boot and connecting with… something, she collided heavily with the floor. Scr.aping the left side of her body on the floor grating, she skidded into a roll.

 

The man roared and clutched at his thigh with his offhand where the heel of her boot had punctured his clothing, a thin dark line seeping through his trouser leg. Authenta stumbled to her feet, the cauterized gouge on her face a blinding curtain of fire. Breathing laboriously, the pain beaded sweat on her forehead. She hissed, exploring the cut with her fingertips; the wound was of moderate depth across her eyebrow and cheekbone; her eye was intact but useless for vision between the tears and pain. “If you know yourself but not your enemy…” Fool!

 

Raagh! When I get my hands on you I’m going to take you over a table in front of everyone here!” He spat at her, his own blood staining his fingers reaching out at her.

 

She could feel the Force welling around him. Her own hate responded in kind, bloody tendrils of rage winding through her muscles as she drew herself up to stand tall. She screamed back at him, “If you weren’t so insufferably boorish, I might have enjoyed that!

 

The Force pulled at her towards his outstretched hand, yet she dug herself in, one foot planted ahead of the other, torso bent slightly forward, as though buffeted by wind... and defied him. He screamed hoarsely, flush with impotence as he pulled at her to no avail. Throwing his hand upwards in frustration, fanning droplets of blood through the air, he twisted back and forth like a rabid tuk’ata, sneering at the ring of patrons around him. “Fine! If you won’t die I’ll find something that will!”

 

“…here we are, make your move. We're going mad, I'll help our groove. You want control, I disapprove…”

 

He snarled, clawing at a slim blonde girl, dragging her to him. She whimpered in fear as he slammed his lightsaber into her stomach, the tip erupting from her back between her shoulderblades. She coughed feebly and went limp. Gripping her neck, he threw her body at Authenta’s feet, cackling madly. “You’re next, you little red b.itch.” He stalked towards his victim, sweeping his blade’s tip against the metal floor, throwing sparks before him.

 

"NO!” Authenta screamed, the Force thundering through her voice and staggering him. She curled her fingers through the air and darkness around his neck, throwing everything at him. All her anguish and pain and ire, concentrated into a thin black halo at his throat. With both hands trembling in front of her with the strain, fingers hooked into claws, she kept screaming out everything she had. Carmine lightning scintillated along her forearms, and he clawed at his neck with enough panic to leave bloody smears from his fingernails.

 

"…Love me 'til you're dead, this is what you get; you'll still love me, dead or alive. Dead or alive. DEAD OR-”

 

Sanguine lightning crackled between her and the speaker suspended from the ceiling above, shorting out the sound system and club lights. Into the sudden silence barged a sickening snap, his neck giving way under the crushing onslaught of the Dark Side, but Authenta didn’t stop. Long past the point of conscious control, her sole thought was to inflict righteous suffering upon him. The darkness obliged her, unrelenting in its seduction, bones cracking and flesh bruising mercilessly until his neck was a ruined mess.

 

Authenta dropped her arms and fell to her knees in exhaustion.

 

Her opponent wholly ruined, she wept for the senseless slaughter of the girl before her as the bright white emergency lights flickered to life in the cantina. She turned the girl over onto her back, and impossibly, she still lived; she reached up weakly to Authenta, struggling to speak. Scooping up the girl, she listened close. “Please, tell…I…no…” and her hand fell away, lifeless fingertips brushing against the tense muscles of Authenta’s arm as it did. She cradled the girl’s body, one hand on the back of her head, holding her close.

 

On her knees, Authenta looked up at the crowd and called out to them. “Someone must know her; who she is. Tell me!” Next to where she had been standing before her murder, a boy, no more than sixteen or seventeen stood shuddering, hands covering his mouth and bleary eyes streaking tears down his cheeks.

 

She locked eyes with him and knew.

 

She slid an arm under the girl’s knees and stood up, lifting her body delicately. She strode slowly to him, carrying her. “It will not bring her back, but I am sincerely sorry she was forced to die because of my actions.”

 

The boy quavered, struggling to not look at his former companion. “She... she’s not even Force sen- sen… Just here 'cause I... Caria is – was – is my…my girl-” He choked on his sobs and held himself.

 

Authenta took a half-step back with one foot, angling herself towards the door. “Come, I’ll get you both to medical. After that…” she trailed off as she led the way, with the boy shuffling behind her. The pair walked past the bar, and Authenta swore she could see the irises of the bartender flicker a deep crimson as he regarded her, leaning against a shelf, stroking his sable beard.

 

* * * * *

 

On reaching the medical level of Sorzus station, the hydraulics of the turbolift doors hissed quietly open before Authenta and the boy. She began to step out, only to be met with half a dozen blaster rifles pointed at her face, held by the distinct black and red uniforms of Imperial soldiers. The boy cowered behind her, sobbing quietly against the turbolift wall.

 

The lead soldier flicked the barrel of his rifle to draw her attention. “You are under arrest for the murder of the Sith Adikemos, apprentice to Lord Sariel. Come with us or die.”

 

Ἀδίκημος; How loathsomely fitting. “And by the authority of Fleet Admiral Threno, commander of the Imperial Sixth Fleet and senior officer of the Fist of Tulak Hord, you will take this man and his girlfriend, murdered by this Apprentice Adikemos, to the infirmary. Then I will go with you.”

 

At the name of her father’s ship, more than one of the soldiers stiffened. The rifle of one in the back dipped slightly, as if he started to lower it but then thought better of the plan. Good to know father’s name carries some weight, even here.

 

The commanding soldier was silent a moment, then angled his head. “Delkon! Yashia! Carry the victim and escort her companion to the medbay. Barrek and Tath! You’re with me; cuff the Sith and let’s get her to the detention level.”

 

 

Edited by Diviciacus
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WOW this is really great!! Subscribed and happily waiting for more...

Yeah I'm not much of a comment writer (if I think of the state of my own fanfic... I'm not a good writer at all :confused:)

 

Thanks! I am glad you like it :D I'm so behind on my reading of a lot of the other stories posted since I've been super busy lately. ;_;

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Woots! New chapter! :D Sorry, I'm a bit behind this week, but better late than never, I say! ^^ I blame summer.

 

Chapter Two Comments:

 

 

First off, great choice for the music. Love the way you interspersed the lyrics within the story. Gave it a more authentic feel, seeing as much of it is taking place in a club/cantina setting. And as an extra bonus, I know have new music for my mp3 player :D That's always good, cause I'm sick of everything I have lol.

 

I like the way you described the setting, I can picture all the panicked people scurrying about when the challenge unfolds.

 

You have some great descriptions for the action, well done. I always find this a hard thing to write personally. ^^

 

Mmm...a contrasting scene, I like it...you go from the noise and furor in the cantina to the pin drop silence of the destroyer bridge.

 

Dayum...Baras is clever...and terribly observant. Must come from all those years of dealing with spies and intel. He really latched on to Tremel quick. I always liked Tremel too, and I'd end up sparing him a lot of the time. Killing him after all he'd done...always seemed a bit ungrateful to me. :)

 

Ooh, back to the raucous! Mmm, that hatred is delicious. He hee, great comeback Authenta. *snicker*

 

Oh no...poor bystander. I'm liking how you describe Authenta's lightning. Carmine, sanguine...great words. :)

 

Wow, what a way to mess him up! Authenta...you go girl! :D

 

Oh no...I can tell it's about to hit the fan. And...it does. I suspect Tremel will be coughing up some bail...or making a few calls.

 

Great action, loved it, and am looking forward to more! Keep it going! ^^

 

Edited by Lunafox
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Hi Lunafox! Thanks for round two comments :D

 

I went with a spoiler box and colored text this time, since I thought the last reply post was excessively long. Is the red too hard to read? It's very accidental Imperial but I'm not sure if it's too eye-searing or not.

 

Woots! New chapter! :D Sorry, I'm a bit behind this week, but better late than never, I say! ^^ I blame summer.

 

Chapter Two Comments:

 

 

First off, great choice for the music. Love the way you interspersed the lyrics within the story. Gave it a more authentic feel, seeing as much of it is taking place in a club/cantina setting. And as an extra bonus, I know have new music for my mp3 player :D That's always good, cause I'm sick of everything I have lol.

 

I'm definitely glad I could give you some new music! Not to sound weird, but I wouldn't have pegged you for a fan of metal. Also, it happened totally randomly that I included that song... originally, I was just driving in my car, thinking over the scene and that song played on my sound system. I was like "wait a minute... THIS IS PERFECT!"

 

I like the way you described the setting, I can picture all the panicked people scurrying about when the challenge unfolds.

 

You know, I'm not as happy with this chapter as I am with the first one. I feel a bit like... not that it was rushed, but that I just forgot to include/overlooked some details which would have made it a bit richer. More crowd interaction, better/more emotional descriptors at the end, there. And so on... but this is a learning experience; anywhere else this would have been two stories already essentially!

 

You have some great descriptions for the action, well done. I always find this a hard thing to write personally. ^^

 

Thanks :D Action is... a bit tough for me too. I can visualize in my head perfectly what's going on, but describing it on the page is tougher. Especially for some coming saber fights... how do you write in words what amounts to a kung-fu technique?

 

Mmm...a contrasting scene, I like it...you go from the noise and furor in the cantina to the pin drop silence of the destroyer bridge.

 

haha, that was mostly "extra cliffhanger time!" I promise to abuse them less in the future, but I am glad you liked the juxtaposition.

 

Dayum...Baras is clever...and terribly observant. Must come from all those years of dealing with spies and intel. He really latched on to Tremel quick. I always liked Tremel too, and I'd end up sparing him a lot of the time. Killing him after all he'd done...always seemed a bit ungrateful to me. :)

 

Tremel gives himself away because as an overseer the most he usually has to plot is "who is betting on which acolyte for the dead pool?" Baras on the other hand... I sat down and drew a web of everything he's plotting and who and where and when for the whole time I'll be looking at characters in the Academy. It'll be a tremendously ridiculous affair.

 

Ooh, back to the raucous! Mmm, that hatred is delicious. He hee, great comeback Authenta. *snicker*

 

I rather liked it too... I figured, that's what she really went out for, to not go home alone, and if the guy hadn't been such a jerk well maybe he might not have either. Except he's never going home now :p

 

Oh no...poor bystander. I'm liking how you describe Authenta's lightning. Carmine, sanguine...great words. :)

 

That was always there, very early on I knew someone innocent was going to die in the scene. Some person wholly incapable of defending themselves; back when I had just a sheet of paper with plot points before I even bought a notebook for this (so, July 2015). Authenta, we'll see... she has some character flaws that never really get her killed but she'll be forced to deal with the consequences all the same. Carmine is also my favorite color word ever. I don't even know why.

 

Wow, what a way to mess him up! Authenta...you go girl! :D

 

haha, I loved writing those couple of paragraphs. They're my favorite part of this episode just because of the language use and imagery. It's also a hint of some of Auth's personality problems. I originally had his neck being crushed until it failed and he was decapitated, but I thought that would have been a little much. I can also credit Black Widow on loop for it LOL!

 

Oh no...I can tell it's about to hit the fan. And...it does. I suspect Tremel will be coughing up some bail...or making a few calls.

 

I have big plans for that bartender. You have no idea :D Who knows if he made the call though... Who bails her out? Well that's a story for another time. I figure that at this point, an overseer would know who their acolytes will be long before the acolyte knows who their overseer will be.

 

Great action, loved it, and am looking forward to more! Keep it going! ^^

Thanks, Lunafox! :D

 

 

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I feel a bit silly because this is two days late. I had forgotten that around now narratively I was going to include a section which has been written for the better part of a month. So Friday after the rehearsal I was chilling in a lawn chair thinking to myself I wouldn't be behind schedule for this week's update.

 

And then I derped hard and ended up having to write a dialogue-heavy chapter. Dialogue is hard, yo. I'm definitely learning that I need to write more detailed notes for things. "Detained on orbital station" is pretty useless, let's be honest. Longer than usual episode this week. (Does three total posts get to count as "usual"?) In my defense it would have been published yesterday but I spent all day working on a friend's garage and got home and was like "screw writing, murder people on Overwatch!"

 

Anyway!

 

Episode III

 

 

She watched the blast door roll with a prodigious boom into the closed position, locking her into the interrogation room. Hands bound before her, Authenta stared at the seal for some time. Dark brown rivulets of dried blood itched across her left shoulder and thigh, and the obscene pounding in her head throbbed across the right half of her face in time with her heartbeat.

 

When the portal refused to reopen, she turned away with a scowl and stalked over to the uninteresting durasteel table flanked on each side by uncomfortable-looking metal chairs. Sitting in the chair facing the entrance, she put her feet on the table to stretch her legs and leaned back.

 

Unable to get herself to the medical ward, the scar on her face would persist for a lifetime’s worth of wicked reminders for her own stupidity. “There are roads which must not be followed; armies which must not be attacked; towns which must not be besieged; positions which must not be contested.” Not that it matters, now.

 

Authenta stared at the scuffed surface of the table, and memories of an evening a scant few nights ago flooded her thoughts, even through the pain.

 

* * * * *

 

The winds of Korriban incessantly blew vermillion sand through the shadows and swirled around the feet of the titanic monoliths, crumbling from the millennia. Inquisitor Arzanon stood in the shade of one such towering figure, its head bowed in reverence to an ancient and mighty lord.

 

He scrolled through reports from the academy on his padd, looking for indication of dissent in the actions of acolytes. A mention of an argument leading to blows in a philosophy class caught his eye. He looked up from his padd to see his assistant, field agent Eresthai, standing a few paces away, half turned away from him and answering a holocom from her handler in Intelligence.

 

“Agent! Tell Watcher Four that we are occupied. There are traitors to unmask!”

 

She turned her face towards him, uncharacteristically pale with a hollow stare. “My lord…” she began, “it is… not Intelligence. It’s… for you.”

 

Arzanon heaved a sigh and slipped his padd into a pocket of his amethyst robe, trudging through the sand to his assistant. To his shock and horror, the figure on the other end of the holocom was not the usual Watcher Four, but the resplendently-robed visage of a member of the Dark Council. Something between the screams of the dying and the heady surge of the Dark Side erupted in his mind when the Councillor turned his head to face Arzanon. Warring with the urge to clutch at the unwholesome cacophony in his mind, he bowed before the holocom emitter.

 

A voice made vaguely tinny through the connection crushed upon him with a gravelly tenor that could not be opposed. “Darth Mortis. Inquisitor Arzanon, is it? There has been an incident on the Sorzus Orbital Dock. A civilian has killed a Sith apprentice; she has been detained. Do your duty.”

 

The voices in Arzanon’s head promptly ceased with the connection. He rubbed at his face, looking at the sallow features of his assistant. “Call a shuttle.”

 

* * * * *

 

Most of what she needed for the trip was either already packed or would be provided at the Sith Academy, but for a few minor things. She would wear one pair of traveling clothes and her cloak, two changes of clothing already rested in her bag in case of emergency, and her deep sapphire pyxis sat nestled in her folded clothing for protection. She sat sideways on the edge of her bed, staring at her favorite shimmersilk dress, arrayed carefully over the duvet, debating whether or not to bring it with her.

 

A thin, reedy voice from the open doorway of her chambers startled her. “Just take it! You never know when you might need to turn every head in a room.”

 

She turned her attention to the door and the portly, aged figure standing within the open doorframe. As Authenta stood, the wizened majordomo of her estate planted her cane against the polished greelwood flooring to brace herself for a small bow.

 

“Miss Beraxil is also here to see you.”

 

Authenta glanced at the long, thin wooden box on her mantle before replying. “Thal, you didn’t leave her standing on the veranda...?”

 

Thalassa shook her cane at the much younger woman in exasperation only partially feigned. “I’m not that old yet, girl! She’s in the wine cellar. Brought two bottles of last season’s icewine from her mother’s vinyard and insisted on putting them away herself.”

 

“She’s likely storing one bottle and sneaking into the lounge to purloin a pair of the fluted snowflake glasses she likes.” Authenta waved her left hand in a vaguely dismissive gesture, despite the look of dawning horror on the seneschal’s face.

 

“They’re for special occasions only!”

 

“Yes, and would my impending departure for the Sith Academy not be considered as such?”

 

Her elderly governess’ shoulders fell and she cast her grey eyes at the wood grain in the floor, strands of bone-white hair framing her lined face. “…not if you don’t come home. Your father would be ruined if something happened to you, too.”

 

“It is the nature of warfare. And I have spent my life in preparation for this moment; to travel to Korriban is both my destiny and my birthright,” she replied, tone firm with authority she rarely had to invoke. “I will be fine. It is no different than when the Sixth Fleet goes to battle. Stop worrying.”

 

Thal smacked the tip of her cane on the floor. “I can’t help it, girl! I worry you’ll die, or you’ll change, or worse! It’s one thing to be the lady of this house, but what if real power goes to your head? It’s different to be a Lord of the Sith, Authenta!”

 

Authenta sighed. “I doubt I’ll go insane with only two years at the academy, but if it will humor you I will be careful. I’m hardly going to graduate a Darth, anyway.”

 

A younger, more feminine voice echoed into the room from the hall, following the flickering light of the sconce across from her chambers. “Just a Lord, right Auth? Haha!”

 

Beraxil slipped past the steward’s stout frame, carrying in each hand a tall obsidian wine glass glinting with the movement of the pale liquid within. She thrust one out to Authenta. “Half the bottle for you since I know ol’ Thalassa here doesn’t drink. Hmph! It’s fresh from last season so it’ll still be really sweet. The other bottle in your cellar’ll be mature in couple of years but you have to promise to save it until we’re both out of the Academy!”

 

Rolling her eyes, Authenta nonetheless put the fingertips of her free hand over the ridges just below her collarbone. “I promise to not drink your wine without you.” She tilted her own chalice slightly towards Beraxil, who answered the challenge with a light clink of connecting glassware.

 

“If there’s nothing else Thalassa, I’ll find you before I leave to say my farewells.”

 

The old woman nodded and scurried off, returning to her evening duties on the lower floor.

 

Authenta looked at the golden wine in her glass, swirling it slowly as she deeply inhaled its cool, floral scent. She took an experimental sip followed by a deep drink, closing her eyes and savoring the muted sweetness of fresh icewine. She stepped across her room to the mantle above the dark recess of her unlit personal hearth.

 

“I found a small something for you, Bex. A little something both elegant and practical.” She concentrated on the long box resting on the mantle, lifting the pale grey wood, imported from Csilla and carved with lavish designs, into the air without touching it. Coiling dark talons of the Force around it, she pushed the box with her hand, guiding it to the carved bloodstone desk. “Go on, open it.”

 

Beraxil ran her hand over the box just over a metre in length, admiring the workmanship.

 

“Little?” Undoing the twin black metal latches, the lid swung up easily on its well-oiled hinges, revealing an interior lined with crushed velvet the color of the night sky. Nestled within were two practice blades, crafted in the form of lightsabers. Blades carved of an amber-hued wood, the silvery hilts were wrapped in crimson leatheris and ended in a mechanism to connect the two into a saberstaff.

 

She turned to her friend, eyes wide. Reflexively tucking loose rosy hair behind her ear, she stammered out gratitude. “Auth, I – it’s beautiful!” lifting the two halves out of the case, she completed the sparring staff by connecting the magnetic interlocks. “I could never use this in a fight! I’d hate to break it…”

 

Her friend waved her hand dismissively. “You won’t. The blades are ayalayli thornwood; not the prettiest, yet near as hard as durasteel.”

 

“‘Not the prettiest?’ Where did you even find something like this?” Beraxil spun the staff in a lazy arc with one hand, admiring the craftsmanship.

 

Authenta gestured with the wine glass she had been slowly emptying. “I commissioned it especially for you. Think of it as a going away present, since it will be many months – if not longer – before we see each other again. It is as light as it could be carved without sacrificing strength since a real lightsaber has no weight outside of the hilt. It should do you nicely until you join me at the Academy next year.” Authenta tossed the rest of her clothing, including the provocative dress, into her duffel bag as she spoke.

 

“I need to say my goodbyes to my staff. Why don’t you get a feel for your new quarterstaff while I do? Just don’t break anything or Thalassa will have your head!” She laughed with Bex as the latter tilted her head to the side and stuck her tongue out with a smile, drawing a finger across her throat.

 

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” Bex said. “I’ll grab your bag too so you’re not carrying it all over the house. We’ll go to the spaceport in my speeder when you-”

 

The low rumble of the blast door moving interrupted her reverie. Authenta slipped her stiletto boots off the table and sat upright in the stiff metal chair as a Sith strode into the room, assistant typing commands into a padd in tow. He was human, heavily built with a swarthy complexion and a well-manicured chinstrip beard.

 

He slammed his hands onto the table, towering above her, trying to bore into her aureate eyes with his own, tainted orange by the Dark Side. To his credit, he completely ignored her revealing attire, although his assistant, wearing the uniform of the Imperial military, seemed to have a more difficult time not staring at her physique.

 

Not giving the purple and Imperial grey-robed Sith the pleasure of her breaking eye contact first, she lifted one dark eyebrow and offered a small smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Inquisitor?”

 

Her interrogator harrumphed, pushing himself off the table to stare down at her. “Since you know what I am then you know why I am here.”

 

“And you know who I am.”

 

“Your father’s allegiance will not save you this time.”

 

Authenta shrugged. “Ask your bartender. Apprentice or not, he got what he deserved.” She pointed a thumb back at her face. “So did I. And those two kids most certainly did not.

 

The inquisitor crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. “The girl was not even Force-sensitive. While a pointless act, Apprentice Adikemos was within his right, being Sith, to kill her.”

 

“‘Being Sith’ is my birthright! If you desire pedantic interpretations of Imperial law, I summarily executed a threat to the Empire.” She surreptitiously flexed the muscles of her back, testing at the strength of the cable running between her shackles.

 

“It is not your place to say who is a threat to the Empire!” The inquisitor slashed his hand at Authenta, throwing both her and her seat clattering against the wall of the interrogation chamber. Suspended in the air, shadows crushed her into the durasteel wall panel.

 

“Nothing you have said absolves you of suspicions of plotting against the Empire. If you will not admit your treason, I will rip it out of you.” The inquisitor help up his other hand, jagged purple lightning arcing from his fingertips to course into Authenta.

 

She gritted her teeth at the renewed agony; every spark bloomed anguish across her nerves and torment boiled fresh in her scar. She refused to give him the pleasure of her screams, instead closing her eyes and letting the darkness flow through and empower her. Authenta shouted the Sith code at him, line after ragged line.

 

Authenta’s willpower outlasted the inquisitor’s ability to sustain his lightning barrage, and his hands snapped back as he labored to catch his breath. With his concentration broken, there was nothing to control the Force holding her against the wall and she dropped heavily to the floor with a thud. Remnant sparks writhed along her limbs, her dress tattered and smoking, angry flushes dotting her skin. She struggled to stand, her body only partially obeying after being suffused with electricity.

 

The inquisitor growled as he regained his composure, slamming his fist on the table in frustration. “I will break you yet!”

 

Leaning against the wall to support herself, Authenta chuckled mirthlessly. “You have never dealt with a pureblood, have you?” She gathered herself, drawing strength from the lingering darkness.

 

“What does your companion have to say? Has she been doing your duty and researching my history while you’ve been having your fun?”

 

The inquisitor crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at his companion. The Imperial soldier glanced between Authenta and her padd, features reddening. “Lord Arzanon, her family -”

 

Authenta cut her off. “My ancestors followed Emperor Vitiate himself from Korriban a thousand years ago. We helped build Ziost – helped build the Empire from its very foundation!

 

“Do you truly think I would cast aside a millennium of faithful service to the Empire? Or do you think that perhaps an idiot apprentice made a fatal mistake trying to kill someone who refused to share his bed?”

 

Inquisitor Arzanon said nothing in response, merely stalking out of the interrogation chamber, assistant following on his heels. Outside the chamber in the main security office, he typed a series of commands into a terminal to bring up the security footage from the cantina. “Agent, review this; pay very close attention to anything you can determine of their interaction, especially speech.”

 

“Yes my lord. Am I looking for anything different this time?” She slipped a dataspike from her padd into the terminal to allow the mobile device remote control.

 

“You are looking for everything. I must meditate.” Arzanon turned away from her, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at the display from the hidden security camera in the interrogation room. The woman stood listlessly, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Despite appearances, it was painfully obvious the scar she earned perpetrating the murder bothered her greatly.

 

Abruptly, she stopped and stood still, holding her arms before her, hands balled into fists. She was straining against the shackles, seemingly hoping to break the durasteel cable binding them together. It was strong enough to hold a prisoner, even a force sensitive one, and she would not break free. He closed his eyes, interrogating the Force for answers.

 

“Excuse me, my Lord? I’ve completed a second analysis of the security footage.”

 

Arzanon crossed his arms, drumming his fingertips on his bicep. “And?”

 

“And, similar analysis as previous. Subject: Authenta, Lady Sarenrai is haughty, believing herself the victim’s superior. Familial background would make this nominally true from a social frame of reference were the victim not a Sith apprentice. Strong pureblood lineage – more physiologically visible than records indicate of the subject’s parentage, even the mother – affords the subject Force-sensitivity. Martial training is highly advanced but Force manipulation lags significantly, despite manifestations at a very young age; in high-stress contexts subject is historically prone to losing what little control she has of the Force.”

 

He narrowed his eyes, watching the suspect through the video feed. “You never mentioned that last time; why? What ‘historically’?”

 

“I did not have time to do a complete personal history review; instead focusing on possible incidents which might indicate a dissident personality. ‘Historically’ meaning subject maimed a boyfriend at age fifteen through a Force-related accident, the report says.”

 

“Useable information, Agent.” Arzanon continued to drum his fingers on his arm. “Anything else?”

 

The agent scrolled through the notes on her padd. “Conversation analysis indicates victim was heavily intoxicated and likely to commit sexual assault of some kind, corroborating subject’s statement. One line of dialogue from the prisoner does seem of note, however it was delivered with heavy sarcasm: ‘we’re going to have to conquer the Republic rather soon, or someone like you will stagger into a position of actual power and hand the Empire neatly over.’ Given other evidence, it is likely this isolated instance is in fact sarcasm and not treason.”

 

Arzanon turned away from the monitor, growing bored of Authenta’s increasingly frustrated attempts to break her bonds. “Conclusion, Agent?”

 

She pulled the dataspike out of the terminal and slipped it back into her padd before replying. “Subject’s sarcasm and arrogance coupled with the victim’s heavy intoxication caused negative feedback leading to an altercation in which the superior lucidity of the subject compensated for the superior armament of the victim. As for the murder method itself, I am Force-blind and cannot comment.”

 

“I’ve heard that purebloods and the Dark Side symbiotically feed on each other.” Arzanon paced, regarding his assistant with a frown. “Research this.”

 

The Agent tapped at her padd, speedreading the information she retrieved. “Rumor seems substantiated based on scant anecdotal evidence.” She jabbed her finger at a key twice before resignedly surrendering to an error message. “…my security clearance isn’t high enough to access the Sith archives for confirmation.”

 

Staring at the lines of his palm retrospectively, Arzanon flexed his fingers. “I would agree. Recommendation?”

 

She shrugged. “Subject is due at Korriban Academy in thirty-three hours for initial briefing by an Overseer…” Glancing at her padd, she reviewed the dossier. “Tremel. Keep her under armed guard, and contact Tremel, apprising him or her of the situation. Depending on the overseer’s judgment, either discharge or execute subject.”

 

“Overseers are always so pretentious from lording over acolytes. You will speak to him, Agent Eresthai.”

 

 

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Better late than never, I always say :D

 

Chapter 3:

 

 

A scar...yuck. It's a shame Authenta couldn't get healed. :( It's looking pretty grim for her atm.

 

Yay, vermillion sand! That was just for me, I know it! :)

 

Hmm, interestingly enough, with that imagery and opening description, I didn't expect the DC member to be Mortis.

 

I'd say leaving for the academy constitutes reason enough to use the snowflake glasses. Totally. Then again they sound lovely, I'd probably steal them too. :o

 

Thalassa amuses me. Love her voice.

 

Mmm, nice gifts. Love how you describe them.

 

"Her interrogator harrumphed" This reminds me of a romance novel I read a ways back, and the heroine always seemed to be harrumphing. I was half tempted to run a search to find the number of instances lol. A good word, to be used sparingly lol. ;) I'm teasing, it just reminded me of that...but she used it to the point of distraction, you're fine.

 

Oh...poor Authenta. Interrogation sucks. I'm glad she outlasted him.

Wow, that agent sure earns her keep.

 

Looks like it's all up to Tremel now.

 

Good stuff Divi! I'm looking forward to the next part. :D

 

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Hi Lunafox! Thank you for more comments :D I'm caught up on reading Marr but I'm slow still to comment. my best friend and his fiancée got married last Saturday and I have been busy with that last week and this week with helping a friend finish rebuilding his garage (which is finally done :o )

 

How does mint green look? Less eye-searing violence?

 

 

Better late than never, I always say :D

 

Chapter 3:

 

A scar...yuck. It's a shame Authenta couldn't get healed. :( It's looking pretty grim for her atm.

The Empire doesn't care so much about medical treatment for prisoners and she's not used to that. It also has an intimidation factor that she's completely unaware of right now. A warrior must have their battle scars, you know :p But yes, her position is rather precarious, isn't it.

 

Yay, vermillion sand! That was just for me, I know it! :)

Well partially. Originally I just used it because in the very old original Pokemon games, the towns were named after colors (such as the eponymous Vermillion City) and I used it for that reason, but then I read your post and I was like "this is too perfect! It'll make the one person I know reads my work smile"

 

Hmm, interestingly enough, with that imagery and opening description, I didn't expect the DC member to be Mortis.

His beard is cool, ok? :p But serious reasons, Wookieepedia says he's a master of mental manipulation and driving his victims insane. I figured they might respond to radiated power of that kind in that way.

 

I'd say leaving for the academy constitutes reason enough to use the snowflake glasses. Totally. Then again they sound lovely, I'd probably steal them too. :o

I kept the snowflake descriptor, I kept the obsidian descriptor, but I guess I just didn't notice that in the editing process I lost the place where the two were combined. Glasses of snowflake obsidian would be exceptionally awesome! And incredibly difficult to procure because of the size (and quality!) of the initial block required.

 

Thalassa amuses me. Love her voice.

 

I tried to write her as someone who's seen enough of the galaxy to be sick of its bull ****, but also kind of grandmotherly to Authenta. Her father who can't be home much because duty, so someone has to have been the one to pull a little Sith girl around by the ear.

 

Mmm, nice gifts. Love how you describe them.

Thanks! :D

 

"Her interrogator harrumphed" This reminds me of a romance novel I read a ways back, and the heroine always seemed to be harrumphing. I was half tempted to run a search to find the number of instances lol. A good word, to be used sparingly lol. ;) I'm teasing, it just reminded me of that...but she used it to the point of distraction, you're fine.

I'll keep that in mind for possible future romances, haha!

 

Oh...poor Authenta. Interrogation sucks. I'm glad she outlasted him.

Lorewise, true Sith are rare, so rare. Most Imperials that didn't interact directly with the upper strata of Sith society might even think they're extinct. And how often would one be in a position where an Inquisitor has to deal with them, and their peculiar relationship with the Dark Side? Everyone dodged a bullet they didn't know was there, a little.

 

Wow, that agent sure earns her keep.

She's got this gigantic padd in-game for what amounts to no reason. I made her use it lol. I think I did a little bit of a bad job with that part, though. The chapter was already so much longer than what I was hoping to work with (this one is almost seven pages instead of the usual three and a half or so.) I feel like I kind of rushed things out the door and didn't pace it properly.

 

Looks like it's all up to Tremel now.

Well I guess we're done for then! ;)

 

Good stuff Divi! I'm looking forward to the next part. :D

yay!

 

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Hi Lunafox! Thank you for more comments :D I'm caught up on reading Marr but I'm slow still to comment. my best friend and his fiancée got married last Saturday and I have been busy with that last week and this week with helping a friend finish rebuilding his garage (which is finally done :o )

 

How does mint green look? Less eye-searing violence?

 

You're very welcome. :) Congrats to your best friend and his lady! :D You've been very busy. The mint green is perfect, much better, I can actually see it lol.

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You're very welcome. :) Congrats to your best friend and his lady! :D You've been very busy. The mint green is perfect, much better, I can actually see it lol.

 

She walked up the aisle to the Shire theme from Lord of the Rings, and they left it arm in arm to the victory scene music from A New Hope. Best wedding I've ever attended!

 

Also, today is Tuesday so it is time for a new Episode!

 

Episode IIII

 

 

Resting the bridge of his nose against steepled fingers as his office holocom unit powered down, Overseer Tremel could feel an oncoming storm of a headache. Vemrin may be Baras’ favored acolyte, but his own personal project had nearly gotten her idiotic self killed on the orbital station. First in a completely avoidable cantina brawl with some wretched low-born fool, and then with more idiocy in some sort of attempt at standing against an inquisitor.

 

True, Arzanon was a fool to try and torture a true Sith using the Force, but her defiance nearly cost both her life and his months of planning. At least she was being processed for transfer to the Academy, even if it was under constant armed guard. He sighed in frustration; she was going to be the death of him yet.

 

He picked up his padd and reviewed Authenta’s file, along with the recent addenda made by the inquisitor and the Imperial agent lackey who had spoken to him. He knew she was strong in the Force; he had years ago been overseer to her mother as well. But not this strong. The eye witness accounts spoke of her wielding a terrible darkness more in keeping with a powerful Lord or even a Darth. The cantina patrons had to have been mistaken; their recollections marred by their unfamiliarity with the Force, or by imbibed substances.

 

Wait. Why is there no statement from the bartender? He had to have seen everything.

 

Tremel slammed his fist on the desk in ire, hard enough to shake a stack of padds into a tiny landslide. He threw his padd onto the desk and reactivated his holocom, punching in Sorzus dock security.

 

As he was about to key in the final digit, a tremor coursed through the Force, washing itself over his consciousness. A familiar and unsettling presence had arrived in the Horuset system. Tremel checked the arrivals log on his padd but it only told him what he already knew; the Traya was in low orbit.

 

He knew Baras was on his way, but hoped to have more time. He had sent word already to Lord Renning inquiring about the pickings of terrible creatures in the tombs, but had yet to hear back. The ancient armory in the tomb of Ajunta Pall was still well stocked – it would last for years more – and the droids had been repaired recently in preparation for the first path of a trial.

 

Eskella had managed the journey not without difficulty; he was genuinely curious how Authenta would fare in comparison. Tremel knew her Fleet Admiral father had provided tutors in the arts of the Sith from the time the girl could barely walk… she had best be impressive if she was going to survive. He had no mercy for acolytes in general, and for his plan to succeed she needed to receive less than half of that.

 

He walked out of his office, locking the door behind him.

 

* * * * *

 

Myriad points of star systems light-years away began to twinkle as the short-range transport passed into the upper atmosphere of Korriban. Authenta sat with her hands folded in her lap, ignoring the slight shudder as wind resistance began to buffet the shuttle. She watched the horizon turn steadily redder and more defined as the cloud cover gave way, distant rusty mountain mesas shot through with black streaks ringing the sacrosanct Valley of the Dark Lords below. Gigantic monolithic statues of ancient Lords and bowed slaves stood eternal vigil on the valley's floor. It was even more beautiful that she had imagined.

 

The scratches that crisscrossed the left side of her body were gone, and her scar had mercifully ceased to ache after receiving kolto, albeit too late. The scar would persist forever, a stark reminder every time she regarded her reflection of just how lucky she had been. She should have been dead half a dozen times over in the past day and a half. At this point, she thought either the Force loved her… or wanted to demolish her utterly before finally allowing her the solace of death.

 

Now she was moments away from meeting her overseer for the first time. She didn’t even know his name and yet inexplicably he had vouched for her survival with the Inquisitor. It made little sense on the surface; there had to be some plot afoot.

 

A smooth jolt meant the shuttle had touched down on the landing pad. The soldier to her left stood first, motioning with the barrel of his rifle. “Time to go, acolyte.”

 

Authenta stood, striding purposefully to the disembarkation ramp, soldier in tow. The shuttle pilot, a slender woman just beginning to show creases at the corners of her mouth, joined her out of the cockpit, flanking her right side. Three pairs of boots thudded in time towards the access to the circular landing site; at the top of the ramp, Authenta stopped and observed her surroundings.

 

A statue of the Emperor himself flanked by paired Imperial banners greeted her at the end of the catwalk, and the tremendous pyramidal Sith Academy was carved in gleaming black stone, looming in the background ahead. She turned back towards the shuttle pilot, who bowed to her.

 

“I served under your father on the Bleakheart years ago. If you’re even half the warrior he is, you’ll carve a bloody swath through this place. For the Empire!” Giving a crisp salute, her escort turned away and marched back to the shuttle.

 

She walked forward, towards an open doorway where a man with dark, weathered skin and short-cropped wiry hair stood, leaning against the doorframe. His overseer’s armor was shades of Imperial grey rather than the usual burgundy, and he held a hand above his eyes, watching her. He had to be her overseer.

 

* * * * *

 

Shielding his gaze from the baleful brilliance of setting Horuset, he watched the military shuttle fold its wings up in preparation for touchdown on the landing pad overlooking the valley of the Dark Lords. The small tower which served as the staging ground for acolytes beginning their trials was mostly empty at this hour and time of year, between trial periods.

 

Tremel waited in the shade. As his newest acolyte marched up the catwalk, clad in the traditional acolyte’s grey and black tunic and leggings, he pushed himself away from the wall and called out to her. “At last, you’ve arrived. Good, good.” He folded his arms behind his back as he continued. “There is much to do and every moment is critical. I’m Overseer Tremel. For decades, I’ve supervised acolytes as they learn what it means to be Sith, and administered their trials – to prove who is and is not worthy to join the Sith Order.

 

The trials are the chance to weed out the weak. Those who face them either become survive and become Sith, or die.”

 

Authenta regarded him with a neutral expression, belying the astonishment in her mind. If I’m to begin my trials immediately, I will be Sith in two months; not two years. That can’t be right… this Overseer must be playing some dangerous game. I will not be but the pawn. Still, she couldn’t afford to alert him to the fact that she was aware of his scheme, so she decided on a response suitable to his statements alone. “Mark my word, I am destined to be Sith.”

 

Tremel snorted derisively in reply. “It wasn’t destiny that brought you here, Acolyte Authenta. Yes, you are here ahead of schedule because of me. I expect you to obey.” He pointed at the ground, underscoring his instructions.

 

“You face your trials, you serve me, and I will make you the most powerful acolyte here.”

 

The corner of Authenta’s lip edged up in a whisper of a predatory smile. “Sounds like a plan,” she replied.

 

He continued, as if she had not spoken. “The trials themselves are difficult enough, but they are hardly your greatest threat you face here at the Academy: there’s an acolyte here named… Vemrin. He is your enemy in every sense.

 

He is a former slave. He is shrewd, cruel, and cunning. He will resent you and everything you represent, everything the Sith should represent. He will try to kill you. We must prepare you instead.”

 

Authenta waved her hand dismissively. “Let him try.”

 

Her overseer’s eyes narrowed at her and his tone took on a merciless edge. “Your arrogance has nearly been your undoing twice now – yes, I know everything. You must be more mindful! But with my guidance you will someday destroy all your enemies.”

 

Pointing at her shoulder, Tremel shook his head disdainfully. “That practice blade you’ve arrived with is insufficient – the blade of a lesser acolyte. You need a weapon of dominance, befitting your station.

 

Deep in the Tomb of Ajunta Pall, there is an ancient armory; an old and mighty Sith warblade awaits you there. The tomb is infested with k’lor’slugs. They have been the end of many an acolyte.”

 

He resumed his imperious stance before giving his acolyte her final instructions. “Once you acquire your warblade, come to my chambers in the Academy." He marched off towards another door, leaving her standing alone as the wind began to pick up.

 

Not only were her trials already commenced, but her first was to begin at nightfall. She took a deep breath of the evening air, and savored the taste of her ancient homeworld, in such exhilarating proximity to the tombs of history’s greatest Lords. She strode through the doorway Tremel had been leaning against when she arrived, following the hallway through. It opened to a balcony a dozen meters above the sands below, stairs leading down on the left side into what must be the mortuary courtyard of Ajunta Pall’s tomb. K’lor’slugs skittered on the scarlet sand, their eyeless heads swiveling, hunting for careless acolytes to devour whole.

 

She unsheathed her practice vibroblade, vaulting the balcony rail and landing with a heavy thud on the sand. As she stood straight, a pair of the creatures snapped their attention to her, endless rows of teeth in their maws starting to rotate antipodally in anticipation of an easy meal.

 

She stalked towards them as they slithered at her, taloned legs and undulating wormlike bodies propelling them towards her. She sprinted at one, dodging around it at the last second as her blade carved through its vermiculate mass. It emitted a vile screech, thrashing in the sand as milky blood poured out of its death throes.

 

She flourished her blade, flipping it in a circle on the outside of her grip as the other slug rose up on its belly, legs caked in dried blood waggling in the cool air. She dove in at it, thrusting her blade low and sweeping it vertically up through the creature’s maw, shrill gurgling accompanying the spray of noxious blood into the wind.

 

Holding her blade at the ready, she smiled ferally, marching towards the dark and crumbling entrance to the most ancient of the valley’s tombs as more of the foul creatures slithered towards her, impelled by the commotion.

 

* * * * *

Dust and pebbles rained from the ceiling in the wake of the explosions, charred pieces of k’lor’slug spattering the floor and wall opposite the doorway. Authenta twisted her upper body, looking back into the chamber and admiring the handiwork of Sergeant Cormun’s explosives.

 

One problem solved, one to go.

 

She walked back down the crumbling corridor to the room his men had commandeered as a base of operations, clutching the dog tags she had recovered from the gnawed bones and wretched guts of butchered slugs. Somberly, she held the thin chains out to him. “The hive has been destroyed… your soldiers’ families will want these.”

Cormun nodded emptily at her, staring at the bloodsoaked tags in his hand. “They were good men and women… deserved better than torn to shreds in a crumbling tomb.”

 

She put a hand on his shoulder as he sat on a supply crate, silently offering condolements for the slain. “Chin up, sergeant. They died in service to the Empire; there is no higher honor.”

 

“You’re right of course, my Lord.” He looked up at her, gritted his teeth and stood. “I’ll get the survivors back to the barracks. I’d say good luck, but I don’t think you need it.” He saluted her, and she mirrored the gesture as she turned away, walking deeper into the darkness.

 

 

Tune in next week! Same Sith time, same Sith channel :)

Edited by Diviciacus
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That does sound like the coolest wedding ever. Perfect music! :D

 

It's great to see that Authenta has at least arrived at the academy and has started her journey into becoming a Sith.

 

I like how you integrated the game story with your own version of events, and I did enjoy that Authenta was decent enough to collect the tags for the families. I would imagine this deference comes from her father's influence and upbringing.

 

Condolements is an unusual choice, you don't see that every day. Very nice. :)

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It's great to see that Authenta has at least arrived at the academy and has started her journey into becoming a Sith.

At some point I'd eventually get here, right? :p

 

I like how you integrated the game story with your own version of events, and I did enjoy that Authenta was decent enough to collect the tags for the families. I would imagine this deference comes from her father's influence and upbringing.

I learned from the best! A lot of what I want to do is put explanations, backstory, and reasons to events and decisions in the Warrior story (plus a great deal of original content... and ridiculousness). Her peculiar treatment of the Imperial Military isn't wholly attributable to her career military father, but definitely a fair amount. A military man would think it's a good idea to teach his Force-sensitive daughter to be respectful to the soldiery and not just use them as a tool to be discarded, right?

 

Condolements is an unusual choice, you don't see that every day. Very nice. :)

Thanks! Thesauri are wonderful tools, haha!

 

So I'm over 500 views now! So happy! :D

 

Episode V

 

 

The gloomy hallway ended in an archway spanning the beginning of a lengthy set of crumbling stairs delving further into the shadows of Ajunta Pall’s tomb. Authenta looked up at the arch, graven words and images adorning it worn down by the sands of time, but parts were still legible. ἘΤΎΘΗ . . . ἙΚ . . . ῸΝ ΝῊ . . .ΑΝ ὫΠ . . . ΑΝΆΤῼ ΑἸΏΝ . . . . . . ΛΕΎΣΟΥΣ . . .

 

The entire inscription couldn’t be pieced together – too much had been lost – but the individual words that were identifiable weren’t particularly comforting. Sacrifice. In death. Eternity. If “ὫΠ” is the front half of ὅπλον, then this may be the armory. From stories I’ve heard as a girl it could also be full of vengeful apparitions I have neither training nor method to combat.

 

Bloodied vibroblade at the ready, she stalked deliberately down the narrow staircase, mindful of both possible traps and loose flagstones; even one cracked or damp step could spell her end. What little light emanated from the glowsticks she’d pried from the dead fingers of the reprehensible looters was washed out by some pale orange source far below.

 

Every twenty steps there was a narrow landing, flanked on each side by ancient and weathered sarcophagi leaning against the walls. They were open, but there were no mortal remains interred – only deactivated droids. Scuffed and scratched but otherwise seemingly operable save for their inactivity, Authenta had only a vague suspicion that a misstep would rouse them into murderous action against her.

 

Stepping on the uneven floor made her left thigh throb where a blaster from one of the wretched tomb robbers had grazed. As it finished, the staircase opened up into a grand gallery lined on both sides with more sarcophagi-entombed droids interspersed with suits of armor aged beyond reckoning. The floor was crisscrossed with dark, patchy streaks that offered a grave weight to Tremel’s words: become Sith, or die.

 

Across from her at the end of the chamber sat several weapons racks; many spaces sat forlorn and empty, but still a few were filled with ancient blades held vertically and dormant, waiting for a champion to claim them. Flanking the racks were large twin pillars, glowing with an unwholesome light, mirroring Horuset hidden at this hour far below the sands of Korriban.

 

Authenta strode forward, chin held proudly as she approached the armory’s far terminus, her vibroblade’s tip sweepingly languidly ahead, daring the dark droids to rise against her. Passing her practice blade into her right hand she closed her eyes, feeling the Force, letting it guide her to the Sith warblade which would be hers. She reached out, unseeing, and rotated her forearm, curling lithe fingers of her left hand in the proper grip about the hilt of the blade that called to her. She tugged, and a soft click told her that the blade had been released from its mooring.

 

She opened her eyes and stepped back, examining her new weapon. Ancient and rugged, it had an elegant blade ending in a chiseled tip, perhaps slightly longer than a lightsaber. The weapon flared out at the base into a stout guard over a handle just long enough to be held in two hands if necessary. Completing the weapon, the pommel thinned to one side into a sharp spike; an unwelcome surprise for anyone who thought to turn aside the blade.

 

Hefting both blades, she spun around testing their balance but it felt wrong somehow. Snapping her right arm out, she cast aside the inferior practice blade she had been given on Sorzus station. Not in all your footsteps can I walk.

 

Bringing her now empty hand behind her left one, she held the warblade out straight before her, took a deep breath, and depressed the toggle to activate it. A pale crimson light spilled out from it and chasing after was a deep hum; in sound and fury the blade was not terribly far from a lightsaber. Thin dark streaks in the blade’s construction suggested it may have the strength to turn aside blaster fire or perhaps a glancing saber blow, but a sustained hit would churn through nonetheless.

 

She smiled, fanning her new blade back and forth before her, admiring how easily it handled, despite its age. She took a single step forward, ready to begin her triumphant march into the Academy proper when a soft whirring sound and a glint of metal caught her eye. The droids were waking up! Most carried a short blade attachment instead of one arm; only a few seemed to have retractable blasters. She steeled herself, and a voice long since dead wafted through her mind.

 

“Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing.”

 

As more droids staggered out of their sarcophagi, her gaze swept across them, searching for the droids whose spindly limbs were thicker – the mark of a concealed blaster. Parrying the first clumsy swing, she used the momentum of the droid to spin herself around it, sweeping her blade out to carve through the torso of the droid opposite her. Careful to keep droids armed with only blades between her and ones with blasters to cripple their effectiveness, she began her journey back to the Academy.

 

Her warblade sung its bloodthirst as if it were disheartened it could feast on only droids, trailing crimson sparks as it chewed through duraplast limbs and armor plates. Their verbomotors crackling as they were hewn apart, bodies scattering in her wake, droid after droid fell as she flowed relentlessly up the stairs and through their ranks.

 

* * * * *

 

Standing at the edge of a rectangular pit, three metres above the workers below, the blonde woman steeped in the desert wind of the world shielded her eyes from the mid-day sun with gloved fingers. An Imperial officer stood next to her, a slight man with a gleam in his eyes that bespoke a keen mind which had seen things beyond his years. He spoke to the woman in robes, but there was no sound in the breeze.

 

Each time was the same as the last. The same dream as last night; the same as almost every night. An endless loop of a comely Sith Lord watching over an archaeological site and then accompanying an Imperial officer down a grated metal walkway into the rosy sands of a world she knew but could not recall.

 

Something different happened this repeat; a new stimulus in her recurring dream. A dark ripple came from nowhere and everywhere, trailing violet shadows, as if it were a purple too black to see. She could see it as it passed by, but the dream continued unabated; the wave was a part of it but separate somehow and the figures seemed to not be aware of something amiss. But now she could hear them, as their conversation ran anew.

 

“Drevik, you said your name was…?”

 

“Drellik. Lieutenant Talos Drellik, Imperial Reclamation Service, my Lord.”

 

The woman glanced over at him, his grey Imperial uniform turned a pale pink and his slicked-back hair made unruly by the fine red sand blowing in the wind. “Lieutenant Drellik, you’re sure this was a holdfast of Tulak Hord?”

 

“We’re not certain, not yet. This is only the second field season at this site, but we’ve found evidence that suggests Hord may have here for at least some duration in this stronghold’s lifetime. If you would like to look at the inscriptions we uncovered late last season…? They’re in remarkably good condition!” Drellik gestured to the metal ramp leading down into the digsite from just to the pair’s left.

 

Tulak Hord was a name she knew. An ancient Sith warlord who had crushed both his fellows and Jedi alike beneath his heel in countless battles, a mythical Force-devouring beast his steadfast thane.

 

“Perhaps,” this Talos Drellik responded.

 

As their footfalls vibrated down the gangway, the woman’s blonde hair swirled about her head as she observed slaves painstakingly brushing dust away from intricate but faded frescoes on the ruined walls on this far-flung colony world. But how could she know so much about a place she had never been?

 

She was a slave like these, once. This is where the dream ended every time, but this time it did not repeat as before. She found herself following, but did not feel her steps. It was as almost as if she was watching memories which were not her own.

 

Across the digsite there stood a figure on the opposite cliff. Robes the same color as the ripple enveloped a sturdy frame and failed to conceal a gleaming breastplate over his chest, curved lightsaber hilt hanging demurely on his belt. The Sith – for he could be nothing else – wore a silver and black mask, fitting snugly over his countenance and its blank, skeletal features gave the impression that he watched the blonde woman and her Imperial servant. His scrutiny of the pair was a feint; she could feel and knew he was watching her, as though he also was not a part of the dream but an observer as well.

 

A gaunt slave with unkempt black hair hanging down past her shoulders was kneeling, working diligently on a floor mosaic a few metres away. Without warning, a taskmaster brandishing a whip began to yell obscenities and struck her with his fist. Searing red pain flashed across her mind, darkening to black agony and dripping purple hate. It dawned on her then that this in some way she was this emaciated slave.

 

She tried to reach out; to stop it, to throw lightning at the taskmaster. To do something! She could will nothing to defend her other self as the beating intensified; the leaden feeling of inevitability settled on her psyche. She could not cry but if she could, tears of malevolence would be dripping onto the fine red sand.

 

She could hear the blonde woman speak from behind her. “Do you feel it, Lieutenant? The darkness is gathering here. Be on the lookout.”

 

She willed herself away, tearing her view from her own destruction, back to the Imperial officer slowing and half-turning towards the crimson-robed Sith following behind him. “I’m afraid I’m definitely not Force sensitive, my Lord, but I will be utmost vigilant.”

 

Boots crunching in the dirt at the bottom of the site, the pair walked past the crumbling ruins of foundations, past more slaves whose faces gave her a feeling of déja vu; she felt that she knew many of them but could only remember that she used to know. She followed the pair past workers digging and hauling cartfuls of sand off to be sifted for artifacts of the ancient Sith.

 

Drellik stopped and pointed at the shaded side of a crumbling wall and the flecks of red and black on it. “This fresco, while the paint is mostly worn away, has writing near the bottom; it’s only partially legible but I think we can pull the full inscription once we finish cleaning it and get a scan screw to work on it. It reads-”

 

Ὕον ἡ ἑαυτῇ νενι-

 

The woman glanced over the barely-legible etchings, eroded with time. “Yes, I can see it references the Battle of Yn. I want confirmation Tulak Hord built this place,” she barked, pointing at the ground.

 

She too could make out the faded words that were still visible, although her Sith wasn’t very good. There was something wrong with the words… she could feel something about them didn’t make sense, even beyond the dialect removed by the millennia. She concentrated; if only she could read a little more of the inscription the mystery might be solved… but there was nothing.

 

“As you wish, my Lord. Forgive me, but we shouldn’t rush the reclamation… even so, this should be completely scanned by dusk tomorrow. I will send you the holoimages once we have finished.” He tapped reminder notes into his padd, eying the ancient graven letters.

 

“Remember how I said to be on the lookout, Lieutenant? I found something.”

 

He looked up from his padd just as the sound of a commotion followed the wind through the digsite.

 

The Sith woman nodded across the way. “That.”

 

Pulsating amaranthine light accompanied a vicious crackling intermingled with hoarse screaming – one voice in a lifetime of bottled hate and the other in a lifetime of agony. Charred, the slavemaster collapsed backwards, smoking from his burned clothing and blackened, lifeless eye sockets, jagged purple sparks arcing along his limbs. Her counterpart from earlier stood – barely – swaying on her bare feet, blood from terrible lash marks and her broken nose dripping onto the scorched, glassy sand fanning out from her. One hand hung an unnatural angle, her arm broken near the wrist. Without warning, she felt the agony of a hundred wounds she had never suffered tear at her. She watched her own tan eyes roll back into her head and her other self crumpled in a bedraggled heap.

 

She watched the chestnut eyes of this sith Lord darting between the smoking corpse and the motionless body that was hers, but couldn’t be. She spoke to the lieutenant. “I’m going to guess you didn’t know she could do that.”

 

Drellik tugged at his collar, swallowing hard. “N-no, Lord Zash.”

 

A pang of jealousy rippled through her. She longed for the day that men would fear her, too. Wait. Zash…? Didn’t the Overseer mention a Lord Zash once?

 

Hastening to the grisly scene, Zash tossed orders at him. “If she’s not dead, get her into a kolto tank and load her onto a shuttle for the Academy. I’m afraid further personal inspection of your work will have to wait.”

 

Is this how I arrived on Korriban?

 

As a pair of medics scurried up to lift away the prone form of the slave, Zash knelt outside the irregular semicircle of obsidian the Force lightning had burned into the dust. She ran two fingers along it, feeling the residual Force that had created the marred ground.

 

At the very moment the woman touched the sand, violet agony tore into her psyche and her awareness crumbled away as though it was a shattered pane of glass. Replacing the darkness before her was a pile of disjointed bones, bloody shadows coiling through them like serpents. Atop the lurid hill stood a figure clad head to toe in inky metal armor that seemed to drink in all light, but for twinned thin vertical lines on its chest, glowing dimly crimson.

 

The conquering entity raised its saber high and ignited it, an unwholesome growl chasing after the wicked red blade as it extended over the being’s head, flashes of lightning in the distant black clouds. Its helmet-adorned and inscrutable countenance tilted down to bore into her and the point of the saber followed with it. A black wave, full of dark orange fulminations erupted from the figure in all directions, blasting the mountain of bone to ash… and when it struck her she screamed.

 

 

 

Tune in next week! Same Sith time, same Sith channel! :)

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Congrats on 500+ views! Very nice. :) It's always gratifying to know people are reading and enjoying.

 

So, onto Episode V

 

Hmm...mysterious Greek text...must translate...and of course the translation failed me, I did get the words 'if' and 'century' out of it though. :)

 

This is reminiscent of my studying about King Tut...how you describe the tomb, the number of steps and stuff. I love the mood here, it feels very realistic.

 

I like how you went about having Authenta choose her blade. Almost like letting it choose her. :)

 

I see you're using a sort of Art of War type quotation system here, I like it. I remember you saying you were wanting to try something like that. :)

 

Mmm, interesting looks like visions of Zash and the SI's people. :D

 

I love your use of colour in describing the hatred and pain in the dream. Tulak Hord :D Popular guy. I guess he has all the best artifacts :D

 

And I'm sensing that Lord Kallig is keeping an eye on things as well. You're being very mysterious :)

 

Ah, Yn. As in Yn and Chabosh (sp?) I sense a Deschade being found soon.

 

Hmm, the plot thickens. I'm thinking someone is dreaming the truth and having visions with them as well. It sounds positively hellish :D I'm looking forward to finding out more about all this.

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Hello Lunafox! Thank you for the comments

 

 

Congrats on 500+ views! Very nice. :) It's always gratifying to know people are reading and enjoying.

Well it's a bit disconcerting that no one even posts that they hated it; without anyone else's feedback I have no idea what they think. So doubly thank you for always posting responses, Lunafox R R Martin!

 

So, onto Episode V

 

Hmm...mysterious Greek text...must translate...and of course the translation failed me, I did get the words 'if' and 'century' out of it though. :)

I'm using Classical Attic Greek for my Sith to give the language a realness that would take months if not years of work to invent. Not a single word in that section is whole, I'm afraid, although with the inflected ending of αἰών missing (which is where you're getting century from), there's no way to tell from what's left that it's actually the adjective αἰώνιος which means "forever/eternity." Welcome to actual translation work! Half of it doesn't exist and the other half isn't grammatically correct because the people who made inscriptions were usually lower class, so who knows what it says!

 

This is reminiscent of my studying about King Tut...how you describe the tomb, the number of steps and stuff. I love the mood here, it feels very realistic.

Excellent! I'm glad it was accurately conveyed :D And funny you should mention Tutankhamun, given that ancient Sith aesthetics - especially in the comics - were heavily influenced by Ancient Egypt. The Academy being a colossal black pyramid is no accident.

 

I like how you went about having Authenta choose her blade. Almost like letting it choose her. :)

Sometimes the Force knows best!

 

I see you're using a sort of Art of War type quotation system here, I like it. I remember you saying you were wanting to try something like that. :)

I have big plans that have yet to even be begun.

 

Mmm, interesting looks like visions of Zash and the SI's people. :D

I always wish Talos had gotten more screentime. He reminds me a bit of myself with his stupendous love for archaeology, except you know, if I weren't Force sensitive and lived in the Empire.

 

I love your use of colour in describing the hatred and pain in the dream.

:D I love playing with colors. I can't visual art so instead I visualize art!

 

Tulak Hord :D Popular guy. I guess he has all the best artifacts :D

Unfortunately there aren't terribly many ancient Sith who were very powerful, except perhaps the original Dark Jedi who were exiled and found Korriban after the Second Schism. They were virtually living Dark Side gods, but in a way it's almost boring to play with that sort of sandbox. There's a few, but several dont exist yet, are roughly contemporary, or have extraneous circumstances which prevent their use (such as Karness Muur, whose spirit is both locked in a talisman and frozen in time in TOR's time period).

 

And I'm sensing that Lord Kallig is keeping an eye on things as well. You're being very mysterious :)

Was it that obvious? :( Also, hardly as mysterious as I had hoped if you've got half the pieces already!

 

Ah, Yn. As in Yn and Chabosh (sp?) I sense a Deschade being found soon.

Is your spidey sense tingling? ehehehe!

 

Hmm, the plot thickens. I'm thinking someone is dreaming the truth and having visions with them as well. It sounds positively hellish :D I'm looking forward to finding out more about all this.

Myesss *strokes beard*

 

 

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Me in blue :D

Hello Lunafox! Thank you for the comments You're very welcome :D

 

 

Congrats on 500+ views! Very nice. :) It's always gratifying to know people are reading and enjoying.

Well it's a bit disconcerting that no one even posts that they hated it; without anyone else's feedback I have no idea what they think. So doubly thank you for always posting responses, Lunafox R R Martin! Well, sometimes it takes people some time to get around to making comments. I found this to be the case with my first works here, but after a while of consistent posting people warmed up and starting leaving some critiques and comments, which is marvelous.

 

So, onto Episode V

 

Hmm...mysterious Greek text...must translate...and of course the translation failed me, I did get the words 'if' and 'century' out of it though. :)

I'm using Classical Attic Greek for my Sith to give the language a realness that would take months if not years of work to invent. Not a single word in that section is whole, I'm afraid, although with the inflected ending of αἰών missing (which is where you're getting century from), there's no way to tell from what's left that it's actually the adjective αἰώνιος which means "forever/eternity." Welcome to actual translation work! Half of it doesn't exist and the other half isn't grammatically correct because the people who made inscriptions were usually lower class, so who knows what it says! Yeah, I think this is a good plan, rather than having to invent a whole system of language...to do right that in and of itself could take weeks if not months or years to do.

 

This is reminiscent of my studying about King Tut...how you describe the tomb, the number of steps and stuff. I love the mood here, it feels very realistic.

Excellent! I'm glad it was accurately conveyed :D And funny you should mention Tutankhamun, given that ancient Sith aesthetics - especially in the comics - were heavily influenced by Ancient Egypt. The Academy being a colossal black pyramid is no accident.That's kind of what I figured too...and I read a lot about Egypt, especially King Tut as a kid, and I loved it so much it always stuck with me, including little asides like the storie you'd hear...like about Lord Caernarvon's canary dying because of an curse and that he died shortly after from the curse on the tomb (which was actually a fever I think)

 

I like how you went about having Authenta choose her blade. Almost like letting it choose her. :)

Sometimes the Force knows best!

I was also thinking of Harry Potter here, it's a good method and makes a lot of sense...the wand chooses it's master, as does the weapon.

I see you're using a sort of Art of War type quotation system here, I like it. I remember you saying you were wanting to try something like that. :)

I have big plans that have yet to even be begun.

 

Mmm, interesting looks like visions of Zash and the SI's people. :D

I always wish Talos had gotten more screentime. He reminds me a bit of myself with his stupendous love for archaeology, except you know, if I weren't Force sensitive and lived in the Empire.He's an interesting fellow, I think he deserved more time too.

 

I love your use of colour in describing the hatred and pain in the dream.

:D I love playing with colors. I can't visual art so instead I visualize art!

 

Tulak Hord :D Popular guy. I guess he has all the best artifacts :D

Unfortunately there aren't terribly many ancient Sith who were very powerful, except perhaps the original Dark Jedi who were exiled and found Korriban after the Second Schism. They were virtually living Dark Side gods, but in a way it's almost boring to play with that sort of sandbox. There's a few, but several dont exist yet, are roughly contemporary, or have extraneous circumstances which prevent their use (such as Karness Muur, whose spirit is both locked in a talisman and frozen in time in TOR's time period). True enough. One of these days I'm going to go through and read about all the different ancient Sith. Tulak is my fav though.

 

And I'm sensing that Lord Kallig is keeping an eye on things as well. You're being very mysterious :)

Was it that obvious? :( Also, hardly as mysterious as I had hoped if you've got half the pieces already! I wouldn't say obvious, I had to go over it a couple of times, and you know me, I'm quick like that ;D

 

Ah, Yn. As in Yn and Chabosh (sp?) I sense a Deschade being found soon.

Is your spidey sense tingling? ehehehe! Indeed it is :D

 

Hmm, the plot thickens. I'm thinking someone is dreaming the truth and having visions with them as well. It sounds positively hellish :D I'm looking forward to finding out more about all this.

Myesss *strokes beard*So looking forward to the next part, great work! ^^

 

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First things first, apologies to my mystery numbers of faithful readers! I had a bit of writer's block the past couple of days and didn't get this finished on time for my usual Tuesday post. I haven't gone to bed yet either so it's still technically only a day late, right? :p

 

You guys are cool, you keep reading even when I'm not on time!

 

Episode VI

 

 

This hallway, as with nearly all others, was deserted at this hour; most acolytes were either winding down for the night or out in the tombs on their trials. Elizhis walked slowly, casually twirling the end of a leatheris leash as he did. No need to hurry, he thought, seeing as Overseer Tremel’s little project wouldn’t get out of the tomb until early morning… if ever. He stopped to check in at the beast pens on his way to the second floor stairs. Lord Renning was slumped over his desk in the antechamber, mouth ajar and no doubt visions of tuk’atas dancing through his dreams.

 

Stepping lightly to not disturb his master, he checked the door leading to the pens themselves to make sure they were locked. Satisfied everything here was in order, he turned to leave when Lord Renning stirred.

“ehh… wha…? Who…? Elizhis! I sent you away for the night. What are you doing back? You’re disturbing my

research!”

 

He bowed as his master struggled to rouse his limbs from the awkward sleep. “With respect my Lord… I came back to check on you and you were sleeping on your desk. Again.”

 

Renning rubbed at his eye, attempting to focus on his hand-drawn notes of tuk’ata anatomy strewn across the desk. “I suppose I must get rest. Tomorrow I have field work to do. I trust you can handle the pens alone until Prithor returns from Hutt space?”

 

“Yes, my Lord. Overseer Tremel also came calling. He wanted to know if you found any suitable creatures for his new acolyte to test herself on.”

 

Pondering a moment before replying, the corpulent researcher scratched at the black veins braided across the side of his face. “Oh yes, yes. There are things. I will visit him on the morrow before I collect Malora.” Satisfied with the conversation, Lord Renning turned and wandered off out of the office.

 

Elizhis waited until his master had left before hanging the leash upon the wall. With a faint jangle of keys, he locked the door behind him to continue his journey towards the staircase leading to the library and sparring facilities.

 

The stairs were black stone, weathered with gently curved grooves from decades of acolyte footfalls. Crimson light strips followed the contours where the stairs met the wall, tracing out Elizhis’ path as he ascended. Much of the second floor had a more modern Imperial look to it: metal panels in place of stone and a much greater reliance on technology, as befitting the purposes of the rooms on this level. At the end of the hall was the grand entrance to the Imperial Library, double doors forged in a crimson wood, engraved with scenes of conquerors from Sith history.

 

Metal floor ringing softly from his footfalls, Elizhis ignored the great doors at the hallways’ end in favor of one of the pocket doors lining the hallway. At the press of a key, the door slid into the wall with a barely audible hiss, revealing one of six sparring chambers on this level. The room had floors and walls of flexisteel to cushion impacts and take training blade hits, with simple yellow lighting tubes overhead, encased in cages to protect them. This particular sparring room, while any Overseer had absolute authority over it, other acolytes knew to stay away from. A particular acolyte had laid claim to it, and no one questioned him after the last fellow acolyte who did mysteriously disappeared.

 

In the center of the chamber, a lone figure stood, thin crimson streaks trailing his vibroblade as he passed it through the sweeping manoeuvres and perpendicular shadow parries of Shii-cho. Elizhis stood watch silently as the acolyte passed from drill to inelegant but efficient drill, arms crossed and waiting to see if he would be noticed.

 

When Vemrin either failed to notice his presence or care, he cleared his throat with an exaggerated cough. “Hey Vemrin. I-” Elizhis ducked low, barely avoiding the vibroblade which had so quickly gone from simple combat practice sweeps to a hurled projectile. The weapon growled as it sailed past him, embedding point-first in the wall. Before he could stand properly, a wave of energy smashed him into the wall next to the discarded blade.

 

“I am not to be disturbed!” Vemrin yelled at him, shoulders heaving in ineffectual rage as Elizhis laboriously regained his feet after impacting the wall and floor. Pulse pounding in his ears, he tried to feign confidence by making a show of dusting off and adjusting his tunic. “You definitely can’t kill me Vemrin; Lord Renning would be very disappointed if his only competent assistant mysteriously turned up dead. Maybe.

 

“Besides, I heard a rumor you won’t like but should know: word is your Overseer has found himself a new pet. She’s just landed on Korriban this afternoon and is already doing her trials, even!”

 

“What?! I had to claw my way through this damn place for four years before they even let me start mine!” the acolyte seethed as he yanked his vibroblade out of the wall cushioning.

 

Elizhis shrugged, spreading his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “About that… they say she’s every bit your equal, and ol’ Renning had me going through the fauna catalog to find a ‘worthy’ beast. I think he’s trying to replace you.”

 

Vemrin scowled, fuming. “Not going to happen. I’ll have to have a little talk with this tart. Show her who’s boss around here.”

 

“That you will. Now…” Elizhis paused for effect, “If you’ll excuse me, getting tossed about has made me hungry. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

 

As he nodded and turned to leave, he could hear the vibroblade behind him swishing faster and more angrily through the practice motions of Shii-cho. And the first seed of Lord Baras’ discontent is sown, just how he wanted…

 

* * * * *

 

Authenta slogged her way up the sandy dune on the far side of Ajunta Pall’s tomb from where she had entered. The second entrance was below the modern surface of Korriban, and windblown sand poured seemingly endlessly down towards the durasteel braces. Covered in bloody spatter, a mix of k’lor’slug and shameless tomb robber, she hefted the rough burlap sack she’d purloined over her right shoulder, recovered Sith relics clattering within.

 

Her warblade had been painted in a shade mirroring its own crimson glow, tip sagging ever so slightly as she looked up at the dark sky. The faintest pink streaks beginning to overwhelm the stars told her dawn was approaching; she had spent the entire night in the tomb and was exhausted from her travails.

 

Cresting the dune, she was struck dumbfounded and nearly dropped both her blade and burden. Barely one hundred meters before her were rough-hewn stairs, weathered with millennia and in living color. She had only seen them in holoimages; the original entranceway to the Academy on Korriban, old as the Great Dark Ones themselves. At the apex of the ancient stair lay the beginning of the Academy built anew after the Empire reconquered her people’s ancient homeworld from the loathsome Republic, a massive pyramid enclosed in black stone polished mirror-smooth, more than a kilometer on a side.

 

Off to her left near the base of the stairs a cluster of Imperial military tents had been erected, with a dozen troops and at least two medical droids on staff. Someone there would know where to find this Sergeant Rikel from the bloodstained padd she’d found in the tomb.

 

Trudging across the frigid sands, she kept the point of her warblade low and unthreatening as she approached the nearest trooper. The barrel chested man cleaning rifles nodded his head and removed his helmet as she approached.

 

“Acolyte. I see you’ve had a bloodthirsty night out in a tomb. Sergeant Rikel at your service,” he said, saluting her as he spoke.

 

She rolled the bag she carried off her shoulder, setting it down with weary aplomb at his feet. “Rikel? I have taken care of our problem with looters in the tomb.”

 

The Sergeant tossed his helmet on the table behind him and set his hands on his hips. “Then I’ll assume my men are dead?”

 

Authenta couldn’t bring herself to look at Rikel, instead focusing on his helmet. “I found a padd with your orders abandoned. There’s no certainties, but several grave robbers carried Imperial-issue blaster rifles.” She looked back at him before continuing, “They died for the Empire.”

 

“That they did, Sir. Anything else I can do for you?”

 

She picked up her warblade, dark blood drying in smears along its length, turning her wrist to examine each side. “A damp cloth to clean my weapon, perhaps.”

 

“Right away.” Grabbing the least dirty rag from the table, he pulled his canteen from his belt, popping the lid with his thumb to pour his water over it. He handed it to her, gently nudging the bag she had brought with his boot as though it may bite. “If I may, you should bring these directly to Lord Samus. He’s the senior curator – office in the library – and will want to take a look.”

 

Clamping the soaking rag in her right hand onto the tip of her warblade, she pulled it through the cloth in a long draw out to her left, scrubbing blood and gore from the blade. “Good advice, Sergeant. I’ll do that,” she said, slipping her warblade back into the scabbard slung behind her back while tossing the soiled rag back to him.

 

“Before you go, Sir…” he nodded subtly towards the ancient stairs behind them. “There’s some woman standing at the foot of the stairs over there holding a bag who’s been watching you this whole time.”

 

Hefting the bag of relics off the ground and over her shoulder once more, Authenta offered the soldier a perfect military salute. “So noted. Farewell, Sergeant Rikel.”

 

She turned and the woman with surprising exuberance for the hour waved, nearly jumping to catch her attention. Authenta recognized the grey and beige bag as her own; this must be the courier Arzanon’s agent minion promised.

 

“Acolyte! Over here!”

 

As she walked up to the courier, the woman held out her travel bag. “Everything from your cabin on the station is here! Everything repacked nicely!”

 

Taking her bag from the courier, Authenta kneeled, popping open the lock. A cursory examination of the contents proved the courier honest; none of her effects were missing. Good. Standing, she gave the courier a thin smile and a curt nod. “You have done well. What is your name?”

 

The courier snapped to attention as she replied. “Imperial Courier Miaslaznia, my Lord!”

 

Authenta waved her hand dismissively. “Be at ease… Thank you for my effects, Courier Miaslaznia.”

 

The courier fairly bounced in place, clapping her hands together. “You’re very welcome my Lord! Please, call me Mia.”

 

“… And how much caf have you drank, Mia?”

 

“Too much… not enough?” She shrugged.

 

She struggled to not roll her eyes at the courier’s answer. “I imagine you have more deliveries, so I will take my leave of you.”

 

“Goodbye my Lord! Hope you become Sith!”

 

After watching the energetic courier sprint off to the taxi station in the Academy’s shadow, Authenta turned and stood a moment before the very first step, inhaling the cool early morning air, and with it the all-encompassing presence of the Dark Side. She brought her left foot upon the first step. Every day spent training under Lord Carnarian, every scrape, cut, and bruise, every night spent reading Rajivari, learning the ways of the military, the roles of the Sith in the Empire; all of it had led to this moment here, now. She took another step.

 

* * * * *

 

Defixiones bolted upright in the bunk, her thin grey shift clinging damply to her sweat-soaked skin, black hair matted to her forehead. She threw herself off the bed, legs tangled in threadbare sheets forcing her to stumble into the dark metal wall. Mumbling obscenities under her breath, she pushed away from it with her left hand and ran her right through her slick hair to get it out of her face.

 

The door chime rang a second time. Her head snapped towards it, eyes narrowing in burgeoning ire. This late at night, the list of people who would disturb her was very short, and of the two, Overseer Harkun would be unlikely to come calling when he was still fuming over her latest inability to fail his tasks.

 

Karksake, Klemral! I told you it was a one time thing! And if you came back again I would rip your dick off and feed it to you!” She tore the sheet off her legs and smashed her fist into the door panel. “…you won’t miss it anyway! It’s the smallest I’ve ever –”

 

Sliding into the wall with a sick-sounding grind, the door opened to reveal neither the infuriatingly clingy one-off fling she suspected, nor – thankfully – Harkun. Defixiones stared at the woman who had come calling. She had dark hair, bright red skin and elegant bony ridges on her face, which could only mean one thing… a second spectacularly obnoxious pureblood. Ffon was at least three people too many for her to want to deal with; she didn’t need another.

 

The carmine woman smiled sardonically at her. “Well I would think, not having one, that it is the smallest you’ve ever seen.”

 

 

 

Tune in next week! Same Sith time, same Sith channel! :)

Edited by Diviciacus
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Well, sometimes it takes people some time to get around to making comments :D

 

^^ Maybe I should use that as a sig :p.

 

Hey Diviciacus, just chiming in to say great story thus far and hope to see more.

 

I liked your impression of Vemrin, in all his awful teenage angsty glory (and arrogant overconfidence - throwing a weapon at a stranger on Korriban could be incredibly unwise)

She's been here less than a day and there's already plotting and intrigue... which Baras is behind. Of course he is :D

Courier Miaslaznia (can't go with any short names) - why am I reminded of Brooks from Mass Effect 3: Citadel. She doesn't turn out to be the agent by any chance? (SFC prompt archive reveals you have Ethli'vaendis'kiona, but that you rarely play her).

I was also amused by the ending with Defixiones and her past misadventure with clingy Klemral.

 

Overall though, I like Authenta's character and could practically hear Natasha Little's voice when Authenta speaks. She's proud and arrogant but cares about the 'little people'. Her takeaway from the station wasn't how the Sith nearly killed her or tried to compel her into his bed, it was that he murdered the two in the bar. That isn't to say she's soft hearted or weak, but it's a refreshing pace from all the DS V warriors I've seen in the last few weeks (thanks a lot DvL). Finally, I loved her racial dark side resilience as it makes perfect sense especially for a warrior whose force powers are largely based around buffing themselves .

Edited by Feldraeth
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^^ Maybe I should use that as a sig :p.

Well, you don't have one yet, so "if shoe fits... wear it!" -Chekhov

 

Hey Diviciacus, just chiming in to say great story thus far and hope to see more.

Holy crap it's Feldraeth! Hi!

 

I liked your impression of Vemrin, in all his awful teenage angsty glory (and arrogant overconfidence - throwing a weapon at a stranger on Korriban could be incredibly unwise)

Thanks! It always struck me as strange that Vemrin acts like he runs the Academy. I tried to think of a personality that would cause that kind of skewed thinking, and I suppose of course someone in their late teens/early twenties who suddenly had power would do it.

 

She's been here less than a day and there's already plotting and intrigue... which Baras is behind. Of course he is :D

*cue Master of Puppets* They say rumors travel faster than hyperspace.

 

Courier Miaslaznia (can't go with any short names) - why am I reminded of Brooks from Mass Effect 3: Citadel. She doesn't turn out to be the agent by any chance? (SFC prompt archive reveals you have Ethli'vaendis'kiona, but that you rarely play her).

Miaslaznia is actually a reference to the Forgotten Realms; There's a quest in Neverwinter Nights that makes you go around and find things from some people who founded the eponymous city hidden in places, and the name is mentioned. Considering the fetch-quest nature of it I thought it terribly amusing to incorporate. I've also never played any of the ME games so I couldn't say. And Core-name Vaendis is indeed an Agent. ;)

 

I was also amused by the ending with Defixiones and her past misadventure with clingy Klemral.

I thought a bit of silliness might be in order.

 

Overall though, I like Authenta's character and could practically hear Natasha Little's voice when Authenta speaks.

I try very hard to make my warrior sound right, I'm glad it works! :D

 

She's proud and arrogant but cares about the 'little people'. Her takeaway from the station wasn't how the Sith nearly killed her or tried to compel her into his bed, it was that he murdered the two in the bar. That isn't to say she's soft hearted or weak, but it's a refreshing pace from all the DS V warriors I've seen in the last few weeks (thanks a lot DvL). Finally, I loved her racial dark side resilience as it makes perfect sense especially for a warrior whose force powers are largely based around buffing themselves .

One thing I've noticed about going vaguely LS on my Warrior over the past year is how much it seems to reflect a particular quote from one of R. A. Salvatore's Drizzt novels. In one of the little journal-type interludes, Drizzt is writing about Artemis Entreri and he says something along the lines of "I am sure that, in his mind, he has never killed a man whom he did not think deserved to die."

 

Finally, of course, a heartfelt thank you for reading my story! I'm stupendously stoked that people are enjoying it! *Happy dance* *trips and dies*

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Sure Feldraeth, I'd be honored to be quoted in siggy :D

 

And without further adieu, comments! :D

 

It's okay Divi, everyone gets blocked sometimes, it's not that late, it's all good. :)

 

Hmm...visions of Tukatas dancing in his head...If you were writing this near Christmas I'd think you were inspired by The Night before Christmas...or the Nutcracker :D Of course from now on, I'm going to think of Tukatas at Christmas. Thanks. :p

 

"Metal floor ringing softly as Elizhis ignored the great doors at the hallways’ end in favor of one of the pocket doors lining the hallway." This sentence reads a bit strangely to me...could be me, I'm tired, but it comes across odd. I'm thinking more like "The metal floor rang softly..."

 

And I see Vemrin is his usually uncharming self lol. What a way to say hello. :eek: I agree with Feldraeth...maybe not the best way to greet a stranger at the Academy.

 

Oh, what a sneaky encounter that was. Elizhis you devil. :D I have to say Master of Puppets is quite accurate when referring to Baras.

 

Authenta...brave girl going into the tombs at night. I think it would have been cool if we'd had this sort of option in the game...for some reason, I envision the tombs being more dangerous at night...I guess because of the reduced light.

 

That's quite a mouthful of a name for the courier. Interesting choice.

 

Wow...Klemral...someone is not terribly picky. ;) Dex is funny though, I enjoyed her lol.

 

I really enjoyed the chapter, good stuff. The characters are all interesting and I like how you describe the setting. You're building a nice rich story and I love it. Keep going! :)

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Sure Feldraeth, I'd be honored to be quoted in siggy :D

Well now you simply must Feldraeth :p

And without further adieu, comments! :D

:D

 

It's okay Divi, everyone gets blocked sometimes, it's not that late, it's all good. :)

I get stuck with the weirdest things sometimes. >.>

 

Hmm...visions of Tukatas dancing in his head...If you were writing this near Christmas I'd think you were inspired by The Night before Christmas...or the Nutcracker :D Of course from now on, I'm going to think of Tukatas at Christmas. Thanks. :p

"It's beginning to look a lot like... Sith Lords. Everywhere I go

From the minute I got to town, and started to look around...

I thought that all these ill-bred peoples' sabers showed..." LOL

 

"Metal floor ringing softly as Elizhis ignored the great doors at the hallways’ end in favor of one of the pocket doors lining the hallway." This sentence reads a bit strangely to me...could be me, I'm tired, but it comes across odd. I'm thinking more like "The metal floor rang softly..."

Oh wow yes that is an absurdly awkward sentence. I'll go fix that. yeesh.

 

EDIT: FIX'D!

 

And I see Vemrin is his usually uncharming self lol. What a way to say hello. :eek: I agree with Feldraeth...maybe not the best way to greet a stranger at the Academy.

Or is it his unusually charming self? I figure Vemrin's smart enough about things to not throw a vibroblade at someone obviously stronger in the Force. Anyone else is target practice.

 

Oh, what a sneaky encounter that was. Elizhis you devil. :D I have to say Master of Puppets is quite accurate when referring to Baras.

The game is afoot. -General Chang.

 

Authenta...brave girl going into the tombs at night. I think it would have been cool if we'd had this sort of option in the game...for some reason, I envision the tombs being more dangerous at night...I guess because of the reduced light.

Korriban in-game is in a perpetual state of dusk... wtb day/night cycle. And Ajunta Pall's tomb is empty of spirits (thanks to Revan in KOTOR). I figured for this time, at night wouldn't be too bad. The next showing might not go so smoothly.

 

That's quite a mouthful of a name for the courier. Interesting choice.

I'm crazy like that.

 

Wow...Klemral...someone is not terribly picky. ;) Dex is funny though, I enjoyed her lol.

Everyone makes mistakes! We'll see more of Defixiones, she'll do some things.

 

I really enjoyed the chapter, good stuff. The characters are all interesting and I like how you describe the setting. You're building a nice rich story and I love it. Keep going! :)

YAY! You think so? I struggle sometimes... I have all these really cool/bad ***/heartbreaking ideas for particular scenes/sections but them I'm like ... how do I tie them together? HALP!

Edited by Diviciacus
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To all of my favorite readers out there, just posting to let you know that because I've been so busy this week (leaving for vacation on the 31st) there won't be a usual update tonight.

 

In recompense, I'll do an extra update next week or the week after while I'm on vacation. You guys are cool! Thanks for sticking around <3

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