The Academy: Acolyte Ascension

[Adwynyth]

I haven't said it in a while, but now that I've caught up...

 

SQUEE

 

[saywhatnow]

I have been reading this story for a while and just now resubscribed to the game and I think this story is awesome.

[Osetto]

Chapter Twelve: Movements

 

The halls of the Academy were calm as Jresh made his way toward his partner’s room, a tray of food held firmly in his hands. Along the way, he passed Nesk and Vurt who offered nothing but silent glances and a pair of subtle nods. They had visited with Lorrik as agreed, and were now set to fill the rest of the day in the absence of their master.

 

The Pureblood stalled as he stood in the doorway of his partner’s room. The Human was sitting upright in his bed, a smile on his face. He seemed calm, content. Jresh’s plan had worked. Stepping past the medical bay’s threshold, the warrior was greeted with wide eyes and a hearty chuckle.

 

“You know me way too well,” Lorrik said as he watched his companion approach. The tray in his hands held an arrangement of foods in various shapes and colors. That seemed to be the only way of accurately defining the assortment. The longer Lorrik stared at it, the more his smile shrank. “You know, I appreciate the sentiment, but…”

 

“I know it’s hard going back to eating food that you yourself haven’t had a hand in preparing, but you’re not exactly fit to cook,” Jresh advised. He carefully handed the tray to the bedridden inquisitor, noticing the pale, cracked right hand that took hold of it. The Pureblood struggled to maintain his stoic facade after seeing the extent of his partner’s injuries. “You need to get your strength back. There’s some meat here…”

 

“Which one of these is meat?” Lorrik asked as he stared at the tray’s contents. Jresh leaned in to get a closer look, carefully studying the arrangement, taking his time before giving an answer.

 

“I’m actually not sure.”

 

“Honestly, where did you get this?”

 

“I went to the old mess hall.”

 

“Well, that explains it,” Lorrik muttered. “I don’t think my stomach’s ready to handle Academy food, or worse, sub-Academy food. Do we have anything back at the suite?”

 

“Mostly basic ingredients. We’re coming up on restock day-“

 

“Ah, that’s it,” Lorrik interrupted. “You could talk to the quartermaster. I’m sure he could secure us some healthier foods.”

 

“I’m not sure that’s wise. Syrosk warned us to keep your stay here a secret. We have to be careful who we meet with until you’ve recovered,” Jresh explained.

 

“It’s okay, we can trust him.”

 

“Can we? You are aware whom everyone connected to the old classrooms serves, right?”

 

“He’s more trustworthy than anyone else who works in this place, genuine Academy staff included. He’s responsible for our extra food supplies. He’s responsible for my lightsaber’s construction. He’s helped us, even knowing that we know about Tash,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Very well. I trust your judgment,” Jresh stated with a dutiful nod. “I’ll be back with some better food. Don't go anywhere.”

 

The Pureblood smiled as his companion let out a soft chuckle. As far as jokes go, it was rather poor, but then again it was never the warrior’s strong suit. But none the less, it managed to raise the Human’s spirits greater than any medicine could. For the all the pain the two apprentices had gone through, and were still forced to deal with, they knew that it was incapable of stopping them. They would survive. They would persist. They would progress.

 

Jresh stepped out of the room with a subtle limp, leaving Lorrik alone with his meal. After a careful minute of close examination, the inquisitor slowly raised his left hand and offered a gentle prod to what he though was a slab of meat on his tray. The material could not maintain its shape under the weight on the Human’s inquiring finger, squishing as it slowly lost its consistency. Lorrik grimaced as the endeavor raised more questions than it could solve. With no further inquiries, the Human carefully moved the tray to the chair next to his bed, deciding himself capable of waiting for his partner’s return.

 

----------

 

The Pureblood carefully walked the halls of the Academy, hands filled with a variety of fruits and vegetables provided by the quartermaster. The exchange was brief and without difficulties, something the warrior thought an impossibility within the Academy. He had thought his companion overly optimistic, but he had truly forged an alliance with the quartermaster, however benign it was.

 

As the warrior made his way back toward his partner, he sensed something was amiss. He could sense worry. Panic. Fear. His eyes immediately sharpened as his heart began to beat ever faster. But his first thought would not drive him to action, for he knew these emotions weren’t coming from Lorrik. The bond that they shared meant he would have immediately sensed if his partner was in danger. And yet these feelings were emanating from someone with whom he did share some form of connection. The warrior received his answer when a black blur entered his line of sight.

 

“Syrosk?” Jresh muttered, dumfounded by the sight of his master, garbed in a set of simple black robes rather than in armored attire. The Sith Lord moved with a pace the warrior had never seen him use outside of battle. Nor had he known his master to be incapable of masking his emotional state. As soon as the Pureblood’s words left his lips, the alien stopped dead in his tracks. The horned head of the Sith Lord turned to face his apprentice, casting a sharp glare.

 

“Jresh! What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you with Lorrik?” Syrosk harshly rasped. So many questions began to fill the warrior’s head. Where had his master been for the past few days? What could cause him to emerge? Why question his presence? Most importantly, where was he going?

 

“I was getting Lorrik… some food,” Jresh answered. He knew no matter his answer, it would not assuage his master’s concerns. Concerns the warrior required insight into. “What is happening, Syrosk?”

 

The Sith Lord remained silent, turning his head back and forth between his apprentice and his prior path. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned the Pureblood to follow. As he continued his flight down the hallway, Jresh rushed to keep at his master’s side.

 

“Lorrik is in danger,” Syrosk plainly stated, his eyes fixated upon the path ahead.

 

“He’s been in danger these past few days!” Jresh countered, maintaining his pace. “And yet, you saw fit to hide yourself away. Now that he’s awake you finally emerge?”

 

“He has awoken?” Syrosk softly rasped, genuinely unaware of these event. The Sith Lord’s gaze fell as he gathered his thoughts, body still caught in the perpetuation of motion. “It will be for naught if we cannot get to him in time.”

 

“In time for what? How is he in danger?” Jresh asked. “I sense nothing, nor does our bond tell me he is in harm’s way.”

 

“You want to know why I ‘hid myself away’? So that I could meditate. So that I could anticipate the inevitable threat that would befall us.”

 

“What inevitable threat?”

 

“Tash. I knew he had too many eyes and ears within the Academy for Lorrik’s state to go unreported. It was only a matter of how long it would take him to respond. And now, one of his agents managed to sneak onto Korriban, almost slipping completely beneath my notice.”

 

“Enough,” Jresh said. “If what you say is true, we mustn’t distract ourselves with incessant chatter.”

 

Syrosk offered Jresh a stern nod as the two powerful figures glided down the Academy halls, side by side, master and apprentice, rushing toward the unknown. As they neared the section of the Academy where Lorrik resided, a troubling feeling began to stir within the Pureblood’s gut. What manner of individual could manage to evade Syrosk’s usually impeccable insight? After all the apprentices had done to lay low, to not draw the ire of Syrosk’s rival, why would someone target Lorrik. The warrior drew solace from the fact that no matter what force may yet threaten his companion, the bond between them told him that Lorrik was safe for the time being. Which meant there was still time to reach him.

 

The pair drew closer and closer, eyes fixated only on the path in front of them. Each new object and figure that momentarily entered their view would be quickly passed and forgotten. And no person, no Sith, would stand in their way, for they knew better. Only a few halls rest between Jresh and his companion. The warrior’s senses told him that Lorrik’s position had not changed since his departure, but the same could not be said of his emotional state. There was an energy that wasn’t there before. Whether it was good or bad he could not tell. He could not parse his own feelings from his partner’s. Was the worry he sensed his own? And was it clouding his judgment? Or was he, in fact, too late?

 

The master and apprentice rounded the final corner, Lorrik’s room now firmly within their sights. Jresh overtook his master, rushing forth with an astounding burst of speed. The warrior burst into his companion’s room, Syrosk following soon after, only to discover that Lorrik was not alone. Jresh and his master were greeted with the sound of Lorrik crying out, not with screams or protests, but with laughter.

 

The inquisitor sat upright in his bed, all smiles, a similarly joyful Human sitting beside him. The older man held in one hand Lorrik’s previously discarded meal tray, the other deftly wielding a fork with a bit of food skewered upon its tip. Almost a decade had passed since their last meeting, but Jresh immediately recognized the individual who looked to be in his mid-thirties. His looks, his demeanor, his attire. They all pointed to one man: Vai Thorel.

 

“I think you’re right, that might not have been meat.” Thorel chuckled, looking up to see Jresh and Syrosk standing stupefied a short distance away. “Oh, hey! Visitors!”

 

“Lorrik… is everything alright?” Jresh cautiously asked, his guard not yet lowered.

 

“Of course!” Lorrik cheerfully replied. “You remember Vai, right? Vai, that’s-”

 

“Jresh Takuul,” Thorel interrupted, thrusting out his arms in a welcoming motion. The man hadn’t lost his smooth complexion, nor his equally smooth voice. “How could I forget the only Pureblood I brought to the Academy. But more importantly… Syrosk!”

 

The Human lifted himself from his seat, leaving the food tray behind as he circumvented the bed. With a brisk pace he approached the Sith Lord who retained his usual scowl, the tail of his red coat bouncing with each giddy step. Face to face with the old Lord, Thorel stretched his arms out wide. Syrosk’s stance remained rigid as he continued to cast a cold glare toward the Human.

 

“Come on Syrosk, how long has it been?” Thorel asked, dropping his arms. “Don’t tell me you aren’t excited to see me.”

 

“Given the intrinsic implications of your visit… I’m far from excited,” Syrosk rasped. Thorel’s spirits refused to damper as the two remained locked in silence. Jresh sidestepped the pair, edging closer to his companion. In his rush to return, the Pureblood had lost a few fruit, but the majority of his stock remained safely tucked within his arms. The sight of which filled Lorrik with renewed delight.

 

“Thank goodness. I was starving,” Lorrik spoke up. The inquisitor took one of the fruit from his partner and took a hearty bite, reveling in the first experience of bodily pleasantness since awakening. Jresh had not yet relaxed from his heightened state of awareness, his gaze passing cautiously between the actors that graced the room.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh whispered. “I’m not usually one to question your ability to stay calm in adverse situations, but…”

 

“Adverse?” Lorrik replied, mouth filled with fruit. Turning his attention toward his visitor, he began waving his hand. “Hey Vai, want something to get that bad taste out of your mouth?”

 

“That’d be lovely,” Thorel declared, tearing himself away from the crotchety Lord. Lorrik tapped Jresh’s arm, signaling him to toss his visitor a piece. The Pureblood hesitantly complied, softly pitching a fruit to Thorel, who received it with a perfect catch. “Quite the apprentice you have here, Syrosk.”

 

The Sith Lord continued to stare down the red cloaked figure as he casually leaned against the wall near Lorrik. “What is your purpose here?”

 

Thorel offered a quick laugh. “I thought that’d be obvious. I’m just checking up on things for Tash.”

 

“Then why are you bothering one of my students?” Syrosk rasped. “My apprentices and I are no longer within his domain and no longer subject to his scrutiny.”

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m bothering anyone, right Lorrik?” Thorel warmly asked of the bedridden inquisitor.

 

“Syrosk… it’s okay. I’m okay,” Lorrik reassured. “We’ve just been partaking in some light conversation, nothing to worry about.”

 

“Need I remind you of the man this one serves?” Syrosk harshly asked.

 

“Perhaps you do,” Lorrik declared, his previous enthusiasm dropping. “We know next to nothing about Tash other than the warnings you’ve so sparingly doled out over our apprenticeship.”

 

“Well, that’s no good Syrosk,” Thorel jokingly offered. “Two years and you haven’t been able to instill a fear of my master in your students? I can understand the inherent difficulty, though. Any attempts to vilify Tash would either be disregarded or end up reflecting poorly upon yourself.”

 

“Tash does not need my help cementing his reputation,” Syrosk harshly declared. “The evidence rests in his mockery of the Sith Academy.”

 

“Mockery we both played an essential role in establishing if I recall correctly,” Thorel countered.

 

“Under false pretense,” Syrosk replied. “My goal was and still is to ensure the strength of the next generation of Sith, regardless of their perceived worth. But all Tash wants is control. He intends to use these students as he has all others, as mere tools. Just as had done to me. Just as he will do to you.”

 

“And to think, you two used to be the closest of friends,” Thorel morosely stated. Lorrik and Jresh offered only stunned silence in response to the unfolding conversation, panning their gaze back and forth before settling on their master. Noticing the apprentices’ reaction, the visitor couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “You truly haven’t told them anything have you? You and Tash really aren’t that different after all.”

 

“I never went behind his back and murdered his master!” Syrosk exclaimed with a grim shout.

 

“If you knew the kind of man his master was, you would have,” Thorel explained, following up with a light sigh. “You still don’t realize he was doing you a favor.”

 

“A favor?” Syrosk shot back, enraged. “He took from me the only person who genuinely believed in my worth. The only person who saw me as more than a filthy alien. Because of him, I was not doomed to a short life on the streets of Dromund Kaas. Because of him, I was able to become a Sith Lord. He was like a father to me!”

 

“Exactly,” Thorel declared. “The way a father would approach his son is much more limited than the way a master would approach his apprentice. He wanted to protect you, so he held you back, made sure you did nothing to displease your fellow Sith. Had he survived, none of us would be here right now. You two would still be collecting the Empire’s chosen sons for training, ignoring the lesser beings you and Tash would send me to gather. You believe Tash to be controlling, but you cannot accept the fact that he was the one who freed you from Omnus’ control.”

 

“And what leads you to believe I desired such freedom?”

 

“The fact that you are Sith. Had you lacked the desire, such a title would be unfitting,” Thorel explained. “From what I know of your master, he was a good man. A good Sith. I admit, it is a shame Tash was forced to act in the manner he chose, but he was afraid you could not escape your master’s influence otherwise. Unfortunately, his influence proved rather deep seeded.”

 

“Tash was a fool if he thought I’d so readily cast aside my master’s wisdom,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Ah yes, the wisdom of the Seer,” Thorel toyed with the Sith Lord. “Considering you’ve left your apprentices in the dark regarding your role this institution, I’ll hazard a guess that they aren’t privy to the details regarding your falling out with Tash.”

 

The room fell silent. The two apprentices continued to stare toward their master, their faces revealing a wide array of internal feelings. They found themselves witness to a struggle beyond their understanding, from a time before they had ever set foot on Korriban. And as each new sliver of information came to light, the apprentices slowly realized that for all their time within the Academy halls, under the tutelage of their master, they were still being kept in the dark, left to uncover whatever they could themselves or wait for someone to graciously provide them answers to questions they hadn’t even asked.

 

“We always assumed the hatred stemmed from the death of his master,” Lorrik softly stated, almost struggling to get the words out.

 

“Oh, he didn’t even know my master was responsible for that until after the initial confrontation,” Thorel explained. “Go ahead Syrosk, tell them why you decided to oppose Tash.”

 

The Sith Lord remained silent, offering only his stern glare toward the provoking Human.

 

“Syrosk?” Lorrik hesitantly spoke up.

 

“You want the truth? Fine,” Syrosk softly rasped. “Years ago, Tash and I were allies, friends even. Our masters operated within similar spheres, so we were acquainted at an early age. We would share resources, train one another, eliminating whatever weakness our masters couldn’t. When Tash’s master died, his assets and position were assumed by his apprentice. When my master died, I was left with nothing. Alone and an outcast within my own order, I sought out the only person I thought I could trust. Tash. He proposed the idea of establishing new classrooms within the Academy, one accepting of all Force-sensitives regardless of status, using my visions to locate and gather children across the galaxy. He appealed to my faltering faith in the Empire, promised me that we would usher in a new era for the Sith. But after the last child had been collected, I was granted one last vision. One that spoke of Tash’s inevitable betrayal. I saw my own life extinguished by his hand. So I confronted him. Demanded an explanation, to which he provided none. I had served my purpose in finding him a batch of young Force-users, so he had no qualms severing his ties with me. Once more I was alone. An outcast. Worthless. Without the backing of someone of repute, the title of Sith Lord was meaningless when worn by an alien like me. But I was given clear insight into our fates. That is why I challenged him. That is why I continue to challenge him. Until the day I perish.”

 

“And that… is the influence you could not be ridded of,” Thorel plainly offered. “We thought your master was the only thing controlling you, but there was something else. Something far more destructive. Your ‘visions’. They weren’t a talent, nor a gift, but a crutch, one that supported the entire weight of your being. You could not comprehend the possibility that you made a mistake. You could not believe in the slightest of chances that you had misinterpreted a vision.”

 

“There was no room for misinterpretation, Thorel,” Syrosk deliberately stated. “I saw with utter, uncompromised clarity.”

 

“Of course you did,” Thorel dismissed. “After all, Seers gonna see.”

 

“I can’t believe it,” Lorrik softly muttered to himself. The others turned to see the inquisitor looking down, eyes wide, hands shaking. “Not just the past few months… but the past ten years of my life have been a lie.”

 

“Your reaction is justified, Lorrik,” Syrosk admitted. “I never should have kept you in the dark regarding myself and Tash.”

 

“I couldn’t care less about whatever problems you two have with one another,” Lorrik emphatically declared.

 

Slowly, the inquisitor began to shift his position, hanging his legs over the side of the bed. His body was heavy, and his movements were strained, but the Human forced himself to get up. As Lorrik’s bare feet graced the cold floor, Jresh quickly rushed to his side to offer assistance, dropping what remained of the produce tucked within his arms. As the Pureblood’s steadying hand graced his companion’s shoulder, Lorrik offered his appreciation, but gently removed it to stand of his own accord . The warrior offered a knowing nod and stepped away.

 

“No, what I can’t believe, is that the freedom I was promised is nothing but a lie,” Lorrik said, taking a careful step toward his master. “Vai. Leave us.”

 

The visitor took one final glance between the Sith Lord and his apprentices before offering a solitary nod. “If you ever want to talk, you can always find me.”

 

Without another word, Vai Thorel removed himself from the wall and made his way toward the exit, offering one last wink to Syrosk and taking a bite of his fruit before vacating the room.

 

“How dare you call yourself a Sith,” Lorrik muttered as he trudged ever closer to his master. “How could you hope to give your students freedom, when you haven’t earned it yourself? Everything that has transpired, has been because of your ‘visions’. Our survival, our progression… you’re telling me these weren’t born out of skill or determination or sacrifice… but rather fate? You’re telling me that every challenge, every trial, every life, every death… is predetermined?”

 

“No… I am not,” Syrosk coldly answered.

 

“Then why? Why would you risk throwing everything away because of one simple vision,” Lorrik taunted, taking hold of his master’s horns, bringing him and his master face to face. Jresh kept his distance, but watched the scene unfold with a careful eye. “All this trouble we find ourselves in now, is because you didn’t even think to alter the outcome. If the answer you are given is wrong, you don’t just accept it, you correct it!”

 

“What would you suggest?” Syrosk countered. “Just ignore my vision, remain blissfully unaware of the truth behind my master’s demise, follow Tash with the same blind devotion as his underlings whilst the doubt continued to erode at my mind? You don’t understand what it’s like to see your own death! You would not be able to just let that go!”

 

Lorrik stared deep into his master’s eyes, before darting his gaze toward the room’s exit. Silence dominated the room for what felt like an eternity. Without warning, the inquisitor relinquished his grip on his master’s appendages, the anger slowly fading from his face.

 

“Alright, Vai’s far enough away that I needn’t keep this up,” Lorrik admitted, taking an exhausted step backward.

 

“What are you talking about?” Syrosk asked, genuinely confused.

 

“Come on Syrosk, I’ve been around long enough to know when I’m being manipulated,” Lorrik explained. “Vai wanted to create a rift between us. I thought I’d let him leave thinking he was successful.”

 

The Sith Lord's eyes widened as he slowly wound down from his previous exchange. “I must say I’m… impressed, apprentice. You give a very… convincing performance.”

 

“That’s because I meant every word I said, I merely enhanced my tone,” Lorrik admitted. “You made us your apprentices, you promised us answers, and yet we’re still learning things we should have known long ago. Look, I get it, you’ve had your reasons for doing everything you done… which you probably can’t say about most Sith. But can you honestly say you still think you’re doing the right thing?”

 

“You don’t understand-“

 

“That’s your problem!” Lorrik chastised. “You think you’re in some unique position, that no one could possibly understand or relate to what you’ve been through. Well, you’re wrong. You were the one who found us in the first place, right? So you know our histories. Slaves. Aliens. Outcasts. You thought us capable of trusting our partners, but you didn’t think we would trust you? All we’ve given you these past months is trust! Despite all the hardships, the grievances, the uncertainty, we still followed you. Not out of blind faith, but because we respected your teachings. We respected you. We believed in you. At the very least, you could do the same for your apprentices. You’ve seen what we’ve accomplished. You’ve seen what we’re capable of. You still think there is such a thing an inevitability? Well, you shouldn’t. Only the weak and the easily frightened thinks something cannot be overcome. The Syrosk I know is neither of those things. And by the way, you think you’re the only the one with visions? You think you’re the only one whose seen his own death? Well, you’re not!”

 

Lorrik’s speech was cut short as a sharp pain formed in the pit of his stomach. The Human fell to his knee, clutching at his gut as his companion rushed over to steady him. The inquisitor slowly raised himself back up as the Pureblood grasped his shoulders.

 

“You’re speaking of this affliction?” Syrosk asked.

 

“No,” Lorrik softly answered as Jresh led him back to his bed. “Although, in retrospect, I should have foreseen this consequence… I had no prior knowledge of the events that would surround it.” Lorrik took his seat on the edge of the bed, the internal pain slowly subsiding. After a few deep breaths, he had returned to normal. “No, I saw my end in one of the tombs, in the Valley of Forgotten Lords. The vision I received came to me before you had even sent us into the wastes. It showed a monstrous being effortlessly snapping my neck inside of a tomb, the very same creature we would encounter the day you sent us to plunder those tombs. And the moment I realized I now stood face to face with my demise, I was afraid. Utterly, utterly afraid. Because in that instant, I thought believing in myself meant believing my vision had to be true. But I could not accept that fate, not as long as I knew there was work to be done, so long as I knew there were people who thought my life worth preserving. It was because of that encounter that I realized the importance of the bond between Jresh and myself. Whatever ‘fates’ we possessed as individuals no longer exist. Why can’t you see that same applies to you.”

 

Syrosk’s eyes drifted to the floor. “In my attempts to avoid my master’s mistakes… I’ve been unable to avoid making new ones. While I believed my fate to be sealed, I thought you all could be free of Tash’s schemes. It would seem I merely placed you within one of my own. I thought I was preparing you for the day you would succeed me, as is a masters’ duty. I thought I could do it in a way that was above the other petty Sith nonsense. In the end, my attempts were… misguided. It turns out the realms of guidance and manipulation have some overlap.”

 

“It’s time to forget about the past, and focus on the future. The REAL future,” Lorrik declared.

 

“I agree, the question is, where do we go from here?” Syrosk asked.

 

“We train. As we always have,” Lorrik answered.

 

“I meant about Tash, about Thorel,” Syrosk clarified. “As we speak, he’s likely conversing with the other apprentices. They’ll want answers.”

 

“And they’ll get them. They deserve that much,” Lorrik declared. “Vai will say his piece, check up on Tash’s holdings, and report back to his master. Nothing we can do to stop it. We’ll just pick up training once he leaves Korriban.”

 

“Assuming none of the other apprentices leave with him,” Syrosk stated.

 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Lorrik replied, cracking a smile.

 

“Really? You seemed quite enamored with him. He rescued you and the others from their past lives. I cannot deny that his words carry much weight.”

 

“True, their source is credible, but the words themselves speak for his master, not Vai himself. Regardless of your part in events recent or long since passed, our years in his classrooms have not left a good impression of Tash. You see, now we know the real you. We cannot say the same about him. And that is why we will never join him. But that is also why we will not blindly oppose him. But you two possess a bond. An imperfect bond, but a bond nonetheless. You two are connected, and while I don’t believe in inevitability, I do know that we will be forced to deal with him so long as we remain your students. You want to know where we go from here? We’re going to have to find out who the real Tash is. Not the one you despise. Not the one his students revere. Not the one his underlings fear. The real Tash. And there’s only one person who can tell us who that is.”

 

“And it’s not his apprentice,” Syrosk offered, his hand lightly scratching his chin. “The man will not willing reveal his intensions.”

 

“Since when have Sith cared about willingness?” Lorrik joked. “Everyone has a breaking point. We’ll provoke him, make him angry, do everything Vai did to loosen your tongue. We'll see him for who he truly is. Then, and only then, will we choose to oppose him.”

 

“I doubt he’ll grace us with his presence anytime soon,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“Then we’ll simply have to judge him by how he reacts… when he starts slowly losing control of his Academy,” Lorrik declared. Steadily, the Human lifted himself from his seat on the edge of the bed. “The next time we meet, you tell your apprentices everything. The history. The visions. The truth. All of it. I told the others a while ago that I’d get some answers out of you. I’d like to remain a man of my word. Until then, I’ll be getting some needed rest in a room with actual amenities.”

 

The inquisitor made his way toward the room’s exit, Jresh following shortly after. As much injury as their bodies had sustained, in that moment, there was no evidence of the fact. The two apprentices were utterly confident, uncompromised figures. As the pair silently made their exit, the Pureblood stopped to shoot one final glance to his master. The two shared a brief exchange of stoicism, each sharpening their eyes as they gazed into one another’s. The warrior felt compelled to remain silent for the entire exchange, and felt no reason to compromise that silence now.

 

Lorrik and Jresh left their master to his own devices, heading back to their home. To recover from what had transpired. To prepare for what was to come.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

SQUEE

[Osetto]

Chapter Thirteen: Lessons

 

As the Human and Pureblood walked the halls of the Academy they were met with little traffic, and much silence. Silence that would be broken by their hushed whispers.

 

“Lorrik, is everything okay?” Jresh asked.

 

The Human let out a soft chuckle. “When has everything ever been okay?” Lorrik muttered. The inquisitor looked to his companion before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry. Yeah, everything’s fine. My insides are still a little jumbled, just need a little time to fully recuperate.”

 

“As nice as that is to hear, I was concerned with more than just your physicality,” Jresh added.

 

“Me? What about you? You were pretty quiet in there,” Lorrik replied.

 

“Considering the conversation you had with our master, it seemed the smart choice,” Jresh admitted.

 

“You don’t seem too upset by the recent turn of events,” Lorrik stated.

 

“I guess my time here has desensitized me to such revelations,” Jresh declared. “We always believed Syrosk to be withholding information. We always believed there to be deeper motivations driving the actions of our superiors. All we’ve learned is that Syrosk is no longer the only person who sees the value of our strength.”

 

“Just because a Sith finds value in something, doesn’t mean he won’t exploit it,” Lorrik explained.

 

“And you believe Tash means to exploit us?”

 

“Us. The other students. Even his own apprentice,” Lorrik offered. “There is a… genuineness to Vai, unlike any other Sith I have ever met. Every word he speaks is without malice, without venom, without falsehoods. I mean, we both know someone can mask their truest intentions, but Vai reads like an open book. A man with nothing to hide, nothing to prove. Honest and kind to a fault.”

 

“See bits of yourself in him?”

 

“Actually, yes,” Lorrik admitted. “I mean, he was the first Sith I had ever met, and he left a lasting impression. The first few years of the Academy, the instructors tried to reinforce the ideas of what it meant to be Sith. But I knew that strength was not reliant on selfishness and cruelty, because of him.”

 

“And yet, you do not take him at his word about Tash. If the man is as honest as you say, why not believe what he says about his master.”

 

“Because, not all falsehoods are lies,” Lorrik explained. “I believe that he believes every words he says.”

 

“And what do you truly believe about Tash?”

 

“Nothing. And that is deeply disconcerting,” Lorrik declared. “Over time, I’ve come to know you, you’ve come to know me. We both know the other students, our master, even those who themselves work under Tash. But with each new detail, each new piece of insight, how much do we learn about Tash? He is loved, he is hated, he is trusted, he is feared. He is everywhere, he is nowhere. He knows everything, he knows nothing. He has made it so that the only person who can truly give us answers, is the man himself, and if it weren’t for Syrosk or Vai, we wouldn’t even have confirmation of his existence.”

 

“Perhaps he doesn’t exist, and this is just some sort of running joke.”

 

“It’s not as ridiculous as you might think,” Lorrik stated. “There is strength in non-existence. The ability to act without repercussion. Power sourced from belief and credulity. The man has chosen his enemies carefully. The only one to speak against him is a lone Sith Lord of alien blood. No one else has any reason to.”

 

“I’d say our tenure in the classrooms is reason enough,” Jresh declared.

 

“Is it? I mean, if anything he kept us alive. I’m not sure I would have survived the Academy proper, and I certainly wouldn’t have survived if I had never been picked up from my home planet,” Lorrik stated. “But had he and Syrosk never split, would any of that be the same? Everything that he has done has been neither good nor bad, simply different. So that’s why I ask, what is it that he truly desires? We don’t know. Syrosk doesn’t know. His underlings don’t know. We have no reason to help him or hinder him, and yet our paths continually align regardless of our attempts to steer clear. And quite frankly, I’m tired of it. So we’re going to push him, until he reveals his true self.”

 

“A man doesn’t go pushing around Darths to satisfy mere curiosity,” Jresh replied.

 

“This is about more than just getting some answers, this is about finally earning my freedom,” Lorrik declared. “All the strength, all the knowledge we possess is worthless if we cannot escape the workings of our superiors, and I do not take Tash for a man to let things slip from his grasp. The man embodies control… the very thing we seek to liberate ourselves from…”

 

“How can you be sure of this?”

 

“I can't. But I have reason for my suspicions. In my talk with Syrosk I… wasn’t the most forthcoming,” Lorrik hesitantly admitted.

 

“Really? I thought you to be rather direct,” Jresh stated.

 

“Direct, yes, but I left out one particular bit of information in our talk of visions,” Lorrik revealed. “I had another one, whilst on the brink of death. Between my collapse during the duel and my awakening, I was almost suffocated by darkness. The days I was out passed in a matter of moments, but I saw a glimpse of the future. An aged Human, standing amidst a scene of death and destruction. A Sith I’d not laid eyes on before. But it felt real. Realer than anything I felt before.”

 

“You believe this figure to be Tash,” Jresh questioned.

 

“I believe there to be a chance,” Lorrik answered. “But unlike Syrosk, I don’t intend to let such visions control me, to dictate my fate.”

 

“Neither do you intend to totally ignore them.”

 

“We survived the encounter with the entombed Massassi, but only barely,” Lorrik admitted. “I believe we can change the future, but I do not believe it to be a simple task.”

 

“But that is assuming the future you’ve seen is worth changing,” Jresh replied. “You’ve no proof of the man in your vision’s identity. You’ve no context to the death that surrounds him. They could allies or enemies. So long as you call yourself Sith, you will see death. More than you might care to.”

 

“I know. And I know that Syrosk’s mistake was his failure to contextualize and interpret his vision,” Lorrik admitted. “Which is why our current course of action is to figure out the truth, once and for all. The only way this conflict can truly end is with the revelation of the involved parties’ true selves. Then, and only then, will we know how to achieve true freedom.”

 

“And which ‘true selves’ would you consider to have been revealed thus far?” Jresh asked

 

“We and the other apprentices pretty much have each other figured out,” Lorrik suggested. “And Syrosk… Syrosk I feel will divulge such information himself.”

 

“And what of Tash’s apprentice,” Jresh inquired. “Do you have full confidence in your assessment of him.”

 

“I do,” Lorrik bluntly stated.

 

“Then that just leaves Tash himself.”

 

“Well, Tash, his instructors, miscellaneous Academy staff, Academy personnel outside Tash’s realm of influence, and just about every other Imperial and or Sith on Korriban,” Lorrik jokingly listed. “But all things in time.”

 

“Speaking of time, you need to spend yours recovering,” Jresh advised. “All the visions and careful planning in the world can’t help you if your body remains in its current state.”

 

“Well, that’s debatable, but I understand your point,” Lorrik said with a smile. “A couple days of meditation and healing, and all my insides should be in their proper place.”

 

“What about your hand?” Jresh asked, a sliver of concern slipping through in his voice.

 

“Ah yes, the arm,” Lorrik muttered, looking at his cracked and blackened palm. “I’m afraid that may be beyond healing… which means the same for your leg, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, I’m sure there’s an answer somewhere. I’ll find a technique that’s able to-”

 

Jresh raised a comforting hand. “Don’t worry yourself, Lorrik. All things in time.”

 

Lorrik felt lifted by his companion’s resolve. “The famed resilience of Jresh Takuul. Which will likely come in handy, considering you might be facing the other apprentices alone while I recover.”

 

“Assuming they all decide to continue their training under Syrosk.”

 

“I have a feeling they’ll not be going anywhere.”

 

“I’d not underestimate their willingness to sever ties with Syrosk,” Jresh declared.

 

“I’d not overestimate it either,” Lorrik replied. “We all believe in Syrosk. We may find faults in some of his methods, his behaviors, his ideas, but we respect the man himself. And after today, that’s who we finally get to interact with. Since the earliest days of our training, we believed in him, and he believed in us, despite either side’s protests to that fact. Through his lessons we learned to believe in ourselves. It’s time we teach him to believe in himself. In the end, we all become stronger.”

 

“So that was the purpose of your speech? To boost a Sith Lord’s confidence?” Jresh asked.

 

Lorrik offered a reserved laugh. “In plainest term, I suppose so. It’s a student’s duty to ensure their master’s competence.”

 

As the two apprentices neared their home's entrance, Jresh hastily moved to open the door for his weakened companion. The inquisitor offered an appreciative chuckle to his gallant partner before entering the apartment. The serene living quarters that greeted him were a sight for sore eyes, offering a place of comfort to recover.

 

“I kept your lightsaber safe inside your desk,” Jresh explained.

 

“That’s good to hear,” Lorrik said as he headed into the kitchen. “I was afraid it had been left out on the cliff.

 

“Syrosk picked it up alongside your unconscious body when he carried you back to the Academy.

 

The inquisitor replied with a silent nod of his head as he reached for the conservator handle. “See? I knew he cared. Hopefully the others will come around to-waah!” Lorrik elicited a harsh shriek as he jumped at the sight of the container’s frigid contents. Upon the center shelf rested the severed black hand of the Massassi. “Why is that in there?”

 

“You were in a coma, and I didn’t know what to do with it,” Jresh bluntly admitted. “I made sure it didn’t touch anything, so to speak, not that we have much in the way of food in there anyway.”

 

Retrieving the chilled paw, Lorrik grasped ahold of it with his right hand, miming a mock handshake. Aside from the slight coldness permeating through his numbed hand, the beast’s limb had not changed since the Human last laid eyes on it. Turning it over, the inquisitor remarked, “You know, for an abhorrent piece of corrupted flesh, I must commend the craftsmanship of the outer material. I wonder if it has to be fused to the subject’s skin, or if it could work as a coating…”

 

“I’d advise caution if you plan on delving into that holocron again,” Jresh said from across the room. “Your first attempt didn’t exactly leave a good impression.”

 

Looking into the living area, Lorrik saw the pyramid-shaped artifact resting atop his desk where he had left it. “Don’t worry. My inquisitiveness has its limits. I know better than to put either of us in danger again.”

 

“We’re Sith. Putting ourselves in danger is part of our craft,” Jresh admitted. “What’s important is knowing how to get out of it.”

 

“The famed wisdom of Jresh Takuul,” Lorrik offered, tossing the severed hand back into the conservator and shutting the door. “When is restock day?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Jresh answered.

 

“Ah. Hey, if I was unconscious this week, where did all our supplies go? You weren’t stress easting were you?” Lorrik jokingly asked.

 

“Remember last week? When you went through our weekly stock early and asked for this week’s supplies in advance?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“And you remember how you went through most of those trying out your new ‘recipes’?”

 

“Oh, yeah… hey, I was technically momentarily dead, you can cut me some slack in the memory department.” The inquisitor saw his companion looking back at him, struggling to maintain his stoic visage. “I’m sorry. Probably not the best topic to joke about.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jresh stated. “I’m just happy to see you back to your old self. Now I just have to wait for your body to recover. Regardless of the outcome with Syrosk and the other apprentices, the trials to come will require bodies and minds be at their peak.”

 

“Yeah, only now that’s true for Syrosk as well,” Lorrik said. “He’s been training us under the assumption that we’ll succeed him after his inevitable death, which while technically falling in line with traditional Sith doctrine, has been misguided.”

 

“But not anymore, right? It’s not enough for the eight of us to become stronger, he must as well.”

 

Lorrik made his way across the living area and toward his bedroom. “Yup. I’d say it’s time we became the teachers.”

 

----------

 

“It’s time you became the teachers,” Syrosk rasped.

 

Upon the cliff top, Syrosk stood under the early morning sun across from his apprentices. All eight of them. The day following the arrival of Vai Thorel, the eight students had heard the words of their master weighed against that of Tash’s apprentice, and subsequently chosen their place. A place upon which they stood adamantly amongst the swirling machinations of competing Sith Lords, confident in their renewed self-worth. However, even the most grizzled countenance faltered at their master’s peculiar suggestion.

 

“You all have come far in the past months, further than I had ever expected,” Syrosk continued. “Your bodies, minds, and spirits have shown progress unbefitting the lowly acolytes the other denizens of Korriban would see you as. Potential yet remains within you all, ready to be unlocked, but that will have to wait for another day. A unique set of circumstances has allowed for the orchestration of your next trial. Today, you all will be teachers, instructors, masters. Vai Thorel has not yet left Korriban. In fact, today he meets with those who teach Tash’s classrooms. Outside of said classrooms, of course. The students have the day off, to leisure about the lower halls of the Academy as you all were once accustomed to. However, should the students be convinced to attend class, they would find themselves in need of a substitute.”

 

“Wait a minute, you want us to take over the old classrooms for a day?” Arlia asked with disbelief.

 

“Yes,” Syrosk rasped. “However, I would like you to address the others students with your partners, so you will only be meeting with four of the classrooms. But with time, whatever impact you have today will spread by the actions and words of those you have addressed. I have taught you. You will teach them. And they will teach others.”

 

“What exactly are we supposed to teach them?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“That is for you to decide,” Syrosk answered. “Force them to worship the group you walk on. Tell them to love or hate me or Tash. Do nothing but stare at them for an hour, I honestly don’t care.”

 

“Then why make us do it?” Isorr asked.

 

“One, it shows Tash that his domain is not indomitable nor untouchable,” Syrosk replied. “Tash regardless of his wants and desires has looked upon the Academy from afar for too long. If he wants to operate on Korriban, he’ll have to do so through means other than proxy by way of apprentice. And two, wisdom cannot be taught, it must be earned. It can however, be earned by teaching. And three, it gives me the day to attend to other Academy business.”

 

“This isn’t another one of those, ‘hide us away while you deal with something important’ kinds of business is it?” Lorrik asked.

 

“If I desired to hide you, I would not do so in the heart of the Academy,” Syrosk rasped.

 

“Technically, I think the old classrooms are closer to its bowels than its heart, but point taken,” Lorrik joked.

 

Arlia offered an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Oh, is your class in for a treat.”

 

“Do we get to pick the classes, or are they predetermined?” Ryloh spoke up.

 

“You and your partner will be teaching Kar’ai’s former classroom,” Syrosk began. “Isorr will teach his former class with Arlia. Lorrik will teach his former class with Jresh. Vurt will teach his former class with Nesk. Any questions?”

 

“Yeah, if our trial is in the Academy classrooms, why did we meet out here?”

 

“I’m a creature of habit,” Syrosk offered, completely deadpan. “You’re all dismissed.”

 

The eights students of Lord Syrosk left their master alone on the Korriban peak as they began their bemused trek back to the Academy. They had been given a time, a place, and a task. However, only two of those three had been adequately defined. The apprentices would be returning to the very classrooms they left behind many months ago.

 

Traversing the path back to the Academy, none of the students had a solid plan of action. Whereas in the past, even though each new trial proved a surprise, the first and last goal was survival. No longer was that the case. The apprentices had surpassed the point in which each and every day was a life threatening experience. They had conquered the harshest wastes of Korriban. They had proven themselves capable of going toe to toe with a Sith Lord in full combat. They had pushed their bodies, minds, and spirits past their believed limits. And now, they found themselves stalled by the simple task of giving a lecture.

 

But as most of the students focused on the task ahead, one still found his thoughts thoroughly embedded in the present. As the eight apprentices walked together under the Korriban sun, Lorrik passed his warm gaze from student to student. Only now was it setting in that the other six stood by his side. With bright eyes, the Human held his head high as he approached the distant Academy.

 

“Let me guess, surprised we all decided to stay?” Arlia teased, picking up on her fellow inquisitor’s mindset.

 

“As much as I’d like to say no…” Lorrik admitted.

 

“Well, we were given the same opportunity when we came back from the wastes,” Ryloh reminded. “Stay with Syrosk, or completely sever our ties. We chose Syrosk then. We choice Syrosk this time.”

 

“Yeah, but last time, it was deciding between Syrosk and an entirely new life,” Lorrik said. “This time around, it was a choice between two paths. Paths that proceed toward the same destination. Paths that will inevitably cross one another.”

 

“We stuck with what we knew,” Isorr declared.

 

“More like we stuck with what we knew you would do,” Arlia corrected. “Then again, from what Syrosk told us, you and Jresh were sticking by his side before we even knew that there was a choice to be made.”

 

“Yeah, you were the first to decide, so I guess we just went along with you,” Kar’ai added.

 

“Wow,” Lorrik muttered, genuinely astonished. “I didn’t think we’d have that much of an influence.”

 

“Before you let it go to your head, you should know that we just didn’t feel like splitting up the group,” Arlia admitted. “Vai said we could continue our apprenticeship under Tash, pick up right where we left off. Promised us a place alongside a master with actual stature in the Empire. All in all, it sounded like a pretty good deal.”

 

“And you know what they say about Sith Lords offering good deals,” Isorr added.

 

“What?” Ryloh asked.

 

“Nothing. Because they don’t exist,” Isorr declared.

 

“In the end, things probably wouldn’t be that different if we joined Tash,” Arlia stated. “We’d be given trials. We’d become stronger. We’d be kept in the dark regarding our master's deeper intentions. Same old stuff. But if we split up, it would only be a matter of time before we would be forced to kill one another, and we thought it prudent to avoid that.”

 

“Aw, it’s always nice to hear that you care, Arlia,” Lorrik joked.

 

“I wouldn’t mind the killing. And in your current state it would really only be Jresh we’d have to worry about,” Arlia admitted. “It’s just that I’d rather not eliminate someone of relatively equal standing at the word the man who waited this long to consider us worthy of his attention. Say what you will about Syrosk, but he’s one of the few people who genuinely couldn’t care less about our species or background.”

 

“It doesn’t matter who we serve, we’ll likely never escape the scrutiny afforded to us by our blood,” Kar’ai offered. “Our master could sit on the Dark Council and it wouldn’t free us from the burden of prejudice. In the end, Tash couldn’t offer us anything we couldn’t earn ourselves. He certainly couldn’t offer us anything worth splitting up the eight of us. And since you stayed with Syrosk, we stayed as well.”

 

Lorrik absorbed the words of his fellow apprentices. He realized that they all had broken free of the institutions the Academy had tried to drill into them from the earliest of ages. The reverence of their elders. The student blindly following the master. They stood as independents. Even as they forged bonds with one another, even as they owed their current status to Syrosk, they were freer than most who called Korriban home. They had been awakened to the truth of Darths and Sith Lords, and chosen to believe in the self, rather than aggrandize the influence of their superiors.

 

Together, the eight apprentices entered the halls of the Academy. Together, they traversed its many corridors, moving deeper and deeper into the belly of the institution. The time in which the four classes would convene was fast approaching. The four pairs offered their goodbyes and put on a brave face for the unknowns that awaited them.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

squee! Edited June 13, 2013 by Adwynyth

[Osetto]

Chapter Fourteen: Teachings

 

Lorrik and Jresh stood in front of one of the classrooms situated in the lecture wing of the old halls. The one Lorrik had once belonged to. The one Jresh had only once made a brief visit to. In response to their presence, the metallic door rose into its recess above, granting the two apprentices entry. The room was empty, devoid of life but also lacking in the way of fixtures.

 

A clear path rest between the two apprentices and the lectern that stood across from them. To the left and right of the instructor’s position, two sitting areas composed of tiered rows of uncomfortable benches behind solid desks. Having spent so much time amongst the higher levels of the Academy, the apprentices had almost forgotten the cold, brutal designs that made up much of the old halls.

 

As they familiarized themselves with the classroom, Lorrik felt himself return to a time of simplicity. A time when his only obligation was to show up to class, listen to his instructor's teachings, and demonstrate the simplest of manifestations of the Force. He thought back, to all the times when he felt he narrowly escaped being expelled by the Academy staff, only to wonder if he was ever truly in any danger. The classrooms were the result of a calculated design, one that called not only for subservience, but for a particular population. As his mind focused on the past, he struggled to recall any of the students actually being forced out of the classrooms, despite the constant threats which they would receive.

 

It was all about keeping up appearances. Maintaining the illusion. Standing within the classroom once more, Lorrik wondered how he ever fell for it to begin with. Then he remembered the sanctum provided by such an illusion. For years, the lie persisted with no one to challenge it. There was evidence for all whom were willing to look. But no one was willing. There were no sinister powers at work, no mental domination beyond the exploiting of the acolytes’ dedication to the belief. The belief that to challenge the status quo would be the end of them, that it would sever the only chance they had at becoming an apprentice. It was easier to follow, rather than risk losing what little life they possessed.

 

“Excuse me, we got a notice saying there was class today,” a female voice rang out from the room’s entrance. Turning around, Lorrik saw a gathering of acolytes outside the classroom’s entrance, headed by a familiar face belonging to a once friendly blonde.

 

“Jora!” Lorrik welcomed, spreading his arms out wide. Jora offered only an arched brow as she hesitantly entered the room, the other inquisitors-in-training following her. The female Human stopped short of accepting Lorrik’s embrace, staring the apprentice up and down as he eventually lowered his arms.

 

“Lorrik? What are you doing here?” Jora asked.

 

“Well, me and my partner here will be acting as substitute instructors for today’s lessons,” Lorrik answered, turning his attention to the entering students. “Everyone. Everyone. Please. Take your seats.”

 

The acolytes hesitantly took their places amongst the tiered rows on either side of the lectern. The majority of the class’ makeup was Human, with a few humanoid species filling out the remaining spots.

 

“So, this is what apprenticeship looks like,” Jora said, still standing in front of her former classmate. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you always talk about how cool it would be when you finally got to wear a robe with a hood?”

 

Lorrik let out a soft chuckle as he patted down his black, form-fitting robes. “What can I say? Things change,” Lorrik warmly stated.

 

“They certainly do,” Jora replied. “Honestly, what are you doing here? I can’t imagine our instructor sanctioned this. Especially after what your friend here did.”

 

As if on cue, one of the last students to enter the classroom was another familiar face to the two apprentices. Human. Male. Even after all these months, same slicked back blonde hair, same snidely face. Ornell Barath. As he made his way into the room, the Human looked past Jora to see his former classmate offer an even more confused arch of his brow than the one Lorrik had received earlier. Then, he looked past Lorrik to see Jresh, coldly staring into his eyes with a piercing sternness.

 

Ornell’s body immediately tensed, frozen in place as he saw the Pureblood raise his hand. Both parties remembered each and every minute detail of their last confrontation. It was more than a year ago, in the early days of Lorrik and Jresh’s apprenticeship, and yet the memory was clear as day. Jresh withdrew a finger, leaving only four raised, slowly counting down the number of seconds Ornell had to leave his sight. The acolyte had not forgotten the ultimatum the warrior had last left him with, and promptly turned on his heels and walked out the door.

 

Lorrik turned to his companion before looking at the departing acolyte. “Hey Jresh, start without me. I’ll be back in a minute.”

 

“Lorrik, you-”

 

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Trust me,” Lorrik said as he made his way toward the classroom’s exit.

 

“What should I talk about?” Jresh asked, his stoicism faltering.

 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Lorrik shouted as he turned the corner into the Academy halls. As Jora took her seat amongst the other acolytes, all eyes were upon the warrior. Silence persisted as the Pureblood panned his gaze across the gathered students unsure of how to proceed.

 

Outside, Lorrik rushed to catch up with Ornell before he could move too far. With a quick shout and wave of his hand, he managed to catch the acolyte, who came to a stop, but not before letting out a heavy sigh.

 

“What are you doing here, Lorrik?” Ornell harshly asked as he turned to face his pursuer.

 

“I’m getting that a lot today,” Lorrik joked as he caught his breath. “We’re here to teach in your instructor’s absence.”

 

“As unlikely it is that he even gave your permission to do so, why would I bother listening to you prattle on about whatever nonsense you find significant?” Ornell asked. “Why should I care about anything you have to say? Hmm? You think that you’re something special just because some nobody Sith Lord made you his apprentice? You don’t know how unlucky you are. After you left, a real Sith Lord came to speak with us. He even forced your master to submit. Since then, our training has increased tenfold. Before he left, he told the instructors how to unlock our potential. We may still be acolytes, but we are not the weaklings you think us to be!”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Lorrik bluntly stated to a confused Ornell. “You may look the same, wear the same clothes, possess the same sparkling personality, but I recognize the strength you possess.”

 

“Oh! Praise the emperor!” Ornell sarcastically declared. “The great Lorrik Velash recognizes my strength! That make it all worth it! The pain! The hardship! The fact that my hand still hasn’t properly healed from when that monster snapped my fingers!” The acolyte thrust his right hand towards Lorrik’s face, showing the hardened cast that encased it.

 

“I didn’t know broken fingers took that long to heal.”

 

“Well, it’s not like the Academy has the best medical facilities,” Ornell declared. “Couple that with the fact that I get my hand smashed with a training saber every single practice bout… yeah, you can see why it’s not in prime condition.”

 

There was a pause before Lorrik let out a soft chuckle. “I guess we’re not as different as we once thought,” Lorrik stated as he raised his right hand. The acolyte’s eyes grew wide as he gazed upon the other inquisitor’s cracked hand. For once, Ornell was speechless.

 

The two Sith lowered their hands, and shared a moment of silence as their eyes locked together. Without a word, Lorrik took hold of the acolyte’s injured hand and began loosening the cast’s fasteners. Ornell winced as the glove passed over his finger before finally being removed. Dropping the cast, Lorrik took hold of the other inquisitor’s hand, straightening the acolyte’s fingers. The acolyte attempted to pull away, but the other Human maintained his grip.

 

A soft luminance began to emit from Lorrik’s left palm, and soon the glow enveloped both of the students' hands. Before Ornell could speak, he was consumed by a sharp pain as he felt the bones in his hand shift and mend. Slowly, the pain subsided, until he felt only relief. The light grew dim and Lorrik loosened his grip, causing the acolyte to rip his hand free of the other Human’s grasp. Examining his hand closely, he offered only confusion as he found no trace of the injuries that had once plagued him.

 

“What did you do?” Ornell asked, almost with a sense of wonder.

 

“Really? I thought it was fairly obvious,” Lorrik joked.

 

“But why?”

 

“Because I could,” Lorrik answered. “Isn’t that why we do the things we do, Ornell? Because we can? To serve no greater purpose? To act only in our self-interest? After all, that’s what it means to be a Sith, right? Or, perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps there’s more to our tenure at the Academy than our mere survival. Perhaps we can find strength in ourselves, as well as each other. Perhaps we can rise up without knocking one another down.”

 

“You know things don’t work that way…”

 

“Do I? If I recall correctly, is was not me who mangled your hand, but my partner. His strength is mine, and mine his. We possess a bond that has lifted us above whatever we could have possibly achieved as individuals. As much as you can’t stand to believe it, I am not weak, neither physically nor emotionally. I do not wish to extol or to tout my methods or my ideals. I simply wish to impart upon you and your classmates information that I possess, that you all deserve, and that I wish I had acquired much, much sooner. You can walk away, and there’s a chance we’ll never see each other again. You can continue on like you always have with the added luxury of two completely functioning hands. Or you can sit down and listen, to a man who has seen more in the last two years than he has in his entire lifetime. The choice is yours.”

 

With that, Lorrik turned and walked away. Ornell stood motionless as he watched the other inquisitor return to the classroom. As his gaze drifted toward the floor, it was interrupted with the sight of his right hand, free to move and contort how he wished without fear of pain or discomfort. The acolyte let out a hefty sigh before following the other inquisitor.

 

Lorrik entered the classroom to see a room of silent acolytes, their attention completely focused on the Pureblood that acted in front of the lectern. His saber out and ignited, the warrior demonstrated a series of quick jabs and thrusts toward an invisible target.

 

“Finally, knowing that the beast had Lorrik in his sights, I thrust the saber through its gut and carved up through its chest,” Jresh said, in a manner more befitting a scientist reciting an equation rather than an invested storyteller. Seeing his companion’s return, the Pureblood disengaged his weapon and offered a dutiful nod. The class of acolytes turned their heads in unison to see the other apprentice enter.

 

“So, you two actually got to explore a tomb?” Jora asked her former classmate, sufficiently impressed with the idea.

 

“Well, there wasn’t much exploring to be done,” Lorrik joked. As the acolytes murmured amongst themselves, they quickly gave way to silence as Ornell entered the classroom. As Lorrik approached the lectern in the center of the room, he offered a gentle pat on his partner’s shoulder. “It’s okay, he deserves to be here for this.”

 

“As you wish,” Jresh stoically offered. “If you have forgiven his transgressions, I will as well. But I will not hesitate to break him again for any future misdeeds.”

 

Lorrik and Jresh stood side by side in the center of the room as the last acolyte took his seat. The eyes of nine acolytes now fell upon them. Silence griped the cold chamber, each student patiently awaiting what was to come. Some with intrigue. Some with dissent. The rest with confusion.

 

“I guess it’s now or never,” Lorrik stealthily thought to his companion.

 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Jresh mentally replied.

 

“What? So I’m supposed to do this alone?” Lorrik thought, half joking, half worried.

 

“You were once one of them. Anything they need to hear, they need to hear from you and you alone,” Jresh advised. The Pureblood took a step from his companion and make his way toward one of the sitting areas. “Not only that, but your words must carry the weight of a man capable of standing on his own. It is easy to speak with a warrior at your side. Show them that you need neither my protection nor my presence.”

 

“And what if that isn’t true?”

 

“Then you are not the Lorrik I know,” Jresh mentally declared as he found his new seat.

 

Lorrik gathered his thoughts and situated himself behind the central lectern. Gripping the sides of the stand, the apprentice bowed his head and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, the Human straightened his posture, finally exhaling only when he had determined himself ready to begin.

 

“Ten years,” Lorrik softly spoke. “That’s about how long we’ve been here right? Ten years. Stuck in this Academy. Forever awaiting the day we finally earn our chance at being… something more. Awaiting that fateful day, when someone takes notice, something uplifts us from a state of worthlessness. Because that’s what being an acolyte is, isn’t it? Others might see it as a privilege. But we know better, don’t we? Then again, we really, really don’t. Ten years. Ten years, and how many of us became apprentices? How many of us ascended? For that matter, how many of us fell? None. The Korriban Academy. A place where the strong survive, and the weak perish. And yet, in ten years, how much has truly changed? How many of us stood on the precipice of expulsion, of exile, only to somehow redeem ourselves in the eyes of the instructors just in time? The Academy we know is not the Academy that births great Sith. It is not the Academy that mothers and fathers pray their sons and daughters worthy of admission. It is not the Academy worth our countless hours of pain and misery. For it is a fabrication. A cheap knockoff. A lie perpetuated by the old sustained by the blind faith of the young. I have seen the real Academy, and we are not welcome within it.”

 

Murmurs and hushed whispers began to circulate amongst the acolytes.

 

“The real Korriban Academy is a sacred institution,” Lorrik continued. “One based on timeless traditions and rigid structure. Where acolytes die each and every day at the hands of one another, until only the most worthy of Sith remain. But before their trials even begin, these acolytes are measured, held up to the standards set by those in power. That only those of pure blood should even receive the privilege of shedding it on this planet. There is no tolerance for aliens… for slaves… for outcasts. No tolerance… for any of us. These classrooms? The warriors? Your fellow inquisitors? Many do not even know of their existence. And those who do, tolerate them only because of who established the classrooms in the first place.”

 

“And who would that be?” Ornell asked.

 

“Two men. My master, Lord Syrosk. And your benefactor, Darth Tash,” Lorrik informed. The murmurs and whispered transitioned to a muffled clamor as the acolytes looked to one another in disbelief.

 

“You mean that alien Lord was actually plucking students from his own classrooms?” Ornell continued.

 

“They were his no longer,” Lorrik stated. “They hadn’t been ever since he and Tash parted ways shortly after we were all brought to Korriban. They possessed a difference in… ideals. So Tash was left with the eighty or so Force-sensitive children they had gathered to do with as he wished.”

 

“And what exactly would that be?” Ornell asked.

 

“I’m afraid only one man knows the answer to that,” Lorrik answered.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jora interrupted. “He held an assembly, all of the students and instructors were there. Even your master showed up to challenge him. Why would Tash wait so long to reveal himself? Why would Syrosk not reveal his true intentions then?”

 

“Perhaps because he was afraid such an action would endanger himself, his students, or even you,” Lorrik offered. “We were in the wastes of Korriban on a trial when Tash visited the Academy. Those two are far too invested in the future to truly act in the present. Two mortal enemies, face to face, and yet they could do little more than ineffectively test one another.”

 

“If my memory serves, your master was forced to his knees during the encounter,” Ornell stated.

 

“Such was relayed to me,” Lorrik admitted. “Syrosk either underestimated Tash, or overestimated himself. In the end, the encounter served to display Tash’s prowess, and likely won the hearts and minds of the many acolytes who watched the scene unfold. Am I too far off?” Ornell scrunched his face as he leaned back crossing his arms, finding some truth in the apprentice’s words. “That day was a turning point for you all. You got to witness firsthand the power of a Darth. What’s better is that he took an interest in all of you. He provided you the light amongst the darkness you had all been waiting for. He promised strength. He promised something more. He promised to put an end to the miserable days of being a mere acolyte.”

 

“And you’re here to tell us that was all nonsense, right?” Ornell replied.

 

“No, because I cannot say for a fact that Tash does not intend to follow through with his promises,” Lorrik admitted. “The reason I am here is to offer guidance.”

 

“You still serve Syrosk correct?” Ornell continued. “That rather skews your objectivity, does it not?”

 

“I am not here to further his goals beyond the one he possessed when he sought each and every one of you out, plucked you from whatever miserable lives you possessed, and offered you a chance that would otherwise never be afforded to you,” Lorrik explained. “His master had afforded him an opportunity despite his perceived impurity, and sought to offer that same opportunity to the next generation of Sith. But while I value his intentions, I find myself questioning his methods as much as Tash’s. So I speak to you all today, not on behalf of any master, and not as your better, but as a contemporary, as an equal, as a man who thought he had broken free of his shackles only to realize he still remained chained to a series of events that stretched back before he had even begun his training, before he had even been born. I cannot tell you all your purpose. I cannot tell you all what Tash intends. I can only tell you that you all deserve more. That you deserve your freedom.”

 

“Our freedom?” Jora asked.

 

“Yes. That should be your goal. That is what every Sith should strive for,” Lorrik declared. “All the strength, all the knowledge in the galaxy, will do you no good so long as you are not free. For the past ten years, each and every step we have been forced to take has not been to our benefit, but to serve the interests of those who lord themselves over us. We have been taught that the only way to rise, is for others to fall. But that is not true. We constantly seek the approval of our superiors rather than the support of our fellows. One person’s strength and knowledge is not reliant on the failure of another’s. And yet we claw at one another, drag each other down rather than see them leave us behind. Because we idolize those who came before us. Deify those who hold rank over us. We willingly give up our freedoms in the hopes that they convey some fraction of their power unto us, only to deal with their lies and mistruths as they withhold their wisdom and secrets. It is a problem that not only plagues these classrooms, but the Sith Order as a whole. They value only the individual, without realizing that as a group, the individual’s potential can truly be realized. Differing ideologies, backgrounds, species… everything we’re told should divide us, actually provides us the chance at becoming greater. Expanding our horizons, challenging us in ways we thought not possible. All without the aid of a master, all without sacrificing ourselves for the sake of our ‘betters’.”

 

“So, that really is your lesson? That we should play nice?” Ornell asked.

 

Lorrik let out a soft chuckle. “The lesson is that the men and women who sit around you are capable of teaching you far more than any instructor or master. The man I entered with, his name is Jresh Takuul. A warrior. As acolytes, we joined Syrosk as mere training partners. Now, he is the most important person in my life.” The class of acolytes turned their heads to look upon the stoic warrior who sat patiently with his arms crossed, gaze devotedly affixed to his companion. “But in these past few months, we have broken one another’s bodies time and time again. Shed each other’s blood. Cracked each other’s bones. We challenge one another, so that we might both become the best we can be. We are Sith. All of us. We persevere, and grow through challenge. That much remains constant, and that much I would never ask you to abandon. But challenging one another is not dependent on hatred and animosity. Cooperative antagonism. Selfless selfishness. That is how myself and the other apprentices of Syrosk have grown strong, strong enough to even challenge a Sith Lord. That, and the bonds we have forged with our partners. Complementing one another, filling in the gaps in our defenses, acting as a single entity, our minds and spirits connected with one another. Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall set me free. What I propose is not peace. It is a chance for you to better yourselves on your own terms. It is one of many paths available to you, and it is far from the simplest or the easiest. But if followed, can yield strength, power, victory, and ultimately… freedom. For even though you will come to rely on each other, you shall be bound by no one’s will but your own. No lords. No masters. The next generation of Sith.”

 

“But what do we do about Tash?” Jora asked.

 

“That is for you to decide,” Lorrik stated. “I offer guidance and nothing more, lest I become as controlling as Tash or Syrosk. You’ve been granted unprecedented insight. Me and the other apprentices are only visiting half the classrooms and possess no unified message. It is up to you whether you wish to share the information you’ve been given today. At this moment, there is little you could do to truly challenge Tash’s establishment. But you have also moved past the point in which his instructors have anything more to teach you. So you find yourselves trapped, as per the norm in the Academy. Tash still has his plans. Tash still maintains control of the classrooms. From this point forward, it is not a matter of how you act, but whom you act for. An inquisitor knows that action and inaction are equal sides of the same coin. It’s just up to you to make the most of your future… to make the most of the present. It’s not about who wins. It’s not about who loses. It’s about ensuring that in the end, you have your own place in the galaxy. That you never sacrifice your freedom. And if you ever intend to strip someone of theirs, know that you will be met with a fight unlike any other. That is your lesson. Class dismissed.”

 

As Lorrik stepped away from the lectern and Jresh lifted himself from his seat, the surrounding acolytes looked to one another seeking something, anything in the eyes of their contemporaries. But all they found were blank stares and silence. The inquisitor’s words stirred in their heads as they looked to one another in a brand new fashion. They recognized their new position within the Academy, despite sitting in the same position they had for years. Still acolytes. Still lacking the freedom they deserved as Sith. Still worthless in the eyes of their superiors. But someone had found worthiness in them, and for all the time they spent apart, through all the changes, he was still one of them. An equal. One who desired nothing more from them but that they see their potential realized. That they earn the freedom they rightfully deserve.

 

Lorrik offered the class a quick bow of his head and a wave of the hand as he exited the classroom as briskly as he had entered, Jresh walking by his side.

 

----------

 

Lorrik and Jresh made their way out of the old halls, their task for the day completed. A confidence flourished within the two apprentices, despite neither of them truly knowing what impact they had left on the class of inquisitors. They had left a message. Both of them had, despite Lorrik’s speech making up the majority of their interaction.

 

They had spoken to them, not only through words, but through their very presence. They pulsed with energies unlike anything the acolytes had experienced before. They spoke of an unseen world that had been kept from them, a world of endless possibilities they had been blind to. A contaminant had breached the classroom’s once pristinely controlled environment. Something new had been introduced into the equation. Entropy. Chaos. The unknown. Aspects that to any other could only culminate fear and hatred. But in these students, in these Sith, they knew better.

 

For all their time spent wallowing under the instructors who guided and misguided them, there was knowledge to be absorbed. Lessons to heed. For all the rubbish it had been buried beneath, the idea of what it truly meant to be a Sith could not be wholly quelled. They desired strength. They desired power. They desired freedom. And they just learned that the only hope towards attaining them that had been drilled into their heads had been an elaborate ruse.

 

They were the outcasts, the freaks, the worthless. They had always known themselves to be at the bottom of the hierarchy, but the chance to ascend was always said to be within their reach. But it was a lie. And yet, it remained the absolute truth. They simply required a change in focus. Looking inward, instead of outward for relief, for that glorious moment in which someone would finally take notice of their worth. For that moment would never come, so long as they continued to play the games of their controllers. That moment would only come, when they decided that the only person capable of lifting them from their wretches position was themselves.

 

They knew that Tash did, in fact, possess the ability to free them from the clutches of the Academy. He could easily offer them apprenticeship, offer them a fighting chance within the Order outside the Academy halls. But he could just as easily crush them were they incapable of standing on their own. And from this day forward, they would stand. Some alone. Some amongst friends. Some amongst lovers. But all of them would stand. They may not immediately cast off the shackles that have been made apparent. They may not confide their newfound cognizance to those who sought their submission. They may not act, until absolutely necessary. But all of them would stand.

 

Back at the suite, Lorrik and Jresh settled down, resting themselves despite the relative ease in which they had completed the day’s trial. Relaxing in the living area, the inquisitor sat at his desk whilst the warrior meditated in the center of the room.

 

“Hey Jresh, what do you want for dinner?” Lorrik asked.

 

“I’m fine with whatever you decide to make,” Jresh replied, focused on his meditations. The Human cracked a subtle smile. It was always the same answer, but it still managed to delight him each and every time he heard it.

 

Cracking his knuckles, the inquisitor felt odd as his two hands interlocked, two different sensations overtaking his fingers. The numbness had almost begun to fade from his right hand, but it showed no signs of returning to normal. It felt, but it did not provide the normal feelings he would receive from his left. An odd cognizance, incapable of pleasure nor pain, but capable of sending signals. And as much as the thought of regaining control of the injured hand was, he still found himself perturbed by its appearance.

 

Ducking into his room, Lorrik began to rummage through his closet. He saw a quick snapshot of the progression he had achieved as the various outfits he had worn over the past years hung before him. The simple gray robes of the acolyte. The black and purple inquisitor’s robes gifted by Syrosk. The spare black and blue attire of his own devising. Returning to the clothes of old, Lorrik retrieved a pair of leather gloves, and slipped them over his hands. It was a petty thing, but there was a delight to found in the reestablishment of symmetry.

 

Plopping onto his bed, the inquisitor stared upward toward the ceiling, much as he would as an acolyte. His eyes remained open as he continued to stare toward nothingness, his own form of meditation. There was no introspection, no wisdom to dwell upon, but it brought peace, however fleeting.

 

Time passed. Dinner came and went. Lorrik had cooked himself and his partner a conservative meal of cooked meat and vegetables. No want for experimentation or pizzazz. A meal of sustenance. One that served Jresh just fine. For Lorrik, it wasn’t the best, but his mind was as far away from food as it could be. His thoughts drifted to his former classmates, the words he imparted upon them. He wondered about the future. About himself and Jresh. About Tash. About Thorel.

 

As day turned to night, Jresh retired for the evening. As the warrior slept, the inquisitor remained wide awake. Removing himself from his bed, still garbed in the day’s attire, Lorrik slipped out the suite, and into the halls of the Academy.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Osetto]

*EDIT* Because apparently I cant count chapters. Nothing to see here. Edited April 3, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

*wanders over from The Seven* SQUEE!

 

Still loving it, however many months and chapters later. That goes for The Seven too...(and Guiding Lights, whenever you choose to continue).

[Osetto]

*wanders over from The Seven* SQUEE!

 

Still loving it, however many months and chapters later. That goes for The Seven too...(and Guiding Lights, whenever you choose to continue).

 

Always happy to hear someone's still enjoying this. It's approaching 200,000 words, so I'm assuming I'm doing something right for people to still be reading.

 

The next chapter is already halfway done, so don't worry about waiting a month for the next post. (Then again the last chapter of The Seven was halfway done and it only took seven months to post). Then there will only be ten chapters until this story's completely done (My first finished work).

 

The Seven will be the next project I hope to 'finish', especially since when I left off it was stuck in the middle of an episode. My other stories I feel either reached a good pause break or haven't even properly begun (I learned my lesson by the Amongst Stars series, making sure I had at least one 'episode' finished when I posted them). I plan to end The Seven with Episode V. Guiding Lights has a special place in my heart, being the only other story revolving around Force-users, so I'll likely pick that up as my third focus. I'll write a couple more adventures for Tools of the Trade while I continue those. Exponent won't proceed until everything is put in place for the 'Ebonstar' crossover story. I have an Imperial Amongst Stars story planned, but haven't begun writing anything for it yet. I think of those as nice little one-shots until I'm done with all my older stories, so they probably won't see much attention anytime soon (unless people want to see more of them).

 

This was just a brief roadmap of what I have planned. I had taken a break from writing because it was hard to find the motivation. I had begun work on an original novel, but when I lost my companion document where I had planned out the characters and events, it hit me pretty hard. If there's one thing I hate, it's coming up with character names and timelines, and the idea of having to do it all over again infuriated me. I lost it at the same time as my document planning the Amongst Stars series. But I eventually decided I wanted to try something different and rebuilt them from the ground up. And I think what I came up with was much better than what I had planned the first time around. I had thought maybe I was getting stale, or my writing was getting sloppy or rushed, but seeing all the things I had started, seeing that there was someone somewhere who read and enjoyed them, it helped me continue writing. So thanks, to everyone whose taken the time read any of my stories. Especially those who have left comments. You're part of what keeps me writings.

 

And I'll always welcome comments and suggestions. I've received PMs telling me about things I may have missed, suggesting things that could make my stories better, and ended up incorporating those ideas into this story. Remember, no writer is perfect. And complacency inhibits creativity. Although I guess the time for suggestions might have passed for Acolyte Ascension. After all, this is the beginning of the end.

 

Chapter 15: Burdens (Because I already used 'Consequences') . Hold on to your squees, it's about to get dark.

Edited October 27, 2013 by Osetto

[Osetto]

Chapter Fifteen: Burdens

 

Outside the Academy, the Korriban sun had long since set, leaving only the darkened sky above. The various trials of acolytes and apprentices had ended, only those with the most brutal masters continuing their training into the night. A lone figure made his way out of the Academy and down the steps that rest between him and the facility’s main landing pad. Under the dead of night, the figure walked under the watchful eye of the Imperial Guardsmen who remained at their posts. As the figure made his way toward his intended destination, the tail of his coat bobbed with each step, its red fibers almost touching the dusty ground beneath his feet.

 

As the man continued his casual pace, he came to a stop a short distance away from the docked shuttle that awaited him.

 

“Lorrik,” the figure said with a subtle delight. “Didn’t think I’d meet you out here.”

 

Stepping from the shadows surrounding the shuttle, Lorrik revealed himself to the figure. “Vai. I thought our last meeting ended rather abruptly.”

 

“Indeed it did. Quite a shame that was,” Thorel replied. The vibrant Human altered his course, moving to the side of the docked shuttle. Rather than approach its hatch, he planted his feet and began to casually lean against the vessel’s hull. “So. What can I do for you?”

 

“I just thought I would catch you before you left,” Lorrik stated. “After all who knows when you’re coming back?”

 

“Yeah, who knows?” Thorel offered with a chuckle. “That was a pretty interesting stunt you pulled today, meeting with the students whilst I distracted the instructors. Was that your idea or Syrosk's?”

 

“Syrosk's. Should have known that wouldn’t pass beneath your notice,” Lorrik jocularly stated.

 

Thorel laughed. “How could it? You should have seen the face of your instructor when he ran up to me, telling me you were interfering with his students. I asked him what you did exactly, and he had no idea. He just fumed at the idea of you messing with his students, an idea he hadn’t even confirmed.”

 

“Always happy to hear when I leave an impression,” Lorrik joked.

 

“What did you end up telling them anyway?”

 

“Nothing they didn’t need to hear.”

 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Thorel declared, rubbing his chin. “You know, even after all this, the offer still stands. We’d still be happy to have you.”

 

“As I recall, you never officially made me and Jresh an offer.”

 

“That’s right, you had that fake fight with Syrosk and asked me to leave before I had the chance.”

 

“To be fair, it was only half-fake. I meant everything I said. I may have oversold the emotions, I admit, but nothing I said was a lie.”

 

“So you continue to follow Syrosk, knowing that he will continue to be controlled by his visions.”

 

“The time for following had passed,” Lorrik declared. “I’ve learned many things over these last ten years. From teachers and teachings. From you. From my partner. From myself. But my sole purpose is not to learn. I may be a student, but I am also a teacher. I may not impart ancient wisdoms or combat techniques, but the knowledge I am able to pass on can serve anyone, master or apprentice, Lord or acolyte. And that is the lesson that has taken the longest to sink in. Each and every Sith, from their initiation to their death, is judged by their worth. Not by their peers, but by themselves. We seek knowledge and power to better ourselves, and once we’ve finally achieved some semblance of authority, we lord it over our lessers, because it reminds us that we are worth something. Because all our lives, we have been taught that we are worthless. Even amongst non-Force-sensitives. Because we are never satisfied. Because worthiness is forever beyond our reach. The acolyte is worthless next to the apprentice. The apprentice is worthless next to the lord. The lord is worthless next to the Darth. The Darth is worthless next to the Emperor. And so we assign worth in everything but ourselves. We heed the word of our masters, because we believe they possess something we do not. We follow visions, because we believe them to be worth following. But not once do we look to ourselves. Not once do we look to our equals. How could those without worth possibly provide us anything? So we look up. To our masters. To our visions. Each and every one of us. You think Syrosk a slave? We all are. Each and every one of us. Each and every Sith. What is it that your master ultimately desires? Do you even know? Does he even know? We tell ourselves we know what we want, but do we really?”

 

“And what is it you think you desire?” Thorel asked.

 

“Freedom,” Lorrik answered. “The freedom to wake up, and know that my life is in my own hands. The freedom to pursue my own goals, not those of whomever would dictate themselves my superior. The freedom… to be with Jresh, and know that I won’t hurt him because I was too blind to see what was truly important. I sweated, bled, I died, because I wanted nothing more than to become better, because that’s what I thought it took to earn my freedom. But I realized, I’ll never be able to break my chains, so long as people like Tash exist. I once thought him some villain, some unique entity that stood between me and my freedom. But he’s just another in a long line of Sith who would sacrifice his fellows for personal gain. Even if he were to die, another would take his place. Another controller. Another unseen, unheard figure that would hold more sway over my life than I would. That’s why this is no longer about Tash. No longer about Syrosk. That is why I spoke with my former classmates. Because I tire of masters. I know that I cannot change the Empire. I know that I cannot oppose those in power. But I can do everything in my power to make sure the next generation of Sith does not fall victim to them. I can teach them. I can tell them all that I have learned, and hope they make the most of it. You want to know what I told those students? I told them of the man who brought them to the Academy. I told them of the man who keeps them here. I told them, for all the power he possesses, he is worthless to them. I told them, that regardless of what they’ve been taught to believe, they are not worthless. That they could learn from and teach one another more than any Lord could.”

 

“And why tell me any of this?” Thorel asked.

 

“Because I believe you to be someone of worth. Someone who deserves so, so much more,” Lorrik admitted. “And most importantly, someone who is not above being given advice from someone like me.”

 

“And what advice would that be?”

 

“What manner of men were Syrosk and Tash to you?” Lorrik put forth. “Teachers. Masters. Tash taught you everything you needed to know about a saber. Syrosk honed your mental skills. They both provided for you, but you were willing to strip one of everything he cared about at the word of the other. Syrosk saw his own death at the hands of his only friend, and you thought him a foolish Seer, unwilling to disregard some fleeting vision. A vision from a man who had just sent you across the galaxy to seek Force-sensitive children with utmost precision. A vision that detailed the betrayal of a man who now not only held his life in his hands, but the lives of dozens of acolytes. And you would continue to follow Tash with the same faith Syrosk placed in his visions? I know that you’re better than that. The day you took me away from the mines, you made a profound impact on me, same as the other students. You had a part to play in the people we are today. But your master still only considers the eight of us worthy of his attention, whilst the acolytes in his classrooms remained trapped in their indeterminate fate. You can’t think them worthless. You met each and every one of them. You brought them here at the behest of Syrosk and Tash. Now, your master holds total control over them. But I will not stand for it. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you won’t stand for it either.”

 

Thorel crossed arms as he stared at the inquisitor under the darkened sky. The two locked their gazes, standing silently amongst the shadow of night. Without a word, Thorel straightened his posture, removing himself from the shuttle’s hull. Straightening his coat, the Human turned his back on the inquisitor, heading toward the ship’s hatch.

 

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Thorel declared as he placed a foot on the vessel’s entrance ramp.

 

“Maybe I don’t,” Lorrik admitted. “Then again, maybe you don’t either.”

 

Thorel offered one final silent look, his features hidden under the darkness of night, before finally boarding the shuttle. Lorrik turned back toward the Academy as the vessel lifting itself from the landing pad, slowly ascending toward the sky. Walking under the dark cover of night, the lone Human softly whistled a gentle tune as he returned home.

 

----------

 

The sun shined high over the Korriban landscape. It was a new day, and the apprentices had gathered to their master on the traditional mountaintop. The eight of them stood tall, confident in their performance on the previous trial. And little as he could show it with his seemingly permanent scowl, Syrosk was satisfied with them as well.

 

“My apprentices,” Syrosk rasped. “I have heard word of your interaction with Tash’s classrooms. Each and every one of you seems to have delivered a sufficient message without overstepping your bounds.” The apprentices stirred with pride as they absorbed their master’s admirations.

 

“Curious,” Kar’ai said. “I had bet we’d show up today to hear Nesk knocked some acolyte’s teeth out.” The Trandoshan offered a sideways glance to the bemused Rattataki, but ultimately maintained his composure.

 

“You have all learned much,” Syrosk declared. “You have progressed. Matured. No longer bound by the ideas of warriors and inquisitors. No longer bound by the ideas of acolytes and apprentices. You now stand apart from other Sith limited by their own preconceived notions. You’ve grown strong. You’ve developed bonds. I am proud of you all.”

 

The apprentices were pleased to received their master’s respect, but the inherent positivity that accompanied it was definitely odd.

 

“You okay, Syrosk?” Arlia asked with the tilt of her head. “You're not dying or anything are you?”

 

“No, my apprentice, I am fine. In fact, I’d say I’ve never been more alive,” Syrosk declared. “Which is why it is a good day to continue your combat training. Tash’s apprentice has departed from the Academy. His classrooms proceed as usual, only now with the added influence each of you has planted. Whatever consequences come from your intrusion will takes days, weeks, to unfold. For now, we train. Same as before. Well, not exactly as before…” The Sith Lord’s eyed slowly drifted across his apprentices until they affixed themselves upon the Human amongst them. “Lorrik. You’re body has still not recovered. You’re dismissed for the day.”

 

The others looked to the inquisitor, who stood befuddled next to his partner. “What are you talking about? I’m just fine.”

 

“I don’t need an apprentice who is ‘just fine’,” Syrosk explained. “You are far below your peak, and I’d not ask the other apprentices to lower themselves to your level for today’s trial. It would serve no one, and only add more time to your recovery.”

 

Lorrik dipped his head as his gaze fell to his feet. His spirits raised when he felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Turning, the inquisitor saw Jresh offering him a calm, confident look. No words, but enough to communicate a message. Lorrik and Jresh needn’t stand side by side to be together. Jresh could fight alone, and his partner would be with him in mind and spirit, bolstering him as well as any second saber would. The Human cracked a smile as he could feel his companion’s concern for his own health. Concern that was bolstered with a belief that Lorrik was strong enough to overcome the affliction that prevented him from partaking in the day’s training.

 

“Alright. I’ll take the day off,” Lorrik stated. “I think I’ll hit up the archives. Might find something that can help expedite my recovery.”

 

“Stay safe,” Jresh advised, lifting his hand from his companion’s shoulder. Lorrik offered a firm nod of his head as he turned his back on the other apprentices and walked toward the Academy. As he embarked upon the return path, he could hear his master detailing the other students’ trial.

 

“You will each be dueling against one another, to gauge your skills and see who is lagging in their training…”

 

----------

 

Back in the Academy, Lorrik walked amongst the institution’s true halls. Imperial Guardsmen guarded the pathways to each major sector, and Imperials and Sith alike went about their business. Keeping to himself, the inquisitor traversed the Academy, heading toward the public archives.

 

Ascending a flight of stairs, the apprentice came across a series of connected rooms containing a number of holocrons and datacards, housing within them the litany of information afforded to the denizens of Korriban. Sith of various levels and ranks stood amongst the archives, studying the various wisdoms and tomes that had been gathered and recorded. Acolytes. Apprentices. Sith Lords. All delving into the words and musings of scholars and historians.

 

Walking amongst strangers, Lorrik rearranged his robes’ collar, making sure it continued to cover the slave’s brand that marked the back of his neck. An elder Human stood opposite the apprentice, garbed in a simplistic set of black robes, cataloging a nearby shelf of datacards. Lorrik approached the archivist, maintaining the sense that he truly belonged amongst the other Sith.

 

“Excuse me, I’m looking information regarding holocrons,” Lorrik stated. The archivist heard the apprentice’s words, but did nothing to divert his attention from the nearby shelf.

 

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” the archivist declared with a low, droning tone.

 

“Alright, uh… mechanics, origins, maybe something about Rakatan artifacts.”

 

“All Rakatan materials were recently checked out by Lord Ra’kus,” the archivist explained. “All data pertaining to artifacts can be found in the east wing, first level.”

 

“What about histories of the Sith? Or maybe just Korriban?”

 

“East wing, second level.”

 

Lorrik offered his thanks, and received a soft grumble in return. The apprentice headed toward the archive’s eastern wing. The walls were completely lined with shelves containing repositories of Sith knowledge. It was a wonderful sight. As mundane as the archives were to normal entrants to the Academy, Lorrik had spent much of his life without such a source. The students in Tash’s classroom didn’t have free reign over anything. Training sabers had to be check out and used under supervision. Knowledge was restricted to certain materials approved by the instructors.

 

Lorrik paced in front of the archives, unsure where to begin, unsure what he was even looking for in the first place. He began pulling datacards, moving between sections, between levels, collecting a small assortment of knowledge that might shed some light on his affliction. Using one of the archive’s readers, the inquisitor tucked himself away in a corner, to pour over the gathered records.

 

Minutes turned to hours as Lorrik scanned the lines of data. He delved into the construction and maintenance of holocrons, looking for some insight into the intricacies of the one he procured from the tomb. But the only knowledge he had at his fingertips was the most basic of instructions. He had more advanced records back at the suite. The inquisitor turned to history, looking to the first Dark Jedi to arrive on Korriban. And history proved unkind. Of all the individuals responsible for the modern Sith Order, only a select few had their names committed to record, most others fading to obscurity. He looked to ancient dark side techniques, finding nothing resembling the darkness that warped his hand.

 

Lorrik had found out nothing. Nothing that could help him restore his hand. Nothing about what had caused the affliction in the first place. The day had gone to waste. While Jresh and the others fought one another, he sat alone in a worthless archive. While they advanced, he had nothing to show for the day. With a heavy heart, Lorrik returned the gathered datacards to their proper place and turned in his borrowed reader.

 

His thoughts drifted to his partner. He could sense that the day’s trials were not yet completed. He could feel the pain his companion endured, the fiery drive in his heart to continue. He could feel the weight of his foes beating down upon him even as he stood far beyond the reach of battle. It was a feeling of simultaneous greatness and dismay. He was proud of Jresh. The warrior continued to fight, despite the wound he had inflected upon his leg. Meanwhile, the inquisitor’s pain had fled, leaving only a dulled sensation in its place. And yet, he could not fight. But he knew he would have to. He knew he had to stand up and fight, because that’s all that there was left to do. His voice had reached the ears of his former classmates, but at this moment, his reach was limited to what he could grasp in his hands.

 

Departing the archives after hours of fruitless searching, Lorrik began to wander the halls of the Academy, no particular destination in mind. He did not desire a trip to the training grounds, lest he strain his newfound relationship with Syrosk. He did not desire a trip to the suite, let he resign the rest of his day to complacent rest. But he needed rest. For his body, as well as his mind. The Human could sense his partner’s emotional state, so it was likely Jresh could sense his as well. All the worry, all the confusion that plagued his mind would begin to affect his companion. In his want to not become a burden, that was exactly what he would become if he could not overcome the thoughts swirling within his head.

 

And so he decided. Lorrik could not allow himself to be dominated by his own fears and concerns. He closed his eyes. Concentrated. Felt a wave of relief wash away the burden, lifting his heart and providing him a sense of peace. A sense of peace, that was instantly shattered when he felt a powerful strike connect with the back of his head.

 

Lorrik fell forward to the ground, head reeling. Looking at his immediate surroundings, he quickly realized he had ventured well beyond the Academy’s front halls. He had crossed into the depths of labyrinthine walkways and muffled echoes. He had lost track of time as well as his own position. But only a moment of attention could be devoted to such developments, as one factor took immediate precedence. A factor as serious as it was familiar.

 

“Seriously. Why do people think you can just hit someone in the back of the head and knock them out?” Lorrik muttered as he struggled to lift himself from the floor.

 

“Who said I was trying to knock you out?” The voice was new. One Lorrik had never heard before. Male. Older. Gruff. Cocky. The felled Human flipped himself over to see four Sith standing before him. Humans garbed in black, form-fitting robes, lightsabers clipped to their belts. “Lorrik Velash. Your time has come.”

 

“Who are you?” Lorrik asked, carefully shuffling backward upon the floor.

 

“We are Sith. Which is something a worthless slave like you will never be able to say,” the group’s leader stated. Reaching to his waist, the Human leading the group drew his lightsaber, igniting its crimson beam.

 

----------

 

The red saber of Isorr came down hard against Jresh’s guard, but the Pureblood managed to maintain his stance. The two combated, clashing before taking a step back and clashing again. The two powerhouses practically shook the ground beneath them each time they connected, two unstoppable forces meeting with the clash of blades. As the two duelists connected once more, Jresh pulled away, lowering his guard as a flurry of emotions intruded upon his mind.

 

“Come on, Jresh,” Isorr taunted. “Don’t tell me you’re getting tired already?”

 

The Pureblood ignored his opponent. The words had not even reached his ears, as his mind was too occupied by the worrisome feelings overtaking his insides. He knew something was wrong. He knew Lorrik was in trouble. Jresh disengaged, sheathing his weapon and fleeing the arena to the peculiar glances of the surrounding apprentices. He could not speak. He could only run. Ignoring the sharp pain that overtook his right leg with each step, the Pureblood rushed toward the Academy, running faster than he ever had before.

 

----------

 

“How did you know I was a slave?” Lorrik asked, trying to stall the aggressors as he lifted himself from the ground.

 

“We’ve known about you for a long time,” the leader declared. “In fact, we’ve know about all the students that occupy the underhalls. Rejects. Outcasts. Slaves. Aliens. Impurities. Beings unworthy of the title of Sith. But for some reason, you all operated under same rules as the rest of us, meaning you were off limits. You couldn’t be touched. So imagine my surprise, when we find out that some of you aren’t afforded that protection any more. And yet, we hear you're still gallivanting around the Academy like you belong here? That didn’t sit right will us.”

 

“I’m sorry to upset your delicate sensibilities,” Lorrik replied, slowly backing away. The apprentice could only take a few steps before he found himself backed against a wall.

 

“This isn’t about sensibilities. This is about maintaining the integrity of the Sith,” the leader declared. “We’re not some acolytes looking to take down some rival. We’re here to wipe the impurity from this institution, starting with you.” Lorrik reached for his belt, retrieving his own lightsaber. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon ignited, shining its blue blade as the inquisitor raised his guard. “You really are a poor excuse for a Sith.”

 

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Lorrik taunted. The Sith leader looked upon the inquisitor with abject disgust. The three Sith that accompanied him fanned out, taking position between the apprentice and the ways out of the hallway, blocking his escape.

 

Lorrik stood across from the group’s leader, their eyes locked, their sabers at the ready. The inquisitor had never laid eyes upon this person before, and yet this man hated him more than any he had met. He knew nothing of his position, of his rank. He could have been a student of the Academy. Some Overseer’s underling. A Sith Lord with a chip on his shoulder. But whomever he was, he intended to take the apprentice’s life.

 

The leader aggressor rushed forward with a blinding pace, descending upon the inquisitor within the blink of an eye. Lorrik raised his saber to intercept as the red blade crashed down upon him. His foe possessed remarkable strength, more than a match for any of the other apprentices, and more than capable of overcoming the Human’s weakened state. There was little room to maneuver within the compact hall, forcing Lorrik to remain within arm’s reach of his foe. The aggressor continued his assault. He was done with words, he wanted nothing more than the apprentice’s death.

 

Lorrik attempted to keep up with the attacker, but he lashed out unlike any he had faced before. He was used to training duels. This is the first time he felt his life truly in danger at the hands of a Sith. And with each clash of the blade, Lorrik felt himself losing control. He was fast becoming exhausted. One powerful strike later, and the inquisitor could no longer keep hold of his weapon. The lightsaber flung from his hand, deactivating and clattering against the hard floor.

 

The attacker lifted his victim with the Force, and flung him backward, pinning him against the nearby wall. Lorrik flattened against the surface and he felt a crushing pressure overtaking every part of his being. His chest couldn’t expand to take in air. He slowly began to choke, unable to breathe.

 

“How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?”

 

Just as the Sith was about to clench his victory, he heard a soft whisper a short distance behind him.

 

“B-Boss…”

 

It was the panicked voice of one of the underlings. The leader turned to see one of the men guarding the way out staring at him with wide eyes, gloved hands clutching his chin and the back of his head. He could only lock eyes with his underling for a moment before the hands twisted his head around, sending his lifeless body crumpling to the floor, revealing the red figure that stood behind him.

 

The Pureblood wore a penetrating scowl upon his face, his red eyes burning a hole into the leader’s mind. The warrior stood adamant, every fiber of his being consumed by rage. The other two underlings moved from their position to intercept the Pureblood, igniting their lightsabers.

 

Jresh readied his weapon. The first to bring their blade down upon the warrior found it effortlessly deflected, leaving them completely open for the Pureblood to thrust weapon into his heart. The lackey fell to the ground beside the first, leaving only two standing. The group’s leader relinquished his grip on the inquisitor to face the intruder. Lorrik fell from the wall, scurrying toward a corner as he struggled to catch his breath.

 

The third underling lashed out with a swing of his blade, only to for it to be parried by the Pureblood. The warrior followed up with a quick slash of his blade, severing the Sith’s weapon hand. The lackey released a harsh shrill as he clutched at his charred stump. The noise was enough to distract the group’s leader, who didn’t even see the approaching backhand that would swiped his face and sent him tumbling to the floor.

 

The injured underling looked upon the warrior with a fearful dread, turning his back on the battle and fleeing down the hallway. He was only a few steps ahead before the Pureblood threw his saber with the flick of his wrist, sending the swirling blade toward his opponent. When the lightsaber reached its target, it swept itself across the Sith’s back, bisecting him at the waist. The attack was accurate, but still sloppy, as the flying saber impacted against the wall rather than returning to its owner.

 

The leader was without his underlings, but he didn’t need them. He rose to combat the weaponless foe, readying a powerful downward strike. Before he could connect, the Pureblood snapped his gaze toward the aggressor, taking a deep breath. Once more the two’s eyes locked together. The attacker could not stop his strike, but the warrior's eyes told him he should have done everything in his power to give up. But it was too late.

 

Jresh was weaponless, not defenseless. He exhaled, releasing a primal shout backed by the full might of the Force. The blast struck the attacker, and sent him crashing into the wall behind him. The walls cracked from the force of the impact as the Sith collapsed upon the floor. He was defeated, but still alive. But that was not satisfactory. As the fallen Sith struggled to support his own weight beneath his arms, he found himself lifted up by the Pureblood. The warrior’s hand clutched his foe’s face, raising him higher until his feet dangled above the floor. Muffled whimpers struggled to escape the Sith’s mouth, but the words were impeded by presence of the Pureblood’s palm.

 

“How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?” Jresh muttered through gritted teeth.

 

There was no answer to be heard as the warrior channeled the full might of the Force through his hand, a destructive wave of kinetic energy passing through his victim’s skull and out the other side, staining the wall behind him. Jresh relinquished his grip, tossing the lifeless Sith to the ground.

 

In the corner of the hall, Jresh could see his partner curled into a ball, heart racing, drawing labored breaths.

 

----------

 

Patrolling the halls of the Academy, an Imperial Guardsman passed through one of the institution’s deeper pathways. Rounding a corner, the helmed sentinel saw a curious sight. At the end of the hallway, he could see a figure lying upon the ground, unmoving. Moving forward to investigate, it wasn’t until he was upon the figure that he noticed that it was only half a man, his legs situated a couple meters behind him. Rounding another corner, the guardsman was greeted with a sight of death and destruction. Scorch marks lined the walls from errant lightsaber strikes. Blood lightly stained the floors where it had managed to pass through otherwise cauterized wounds.

 

Sitting amongst the scene however, were two living figures. Rushing to investigate, the guardsman found a Pureblood sitting beside a splotch of red upon a cracked segment of wall, a Human resting in his arms.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

*holding my SQUEE for all it's worth*

[Osetto]

Chapter Sixteen: Exiles

 

The room was silent. Dark. Claustrophobic. Jresh and Lorrik sat alone in a featureless chamber, behind a featureless table. A single light cast its dim luminescence on the solemn pair from above as they waited. Minutes turned to hours as the two apprentices awaited their fate after being left there by the Imperial Guardsman. Finally, the door opposite them opened, revealing the shadowed figure of their master.

 

Lord Syrosk entered the room with an unusually sluggish pace. Approaching his students, the light slowly revealed the alien’s stoic visage. But behind their master’s stoicism, rested a billowing emptiness. He stopped directly across from his apprentices, slowly passing his gaze from student to student before letting it fall to the table.

 

“I’ve spoken with the Academy administrators,” Syrosk rasped, his voice softer than usual. “The men who attacked you were not students of the Academy. They were its staff.”

 

Lorrik began to run his hands through his hair as he let out an exasperated breath, unsure of how to begin processing his master’s words. Jresh, meanwhile, upheld his stoic demeanor, eyes planted somewhere on the distant wall.

 

“The man who led the attack was an Overseer,” Syrosk explained. “And his death has caused some… concern. This is not something that goes without consequence.”

 

“He was going to kill me,” Lorrik bluntly said. “Are you honestly saying Jresh didn’t do the right thing?”

 

“No, I am not,” Syrosk replied. “I am merely clarifying the nature of the situation we find ourselves in. The Academy and its rules cannot be superseded. Not by me. Not even by Tash. He was granted permission to continue his operations so long as they did not interfere with those of the true Academy. I was granted similar permissions when I returned to take you as my apprentices. We are free to disrupt Tash’s domain, but we cannot touch this institution’s true denizens. Especially those responsible for its operation and the training of its initiates.”

 

“They sought me out,” Lorrik muttered. “Hunted me down. They knew my name. Knew who I was. Knew who we were.”

 

“Many do,” Syrosk admitted. “Tash’s activities are no secret to those with any semblance of authority on this planet. They simply choose to ignore them, believing whatever scheme he is hatching with such impure students is doomed to fail. His acolytes were never considered true students of the Academy and have been here so long that they continue with little objection. It seems we are not afforded the same lack of observation. We’ve grown bold in recent months. I paid no concern to allowing you all to walk the grounds of the Academy. And I was so transfixed on our dealing with Tash that I couldn’t notice any brewing dissent. And now we have suffered for it.”

 

“I may be a bit banged up, but nothing serious,” Lorrik said. “We can fix this. We’ve already talked to Tash’s classrooms. We can scale back, operate beneath the notice of anyone like we used to.”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Syrosk declared. “A decision was reached. You have all been exiled from Korriban.”

 

The apprentices’ eyes widened.

 

“All of us?” Lorrik asked. “The other apprentices as well?

 

“Yes. You and the other six must leave. I am allowed stay, but I am forbidden to train you here.”

 

The Human slumped in his chair. “Were being punished for defending ourselves. The Order that espouses strength is punishing us for trying to survive. We’re worth more dead than alive to them.”

 

“It was your capability that earned you exile rather than death,” Syrosk explained. “Some would see your victory worthy of praise. Others worry that it sullies the reputation of the pure-blooded. In the end, none of them wish to see the Academy disrupted, regardless of the actor’s nature or motivation.”

 

“Where do we go from here?” Lorrik timidly asked.

 

“You’ve the day to gather your belongings and vacate your rooms,” Syrosk stated. “I’ve managed to requisition shuttles offworld. We can relocate and continue our training elsewhere. Possibly Dromund Kaas or Ziost. Though we likely couldn’t operate within one of the other Academies, we could train outside their boundaries. But first, the other apprentices must be informed of our situation.” The Sith Lord turned his back on his apprentices and exited the compact room, pausing just outside the door. “I’ve been tasked with escorting you back to your room. You are to stay there until everyone is ready to leave tomorrow.”

 

The apprentices rose from their seats, following their master without protest. There was nothing more to say or do. Judgment had been passed by those with actual say in the Order. They were now outcasts amongst outcasts.

 

----------

 

Back in their home, the apprentices watched the door shut behind them. As Lord Syrosk left to address his other students, Lorrik and Jresh stood motionless amongst their meager belongings. In an instant, practically everything they now laid eyes upon had been granted unto them. And in another, it had been taken away. The two were unsure of how to proceed. A worry began to creep into the inquisitor’s conscience, a worry unlike any other.

 

He had experienced fear. Experienced dread. Experienced the litany of harrowing events expected of a Sith. But this was different. This wasn’t something that could be beat. He literally had no opponent to face. No danger. No pain. And yet, he felt as if everything was slowly slipping away from him. And whereas he would usually seek comfort in his companion, the warrior seemed detached, having not uttered a single word single the encounter.

 

Lorrik felt powerless. No amount of physical strength, no amount of mystic knowledge, no amount of conniving cunning could remedy their situation. They were under the scrutiny of a system they did not even belong to. They were Sith, but they were not Sith. They were forced to act as Sith, but forbidden to act as Sith.

 

As Jresh retreated to his room, the inquisitor surveyed the living quarters, taking note of what needed to be packed. At his desk, the Human removed and set down his lightsaber. Even at first glance, he could notice the marks and scraps it had suffered from being dropped and banged against various surfaces. His eyes then panned to the holocron that sat a short distance away. He glared at the red pyramid, a hate brewing within him.

 

He hated that blasted thing. He wanted to blame everything that had occurred on it. If he hadn’t looked inside, he wouldn’t have learned that technique. If he hadn’t learned that technique, he wouldn't have injured himself and his partner. If he hadn’t injured himself, he would have been sparring with the other apprentices rather than wandering the halls of the Academy. He wanted to blame it, because he knew if he could not, the only thing he could blame was himself.

 

Lorrik began to dig through his desk, gathering and collecting his scattered datacards and stacking them next to his weapon. As luxurious as his quarters had been in relation to his tenure amongst Tash’s classrooms, the inquisitor realized how little his amount of possessions had actually changed. He had acquired a lightsaber, a few new sets of clothes, that damned artifact. But other than that, he had nothing worthy of being held onto aside from his collected datacards. Everything of worth he possessed could easily be carried upon his person and confined to a single footlocker. He didn’t know whether that fact pleased or upset him.

 

In the other room, Jresh slowly peeled away his battle attire. Removing the hardened leathers and plates from his body, the Pureblood possessed no scars nor wounds from his encounter, but it had left its mark. His heart still beat at a heightened pace. His breathing, while controlled, took the warrior’s conscious effort to maintain its rhythm. Replacing his armor with a set of robes, the Pureblood looked around his room. His eyes wandered as he thought of how to proceed, but he had no desire to go anywhere.

 

Sitting on the floor near the foot of his bed, Jresh closed his eyes, attempting to calm the chaos that refused to leave his body and mind. He began to meditate, trying to regain control of himself, but in his current state, he found his senses heightened beyond belief. He could feel the passing air upon the entirety of his exposed skin. He was cognizant of each and every movement that occurred around him. And worst of all, the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. He concentrated. Focused all his energies on calming himself, but was interrupted each second with the renewed thumping of his heart.

 

Outside, Lorrik moved from the living quarters to his bedroom. Surveying his closet, the inquisitor began mentally allocating the space required to pack his luggage. As he looked over the articles of clothing, the Human succumbed to a brief coughing fit. As he regained control, his began to rub his own neck. The muscles were sore to the touch, in fact, his entire body still ached from the crushing forces he endured in the earlier encounter. Trudging over to his bed, the Human plopped down on top of the sheets, relishing what would be his last day with that wonderful bed. As he stared upward toward the ceiling, he began to focus his mind, attempting to soothe the soreness that populated much of his body.

 

His trance was broken when he heard a series of knock on the suite’s front door. Perking up, the inquisitor wondered how long he had been laying down as soreness from before seemed to have disappeared. Lorrik rose to his feet and journeyed toward the suite’s entrance. With a quick press of the controls, the door rose into its recess, revealing a gathering of six apprentices outside.

 

“We need to talk,” Arlia bluntly stated. The six students of Syrosk stood rigid, most with their arms folded, baring none too pleased expressions.

 

Lorrik began to worriedly scratch his chin. “Look, I know this is-”

 

“I said WE need to talk, not you,” Arlia chided. “Move aside.” The Twi’lek shooed the Human back as she barged in, the other apprentices following her into the suite. As the last of the students entered, Lorrik hesitantly closed the door behind them. The visitors made their way into the living quarters, spreading themselves out amongst the desks and meditation mat.

 

“Where’s Syrosk?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Elsewhere,” Arlia answered. “Likely securing us transit off this dust ball.”

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“What do you think? We’re here because we need to figure out what we’re going to do next,” Arlia declared.

 

“Syrosk seems intent on packing up and continuing our training elsewhere, leaving all this Academy nonsense behind us,” Kar’ai stated.

 

“But we all know that’s not going to work,” Isorr added. “Syrosk thinks we can train elsewhere, but we're outcasts no matter where we go.”

 

“Right. Things only worked out here because of Syrosk’s history with the place,” Arlia stated. “Whether he realizes it or not, this is the safest place for him. Anywhere else, and he’s fair game for any Lord who wants to take down the ‘alien’ in their midst.”

 

“Syrosk’s admitted defeat,” Ryloh offered. “He’s willing to abandon everything we’ve accomplished so far, because he thinks it’s what’s best for the group.

 

“But we don’t plan on giving up that easily,” Kar’ai heartily added.

 

Lorrik offered the gathered apprentices a soft arch of his brow. “Wait, I thought you’d all be angry about being exiled from Korriban.”

 

“Of course we’re angry,” Arlia declared, “Tash made the better move, and now Syrosk is just handing him the win.”

 

“Wait, Tash? You think was Tash’s doing?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t figured that out,” Arlia chided. “We managed to upset him by messing with his classrooms, and he found a way to make sure we never messed with them again.”

 

“I was attacked by an Overseer. Not an instructor. Not one of Tash’s lackeys. An Overseer, from the REAL Academy,” Lorrik explained. “He hated the other students and everything Tash was doing as much as he did me.”

 

“I know, right? Lessens the likelihood of things being tied back to him,” Arlia stated. “We’re not dealing with a normal Sith, we’re dealing with a Darth who’s managed to survive the entirety of the Great War while overseeing a secret training ground for impure acolytes. I’m sure he knows a thing or two about manipulation.”

 

“Maybe he does, but that doesn’t make him any more likely the culprit than some random Sith with a vendetta against our kind,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“No less likely either,” Isorr countered.

 

“You really think he could orchestrate such a thing from across the galaxy in less than a day?” Lorrik asked. “We just met with his classrooms yesterday.”

 

“Maybe he was planning it earlier and it just happened to sync up with our recent ploy?” Arlia offered. “Maybe it was carried out by one his agents here? Maybe it was his apprentice, though we don’t know if he was aware of our actions yesterday.”

 

Lorrik’s eyes slowly drifted toward the floor. “He was aware.” The other apprentices looked to the Human with a curious look.

 

“How could you know that?” Arlia asked.

 

“Because. I talked to him last night,” Lorrik admitted.

 

Isorr balked. “You what?”

 

“I caught up with him as he was about to board a shuttle. He already knew before I had even spoke.”

 

“Why were you talking with him in the first place?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“He offered us a chance to join him, I thought it only fair to give him the chance to join us,” Lorrik admitted.

 

“He offered us a chance to join Tash,” Arlia corrected. “He’s still his apprentice, and he’s made his loyalties abundantly clear. He’s probably the one who sent the Overseer after you.”

 

“No. I don’t believe that,” Lorrik declared. “That’s not the man who brought me to the Academy.”

 

“Your trusting naiveté was kind of adorable at one point, but it’s time to get serious,” Arlia directed. “The man was and is a Sith. He said and did whatever was required to get us headed toward the Academy. We cannot trust him any more than we can trust his master.”

 

As a lull overtook the conversation, the Zabrak looked around the suite’s living quarters. “Where’s Jresh, he needs to be here as we plan our next move.”

 

“He’s in his room,” Lorrik hesitantly stated. “He’s… meditating.”

 

Isorr balked. “Meditating?”

 

“He’s still recovering from the encounter, emotionally at least,” Lorrik explained. “I can sense the imbalance within him.”

 

The Zabrak released a low growl. “What manner of Sith cannot handle the effects of battle.”

 

“This was no ordinary battle,” Lorrik muttered.

 

Receiving no further explanation, the Isorr offered a stern scoff. “Then you’ll make his decisions for him. We’re being kicked out tomorrow. The question is, where do we go?”

 

“Where can we go?” Ryloh asked. He and the other apprentices looked to Lorrik for an answer.

 

“What? Why should I have any idea?”

 

“Because, this is the kind of thing you’re best at,” Kar’ai stated. “Guiding the group when we have no idea where to go. Back in the wastes. When we became apprentices. When Vai offered us a place with Tash. You’re the best at keeping this group together.”

 

Lorrik saw the eyes of the other six apprentices continue to press upon him. “I… don’t know. This isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before. Maybe it’s just best to pack your bags and… wait for tomorrow.” The Human began to move past the other students without another word.

 

Ryloh raised a hand as the other inquisitor approached one of the bedrooms. “But-”

 

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I need more rest. I trust you’ll see yourselves out,” Lorrik muttered as he retreated into his room, leaving the other apprentices standing with no direction. With nothing more to say, the students removed themselves from the suite and departed toward their own rooms.

 

Once more, the Human fell onto his bed, this time shutting his eyes, hoping for the day to finally be over.

 

----------

 

As morning came, Lorrik was awoken by a series of knock at his front door. Stepping from his bedroom, the inquisitor saw his companion already up and dressed. Two small footlockers had been stacked atop the warrior’s desk, containing everything the Pureblood wished to take with him. Lorrik was thrilled to see his partner up and moving around, but the warrior still carried a beleaguered look in his eyes. The two shared a brief look as they silently pondered the knock at their door. For all they knew it could have been a group of Guardsmen ready to escort them offworld.

 

Garbed in his under-robes, the inquisitor opened to door to be greeted by Arlia, who invited him into the hallway. Cautiously stepping from his apartment, the Human saw the curious sight of the other apprentices standing near their own suites, examining notes attached to the walls on either side of their doors. Turning, Lorrik saw that two more rest beside his own door.

 

“What are these?” Lorrik asked to no one in particular.

 

“Look for yourself,” Arlia advised. “It seems someone knew we were departing today.

 

Lorrik examined the notes closely. Pieces of flimsiplast, small pages containing a specialized message. Both possessed a unique set of astrogation coordinates accompanied by a single name. One said ‘Yerrig’, the other said ‘Zyos’.

 

“Who put these here?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Don’t know,” Arlia admitted. “Kar’ai and Ryloh were the first to notice. They were here before any of us woke up. What’s yours say?”

 

“They’re coordinates, and the name of the man who owned me back when I was a slave. The other has the name of the Sith responsible for the death of Jresh’s parents.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Arlia muttered to herself, eliciting a confused response from the Human. “Each of these sheets seems to point us toward something in our past. The question is, who put these here and why?”

 

“I’d say the who is easy enough to figure out,” Lorrik admitted. “How many people have knowledge of our pasts, and how many of those people have the resources to keep tabs on them.”

 

“Tash,” Arlia declared. “If he knows we’re being forced of Korriban, he could be trying to split us up. Or perhaps he’s still trying to court our favor. First create a situation where Syrosk can no longer provide for us, then provide us with the things we most want.”

 

Lorrik stared at the sheets. “Or maybe… it’s a peace offering.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. Tash is trying to-”

 

“No. Not Tash. Vai,” Lorrik offered. “As his apprentice, Vai could reasonably access the same information and resources Tash could.”

 

“Again with this?” Arlia muttered. “Vai is not our ally.”

 

“He’s not our enemy either,” Lorrik stated.

 

“You realize the most likely explanation is that this is a trap. He could be guiding us right toward our deaths,” Arlia explained.

 

“If that’s the case, then I say we follow them,” Lorrik declared. “After all, you all had a problem with Syrosk admitting defeat. If you’re right and this is a trap, then the fight is still on. If I’m right and this is a gift, then the fight is most definitely still on. Tell the others to get ready. We’re leaving Korriban.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Osetto]

Chapter Seventeen: Exchanges

 

Lorrik ducked back into his suite, the two notes held firmly in his hands. Jresh watched from the living room as the Human approached with a peculiar bounce in his step.

 

“Jresh, you need to take a look at this,” Lorrik advised, holding out one of the sheets of flimsiplast.

 

The Pureblood extended a hand, slowly accepting the offered note. The warrior’s eyes hovered over the sparse information, passing over it again and again, processing it over and over in his mind.

 

“That’s the name of the man who killed your parents, right?” Lorrik softly asked.

 

The warrior continued to stare at the name etched onto the flimsiplast sheet. “Their deaths were at the hands of his apprentice, but… yes, this was the man ultimately responsible,” Jresh stoically declared.

 

“Every one of us got a note like that. Something from before our lives at the Academy and a series of coordinates,” Lorrik explained. “I think it’s a gift. I think I convinced Vai to help us. He’s trying to give us a piece of our lives back, I know it! Don’t you see what this means. I thought it was all over. I thought we had nowhere to go. But now-”

 

Lorrik stopped mid-sentence when he saw his companion calmly rip up the note within his hands. He tore the sheet into halves over and over until there it was little more than tatters. A moment later, he released them from his grasp, letting the scraps gently float down to the floor.

 

The inquisitor looked at the tattered note with wide eyes, stunned. “Jresh, why did-”

 

The Human found himself once again interrupted, this time by the Pureblood reaching around him and pulling him close. The warrior’s arms constricted around his companion’s shoulders, holding him and pressing his head to his chest. Lorrik remained silent, arms pinned to his side by his partner’s tender yet firm embrace.

 

“Yesterday…” Jresh muttered, barely rising above a soft whisper. “When I sensed that you were in danger, I ran as fast as I could. Faster than I thought possible. I ran and I ran, only a single thing running through my mind. You. And the fact that I had to protect you. That if I didn’t get there in time, I would lose you. But something happened along the way. I can remember the moment I set eyes upon the men attacking you. I was filled with an indescribable rage. In that moment, nothing could compare to the hate I felt toward the man who held your life in his hands. And so I used that hate, that rage, to fuel myself. To punish those men who threatened you. Though every move I made was deliberate and every action I took was calculated, I was not the one in control. It was like I was trapped inside my own body, forced to witness the events unfold around me. My movements, my actions, my words… they were mine, but they did not belong to me. And yet, I wanted each and every one of them. Only when I was sure that you were safe, only when I had killed those men, did I regain control. But even then, I hadn’t. My heart continued to race. My senses remained heightened. The passage of time had been unbearably slowed. And though I wanted nothing more than for it to stop, it persisted. Some part of me wanted to preserve that feeling. That bloodlust. That power. But I knew I could not allow it. During that fight, I felt closer to the Force than I ever had, but I could also feel myself slipping away. The power I displayed threatened to consume me. Consume every part of me that desired that power in the first place. I had to focus the entirety of my mind on preserving what I truly desired, lest those desires become subservient to that consumption. I could not allow that power to take precedence. No power, no matter how great, is worth sacrificing who I am or what I care about.”

 

As Lorrik remained locked in his partner’s embrace, he could hear the warrior’s heart beating in his chest. What was once a furious thumping had since been replaced by a calmed beat.

 

“I will not lose control and risk losing everything I have tried so hard to gain,” Jresh softly declared. “I can train. I can fight. I can protect you without succumbing to that darkness. I cannot make that promise were I to meet my parents’ killer. For me, there is nothing in my past worth returning to. For you, there is something worth holding onto. Something worth preserving. My family’s gone. Yours isn’t. I’ll not see myself distracted by some vendetta, not while we remain embroiled in much more important matters. If we must leave the Academy, we leave together. I will stand by your side wherever you may go, because that is where I truly want to be.”

 

Jresh slowly loosened his arms around Lorrik, eventually relinquishing his grip and taking a step back. The wide-eyed surprise the inquisitor displayed had given way to a soft appreciation. The two looked into one another’s eyes as they realized that no matter how much had changed in the last few days, there was something in the other person that they could always rely upon. They protected one another, from things far more important that bodily harm. They provided shelter. They provided guidance. They provided a way forward.

 

“You know, twice now you’ve saved me from certain death,” Lorrik stated, eyes firmly planted upon the Pureblood’s visage. “And I’ve yet to properly thank you for it.”

 

Jresh dipped his head, closing his eyes as he regained his composure. “You are my partner, you don’t need to-”

 

He was suddenly interrupted by the Human taking hold of the warrior’s robes, lifting himself up, and placing his lips upon the Pureblood’s own. Jresh’s eyes shot open to see his companion’s face pressed against his as they shared a brief but tender kiss. Lorrik then broke away, ending the connection as quickly as he had initiated it. The two apprentices once again stood locked in one another’s eyes. Lorrik retreated with a bashful smile whilst the warrior attempted to maintain his stoic demeanor. Such attempts would prove insufficient as the Pureblood’s lips began to curl into a smile.

 

----------

 

Hours passed. The Korriban sun beat down upon the eight apprentices as they stood outside the Academy halls. But that was the only familiarity they possessed toward their current predicament. Together they stood, arranged in the same line standing across from their master, only this time, there would be no trial. Instead, they stood, luggage and containers at their side, staring at the shuttle that was to ferry them offworld. Between them and the vessel was Lord Syrosk, garbed in black robes rather than his battle attire, looking upon his students with an unusual weariness behind his eyes.

 

“My apprentices,” Syrosk rasped. “Our time on Korriban has come to an end. Though I know none of you possess fond memories of this world, you must undoubtedly understand the important part it has played in your training. As we depart, we are unfortunately leaving behind something that shaped all of you into the men and women you are today. This shuttle will take us to the orbital station above Korriban. From there, we will plan our journey in greater detail, but I’m afraid the time has come for us to leave the Academy.”

 

“We’re leaving. You’re not,” Lorrik declared. The Sith Lord arched his brow, studying his apprentice. The Human was utterly confident in his words. Not only that, but each of the seven other students were confident in them as well. They stood united, more so than ever before. More so than the trip to the wastes. More so than the trip to the tombs. Once more they were called upon to journey into the unknown, and they stood ready. But for the first time, their master was to make that journey with them. And for the first time, they would deny him.

 

“Do you plan on elaborating?” Syrosk curiously asked.

 

“You said that even though we were banished, you could remain if you so chose,” Lorrik recalled.

 

“Indeed. But your training cannot continue so long as I remain here,” Syrosk declared.

 

“Then maybe it’s time for our training to end,” Lorrik stated. The Sith Lord remained silent, not wanting to interrupt the Human’s musings. “We’ve learned pretty much everything you could teach us, it’s just up to us to hone our skills, right? We don’t need the Academy or its grounds to do that. We can continue our training elsewhere, readying ourselves as we always have for what it surely to come.”

 

“And that would be?” Syrosk rasped.

 

“Our confrontation with Tash,” Lorrik declared. “You think everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through is over, just because we’re being forced off this dust ball? When have things ever been that simple? Whether or not this was orchestrated by Tash, he’s not going to stop. And even if he’s stopped caring about us, there are still scores of students in that Academy that remain bound to his will. You can still operate within the Academy. You can still keep an eye on his operations. He thinks us defeated. Disbanded. He thinks you’ve given up. And maybe you have. But we haven’t. We will continue to fight until each and every one of us is free from his clutches once and for all. If you truly want to do right by us, stay here, watch for new developments, and trust in the teachings you’ve provided us.”

 

“Were I to stay, where would you all go?” Syrosk asked.

 

“We can’t tell you,” Lorrik bluntly answered. “We all have our paths to take. Paths we must walk alone. But with the bonds we have forged, we will never truly be separated from one another. And as hard as you may have tried keeping yourself detached from your students, we all share that same bond with you. But if you require something more tangible, you can contact us through the datapads you gave us when we first began our training. When the time comes for us to reconvene, we will do so. Until then, we will spend our time accordingly. You’ve been a great master, and we remain your apprentices, but the time has come for us to depart.”

 

The Sith Lord looked upon the Human, then the others, each of then sharing the same sentiment. Syrosk processed his student's words, wondering if this was truly the best course of action, but the determined glint in the inquisitor’s eyes provided a sufficient answer.

 

“Very well,” Syrosk said with the subtle nod of his horned head. “I will remain on Korriban and keep tabs on Tash’s operations. You are all free to go and act as you please. I trust in your judgment.”

 

“Thank you, master,” Lorrik offered with a respectful bow of his head.

 

“No. Thank you. All of you,” Syrosk rasped. “You have all proven yourselves capable and determined beyond measure. I am proud to have taught you these past months. Looking at each of you, I see the greatness I envisioned all those years ago when I set out to find the next generation of Sith.” The Sith Lord began to walk toward his apprentices, stopping only a couple steps away from them. “And you Lorrik, you have managed to defy nearly all of my expectations.”

 

“Here’s hoping that’s a good thing,” Lorrik said with a chuckle. The master accepted the jovial offering, but maintain his usual gruff stoicism.

 

“There is something I wish for you to have,” Syrosk declared as he reached beneath the folds of his robes. His rough hand returned holding an amulet attached to a chain that circled the Sith Lord’s neck. Carefully, he lifted the necklace, maneuvering the amulet up and over his horned head. The student looked at it with a contained fascination. The jeweled amulet was something of simple beauty, a dark yellow crystal enwrapped with silver. “This amulet belonged to my master. He passed it down to me during my training as a Seer. It provided focus. Accentuated my abilities. Because of it, my visions became clearer. Because of it, I was able to find all of you amongst the vastness of this galaxy. I am aware of your distaste for precognition, but I would like to pass it on to you as my master did to me.”

 

Lorrik stared at the chained amulet held within him master’s hands. With wide eyes, he carefully reached out, taking the prized possession in his hands, studying the golden gem closely.

 

“I’m not sure what to say,” Lorrik admitted, somewhat astonished.

 

“In many ways, you remind me of my master. It seemed fitting that you be the next to receive it,” Syrosk explained.

 

“Thank you… but…”

 

“But?” Syrosk repeated with confusion.

 

“This gem isn’t anything special,” Lorrik admitted. The Sith Lord offered a firm arch of his brow. “This kind of crystal, I mean, it’s valuable in the cosmetic markets, but they don’t have any Force properties. This is the stuff me and the other slaves mined before I came to the Academy.”

 

Syrosk continued to stare at his apprentice, for the first time in life truly dumbfounded. His mouth articulated, but no words passed his rough lips. The Sith Lord was unable to properly convey the jumbled thoughts running through his head.

 

“Why would my master have me put my faith in some worthless trinket?” Syrosk muttered.

 

“Oh, it’s far from worthless. Beyond the monetary value, I mean,” Lorrik stated. “It still gave you focus. It still gave you something to believe in. Only instead of drawing upon some outside Force to grant you power, you drew upon the bond between you and your master. You drew upon the power already within you. Everything you’ve done has been because of you, not some artifact. What you believed to be granting your insight, was simply a construct to get you to belief in yourself.”

 

“He must have died before he could have told me the truth,” whispered to himself. “Or maybe he never had any intention of telling me. He knew how important he was to me. He knew if he ever died there would be no one to replace him. So he gave me something to believe in, because I would be too stubborn to believe in myself. He accepted his death, because he believed in me, even if I didn’t. After all this time, he managed to impart one final lesson.” The Sith Lord let out a soft chortle. “I’d like for you to have it nonetheless, Lorrik.”

 

The apprentice replied with a warm nod, placing the amulet around his neck.

 

“My students, we’ve delayed long enough,” Syrosk declared, a subtle warmth in his tone. “Your shuttle awaits. Your transport off the orbital station should arrive in a few hours. Safe travels.”

 

Without another word, the students’ master began his trek back toward the Academy, turning his back on his apprentices for the last time. The eight Sith watched the Lord march along the dirt path, arms folded neatly behind his back. Without further delay, they shared one look amongst each other and picked up their luggage, carrying the assortment of bags and containers onto the shuttle in front of them.

 

The eight apprentices piled into the vessel’s passenger bay, neatly storing their luggage and preparing themselves for the journey ahead. With everyone in their seats, the shuttle lifted itself from the landing pad, beginning its ascent toward the Korriban sky, followed by a quick trip past its atmosphere.

 

“This is our first time going into space since arriving isn’t it?” Lorrik casually stated.

 

“Is anything not nonchalant for you?” Arlia accusingly asked. “How did you know Syrosk would just let us go like this?”

 

“I didn’t. Then again, maybe I just did,” Lorrik stated. “I don’t think he truly had a plan for what came next. He told us himself, there were few options for where we could possibly continue our training. This is for the best. We get to go where we please without interference.”

 

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t tell him about where we plan on going,” Arlia continued.

 

“Where ARE we going?” Kar’ai asked. “I mean, I know we plan on following up on the coordinates mysteriously left for us, but how do we go about getting there? I don’t think we can go about this with a single shuttle.”

 

“Syrosk didn’t say how we’d be leaving the orbital station,” Ryloh stated.

 

“Suppose we had to fly together, do we seek out the nearest major starport and book our own rides from there?” Kar’ai suggested.

 

“We don’t exactly have the means to pay for our gallivanting around the galaxy,” Ryloh stated.

 

“I think I can take care of that,” Arlia declared as she reached beneath her seat. Slowly, she pulled out a small footlocker and maneuvered ahead of her feet. Undoing its latches, she opened the container’s lid, revealing a colorful assortment of extravagant and rare lightsaber crystals. “The ones we procured from our delve into the tomb. Took a purple one for myself. Figured the others would come in handy sooner or later. Since I plan on visiting Nar Shaddaa, I can sell these for a hefty sum while I'm there. That’ll give us a pool of credits more than able to cover our expenses.”

 

“Arlia? Sharing?" Lorrik joked.

 

The purple Twi’lek cast her sharpened gaze toward the Human. “Keep that up and you’re on your own.”

 

“I’m only just kidding,” Lorrik warmly offered. “But, uh, you wouldn’t happen to have another purple crystal in there or anything?”

 

“Nope, just the one. You’re stuck with blue,” Arlia teased.

 

“What other colors do you have?”

 

“Come on, Lorrik. These are meant to earn us some credits. Stop being so selfish,” Arlia playfully chided. The Human offered the grinning Twi’lek a sideward glare and he fell silent. As the cabin grew quiet, only the soft hum of the shuttle’s mechanical working struck the apprentices’ ears.

 

“You know, I wish these things had viewports,” Lorrik muttered.

 

As the minutes passed, the students could sense the vessel approaching its targeted destination. Eventually, the shuttle touched down in one the hangars of Korriban’s orbital station. The eight apprentices calmly gathered their belongings as they exited the craft, stepping out onto the cold metallic floor of the station. The students looked in awe toward the outward face of the hangar, seeing the planet they had spent the last decade of their lives on surrounded by the vastness of space.

 

The sight beyond the chamber’s magnetic barrier was simplistic and viewed by countless individuals, but it was something utterly new to them. Ever since they were brought to Korriban, they had been strictly terrestrial beings. Now, they saw how little Korriban was amongst the surrounding astral sea. They continued to admire the image, until a station official arrived to guide them deeper into the orbital station. Luggage in hand, the eight apprentices headed toward the lobby where they would await their next transport.

 

Walking amongst the ordered architecture of the station, the students saw passing Imperial engineers and technicians going about their daily routines. Armed security patrolled and guarded the station, panning their gazes over the travelers from beneath their faceless helmets. The students found themselves amongst something new. The station resembled little from Korriban’s surface structures. The peoples populating the station ranged from simple to benign. The eight apprentices slowly realized that Korriban and the Academy were unique amongst the galaxy, their journey ahead promising a litany of new experiences.

 

The students settled down in the station’s lobby. Sitting on benches, surrounded by their belongings, there was little more for them to do but wait. Time passed. First minutes. Then hours. The apprentices wondered what awaited them, and whether it intended to arrive any time soon. Just as they were about to think themselves abandoned, one of the station’s staff approached them, informing the students that Syrosk had arranged their transport. The plainly garbed Human then led the eight apprentices toward one of the station’s many hangars.

 

Passing the threshold of a large bulkhead door, the students were greeted with the sight of four shuttles situated in two pairs on opposite sides of the hangar.

 

“Which one is ours?” Lorrik asked.

 

“All of them,” the attendant explained.

 

“Has anyone noticed our master has a strange knack for acquiring shuttles?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“Perks of being a Sith Lord,” Arlia replied.

 

“So we each get our own shuttle,” Lorrik stated. “Does each pair have someone who can fly said shuttle?”

 

“Each vessel possesses its own Astromechanical Logistics Droid,” the attended explained.

 

“Does each pair have someone who can converse with an Astromechanical Logistics Droid?” Lorrik asked as the station attendant ducked away.

 

“Is fine. No worry,” Nesk briskly offered, already heading toward one of the docked vessels. As he and Vurt approached the nearest shuttle, they left the other three pairs scratching their heads.

 

“I guess there’s really nothing more for us to say to one another,” Lorrik muttered.

 

“No, I suppose there isn’t,” Arlia replied. Moving to the Human’s front, the female Twi’lek extended her hand. The fellow inquisitor accepted, and the two amicably shook hands. “Well, Lorrik, it’s been interesting to say the least. Do try not to die, you’ve a bad habit of that as of late.”

 

The Human offered a smile and the two parted ways. As Arlia headed toward one of the shuttles, Isorr locked eyes with the Pureblood.

 

“We didn’t get a chance to finish our duel,” Isorr stated. “I hope to remedy that one day.”

 

“I’ll be waiting,” Jresh stoically declared. The two warriors offered a brief nod of their heads as the Zabrak caught up with his partner. Now only Lorrik, Jresh, Kar’ai, and Ryloh remained.

 

“Honestly, is this how you saw any of this panning out?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“Not in the slightest,” Lorrik warmly offered. The Rattataki replied with a light chuckle.

 

“Thanks for everything you’ve done. You know, keeping us together, keeping us alive,” Kar’ai listed. “We were lucky to have you, even if it meant withstanding your constant chatter on occasion.” The warrior offered a slight bow of her head before departing toward one of the shuttles.

 

Ryloh began to followed her, but stopped after taking a few steps, turning back toward the Human. The blue Twi’lek dropped one of the sacks he carried onto the floor, loosening its bindings. Reaching inside, he returned with a black, featureless facemask in his hands.

 

“This is the artifact we managed to procure from our trip to the tombs. I thought you should have it,” Ryloh stated. Lorrik carefully took hold of the smooth facemask, feeling a strange energy coursing through it. “If you wear it, it masks your identity, your thoughts, your very presence. You seem to run into the most trouble out of all of us, so I thought you might be able to find a use for it. We never liked it that much. Using it puts you in a very insular state. I felt disconnected, even from Kar’ai, when wearing it. I know that wouldn’t appeal to you neither, but I figured if things really got bad, you might find use in it. Plus, Kar’ai thinks it’s kind of creepy.”

 

Lorrik gently placed the artifact amongst his packed belongings. “Thanks, Ryloh. I really appreciate it.” With that, the two inquisitors parted ways. Jresh and Lorrik were alone as the other pairs began loading into their own shuttles.

 

“So. This is it,” Jresh declared. “After all these years, we’re finally leaving Korriban behind.”

 

“Yup.”

 

“I take it that means you’re ready?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Alright, let’s get going then.”

 

“Let’s.”

 

Luggage firmly in hand, Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward the fourth shuttle.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

SQUEE

 

I can hardly wait to see what happens next.

[Xerion_Viktus]

I'm just loving this, I just wish you would write more romance scenes with Jresh and Lorrik, because as soon as I read the part where they kissed I literally yelled out "FINALLY! TOOK HIM LONG ENOUGH!" Anyway, keep of the good work.

[Osetto]

Chapter Eighteen: Journeys

 

The shuttle hatch opened as Lorrik and Jresh approached. The vessel was one of the standardized vessels utilized by the Empire. Gray. Compact. Angular. The same model that had once dumped them amidst the wastes of Korriban. The same model that had just recently ferried them to the orbital station. Setting their packed belongings loosely amongst the passenger area, the pair ducked their heads into the cockpit, only to see a droid sitting patiently where an organic pilot would usually reside. The humanoid machine resembled the protocol and factotum droids that could be seen maintaining the station, as well as the more technically oriented sections of the Academy.

 

Swiveling around in its seat, the droid greeted the two new occupants. “Greetings masters,” the pilot sounded off with an overbearing politeness. “I am Astromechanical Logistics Droid 438. It is my duty and privilege to provide you transport wherever you may desire.”

 

The inquisitor looked upon the mechanical pilot with a curious glee. “Honestly, when was the last time we met someone this nice?”

 

“It’s a droid. Its emotional state is just programming,” Jresh offered.

 

“People aren’t any different, our software just has a few more… bugs,” Lorrik joked. Approaching the droid, the inquisitor pulled a sheet of flimsiplast from his robes. “ALD, can you take us to these coordinates?”

 

The pilot took the sheet, holding it in front of his mechanical eyes for but a moment. “Certainly master. I shall set a course immediately.” The droid went straight to inputting the coordinates into the navicomputer, already running the internal calculations required to expedite the journey. The vessel lifted itself from its landing struts, hovering a short distance above the hangar floor. With none of the other shuttles impeding its path, the starship left the confines of the orbital station, setting out on its journey.

 

The two travelers watched as the holoprojector that sat beside the pilot lit up, displaying a luminescent map of the known galaxy. Data points began to pop up as the map focused, zooming in toward a nondescript planet nestled in the Outer Rim. Ortess-3. Name given not by any inhabitants, but by offworld charters before they knew anything more than its location. The Imperial databank provided limited details. Size. Number of moons. Nothing regarding its populace or mining operations.

 

“Ortess-3. So that’s what it was called,” Lorrik said, almost whispering. The inquisitor looked to his companion, whom looked upon the holoprojector with quiet fascination. “Go ahead, the co-pilot’s chair is empty.”

 

“The droid has everything under control,” Jresh replied, not removing his gaze from the console. “I’d not interfere.”

 

“Come on,” Lorrik teased. “Astromechanics is the closest thing you’ve had to a hobby, and it’s not like the Academy could accommodate it like me and my cooking.”

 

“I’d only consider it passing interest-”

 

“A passing interest that more than expedited our trip through the wastes,” Lorrik reminded. “It’s good to have something in your life that doesn’t involve punching and stabbing.”

 

The warrior momentarily tore his gaze from the ship’s console to lock eyes with his companion. The inquisitor offered nothing more than a gentle smile, one that proved contagious. Without another word, the Pureblood entered the cockpit, placing himself in the co-pilot’s chair. Turning around, he saw that Lorrik had already retreated into the passenger bay, leaving him alone with the droid.

 

Jresh looked over the console that stretched out in front of him. The various panels and dials were automated to remain under the droid’s control, but the Pureblood was more than happy to devote to them his full attention.

 

“All systems ready,” the droid stated. “Shall we make the jump to lightspeed, master?”

 

“Proceed,” Jresh directed.

 

Without delay, the droid engaged the hyperdrive. Destination set, there was a momentary calm as the vessel floated amongst the stars. Soon, the countless specks of light began to stretch across the black canvas as the shuttle jumped to lightspeed. Staring out the viewport, Jresh looked in awe at the swirling tunnel of hyperspace, a sight he had not seen in over a decade.

 

Back in the passenger bay, Lorrik sat alone. The Human was hunched over, chin resting on his interlocked hands. They had left Korriban. They had left the Academy. He knew this day would eventually come, but never quite like this. Lorrik had long abandoned hope of seeing his family again. He had left everything behind, with no knowledge of how to return. He had never even learned the name of the planet he and the other slaves toiled on.

 

The chance existed that said planet was not their current destination, but merely where Olto Yerrig currently resided. But the inquisitor would not permit such a thought within his mind. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that they were heading toward that barren, relentless world. The world Tash’s apprentice plucked him from over ten years ago. The chance existed that his parents had not survived all those years. But that too would receive no attention. He knew they were still alive. He knew. He knew. He had to know.

 

As the shuttle traveled through hyperspace, there was little to do other than wait. Hours upon hours passed. The warrior and inquisitor would keep to themselves, occasionally checking up on one another, making sure the other was okay. Though neither truly knew what would constitute okay. Or whether it was truly a time to be okay. They knew their destination, but not what awaited them there.

 

Sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, Jresh watched the console in front of him light up as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed. The stars returned to their usual place as dots amongst the void. In front of the vessel, a planet of faded yellows and hazes stood before them. Ortess-3.

 

“Lorrik, we’re here,” Jresh shouted toward the passenger bay. The inquisitor rushed to the cockpit, awestruck with the sight of the looming planet. His lips began to quiver as he struggled to find the words. “ALD, take us down.”

 

“Right away, master,” the droid called out. The shuttle approached the planet’s surface as fast as its sub-light engines would allow. The vessel firmly in the hands of its pilot, Jresh removed himself from his seat, ushering himself toward the passenger bay. The Pureblood found his companion frozen in place ahead of him, eyes staring off into the distance.

 

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” Jresh said.

 

“I’m not entirely sure that’s up to us,” Lorrik muttered. Shaking his head, the inquisitor shook himself from his stupor, retreating into the passenger bay alongside his companion. The two gathered themselves, preparing for whatever might await them on the planet’s surface. As the shuttle passed through the hazy atmosphere of the industrial world, the pilot received a transmission.

 

“Masters, someone from the surface is asking our names and purpose,” the droid declared.

 

“Tell them we’re Sith, and leave it at that,” Lorrik shouted to the cockpit.

 

“Is that wise?” Jresh asked.

 

“I’ve no idea the current terms of Tash and Yerrig’s relationship,” Lorrik explained. “My departure seemed cordial enough, but then again I was a child at the time. And ten years is more than enough time for relations to sour. Just be prepared for anything.”

 

The shuttle descended until it has passed through the thick smog that dominated the sky, setting its sights on a clearing beside a grandiose structure. A clearing that aligned with the set of planetary coordinates provided by Vai Thorel. The shuttle extended its landing gears as it touched down upon the smooth pavement that surrounded the home and office of Olto Yerrig.

 

“Open the doors, ALD,” Lorrik softly directed. Without delay, the entrance ramp unfolded from the vessel’s chassis, and the exterior hatch rescinded itself. With a mutual nod, the two Sith stepped from the confines of the shuttle.

 

The filtered sunlight that passed through the polluted sky lit the area, granting the visitors full view their surroundings. Surroundings populated by armed guards training their weapons on the unscheduled Sith. The guards were garbed in dark colors, protected by armor afforded only to the best security forces. Their faces were concealed behind masked helmets, threatening visages meant to provoke fear from the local workers.

 

Lorrik took a step forward, the guards reaffirming their rifle barrels toward the Human. The two Sith remained calm, panning their gazes across the horizon, looking beyond those who had them in their sights. The inquisitor thought how to proceed, but he knew with each passing second of silence, their presence would be less and less tolerated.

 

“We are the servants of Darth Tash, and require an audience with Olto Yerrig,” Lorrik bellowed with a presence previously unheard of. The tension remained, but somehow the air seemed calm. Slowly, the guards lowered their weapons.

 

“Come with us,” one of the enforcers directed through the modulation of his helmet. One by one the guards broke their encircling formation, opening a path for the visitors. The two Sith began to walk, flanked by Yerrig’s security guiding them toward his domicile.

 

Lorrik and Jresh kept their heads low, doing nothing to arouse any suspicions. Walking upon the paved ground, the inquisitor saw the progress his former master had made in the last decade. His palace, though expanded, remained far less opulent than those owned by Hutts or nobles. The majority of his earnings had been reinvested in the mines. Digging operations had spread far beyond the nearby mountains. Transit systems had been implemented, expediting the movements of workers and minerals. Things were unpleasant, dirty, but ultimately recognizable in all forms to the former slave.

 

Passing through the grand archway leading into Yerrig palace, the two visitors immediately found themselves amongst a stark contrast to the world outside. Everything about the structure’s interior was smooth and polished. Grandiose pillars lined the foyer, artistic structures and paintings providing a sense of wealth and regality, even more so than the last time Lorrik had stepped foot within.

 

At the far end of the entrance hall, a figure rushed toward the Sith flanked by two armed guards of his own. The man was garbed in soft attire, filled with the body of a man who spent little of the past ten years working out. The inquisitor instantly recognized the Human. Olto Yerrig. The man’s pace was hurried, but he bore no sign of rejection toward his visitors. In fact, he appeared beholden to them.

 

“Sith!” Yerrig called out, a great distance still separating the two parties. “I sincerely apologize for the lack of a warm welcome, your visit was unscheduled. Had I known you were coming I would have prepared a much more pleasant arrival. Please, what can I do for you?”

 

The two Sith remained silent as they approached Yerrig. When they finally met at the center of the hall, there was an awkward silence as the businessman did everything in his power to avoid upsetting his visitors. Finally, the inquisitor spoke.

 

“Our business concerns the boy taken from here ten years ago,” Lorrik carefully stated.

 

“Ah, yes, the Velash child,” Yerrig perfectly recalled. “I have kept my word with Mr. Thorel, the boy’s parents have been taken care of.”

 

Lorrik’s eyes widened. “Taken care of?”

 

“That’s correct. They reside here in the palace. I’ve made sure they’ve remained in good health,” Yerrig explained.

 

“Good… good,” Lorrik muttered. “Might we see them?”

 

“Of course,” Yerrig said with a quick bow of his head. “Right this way, right this way.” Turning his back on the visitors, Yerrig began leading them deeper into the palace. Passing more and more displays of opulence and pride, the Sith were eventually taken to a nondescript chamber. “This is where they reside.”

 

“May we have some privacy?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Absolutely,” Yerrig declared with a dip of his head. There was a pause as the man looked to the floor, his feet firmly planet. “My lords, pardon my ignorance, but what exactly will you do with them? Is our agreement with Mr. Thorel and your master still in place?”

 

“Yes, you needn’t worry about that,” Lorrik quickly replied. “We merely have a few question we believe only they can answer. Your cooperation is appreciated and noted.”

 

Without another word, Yerrig backed away with yet another subtle bow of his head, allowing the two visitors free access to the chamber. Lorrik took a deep breath before opening the door. Stepping inside, the two Sith found themselves within a humble dwelling, at least, in comparison to the palace that surrounded it. Lightly decorated. Soft colors. Serene.

 

Closing the door behind them, the two Sith cautiously ventured into the chamber. The small living area gave way to hallways and other rooms, a self-contained home within Yerrig’s. It was warm. Inviting. Peaceful. It was unlike anything the inquisitor had expected. Meanwhile, it reminded the warrior of the colonial estate he had once called his home. As the two studied their surroundings with a pleasant wonder, a figure emerged from one of the halls.

 

“If you’re going to check on us, you can at least…” the man began, before slowly drifting away at the sight of the visitors. Where he had expected one of Yerrig’s enforcers, he stood before a pair of robed individuals. “Who… who are…?”

 

A female voice emanated from one of the distant rooms. “Garen? Is everything alright?” The man was speechless. He stood frozen, eyes locked with the those of the inquisitor. Or rather, eye, as his right was covered with a cloth patch. Emerging from the hallway, the woman moved to her husband’s flank. “Garen, what’s going on?” Only after ending her sentence did see lay eyes upon the visitors.

 

“Mom… dad…” Lorrik softly muttered. His lips trembled. His eyes watered. His legs grew weak. It had been a decade since he stood in the presence of the pair of plain folk, the subtle signs of aging apparent on their faces. But in that moment, time had lost all meaning.

 

“Lorrik, is that really you?” Garen offered, a tear forming beneath his good eye.

 

The inquisitor rushed forward with glee, throwing his arms around his parents. They did the same to their son, enveloping them in their loving embrace. As they held each other closely, Lorrik felt himself becoming lost in wondrous delight, burdens slowly being lifted from his soul. Only after a few seconds did he realize that he could only feel three arms around him. Breaking away, the son saw that his mother’s left arm was missing at the shoulder.

 

“Mom, what happened?” Lorrik hastily asked.

 

“The mine collapse took its toll on both of us,” Meylin regretfully explained. “Your father lost an eye. I an arm. But don’t worry. That day is long behind us, and we could have lost so much more. We’re just so relieved to know you’re safe.”

 

“Me too… me too,” Lorrik softly whispered. Perking up, the inquisitor turned around to see his companion patiently standing by the door. “Oh! Mom, dad, this is Jresh Takuul. He’s been my training partner for the past two years, and a good friend. More than a good friend.”

 

“Then what’s he doing over there? Come here, come here,” Garen waved his son’s partner over. Jresh hesitantly complied, slowly making his way over to the group. Standing beside his companion, the warrior was shocked to find the father’s arms already wrapping themselves around him. As he received the impromptu hug, the Pureblood locked eyes with his partner, giving him a silent, wide-eyed stare.

 

Lorrik offered a soft chuckle as he watched the warrior squirm. “It usually takes a while before he'll let anyone hug him.”

 

“I can see your parents were good influences on you,” Jresh muttered, still enduring Garen’s hug. “I must say, this isn’t exactly what I expected.”

 

“You and me both,” Lorrik declared. “Why are you two living with Yerrig?”

 

“He moved us in a day or two after you left, after we were cleared from the medical bay,” Meylin explained. “Yerrig said we didn’t have to work anymore. That he would take care of us.”

 

Garen released his grip, turning his attention back toward his son. “The man who arranged your departure… he arranged some deal regarding us as well. Yerrig’s done everything in his power to keep us safe.”

 

“He has, has he?” Lorrik muttered, stroking his chin. “Listen, I’m going to have a brief conversation with Yerrig. I need you two to stay here.”

 

“Lorrik… please, you’ve only just arrived,” his mother reminded him. “It’s been years since we’ve seen one another. Whatever you need to do can wait.”

 

“I would love nothing more than to stay, and I promise, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Lorrik stated. “But if we want this meeting to last any longer, there's something I need to take care of first.” The inquisitor wrapped his arms around his parents one more time before heading toward the door.

 

Jresh passed his gaze from person to person before settling on the worried couple. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he returns safely.” Fear had not yet been purged from the parents’ hearts, but they ultimately believe in their son and his friend. They offered a firm nod of their heads as the two Sith retreated from the domicile.

 

Right before opening the door, Lorrik paused. “Do the doors lock?”

 

The father replied with a hesitant ‘yes’.

 

“You ought to lock it behind us,” Lorrik suggested.

 

“Yerrig won’t like that,” Garen muttered.

 

“Trust me, it’ll be the least of his concerns,” Lorrik declared. Without another word, the two Sith lowered their heads and made their way back into the palace interior.

 

Stepping out of the domicile, Lorrik and Jresh could see Yerrig waiting on the opposite side of the grandiose chamber, waiting for the Sith’s return.

 

“How do you want to proceed?” Jresh mentally conversed with his partner.

 

“I want some answers,” Lorrik mentally replied. “After that, we’re shutting this place down.”

 

“If we cause trouble, a lot of people could get caught in the crossfire. Including your parents,” Jresh advised.

 

“Then we’ll simply have to provide Yerrig terms he’ll find agreeable,” Lorrik replied.

 

“You’re willing to negotiate with that man?”

 

“I willing to offer him a choice. And if he doesn’t see reason, we’ll force him to.”

 

Lorrik and Jresh made their way toward Yerrig, who eagerly awaited their company.

 

“Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Did receive the answers you desired?” Yerrig warmly asked.

 

“Most. But not all,” Lorrik declared. “Please, we’d like to discuss… business.”

 

“Oh, of course. Please, follow me to my office.”

 

Together the three walked, a small accompaniment of armed guard following in their wake. A brief journey through the pristine palace halls led the Sith to Yerrig’s office, a place of efficiency amidst the grandiose splendor. Stepping into the compact room, Lorrik and Jresh were surrounded by databanks and terminals situated against the rounded walls. Surveys and maps of planetary excavations littered Yerrig’s desk, only a single corner left uncovered. Upon that unmarred spot sat a crystal, cut and sealed within a small display case. A memento, of the first bounty yielded from the mines. The very piece Lorrik had delivered all those years ago.

 

“Now,” Yerrig began, situating himself behind his cluttered desk. “How may I be of service to you and your master?”

 

Standing just inside the office’s threshold, Lorrik and Jresh could feel the discerning gaze of the security forces weighing heavy upon them.

 

“Must we be forced to proceed under the scrutiny of your men?” Lorrik asked. “It’s rather disrespectful.”

 

“I… we… I’d prefer it if…” Yerrig stammered, before letting out a mournful sigh. “Very well. Men, you are dismissed.” The guards nodded their head and retreated from the compact chamber, leaving the three men alone. “I’m sorry. It’s just that this visit is rather unusual. Your master has never sent anyone aside from the annual checkups. And you’re not the usual men.”

 

“I understand, this is new to us as well,” Lorrik admitted, purposefully speaking with ambiguity. “Tell me, who were you expecting?”

 

“No one, to be honest, considering your unscheduled visit,” Yerrig explained. “But I’d never turn away Tash’s men. You can count on that.”

 

“That is good to hear,” Lorrik stated. “Has Vai visited recently? Vai Thorel?”

 

“No, he hasn’t been here since the first visit,” Yerrig answered.

 

“I see,” Lorrik muttered, processing the information. “Mr. Yerrig, about the deal you currently have with our master. Would you consider it satisfactory?”

 

“But of course!” Yerrig declared. “Our supply chains have run uninterrupted years, all thanks to your master. More than worth the five percent he asks.” The inquisitor scratched his chin.

 

“And what of the one regarding the Velash family?” Lorrik insisted.

 

“While I do not understand it, I would not dare question it,” Yerrig proclaimed. “If their safety is required for our relationship to remain intact, I will continue to provide for them.”

 

“Did Tash give you any idea on why he might want them protected?” Lorrik asked.

 

“No, Mr. Thorel did not provide a reason, merely a consequence for failure.”

 

“So… it was Vai whom arranged their current situation…”

 

“Correct. I assumed his words were his masters. Was I mistaken?” Yerrig asked.

 

“Oh, no. No no no. You did well,” Lorrik stated.

 

Yerrig breathed a sigh of relief, wiping his forehead. “Hearing that from one of Darth Tash’s men is absolutely wonderful.”

 

“Well, I’m happy that you’re happy,” Lorrik declared, all smiles. “However, me and partner have a slight confession to make.” Yerrig offered the curious arch of his brow as he continued to stare at the inquisitor, not noticing the warrior maneuvering himself to block the doorway. “You see, we don’t actually work for Tash.”

 

“What?” Yerrig exclaimed, jumping from his seat. “Then who… who are you?” The man’s words we heated, but whimpered with an subtly brewing fear.

 

“The name’s Lorrik. Lorrik Velash,” the inquisitor declared, eye’s coldly staring down his former slaver.

 

“L-Lorrik?” Yerrig stammered. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Oh, you know, thought I’d stop by, see the parents, see what my ex-owner was up to,” Lorrik explained.

 

“Well, you’ve seen how I’ve kept them safe, right?” Yerrig struggled to vocalize, head shaking as he appeared to be searching for something under his desk.

 

“Yerrig, please don’t tell me you’re trying to activate some sort of security system. ‘Cause if it turned out that you were, we’d have to kill you. And we don’t want that, now do we?” Lorrik nonchalantly stated.

 

Yerrig released a frightened chuckle. “No, of course no. So, what can I do for you? Is there anything you want? Anything you need? I technically freed your parents the day you left, so they’re no longer slaves. That’s good to hear, right?”

 

“It’s downright delightful, Yerrig,” Lorrik declared. “But I’m afraid I’m going to need more than that.”

 

“Of course, whatever you need. I’ve got credits. Ships. Weapons. Guards. Everything a young Sith could possibly need. Tell me what you want and it's yours,” Yerrig pleaded.

 

“You see, that’s kind of the opposite of what I want,” Lorrik replied. “I don’t actually want anything for myself. But so long as you’re in the mood to give away your own things… how about you free all your slaves?”

 

“Are you insane? I can’t mine without a workforce!”

 

“Oh, well then, the solution's obvious. Shut down the mines too,” Lorrik directed. “Then again, like I said earlier, me and my partner here could just kill you.” The inquisitor raised his right hand, arc of electricity beginning to envelope his gloved digits.

 

“Nononono. That’s fine, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t kill me,” Yerrig pleaded.

 

“Glad we could reach an agreement. Tell me, where do you keep your records?” Lorrik asked.

 

Yerrig quickly shuffled to the wall behind his desk, tearing down one of the printed maps that hung from the wall and revealing a small built-in safe. Punching in a quick code, he swung to door open, revealing a series of datapads and holorecordings.

 

“Everything you need is in this safe,” Yerrig hastily declared. “The safe and these terminals. They’re all unlocked, I swear. You may peruse them at your convenience. Is that, uh, is that good? Can I go?”

 

“Sure. Leave this place, and never come back. Jresh, let the man out,” Lorrik advised. Watching the warrior step out of the way of the entrance, Yerrig remained for a moment by his safe.

 

“Do you think, maybe, I could take a few credits?” Yerrig cautiously asked. “I won’t exactly have access to my accounts.” All he received was the cold, uncaring stare of the inquisitor's piercing gaze. “Okay, I’ll just be going then.”

 

“Lorrik, I’ll escort Yerrig to his ship,” Jresh declared. “Wouldn’t want him getting lost along the way.” The inquisitor nodded, and the two men exited the office, leaving Lorrik alone in the office. Flustered, Yerrig made his way toward the palace exit, the warrior marching by his side. The posted sentries looked upon their employer in confusion.

 

“Sir,” one spoke up. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” Yerrig hurriedly declared. “Come on, men, we’re leaving.”

 

“Leaving, sir?”

 

“Don’t question me, just move!” Yerrig shouted. The Sith continued to escort the man out of his own home, as more and more armed guards followed in their stead. As Yerrig approached the end of the foyer, he turned around to see a small accompaniment of security were now following them.

 

“Don’t get any ideas, Yerrig,” Jresh sternly whispered, piercing the man to his core. He immediately corrected his stance, keeping his eyes forward as he approached the outer threshold of his palace.

 

Out in the open, Yerrig stood beneath the filtered light of the planet’s sun, wallowing in defeat. His body grew weak, his limbs flaccid as he slowly lost the will to continue.

 

“Sir, what exactly is going on?” one of the trailing guards asked.

 

“We’re leaving. For good. You’re all fired. Done. There’s nothing left for us here,” Yerrig morosely proclaimed. As the guards looked to one another in confusion, the warrior stepped in front of their former employer.

 

“Yerrig,” Jresh stoically began. “My partner has allowed you to continue amongst the living. Considering your pasts, I find myself questioning why. However, I do have a question for you. Were you to abandon everything you started here, could you start a new operation elsewhere?”

 

“What do you mean?” Yerrig cautiously asked.

 

“What I mean is, whatever you were digging here. Were you to know of another source, or of something similar, could you begin your operation anew. Without guidance from Tash?”

 

“It would all depend on the circumstances,” Yerrig softly declared.

 

“Is there a set of circumstances wherein you could start a new dig site. Unbeholden to Tash. Unbeknownst to my partner?”

 

Yerrig stared at the Pureblood, before letting out a soft chortle. “Ah, I see what you’re getting at. A new operation with someone else getting a cut of the profits. Someone like yourself, right? Well, I suppose it would take a lot of time and investment, but if you can protect me, help me get things off the ground, we can have a new operation up and running. And if you can give me the same results Tash did, I’d be more than happy to cut you in.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Jresh whispered to himself.

 

Without further delay, the warrior raised his hands and grasped ahold of Yerrig’s head, and in one swift motion, snapped his neck. As his lifeless body fell to the ground, the surrounding guards jumped at the sight, letting out a series of gasps. Slowly, the Pureblood turned to face them, his eyes stoic and determined.

 

“Yerrig’s operations on this planet are ending. His slaves will be freed and his mines closed. Whatever credits this man has accrued will be given to his former workers, and whomever amongst you wishes to stay and guard them. Anyone who wishes to leave may do so. If anyone thinks to disrupt or harm the newly freed slaves, you will receive the same fate as your former employer. Deliver this message to the other guards.”

 

Jresh stepped away from the corpse, circumventing the guards who still stood in disbelief at what had just occurred. Just as he was about to reenter the palace, the warrior paused, turning back toward the gathered figures.

 

“And one of you, escort Yerrig to his ship.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[EpicJaisonLord]

Still been reading this. Just stopped playing and lost sub. Great job, it's getting epic.

[Osetto]

Chapter Nineteen: Guides

 

There was an eerie quiet as Jresh walked the empty halls of Yerrig’s palace. With each step, the sounds of his feet colliding with the pristine floor echoed throughout the grandiose chambers. The warrior made his way to Yerrig’s office, only to discover that it was as empty as the halls that preceded it. The plans and diagrams, that once covered the room with an organized chaos, had been utterly disheveled and tossed about. Terminals had been accessed, the safe on the far wall had been rummaged through, and Lorrik was nowhere to be found.

 

Stepping inside, the Pureblood found himself oddly intrigued by the slaver’s base of operations. He passed his gaze over the works that now littered the floor. Maps. Surveys. Blueprints. Designs that by themselves were nothing more than the benign tools of industry. It was the will of a single man that determined the fates of every person on this planet. Yerrig held such a place of prominence, that if only the slightest of minor details regarding him had been altered, the ramifications would have been vast.

 

A different ideal. A different attitude. A different strategy. Any difference at all regarding this single entity, and the lives of hundreds would have been fundamentally altered. Only now did the warrior realize, that with the simplest and easiest of motions, he forever altered the fates of everyone tied to this man. He had removed an entire element from a complex equation, single handedly forcing a new destiny to emerge. Years in the Academy had conditioned the Pureblood to believe that his actions could only directly affect those around him. He once believed that he could affect nothing beyond the reach of his own hands. Such limitations would be proven false. And for the things he could get his hands on, he’d find their reach quiet extensive.

 

Stirring himself from his own thought, Jresh was ready to leave in search of his companion, when the encased crystal upon Yerrig’s desk caught his eye. The warrior picked up the glass cube and held it in the palm of his hand. Within the display case, the golden crystal shimmered as the room’s light passed through it. It was a thing of beauty, enough color shining through its translucent structure whilst remaining free of imperfections. As Jresh studied it further, he realized that the crystal seemed oddly unfamiliar.

 

Stepping into the hallway, the Pureblood maintained his grip on the encased crystal, carrying it with him as he ventured toward the domicile of Lorrik’s parents. As he arrived, he could hear the warm murmurs of conversation on the other side of the door. Lightly tapping his knuckles on his entrance, Jresh paused for a moment before entering.

 

The door rescinded, and the warrior was greeted with the pleasant sight of Lorrik and his parents sitting in the living area. The inquisitor and his family wore smiles they had not worn in quite some time. All three of them housed an internal pain, physical and emotional, but it could not dampen the overwhelming joy each of them displayed. It was a sight unlike any the Pureblood had laid eyes on before. It was a scene he long ago thought impossible to attain for people like himself and his partner. And yet, right before him, Lorrik found himself in the company of those he loved most. More so now that Jresh had walked through the door.

 

“Jresh! Come over here, have a seat,” Lorrik welcomed, patting the adjacent cushion on the couch. The warrior remained stilled for a moment, watching as the warm faces of the Velash family fell upon him.

 

“Yerrig’s gone,” Jresh softly stated, as he made his way toward his partner.

 

The inquisitor breathed a sigh of relief. “So that’s it then. Somehow I thought it’d be less simple. I guess I’m so used to dealing with other Sith… it’s weird seeing someone so afraid of me.”

 

The warrior took a seat beside his companion, setting the encased crystal on the adjacent armrest. “The feeling is mutual.”

 

“Really? I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but it seems only natural that some people should fear you,” Lorrik jokingly declared.

 

“I meant how weird it was seeing someone afraid of you,” Jresh corrected.

 

Lorrik offered his partner a playful jab to the arm. “You don’t have to say it so nonchalantly.” Meanwhile, Lorrik’s parents looked upon the two Sith with a hesitant curiosity. “Oh, I don’t think I properly introduced you… Jresh, this is Meylin and Garen Velash.”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Jresh said with the bow of his head.

 

“Likewise,” Meylin stated. “Lorrik’s been telling us a lot about you.”

 

“Has he?” Jresh muttered, playfully arching his brow.

 

“I wanted to make sure they were comfortable with the whole ‘Sith’ thing,” Lorrik admitted. “Didn’t want there to be any confusion regarding me or you.”

 

“And how far did you get explaining the ‘whole Sith thing’?” Jresh asked.

 

“Not very,” Meylin answered for her son. The mother let out a soft chuckle. “He was too busy asking about my arm.”

 

“All I’m saying is that we can get you a cybernetic one,” Lorrik stated, scratching the back of his head. “Artificial limbs aren’t that expensive, and we’re going to have some credits coming in.”

 

“We are?” Jresh asked.

 

“Assuming Arlia manages to sell her crystals,” Lorrik reminded. “It’s not like I’m going to need them, so whatever my cut ends up being, I want to use it helping out my parents and the other slaves.”

 

“Yerrig left behind a considerable amount of wealth, did he not?” Jresh asked. “I promised a portion to what remained of his security to protect the freed slaves. The rest could be spent helping the workers start new lives.”

 

“There should more than enough for that,” Garen said. The father spoke with his son’s candor, but his voice possessed a heavy gravel in its tone. “Most of the workers would want nothing more than a handful of credits and a ship offworld.”

 

“What about repurposing the mines?” Lorrik suggested. “Replace the workers with droids. Build suitable housing. Buy some detoxifiers, clean up the area, turn this place into somewhere worth living. I mean, it would be a challenge, but it would be home. And profits from the mines could go directly to the settlement.”

 

“This place is no home,” Garen softly declared. “Even if we wiped away every last trace of Yerrig’s operations, this place is forever stained by his actions.”

 

“Are you sure?” Lorrik asked. “I mean, I can understand wanting to leave someplace behind you, but there aren’t a lot of better options out there. The galaxy’s a big place… but an extremely limited one as well.”

 

“Life is limited, Lorrik,” Garen muttered. “All we can do is hope, and pray, that we might be given some semblance of control over those limitations. When you were taken ten years ago, your mother and I were ‘freed’, given a place to live amongst luxury, cared for in almost every way imaginable… and we were miserable. Utterly, utterly miserable. Not knowing whether it would last into the next day. Being stuck here. Trapped. Limited. But we weren’t slaves, we had been given a new life, we should have been overjoyed. And for the first few days, after we came to terms with your departure, we were. But there’s a difference between giving someone a new life, and giving them the chance at a better one. You can help these people. That, I believe wholeheartedly. But if you attempt to dictate their lives, regardless of your intentions, they’ll resent you as much as Yerrig.”

 

Lorrik bit his lip as his eyes fell to the floor. “I just want what’s best for you. What’s best for them.”

 

“We can’t decide what’s best for others,” Garen stated. “We can try to justify it. We'll say we know better. We'll say we’re looking out for them. We'll say that everything we do, we do because it is absolutely necessary. But none of us are perfect. None of us will ever be perfect. The best we can do, is offer one another guidance. Understanding that, marks the difference between a leader and a tyrant. A mentor and a controller. A parent… and something else.”

 

“It seems like telling other people how to live their lives is a Sith tradition,” Lorrik said, tearing his gaze from the floor. In a single, swift motion, the inquisitor lifted himself from his seat. “Luckily, I’ve never considered myself much of a traditionalist.”

 

Moving toward the domicile’s exit, Lorrik looked back to his family and partner.

 

“You stay here. I’m going to go make an announcement.”

 

With a smile gracing his lips, the inquisitor ducked out of the living area, leaving Jresh alone with the Human's parents. There was an awkward silence as the Pureblood sat across from his companion’s family, who looked to him without an ounce of trepidation or discomfort. The same could not be said for the warrior.

 

“I should be with him… in case he needs help,” Jresh declared, trying his best to maintain his composed stoicism.

 

“Go ahead,” Meylin advised, smile upon her face, her words followed by firm nod from her husband. Jresh offered a nod of his own, taking a step toward the exit. The warrior paused, picking up the encased crystal before resuming his trek. Stepping out into the vacant halls of Yerrig’s palace, Jresh could see his partner heading for the deceased slave master’s offices.

 

“Lorrik,” Jresh called out, before rushing to catch up with his companion. The inquisitor halted his pace, allowing the Pureblood to take his place by his side.

 

“What’s the matter?” Lorrik teased. “The parents make you uncomfortable?”

 

“I wouldn’t say that,” Jresh stated.

 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Lorrik offered with a chuckle. “Then again, what we’re willing to say and what we truly feel are oft unaligned, are they not?”

 

“Yes, I was uncomfortable,” Jresh bluntly admitted, maintaining his rigid gait and stoic demeanor. ”Your mother and father are kind, loving people. They possess traits I had long since stopped believing in. Seeing them care, hearing them speak, it reminds me of my own parents. A thought simultaneously uplifting and burdening. Sitting in there, I start to forget about these last two years. I start to forget about Tash and Syrosk. I start to forget that I am a Sith. Things that I know I can’t afford to forget. Not now. Not until our work is done.”

 

The inquisitor was surprised with his partner’s candor. “Wow, I honestly wasn't expecting you to be so open. Any other admissions you’d care to make?” Lorrik teasingly inquired.

 

“I killed Yerrig,” Jresh stated. The inquisitor stopped dead in his tracks.

 

“What?” Lorrik muttered, confusion overtaking his face. The Pureblood stopped ahead of his companion.

 

“I asked if he was willing and able to start up a new operation elsewhere. He answered yes on both accounts,” Jresh explained. “That made him a threat and a liability, so I made sure he wouldn’t… couldn’t hurt anyone else.”

 

“I see,” Lorrik replied, no hint of surprise or displeasure in his voice. “A part of me wanted him dead. A part of me wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and watch the life leave his eyes.”

 

“No. It’s better that you didn’t. That’s not you,” Jresh declared.

 

“Oh, but it’s okay for me to make you do it?” Lorrik offered, a slight whimper in his voice.

 

“It was my decision. My choice,” Jresh emphatically stated. “ I was protecting you, just as I had done a few days ago. Only this time, I acted not out of blind rage, but a centered calm. I could not risk Yerrig starting the cycle all over again, but neither could I risk the same fate I suffered befalling you. I protect you, not because you are weak, but because you are strong. And I would see that strength preserved. Cultivated. Allowed to flourish.”

 

The inquisitor locked eyes with his companion, and the two shared a silent, impassioned connection.

 

“I love you, I hope you realize that,” Lorrik offered, as his lips curled into a smile.

 

“I know,” Jresh quickly replied, wearing a smile of his own.

 

“Come on, I have a speech to give,” Lorrik stated as he resumed his journey toward the Yerrig’s office. The Pureblood remained where he stood for a moment as he arched his brow.

 

“Speech?” Jresh muttered to himself.

 

Within the disorganized mess that was Yerrig’s primary place of operations, Lorrik moved with calculated steps amongst the terminals that lined the walls.

 

“When I was poking around earlier, I uncovered Yerrig’s communications systems,” Lorrik stated. “This terminal here’s linked to every mine, every house, every building within the man’s domain. It’s time to give the workforce an update.”

 

Placing his hands on the communications terminal, the inquisitor leaned in close as he opened a channel with every available speaker.

 

“Attention,” Lorrik began, his voice calm but firm. “My name is Lorrik Velash. I am here to announce that Olto Yerrig is dead. His mines will be closed. His slaves will be freed. His enforcers will be relieved of their duty. His funds will be divided and distributed amongst you all, provided you do not take this newfound revelation as a reason to lash out against one another. This is the beginning of a new life. You are no longer slaves. You are no longer slave masters. You are people. People who can accept the gift that I offer, or receive nothing. The choice is yours. Transports will arrive in the next few days. They will take you to the locations of your choosing. Once you are off this planet, you control your own fate. And the instant you are off this planet, others will try to strip you of that control. No matter where you go in this galaxy, there are those who would seek to enslave you, literally and figuratively. Those who seek sanctuary amongst the Republic will find themselves buried and forgotten amongst the masses. Those who journey to Imperial space will find themselves tested if not outright broken. Those who seek to hide amongst the neutral territories will find themselves in the domain of men who make Yerrig seem benevolent by comparison. I cannot promise a good life, but I can promise you all a second chance. How you utilize it is up to you. Please, everyone return to your quarters, and plan for your futures. Dismissed.”

 

Lorrik closed the outward channel and tore himself away from the communications terminal, taking and releasing a deep breath as he did so.

 

“Succinct, but effective,” Jresh offered.

 

“I can only hope no one tries to do anything stupid,” Lorrik admitted. “It’s hard letting go of a grudge. Not to mention, the other workers didn’t exactly have the luxury of living in the palace for the past ten years like my parents. We lost the enforcers their jobs and surrounded them with a bunch of newly freed slaves, whilst they still have their equipment and weapons. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

 

“It seems like most of what we do is,” Jresh declared. “Sometimes, all you can do is act, then endure.”

 

“I guess so,” Lorrik stated. “Come on, let’s unload our stuff from the shuttle. We’re going to be living here for the next few days.”

 

The Pureblood nodded before stepping out of the office, the inquisitor following soon after. The two Sith walked the halls, side by side, satisfied with the results they had achieved. As the pair approached the palace’s front entrance, Lorrik noticed the encased crystal his companion continued to hold within his hand.

 

“I didn’t know you were one for souvenirs,” Lorrik joked. The Pureblood raised the ornament, holding it in front of him as he continued to walk.

 

“It’s not a souvenir. It’s just…” Jresh began, before trailing off, a hint of confusion in his voice.

 

“Something the matter?” Lorrik asked.

 

“Just… a bit of curiosity,” Jresh admitted. The inquisitor looked to his partner with an arch in his brow.

 

“What? You’ll confess to being uncomfortable with my parents but won’t tell me your thoughts about a simple trinket?” Lorrik teased.

 

The warrior continued to stare into the golden crystal for a few seconds, before finally breaking his silence. “This is what this entire operation was about, correct? This is what Yerrig was digging for?”

 

“Yeah,” Lorrik replied. “Luxury gem. Pretty rare. I think Yerrig’s charts listed only a few planets in seven systems in which it could be found.”

 

“I can’t help but notice that this crystal is different from the one I supposedly had already seen,” Jresh explained. “Different transparency, colorization, makeup. I’m starting to question whether Syrosk’s amulet is really composed of the same material. But if that were the case, then I'd wonder what sort of gem the amulet actually holds. And then I wonder what reason you would have to mislead Syrosk about its origin.” The inquisitor continued to walk in silence, eyes affixed to the path ahead. “Lorrik?”

 

“The line between guidance and manipulation is a blurred one,” Lorrik softly declared. “That fact, is the curse of the Sith. One that Syrosk learned too late. One I continue to puzzle with. Regardless of that amulet’s power or purpose, the end result was that it held power over Syrosk. Restricted him. I needed him to believe in people, not things. I needed him to believe in himself. I needed him to believe that others believed in him.”

 

“So you lied to him.”

 

“I lied, so that he would accept the truth,” Lorrik admitted. “His master believed in him. His students believed in him. If not for Tash, if not for the rest of the Order looking down upon him since they first acknowledged his presence, maybe he’d have reason to believe in himself. I gave him a reason when he couldn’t find one.”

 

Jresh looked deep into the shimmering crystal as he two Sith continued their journey in silence. Soon, they found themselves amongst the palace exterior, Imperial shuttle firmly within their sights.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Adwynyth]

Uh, where d'you want this?

 

*wheels in another load of SQUEE*

[EpicJaisonLord]

Hoo-ah

[Osetto]

Chapter Twenty: Lights

 

Within the passenger bay of the Imperial shuttle, Lorrik and Jresh gathered their stored belongings under the watchful electronic eyes of the vessel’s Astromechanical Logistics Droid. Luggage in hand, the two Sith were ready to temporarily move in to the fallen slave master’s palace.

 

“You know, I wonder how the others are doing,” Lorrik stated.

 

“Well enough, I suppose,” Jresh replied. “They are every bit as skilled and resourceful as we are.”

 

“I wonder where they went. Somehow I don’t see any of the others toppling any slaving operations,” Lorrik offered with a light chuckle.

 

----------

 

Nar Shaddaa. The Promenade. The lights of underworld splendor hovered high above the world’s metallic surface. A floating assemblage of shops, markets, and trade centers. The illegitimate legitimized and codified, watched over by the silent enforcers of the Hutt Cartel. A nexus for tourists and off-worlders, given a peek at the dark delights that surrounded them in every direction.

 

In the lower Promenade, within a small shop nestled amongst its kin, a lone figure sat behind a lone counter, surrounded by a litany of small trinkets and scavenged items lining the walls. The Devaronian male exuded an utterly uncouth demeanor and facade, placing him amongst pirates and smugglers rather than legitimate businessmen. The shopkeeper leaned back in his chair, feet upon the counter, picking at his teeth with his fingernail. The lethargic trader fell out of his seat when a large case was dropped on the countertop with a resounding thud.

 

“Hey, I got stuff to sell,” Arlia spoke up, rather terse. A low grumble emanated from behind the counter as the Devaronian slowly lifted himself from the floor.

 

“Who the hell-” the shopkeeper muttered before poking his head over the counter, and catching a glimpse of the stern Twi’lek that stood across from him. The snarl upon the Devaronian’s face quickly faded as he found himself lost in Arlia’s purple eyes. Her sharpened, glaring purple eyes. Returning to his seat, the shopkeep quickly dusted himself off before casually leaning against his counter. “How can I be of service?”

 

Arlia offered the subtle arch of her brow toward the oddly smitten trader. “I hear you’re in the artifact trade.”

 

“You hear right, missy,” the Devaronian playfully declared alongside a snap of his fingers. “The name’s Whess. Geological marvels. Archeological treasures. Jedi artifacts. One-of-a-kind items for the collector who finds value in the finer things. I buy, sell, and trade-“

 

“Alright, alright, enough,” Arlia interrupted, rolling her eyes at the chatty dealer. “Like I said, stuff to sell. Can you help me or not?”

 

“But of course, the only question is… what are you looking to sell?” Whess asked as he leaned in, not put off by the Twi’lek’s derisiveness in the least.

 

Without a word, Arlia reached over the container in front of her, loosening its latch and prying it’s cover open toward the shopkeeper. The Devaronian’s eyes grew large as he looked upon the sparkling assortment of crystals placed in front of him.

 

“Ah, lightsaber crystals. How’s a lovely thing like you attain such a collection? Theft? Con job? Childhood friends with a Jedi… or Mandalorian?”

 

“They didn’t belong to Jedi,” Arlia explained. “Well, their last owner wasn’t a Jedi. They’re from a tomb on Korriban.”

 

“Sith artifacts!” Whess perked up.

 

“That going to be a problem?”

 

“Not at all!” Whess clarified. “In fact, that makes them all the more valuable. They were already in short supply before the war. Nowadays it’s almost impossible to get ahold of anything significant before the Jedi or Sith get their hands on them. And let me tell yah, they don’t like to let go. How did you manage to get these?”

 

“Like I said, tomb on Korriban,” Arlia restated, completely deadpan.

 

“I’m not about to have some angry Sith in my shop looking for these, am I?” Whess asked.

 

Arlia snapped the lid of the container shut, and leaned in close until she was face to face with the startled Devaronian. “I AM the angry Sith in your shop,” the inquisitor harshly declared, almost whispering. The dealer tensed up in his seat as the Twi’lek continued to cast her sharpened glare. “Can you sell them?”

 

“I… uh… yeah… I mean… yeah,” Whess stammered.

 

“How long these things take to sell?” Arlia asked, almost to the point of interrogation.

 

“Uh, that depends on who’s buying,” Whess carefully answered. “There’s usually someone willing to pay a hefty sum for things like this, but moving a collection of this size could take a while. I can set up a consignment deal and try selling them piece by piece-”

 

The inquisitor let out a soft groan. “Look, I don’t plan to stay on this awful moon any longer than I have to. Can I just sell this all to you right now, and you just do… whatever with it?”

 

“Oh… uh, yeah, I would be amendable to that,” Whess admitted. “How much are you looking to get out of them?”

 

“I don’t know, how much are they worth?” Arlia plainly asked.

 

“You mean, you don’t know?”

 

“No. I don’t,” Arlia admitted. Once more the sharpened her gaze and leaned in close to the shopkeep. “But you wouldn’t think about trying to cheat me? Would you?”

 

“No! No, of course not!” Whess quickly replied.

 

“Good. Have my credits ready by the time I get back,” Arlia directed as she turned toward the shop’s exit. “Oh, and I don’t really have any accounts or anything, so I’ll need physical currency.”

 

Whess flinched. “Are you crazy? You can’t walk around Nar Shaddaa with unbound credit chips that valuable! You won’t be able to take two steps off the Promenade before getting assaulted.”

 

“I can take care of myself,” Arlia stoically declared as she stepped out of the shop. The Devaronian was left gawking at the vacated space before the inquisitor poked her head back into the establishment. “Oh, and if I come back and you, my crystals, or my credits aren't here… I will hunt you down and destroy you and everything you’ve ever loved.”

 

Without another word, the Twi’lek was gone and the Devaronian was left to his own devices. Arlia walked alone across the glittering neon plaza that comprised the lower Promenade. She passed market stands and vendors with a deadened gaze, eyes permanently affixed ahead of her, not a single light or sound sufficient enough to distract her. She walked with purpose. She walked with destination firmly in mind.

 

The Twi’lek appeared simultaneously at home and at odds with her surroundings. Her violet skin was as eye catching as any advertisement that dotted the ecumenopolis. Though only her arms went uncovered, the mix of formfitting and gracefully flowing clothes that caressed her body could do a suitable job captivating the interest of the area’s typical male denizens. If not for the lightsaber at her waist, she could have been mistaken for one of Nar Shaddaa’s permanent residents. But she felt no familiarity toward the wretched hive of wanton splendor. Every groveling merchant, every stumbling drunkard she laid eyes upon merely cemented the idea that she did not belong amongst them. They were the ‘normals’. She was Sith.

 

Arlia’s time on the Promenade neared its end as she stepped on one of the floating district’s various outcroppings, one which held a healthy number of taxis awaiting a steady stream of customers. Approaching the droid dispatcher, the Twi’lek momentarily paused, patting herself down, only now realizing the paltry sum of credits see possessed had been given to Isorr or stashed alongside the crystals. The inquisitor’s shoulders slumped as she contemplated returning to Whess, before promptly rejecting the idea. Instead, she set her eyes upon the lone figure addressing the taxi droid. Young. Male. Garb of a spacer. Scruff of an upstart miscreant.

 

Letting out a brief sigh, Arlia stealthily approached the man, stopping just short of his flank. Standing behind the young spacer, the inquisitor straightened her stance and tucked her lightsaber into the inside of her pants. Making sure she was in earshot, Arlia began hastily patting herself down, releasing the occasional whimper.

 

“Oh no! Ohno ohno ohno!” Arlia shrieked. In the corner of her eye, she could see the spacer turn to face her. “My credit chip! Where is it?”

 

Seeing the young Twi’lek in distress, the spacer immediately sought to console her. “Whoa, hey. What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t find my credit chip. That… that was all my money,” Arlia bawled. “Oh goddess. What am I going to do now? I can’t afford a shuttle offworld, I can’t even afford a taxi. I’m going to have to go back to dancing for some slimy Hutt…”

 

“Hey, no, you won’t have to do that,” the spacer softly whispered. “If you need a ride, I’ve got a ship. I’d be more than happy to take you away from here.”

 

“Really?” Arlia perked up, turning a smile. “Oh, I don’t know how I’d begin to repay you…”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we can work something out,” the spacer warmly declared.

 

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so very much!” Arlia emphatically stated, softly clutching the spacer’s hand with her own. “You have no idea what this means to me. Come on, Let’s go!”

 

“You got it,” the spacer offered, almost heroic in his candor.

 

Pulling a credit chip from his pocket, the man handed it to the droid attendant who directed him toward one of the open taxis. Together, Arlia and the spacer approached the vehicle, the Twi’lek happily taking her spot on the passenger’s side. Sitting in the pilot’s seat, the spacer fired up the taxi’s systems and set a course.

 

“Next stop, Nar Shaddaa starport,” the spacer stated as the vehicle lifted from its landed position. Arlia peered over the taxi’s edge as it lifted higher and higher, before finally leaving the Promenade outcropping. Shifting in her seat, the Twi’lek began rifling through her pockets, before finally retrieving a single sheet of flimsiplast. “What’cha got there?”

 

The inquisitor ignored the spacer’s inquiry, her attention focused completely on the sheet’s message. “You any good with a blaster?” Arlia asked, eyes still affixed to the sheet, voice devoid of any previous giddiness.

 

“What? I don’t have a blaster,” the spacer confusingly admitted.

 

“Eh, probably for the best. You’d just slow me down,” Arlia muttered to herself.

 

“Huh?”

 

----------

 

Along one of the Promenade’s outcroppings, a pair of Humans conversed with the taxi droid. Out of nowhere, a lone spacer fell from above, impacting against the metallic surface as a taxi passed quickly overhead. Lying motionless on his side, the fallen figure released a low, hushed groan.

 

Now firmly within the pilot’s seat, Arlia punched a new destination into the taxi’s guidance system. The vehicle carried its lone passenger toward one of Nar Shaddaa’s lower wards, far from the starport, far from the Promenade, far from the public eye. Down into the dark bowels of a world untraveled except by those with specific, calculated desires. Minutes of high speed travel passed before the inquisitor came across a nondescript landing pad deep below the glamorized skyline. Touching down, Arlia powered down the taxi and stepped out.

 

The air was calm and quiet, the bustling traffic above providing only softest of murmurs at this depth. Journeying deeper into the shadowed district, Arlia retrieved her lightsaber and kept it firmly grasped within her hand. The tight pathways and corridors she traversed seemed designed exclusively for pedestrian traffic. Traffic that was currently nonexistent. With each step she took, the sounds of Nar Shaddaa’s exterior faded until they were finally silenced. With each step she took, she inched closer and closer to her targeted destination.

 

Finally, the Twi’lek stood in front of a simple door. Nondescript. Devoid of signage or adornment. Utterly unremarkable to the uninitiated. Touching the exterior control panel, she realized it was locked. She knocked. No response. She ignited her weapon, and thrust its purple blade through the electronic lock. She pulled the blade out to a show of sparks and molten metal before watching the door rescind.

 

The inquisitor was greeted with the sight of an empty waiting room. Sparsely decorated, but ultimately familiar in its every facet. Arlia panned her gaze about the empty chamber, eyes sharpened, ignited lightsaber still held within her firm clutch.

 

“You’ve a visitor, Matron!” Arlia shouted before making her way deeper into the compound. Passing through the next door, the Twi’lek walked down a narrow corridor, a series of doors lining either side of her, behind each of which sat a compact, solitary chamber. Test rooms. Places for clients to preview the merchandise. Arlia marched forward, paying them no attention, other than lightly carving their surface with the tip of her blade as she moved past them. Each step she took was utterly calculated, the layout of her surroundings having been etched into her memory long ago. Deeper and deeper she marched, knowing exactly where she was headed.

 

A couple of sharp turns down the various narrow corridors and pathways led the inquisitor to a dead end. No outlet, only a single room resting at the end of a hallway. An office. Where the entirety of organic interaction was condensed and simplified into mere numerical and monetary figures. Not even guarded by a locked door. With the swift motion of her free hand, the barrier rescinded, granting Arlia sight into the only room she had never seen as a child.

 

Surpassing any room that preceded it, the office was a picture of refined tastes and regality, walls adorned with paintings, sculptures upon pedestals dotting the floor. Opposite the entrance sat a large desk, a rare piece of wooden furnishing amongst the metals and artificial lights above. Crouching behind said desk, a lone figure furiously rummaged through its drawers before finally coming up brandishing a blaster pistol.

 

“Hello Matron,” Arlia muttered, utterly stoic. “Here I am. Returned and in satisfactory condition.”

 

The Matron possessed the same stylings and appearance she had a decade ago, the already matured Zeltron still possessing the sense of refined beauty about her even in her advanced age. Same pink skin. Same purple hair restrained in a bun. Same exotic white garb that balanced the look of politician and consort. Without a word, the Matron discharged her weapon. The red bolt surged across the office before reflecting off the inquisitor’s saber and colliding against the wall in a quick burst of smoke.

 

Arlia thrust her free hand forward, releasing a powerful Force push that targeted not the Matron, but her desk. Caught by the telekinetic wave, the heavy desk slid backward, impacting against the Zeltron and shoving her back before pinning her against the wall. As she felt her lower half being crushed, the Matron watched the Twi’lek slowly approach her. Attempting to fire another bolt from her pistol, the Zeltron was unable to as an invisible force ripped the weapon from her grip.

 

“Is that any way to treat a guest?” Arlia muttered, closing what remained of the gap between them. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten who I am.”

 

The Matron struggled to speak through pained breaths. “I know… exactly who you-”

 

“That’s right,” Arlia interrupted. “The one who got away. Or, more appropriately, the one who came back. You can’t tell me you didn’t see this happening sooner or later. You can only ruin so many lives before someone comes along looking to ruin yours.”

 

“Because Sith are such benevolent creatures,” the Matron muttered as she felt the crushing force against her legs intensify. “You think you’re better than me? You’re not-”

 

The inquisitor quickly grabbed ahold of the Matron’s jaws with her free hand, pulling her face in close. “What gave you impression this was about being the better person? This is about me, and you, and the things you were prepared to put me through… all for a few measly credits. This isn’t about making the galaxy a better place, this is about ending the life of someone who was once prepared to end mine. You should thank me for the brevity in which I have chosen to operate.”

 

The Matron’s eyes began to water as she struggled to speak, the Twi’lek's hand tightly held over her mouth. “Please. I have a daughter.”

 

“I don’t care,” Arlia sternly declared, before slipping the blade of her saber into the Zeltron’s abdomen. The Matron jostled for a moment before going limp. Arlia withdrew her blade as she watched the last spark of life leave the Zeltron’s eyes. Releasing her grip on the Matron’s face, her body was allowed for fall against the desk where she would remain indefinitely. Arlia continued to stare at the fallen figure for a few seconds before briskly vacating the office.

 

Navigating the narrow corridors once more, the inquisitor stood at an intersection of hallways. She knew the way out, but she stood with momentary pause as she darted her gaze down the available passageways. After a moment of thinking, she set down a corridor, one that did not lead to the exit. She eventually found herself traversing a narrow hallway, beset on both sides by a series of doors. Living quarters.

 

Drawing her lightsaber, the Twi’lek ignited the purple blade before holding it to her side, parallel with the doors’ control panels. She began walking down the corridor, skimming her blade against the walls, destroying each door system as she passed it. One by one, the doors raised. She had opened eight rooms before returning along the opposite site, opening eight more.

 

Emerging from one of rooms, a child not yet in her teens hesitantly poked her head out. She scanned the hallways up and down, seeing only the curious figure wielding a blade of purple light. “Where’s the Matron?”

 

“Dead,” Arlia stoically explained. “You’re free. Go.”

 

More and more of the children began to poke their heads out of their solitary rooms, none opting to fully surpass their threshold and step into the hallway. Boys and girls of varying species, all aged from ten to their early teens. All garbed in simple, but well-kept attire. Despite there being sixteen rooms, the number of children present was only a fraction of that.

 

“Do you really mean it?” another child quietly asked.

 

“Yep,” Arlia briskly answered, opening the door to the final living quarter. “Matron’s dead. You’re all free to go.”

 

“Where?” another child asked.

 

“What do you mean where? I don’t know. Anywhere. Not here.”

 

“How are we supposed to get there?” another questioned.

 

“Figure it out. I’m done here,” Arlia declared as she disengaged her lightsaber.

 

“Can we come with you?”

 

“No,” Arlia brushed off.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because,” Arlia stated. “Besides, can’t fit all of you in a taxi.”

 

“What are we supposed to do?”

 

“Nothing. Anything. I don’t know,” Arlia answered, increasingly flustered. “I was in the same position when I was your age. I wanted something, I had to go out and take it. Nobody gave me anything.”

 

Slowly, as her own words swirled within her head, the inquisitor began to realize how untrue that was. If it hadn’t been for Vai Thorel, she would have remained with the Matron. If not for Syrosk and Isorr, she would be stuck at the bottom rung of the Academy. If not for Lorrik, she had no idea what things would be like for her and the other apprentices. All the pain, all the hate, it had clouded her mind, made it impossible to perceive anything but the worst around her. On Korriban, any kind or benevolent action would be ignored in favor of the awful, selfish actions carried out by her peers. By herself.

 

Turning back down the hallway, she saw twelve children, all looking to her with wide, confused, worried eyes. Standing amongst the small crowd, was a young girl. Violet skin. Lekku adorned with a stylish head wrap.

 

----------

 

Sitting on a bench in the lower Promenade, the sights and sounds of splendor once more dominated the surrounding atmosphere. In one of the open areas, Arlia sat alone on a bench, arms spread wide and resting on the seat’s back. She was alone, because in front of her, twelve children ran about chasing one another amidst the sounds of youthful joy and exuberance.

 

Amidst the various sounds competing for dominance amongst the lower Promenade, the one able to cut through them all was that of the inquisitor letting out a heavy sigh.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Osetto]

Chapter Twenty One: Regrets

 

Under the colorful lights and sounds of Nar Shaddaa’s towering skyscrapers, two figures walked together toward the Promenade’s core.

 

“I’m just saying… HAD we gone to Ryloth we could have done something like that,” the abashed Twi’lek stated.

 

“One, how would we even get our hands on explosives?” his Rattataki partner asked. "Two, how would we walk away without blowing ourselves up?”

 

“I don’t know… the Force?”

 

The Rattataki let out a boisterous laugh, prompting a reserved smile to creep upon her companion’s face. Together, they found themselves approaching one of the many overlooks of the upper Promenade, granting them a look into the marketplaces that surrounded the golden plaza below. Basking in the glow of the colored lights that shined down on them from the countless sources above, the two Sith almost appeared as if they were at home on the debased moon.

 

Kar’ai maintained her usual attire, armorweave leggings and boots with a minimally garbed torso. The plethora of barbed and hooked tattoos that covered her toned body would have placed her amongst enforcers, pirates, pit fighters, and more, if not for the lightsaber resting at her hip.

 

Ryloh, at the behest of his partner, had shed the outer layers of his many-layered inquisitor’s robes. Gone were the hooded cloak and almost suffocating countenance he had enveloped himself in. Instead, only the simplest pieces of his already minimalist black robes hugged his body. In the end, he appeared as a markedly gloomy senator. The underworld trader. The ‘dealer’ to his partner’s ‘muscle’. Even in an unfamiliar place, amongst unfamiliar peoples, the two looked like they belonged with one another.

 

The pair stopped at the ledge of the upper Promenade walkway, the two of them leaning against the waist-high barrier as they looked toward the plaza below.

 

“So, what do you want to do?” Kar’ai warmly asked of her partner. “Hit the casino? Go shopping? Find an underground fight club?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ryloh muttered. “I’ve never been in a place like this. Hell, I’ve never been in a situation like this. I mean, since my earliest memories, I’ve had nothing but awful dust balls beneath my feat. Ryloth. Korriban. Not known for being pleasure destinations.”

 

“Rattatak was pretty much just like Korriban… only paler. So I understand the feeling,” Kar’ai admitted. “But pleasure is greatest when derived from new experiences.”

 

“I’ve heard those words before,” Ryloh said with a smirk.

 

“And have they ever led you astray?” Kar’ai offered with a gentle poke of her elbow.

 

“No,” Ryloh admitted, staring blissfully into the distance. “Well… there was that one time.”

 

“Come on, I thought everything went okay.”

 

“Yeah, but… lightsabers aren’t candles Kar’ai,” Ryloh muttered. “Lightsabers aren’t candles…”

 

The pair looked onward in silence for a moment, as the Rattataki scratched the back of her head.

 

“Well, what do you think? I’m sure we can find something fun to do here,” Kar’ai stated.

 

“Yeah. But paying for it is another matter,” Ryloh offered. “We don’t exactly have a lot of credits to our name.”

 

Pursing her lips and furrowing her brow, the warrior seemed locked in deep thought. “Well, there’s Arlia…”

 

“Oh, right.” Ryloh spoke up. “She was supposed to be getting us all some credits, right? I wonder how she’s doing.”

 

“Why don't you go ask her. She’s literally right there,” Kar’ai declared, pointing a finger toward the plaza below. The blue Twi’lek offered a confused look before affixing his gaze to the grounds of the lower Promenade. Carefully searching the bustling scenery beneath them, he eventually managed to pick out their fellow apprentice amongst the surrounding figures. She sat alone on a bench, stilled, as those around her saw fit to parade about in a childlike manner.

 

“Huh. Small galaxy,” Ryloh muttered. Looking up, he saw his partner already making her way toward the lower Promenade. “Whoa, hey, where are you going?”

 

“To see Arlia, to see how she’s doing,” Kar’ai shouted back, not pausing her advance.

 

“Is that a good idea?” Ryloh asked, rushing to catch up with his partner. “I mean, maybe she wants to be alone. She’s here for a reason. We don’t want to go around, interrupting people vendettas or nothing. She probably doesn’t want to be bothered.”

 

Ignoring her companion’s half-hearted protests, Kar’ai continued her trek toward the plaza below, shortly joined by the compliant Ryloh. Traversing one of the ramps connecting the upper and lower Promenade, the two Sith examined the curious scene that surrounded the sitting inquisitor. A group of children buzzed about the area near Arlia, chasing one another, the occasional sound of laughter bouncing between them. Gazing across the golden plaza, the violet Twi’lek finally noticed Kar’ai and Ryloh approaching her.

 

“Hey,” Arlia offered, frighteningly nonchalant, bordering on stoic.

 

“Hey yourself,” Kar’ai replied, closing the gap between them. Standing in front of the seated inquisitor, the group of children continued to flutter about without a care. “How’s things? You manage to take care of, you know, everything you wanted to?”

 

“Yeah,” Arlia answered after a pause, same soft stoicism in her voice. As Ryloh and Kar’ai looked to her, her gaze seemed transfixed to the space behind them, staring at nothing in particular.

 

“Is everything alright?”

 

Arlia continued to stare off into the distance as her arms remained spread across the bench’s back. “Yeah.”

 

“Where’s Isorr?” Ryloh spoke up.

 

“Dromund Kaas,” Arlia explained. “Dropped him off at the orbital station before making my way here by myself.”

 

“What’s he doing on Kaas?” Ryloh followed up.

 

“Don’t know. Same thing as the rest of us, I suppose. Settling scores and what have you. Why are you two on Nar Shaddaa?”

 

“Well, we were heading to Ryloth before Ryloh got cold feet half way there,” Kar’ai explained.

 

“Turns out I had family there I didn’t know about. A sister,” Ryloh stated.

 

“What made you change your mind?” Arlia wondered.

 

“She’s undoubtedly a slave,” Ryloh explained. “We wouldn’t be able to see her, let alone free her without confronting the entire slaving operation. And even if we managed to free her, given the current course we seem to find ourselves on, we would just be endangering her by taking her with us.”

 

“Huh,” Arlia muttered alongside a quick bob of her head as her gaze seemed to pan up toward the sky.

 

“So… what have you been up to?” Ryloh hesitantly asked.

 

“Oh, you know,” Arlia began, not lowering her gaze, “same old.”

 

The other two Sith puzzled at the inquisitor’s newfound lackadaisicalness. Before they could inquire further, a pair of children rushed by, coming to a stop between them and the sitting Twi’lek.

 

“Arlia, we’re thirsty,” a young girl bemoaned. Arlia lowered her gaze, momentarily settling upon the pair of children in front of her, before bending over. Reaching beneath the bench, the inquisitor slid a footlocker out between her legs. Barely cracking open the container’s lid, Arlia poked a hand inside before retrieving a small credit chip.

 

“Here,” Arlia said, holding the chip out to the children. “Don’t buy anything you’ve never heard of.”

 

“Okay! Thanks, Miss Arlia!” one of the kids bellowed as she snatched the credit chip. Not a moment later, the two children began to rush toward the market across the plaza.

 

“What’d I say about calling me ‘Miss’?” Arlia shouted at them, hot-tempered, but without an ounce of hostility.

 

“Whoa, wait,” Kar’ai spoke up. “You know these kids?”

 

“Yeah,” Arlia nonchalantly admitted. “Came to Nar Shaddaa for two reasons. To sell crystals and to kill someone. Succeeded on both accounts.”

 

“Who’d you kill?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“The person who owned these kids. The person who once owned me,” Arlia admitted.

 

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

 

The other Twi’lek offered only the silent arch of her brow.

 

“So, you freed all these kids,” Kar’ai mused, gently scratching her chin. “How noble of you.”

 

“Not really,” Arlia replied. “All I did was kill their captor. They were freed by proxy. I was just kind enough to give them a ride from one wretched den to another.”

 

“Well, they seem happy,” Ryloh stated, bouncing his sights between the gathered children, a hint of trepidation in his voice.

 

“Of course they are!” Kar’ai boisterously replied, jabbing her partner with her elbow. “I mean, as a former slave, I'd assume you’d have a pretty firm understanding of the concept.”

 

“Yea, but-“ Ryloh managed to get out before being interrupted by Arlia.

 

“No, he’s right to be curious,” the sitting inquisitor admitted. “I thought it was weird too. I expected more, I don’t know, baggage with them. And yet, here they are, running around with smiles on their faces. I thought maybe they had just managed to suppress the memories of a place awful even by Nar Shaddaa standards. Or maybe I had gotten to this group before any real damage could be done. But then I realized, I had simply dealt with the single entity they feared. With that connection severed, it was like a switch flipped, and they went back to being just a bunch of normal kids.”

 

“Wow, what was he having them do?” Ryloh asked.

 

“She,” Arlia corrected. “Always used to say she dealt in services, not product. Referred to us as companions. I got out of there ten years ago whilst I was still in my ‘training’ period. Vai showed up, fed me some nonsense story of my Sith ancestors, ‘bought’ me, and brought me to the Academy. For those ten years, she continued to operate. Until I came back.”

 

“Did you have a rough time? Today, I mean,” Kar’ai asked. “You seem pretty… out of it.”

 

“No. In fact, it was the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do,” Arlia admitted, sounding almost disappointed. “She was right where I left her ten years ago. She didn’t have any guards or employees. She never needed them. She like to maintain complete and total control herself. Walked in. Went to her office. Pinned her against the wall. Ended it. The only reason things lasted as long as they did… was because I wanted them to. I thought the event worth prolonging. Thought it would yield… greater satisfaction.”

 

The inquisitor trailed off her she lifted her gaze to the sky once more. The Twi’lek seemed almost wistful.

 

“That was… the one thing I looked forward to,” Arlia continued, her voice soft, almost whispering. It became evident that her words were no longer intended for the pair of Sith standing in front of her. “Day after day. Month after month. Year after year. That was the singular goal that rest in my mind. Everything else… floaty, undeveloped, happenstance. Everything I did, everything I strived for on Korriban, was so that I would eventually become a person capable of getting whatever she wanted. And the only thing I really wanted, was to kill this one person. And now that I’ve done that, I should be happy right? Elated? After all, I’ve only dreamed of this day for the entirety of my adult life. But no. Instead, I’m left feeling… nothing. Absolutely nothing. No pleasure. No pain. No happiness. No sadness. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Nothing.”

 

“When you base your entire life around subtraction, its only inevitable that you wind up at zero,” Kar’ai softly declared. “I know you’re meant to think that if you can just get rid of everything that makes you sad, angry, depressed… then all you’d be left with is happiness, right? Well, not if there wasn’t any happiness to begin with. You want positivity? You gotta find it. You gotta make it. You.”

 

“You’re a font of motivational splendor, Kar’ai,” Arlia halfheartedly said, still staring upward.

 

“I mean it,” Kar’ai emphatically stated. “The reason you’re feeling unfulfilled is because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being challenged. This weird feeling your experiencing? It’s called relief. It’s called being unburdened. But instead of making something out of it, you’re just wallowing in this weird, depressing state of equilibrium. Balance is awful and fleeting. Go, tip the scales in your favor. Have some fun. Live a little outside of realm of death and manipulation and Sith stuff. You gave these kids a new life. You gave yourself a new life. Take pride in that!”

 

Arlia continued to gaze off into the distance, seemingly oblivious to the Rattataki’s words. The warrior let out a low sigh as she felt a wall developing between herself and the inquisitor. Before either could speak up, Kar’ai looked down to see one of the children standing beside her, poking her leg.

 

“Excuse me,” the little girl said, without an ounce of shyness. “Are you a friend of Miss Arlia?”

 

Kneeling down, the Rattataki wore a bright smile on her face. “Yup. Both of us are. In fact, we’ve been friends of hers for almost two years now.”

 

“How did you meet?”

 

“We were… classmates,” Kar’ai warmly replied. More of the children approached the pair of Sith, momentarily putting their jovial exercise on hold.

 

“Is that where you and Miss Arlia learned to fight?” a boy asked.

 

“So, you know about her talents, huh?” Kar’ai said with a knowing grin. “Yeah, we all went to a special school where we could hone our skills.”

 

“Are you as good a fighter as Miss Arlia?” a third asked. By now, the entire crowd had congregated around the two Sith.

 

“No, no, of course not,” Kar’ai playfully stated with a flippant wave of her hand. “I’m better.”

 

The gathered children released simultaneous sounds of wonder and excitement. The small figures looked to the Rattataki with an intense fascination.

 

“Why are you bald?” one of the boys bluntly asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be a girl?”

 

From behind her, the warrior could hear her partner release a quick snicker. Kar’ai herself following it with a hearty chuckle.

 

“I guess not everyone knows about Rattataki physiology,” Kar’ai offered. “But if you think that’s weird, my blue friend here doesn’t any hair either. And I mean, at all. He’s completely smooth, head to toe. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. So is Miss Arlia. Those eyebrows? Draw on.”

 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Arlia blurted out, raising herself from her bench. “What are you doing? Why are you being this happy and friendly and warm?”

 

“Why aren’t you?” Kar’ai teased, straightening her stance. “There aren’t any other Sith here. No enemies. No one to look down on any displays of affection. And even if there were, who freakin’ cares? Being a Sith should be about not having to care about what others think about you. It should be about freeing yourself from restrictions. Not having to suppress a part of you because its somehow inappropriate. What do you think, kids? Should Miss Arlia stop caring what other people think?”

 

“Yeah!” the children exclaimed in unison.

 

“You’re really cool!”

 

“You’re a good person!”

 

“We like you for you, Miss Arlia!”

 

The violet Twi’lek looked to the warm, glowing faces that stared back at her. An awkward feeling pulsed throughout the inquisitor’s body as she raised an eyebrow toward the two Sith who stood across from her, each wearing smile of their own.

 

“Ugh,” Arlia muttered, drooping her shoulders. “Can we… can we just get off this awful moon? Isorr’s probably ready for pickup by now.”

 

“Of course,” Kar’ai replied, giving the inquisitor a confident nod. “You want us to take care of the kids while you… take care of whatever you need to? We can drop them off with someone who could find them new homes.”

 

“But we wanna stay with Miss Arlia,” one of the children spoke up.

 

“No, it’s for the best,” Arlia declared. Taking a step toward the kids, the inquisitor took a knee. “You won’t be safe if you stay with me. I’m going to be dealing with a lot more bad people.”

 

Looking at the faces of the gathered children, she could see tears beginning to form under their soft eyes. The violet Twi’lek adopted a comforting smile, trying to put them at ease.

 

“Will we ever see you again?” one of the children asked.

 

“I don’t know,” Arlia admitted.

 

“Promise you’ll come see us someday.”

 

“I can’t-”

 

“You have to! Promise.”

 

One by one, Arlia looked to the children. In each of their tearful eyes, she could see a small flicker of hope. A flicker she couldn’t stand to extinguish.

 

“Alright. I promise,” Arlia declared, a genuine smile upon her face. The children encircled the Twi’lek and wrapped their arms around her. “Whoa, hey, come on. I’m not going anywhere yet. I’ll stay with you until the starport. That sound alright?”

 

The children supplied a steady stream of nods as they backed away, allowing Arlia to right herself. As she began to take a step, the inquisitor immediately paused before spinning on her heels back toward the bench.

 

“Oh, right. Can’t forget this,” Arlia declared as she reached down toward her footlocker. “Wouldn’t want to-”

 

“Hey!”

 

The Sith heard a voice that belonged to none of them. It was faint, as if shouted from a great distance.

 

“Hey!”

 

Again it sounded from across the Promenade, holding with it a harshness and hostility.

 

“You all hear that?” Ryloh asked, panning his gaze about the surrounding plaza for its source. Together the Sith searched, before locating its source above them. Standing along one of the upper Promenade’s overlooks, an angry spacer cast his harsh glare toward the group, focusing mainly on Arlia. Quickly the lone figure rushed across the overlook railing, heading toward the ramp that connected the two levels.

 

Kar’ai looked to Arlia, who currently stood rubbing her brow. “Friend of yours?”

 

“You might say that,” Arlia muttered.

 

“But he probably won’t,” Ryloh added.

 

Now on the lower Promenade, the spacer rushed across the plaza toward the group, a visible limp in his gait. As the figure drew closer, the children gathered in a tight group hiding behind Arlia. Within seconds the spacer had closed the gap between himself and the Sith.

 

“Who the hell do you think you are, you crazy bi-“

 

Before the spacer could finish, the Rattataki delivered a swift hook of her fist across the man’s face, sending him tumbling to the ground. Lying motionless on his side, the fallen figure released a low, hushed groan. Kar’ai turned around to see Arlia starting at her, eyebrow firmly raised.

 

“So. Who was that?” Kar’ai asked.

 

“Now you ask?” Ryloh exclaimed.

 

“Some guy,” Arlia stated. “Had to borrow a taxi earlier, which may have led to me kicking him out of a moving speeder.” Now it was the Rattataki’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What? It wasn’t that high a drop.”

 

The warrior offered only the halfhearted shrug of her shoulders, ready to make her way toward the starport. Before setting out, Arlia opened the lid of her footlocker, retrieving a couple credit chips and tossing them onto the slowly squirming body of the floored spacer. Without another word, she lifted the container and motioned for the kids to follow. Together, group made their way across the plaza to find a taxi.

 

“You never did say how many credits you were able to secure,” Kar’ai spoke up.

 

“Oh, right,” Arlia started to recall. ”I wasn’t exactly paying attention when he told me, but it looks to be somewhere between three and four hundred thousand.”

 

The other two stopped dead in their tracks, Ryloh almost stumbling to the floor.

 

“What?” the two exclaimed in unison.

 

“What ‘what’?” Arlia asked with the arch of her brow. “Those crystals were pretty valuable.”

 

“Evidently,” Kar’ai bluntly stated. “Is that thing filled with just credit chips?”

 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Arlia declared, utterly nonchalant. “Do you two want your cut now, or once we’re at the starport?”

 

“Starport! Starport!” the pair immediately answered. The violet Twi’lek offered a quick shrug and continued to walk, flanked by the group of children. Ryloh and Kar’ai shared a dumbfounded look before rushing to keep up with their fellow apprentice.

 

Together, the three Sith and the accompaniment of children made their way off the Promenade, eager to put the moon of lights and splendor behind them.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Osetto]

Chapter Twenty Two: Homes

 

Dromund Kaas orbital station. Parked in one of the smaller hangars was the Imperial shuttle belonging to Arlia and Isorr. Standing outside the vessel was the violet Twi’lek, watching the small service droids buzz around the shuttle, inspecting every facet of its chassis. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.

 

“I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel,” the attendant declared, not removing his eyes from the datapad.

 

“Like I told you last time, I’m not heading planetside,” Arlia bluntly stated. “Here for fuel and to stretch my legs.”

 

The Human attendant raised his gaze up toward the Twi’lek, casting a befuddled look. “You know, this station isn’t where Logistics ships usually make rest stops.”

 

The Twi’lek continued to stare solely at her ship, her back to the attendant, offering not a single word. With a roll of his eyes, the attendant petulantly tapped his datapad a few more times before turning and heading toward the hangar exit. In time, the Twi’lek was left alone with the automated machines that serviced the shuttle, and soon that number dwindled until there was little motion in the hangar.

 

Things were stilled and silent, and Arlia was alone. But not for long. Passing her gaze around the hangar, the Twi’lek eventually settled her sights on a large pile of stacked crates near one of the chamber’s walls.

 

“You done skulking around?” Arlia teasingly whispered. Emerging from behind the crates, a dark figure made his presence known. The hood of his cloak was raised and a black cloth was wrapped around his lower face, but the inquisitor immediately recognized her partner. Much of the warrior’s black garb had been turned brown by the dirt and mud clinging to his extremities. “Take care of everything you wanted to?”

 

“Yes,” Isorr bluntly declared before silently entering the shuttle.

 

“Alright,” Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes, following her partner onto the vessel. The Twi’lek moved to the cockpit to see her companion and pilot droid already prepping the starship for takeoff. There was a haste in the Zabrak’s movements, one atypical of the warrior outside of battle. Something about him was heightened, every piece of him moving in sync like an organic machine. “Is there anything you want to tell me?”

 

“Yes,” Isorr plainly declared, the shuttle’s instruments and displays firing to life, chirping and flashing as the vessel readied itself to undock. Arlia waited patiently for a follow up, but none came. There was only silence as the ship lifted from the hangar floor and righted itself toward the vacuum of space.

 

“Well?” Arlia asked, increasingly annoyed.

 

“Contact the others, they’re going to want to hear this.”

 

----------

 

Earlier…

 

“Are you sure you can handle this alone?” Arlia asked.

 

“Yes,” Isorr declared, raising his hood and pulling a cloth mask over his lower face.

 

“Alright,” Arlia offered with a roll of her eyes. The Twi’lek stepped out of the shuttle and onto the hangar floor. An attendant approached the inquisitor, eyes affixed to the datapad he carried.

 

“I need your credentials before I can clear you for surface travel,” the attendant called out, not removing his eyes from the datapad.

 

While Arlia distracted the Human, Isorr slinked from the shuttle into the shadows of the hangar, stealthily making his way deeper into the station. The warrior’s cloak was fastened tightly around his body, rather than allowed to flow freely as it usually had. Isorr had succeeded in masking his form. Whether he could successfully mask his presence was another matter.

 

The Zabrak moved forward, through the station, through the hangar doors and passageways, keeping to the shadows and out of sight. The entire ordeal was counter to everything the warrior stood for. He did not sneak. He did not hide. He did not conceal. He fought. Out in the open, for all to see, for all to witness his might and grandeur. But much of that was precipitated upon the lie that he was a true Sith. Knowing that such a designation was beyond the reach of his alien hands, he would not allow himself to be grounded by such restrictions. Why conform to the ideals of others, when those ideals would see him dead?

 

Isorr moved through the orbital station with little interference, the automated custodial and worker droids paying him little attention. As he entered the hub, there was little opportunity to sneak. Lights lined the ceiling, illuminating the entirety of the open, sparsely filled chambers that stood before him. Large screens hung from the dark metallic walls, detailing information for travelers. Schedules. Restrictions. Warnings.

 

In the chamber beyond rest a docking hangar, occupied by a single passenger shuttle to ferry individuals between Dromund Kaas and its orbital station. Armed guards stood watch at the hangar entrance, eyeing the area from beneath their black helmets. That shuttle was Isorr’s only way planetside, and no amount of stealth would secure him a spot on it. The only way he could get by, was if he were a Sith. Luckily, all the years he was tricked into believing he was one left a lasting impression.

 

Stepping into the chamber beyond the passageways in which he crept, the warrior straightened his stance, basking in the open light from under his black wrappings. He began to walk, with utter purpose in each step, toward the shuttle that would take him planetside. His hardened boots clattered against the metallic flooring with each step, echoing throughout the chamber. The fists within his armored gauntlets clenched. His eyes sharpened, casting their harsh glare forward. He walked as if he belonged, as if stopping him would prove most unwise.

 

The cloaked warrior passed the armed sentinels without an errant glance, stepping into the station’s primary hangar. At the opposite end of the chamber stood only a magnetic barrier, granting the Zabrak sight to the world beyond. Dromund Kaas floated amongst the starry void, its chaotic atmosphere distinguishable at this distance. But Isorr had no time to admire the view. He had business on that dark world.

 

He continued to walk toward the shuttle, as service droids completed their final checks and its pilot climbed aboard. A station worker standing next to the shuttle’s hatch noticed the warrior’s approach, bouncing his gaze between the dark figure and the datapad within his hands.

 

“Excuse me, my lord,” the Human softly called out to the approaching warrior. “I need your name and purpose for the logbooks.”

 

Isorr ignored the attendant, continuing his slow, determined walk. He stopped just short of the vessel’s entrance ramp, to cast a brutal, enduring stare to the Imperial. The two’s gazes met, and the Human immediate grew cold and uncomfortable. The warrior stood a head taller than he, but the difference between them felt astronomical. The stare continued, the Sith offering no words, only the burdening aura of a powerful figure with little patience. The Human’s limbs trembled as his heart raced.

 

“I seem… to have been mistaken,” the attendant struggled to articulate. “Apologies, my lord. You’re cleared to travel.”

 

The warrior broke his gaze and silently entered the shuttle. The passenger bay was not without occupants, various low-level workers and officers destined for planetside sitting in the tight quarters. Without a word, the warrior took his seat, the other passengers using their peripherals to examine the dark figure. As the shuttle’s engine hummed and the vessel prepared for takeoff, those nearest Isorr stealthily inched away, putting an empty seat between themselves and the Sith. The warrior leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, head kept low. With a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was to come.

 

The shuttle passed through the heavy and crackling atmosphere, on course for the starport outside Kaas City. Without error or delay, it touched down in an empty hangar and opened its hatch. Isorr raised himself from his seat and exited the vessel with a quickened haste. Each step the warrior took was with purpose and without hesitation. He moved and moved, through the hangar, through the starport, eyes affixed to the exit, paying no mind to the nearby denizens.

 

The Zabrak was forced to hide in plain sight. Moving forward, he slipped past any approaching attendants without contact, altering his course only to sidestep the occasional surveillance or scanner droid. A few minutes of travel, navigating the corridors and open areas, and Isorr found himself standing at the exit. The eternally dark skies of Dromund Kaas stretched above him in all directions. Dense forestry encroached upon the path ahead, only the high ridges and skyscrapers of Kaas City poking above the dark canopy.

 

The road ahead connected the starport to the planet’s capital, and cut through the planet’s ever dangerous flora and fauna. Imperial soldiers patrolled the way, and speeders stood by, ready to ferry citizens across the less than secure path. But Isorr had need of none of that.

 

Stepping away from the starport, Isorr removed himself from the established pathway, ducking onto the grass and dirt, away from the prying eyes of Imperials and Sith. The small vestige of civilization put behind him, the warrior shed any vestige of blending in amongst its peoples. His concern now rest with the planet’s more natural populations. Isorr ran through the jungle terrain, gliding toward the destination firmly secured in his mind.

 

Despite the heft of his body and armor, he was light on his feet, sounding as a passing breeze rather than a tromping warrior. His youth had been spent locked away in an urban dwelling, but this planet was the Zabrak’s home. He possessed a series of coordinates, and he knew exactly where they lead. And the multiple ways to get there.

 

And so he ran, and ran, for hours, and hours. Whilst his companion currently covered a distance measured in stars, he traveled through the muddy jungles of his homeworld, hiking across hills and ravines, traversing rivers and ridges with an indomitable gait. He persisted, as the world spun beneath his feet, without food or water or pause. The warrior had come a long way since his journey amongst the wastes of Korriban. He could go longer without rest, without sustenance. The Force was his sustenance.

 

Remaining off the beaten path, Isorr climbed trees and mountains, gauntlets digging and clawing as he raised himself higher and higher by any means necessary. An almost sheer cliff face resting between himself and his destination, the warrior did climb. He climb and climbed, ascending the moist, crumbling wall of dirt and stone. He’d burrow his digits into the cliff-face through raw strength alone, forcing himself higher toward the ridge’s peak. His hold would prove more reliable than stone, as bits and pieces of the ridge would fall out from under him, destroying his progress as he slid back toward the mountain’s base. But he would not be deterred, resuming his climb without an errant thought.

 

Finally, his gauntlets clenched around something soft, something green. The grass and roots that signaled the top of the cliff. The Zabrak hoisted himself up, slowly but surely, until he stood once more upon flattened terrain. Righting himself, the warrior stood atop a peak similar to the one he had stood atop countless times before. And like the Korriban peak, it offered Isorr an overlooking glimpse of a compound beset by high ridges and defensive emplacements.

 

An estate. Formerly belonging to one Lord Norrok. Now under the possession of one Darth Tash. A small assortment of buildings sat nestled amongst the grassy ridges, low stout structures sparsely guarded by Humans and droids. The compound possessed all the necessary amenities. Barracks. Communications tower. Lightning Spires to divert the ever present storms above. But the warrior was interested in the main house.

 

Moving forward, Isorr navigated a sloping path down the ridge, avoiding the majority of the security that guarded the open road on the opposite side of the compound. Under the shadow of Dromund Kaas’ eternal dusk, the warrior slinked down toward the Imperial manor. Only now did Isorr halt his unending march. Carefully, he maneuvered amongst the various buildings that rest between himself and his target. Keeping to the shadows, the warrior peeked around corners, making sure the coast was clear, before proceeding through each procedural advancement.

 

Circling around the central manor, Isorr found an unguarded back entrance and slipped inside. Out of the dark, churning mess that was the Dromund Kaas exterior, the warrior stood amongst standardized Imperial architecture. Cold, rigid designs forged from dark metal, sparsely decorated aside from the occasional cloth banner hanging from the wall. The Zabrak paused, closing his eyes as he stood alone within the manor house. Opening his eyes, Isorr took the first in a series of cautious steps, guiding himself toward his destination. He knew nothing of the structure’s floor plan or layout, but he knew exactly where he was going. The coordinates had served their purpose, but Isorr was not without further guidance. It was simply internal, rather than external.

 

The warrior proceeded deeper into the building, wet footsteps echoing throughout the vacant corridors, leaving muddy footprints in their wake. He paid no attention to such details, mind locked on the target, once more enrapt with the unwavering pursuit. He traversed winding hallways and empty corridors, no one interrupting his trek. As he slowly walked down one of the available pathways, he came to a stop halfway, an inkling in his mind telling him he had arrived. A single door stood on the wall beside him.

 

Passing his hand over the controls, the door quickly rescinding into its recess, granting Isorr access. Passing through the boundary, the warrior found himself in a meagerly sized room, a tiny foyer, featuring the greatest bit of decoration he had seen thus far. The walls left and right of the intruding warrior were lined with hanging trophies and items mounted on shelves. Various items of genuine and sentimental worth, but the central piece seemed to be a mannequin donning a suit of Sith armor. Black armorweave accentuated by protective plates, and a helmet featuring various slits through which a crown of small horns could protrude.

 

“I do not know how you got in here, but I know exactly how you’re leaving,” a low, coarse voice sounded off behind the intruding warrior. Isorr turned to see an elder Zabrak garbed in simple robes standing in the open doorway, pointing the crimson blade of a lightsaber his way. The intruder carefully lowered his hood and mask, and watched as the defender’s stern, tattoo-laden face slowly turn to one of bewilderment. “Isorr?”

 

“Dad,” the younger Zabrak bluntly replied. The room fell silent, only the soft hum of the still ignited, still raised, lightsaber permeating the chamber. Isorr and Ikton Odrek locked eyes with one another, each frozen in place.

 

“What are you doing here?” Ikton asked, almost unable to process the presence of his son.

 

“I came to see you,” Isorr calmly stated, no apparent emotion in his words. The two continued to share an uneasy look, until finally the elder Zabrak slowly lowered his weapon. Disengaging the lightsaber, Ikton returned it to his hip and stepped fully inside the chamber, shutting the door behind him.

 

“Shouldn’t you be at the Academy?” Ikton asked, a sliver of concern in his voice.

 

“I don’t know. Should I?” Isorr replied, maintaining his stoicism.

 

“What do you mean? Did you become an apprentice? Is that why you’re not there anymore?” Ikton attempted to piece together an explanation.

 

There was a beat as the younger Zabrak momentarily lowered his gaze. “I suppose you could say that,” Isorr admitted.

 

“That’s… that’s wonderful news!” Ikton exclaimed, a genuine delight shining through his otherwise coarse voice. “Come. Come. I want to hear all about it!”

 

Ikton rushed passed his son, opening the door opposite the entrance, beyond which rest the elder Zabrak’s home within the compound. Isorr watched with a dulled expression as his father moved about the dwelling, almost floating. The son exited the foyer into a quaint Imperial living room, his father bustling about the adjacent kitchenette.

 

“Please, have a seat.” Ikton called out. Isorr passed his gaze around the sparsely filled living quarters, only a small table with two chairs standing near him. Hesitantly, the son took a seat at the small breakfast table as he continued to cast a sharpened gaze toward his father. Silence between the two Sith persisted amidst the occasional clattering sounding out from the kitchenette. When the father finally emerged, he came holding two cups of coffee.

 

“Tell me, what’s the name of your new master?” Ikton asked as he handed his son one of the cups and sat in the chair opposite him. The son stared into the dark liquid, seeing a shimmering reflection of himself.

 

“Lord Syrosk,” Isorr said, not looking up from his drink.

 

Ikton took a long sip of his drink. “Hmm. Haven’t heard of him myself, but I’m sure he’s a fine Sith.” Isorr looked up from his drink with an arch of his brow, watching his father continue to sip from his cup. “This is such exciting news. My son, finally a Sith Apprentice. I’m only astounded I didn’t hear about it sooner.”

 

“What makes you say that?” Isorr softly asked.

 

“Well, my master keeps tabs on the Academy and has been giving me progress of your training,” Ikton explained.

 

“Is that so?” Isorr muttered, taking his first sip of his coffee. “When was the last report you received?”

 

“Oh, only a few weeks ago,” Ikton stated.

 

“And what did Tash have to say then?” Isorr bluntly asked.

 

“So you know of him?” Ikton replied with an amused candor.

 

“You could say that,” Isorr softly answered.

 

“Well, he said your training was going smoothly, and that you showed immense promise,” Ikton explained. “He said that the instructors sang your praises, that you were one of the finest warriors at the Academy.”

 

“And you believed him?”

 

“Well, of course I did! After all, your my…” Ikton looked up from his coffee to see his son looking upon his with a stern gaze, a coldness unfazed by his projected warmth. Only now did the father notice the mud on his son’s armored fingers. He fell silent, as all he could do what look across the table with a creeping bewilderment.

 

“What would you say, if I were to tell you that I haven’t been a student of the Academy for almost two years now?” Isorr bluntly asked. “Better yet, what would you say if I was never actually enrolled in the Korriban Academy in the first place?”

 

“Why… why would you say something like that?” Ikton muttered.

 

“Have you spoken with Vai recently?” Isorr asked. “Because I have.”

 

The father could only offer stunned silence. Slowly, the younger Zabrak raised the cup to his lips, taking a long, drawn-out sip.

 

“I daresay I know more about your master than you do, father.”

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto

[Osetto]

Chapter Twenty Three: Links

 

Isorr and Ikton Odrek continued to sit across from one another. The domicile’s atmosphere had lost its warmth as the father and son looked to one another with creeping unease.

 

“What exactly happened… ten years ago?” Isorr asked.

 

“Don’t you already know?” Ikton tersely replied, referencing his son’s supposed understanding.

 

“This isn’t about what I know… it’s about what you think,” Isorr answered, his eyes continuing to lock with his father’s. “And I want specifics.”

 

The elder Zabrak held a silent pause as he broke eye contact with his son, staring into the half-full cup of coffee. “I was security chief of this estate, back when it was owned by Lord Norrok. I’d oversee local surveillance, instruct new recruits, deal with security breaches. Menial duties. One day, my day off, I went to Kaas City. I was going to come visit you but… I stepped into the local cantina first. That’s when I was approached by someone. Vai Thorel. He introduced me to his master, who offered me a place under him as an apprentice, and said he could get you into the Korriban Academy.”

 

“And you believed the offer genuine?” Isorr begrudgingly asked, swirling the remains of his half-empty cup of coffee.

 

“Of course I did!” Ikton declared. “He wasn’t asking for nothing in return. I was to deliver him this estate, turning over everything and everyone inside over to him. I knew there was a chance that afterwards, he’d have no further use of me, but I couldn’t pass up an opportunity this good. I would finally be a Sith, not just a Force-sensitive lapdog. And you, my son, would have the opportunity never afforded to me. You would have been the first Odrek to be a Sith of distinction. To have trained in and graduated from the Empire’s most prestigious Academy.”

 

“So you let Vai take me away to receive the training you never did,” Isorr stoically said. “What did you do while I was gone? Did Tash uphold his promise to make you an apprentice?”

 

“Yes. He did,” Ikton admitted. “Vai and I trained together, working under our master’s direction. Vai handled domestic affairs. I worked externally. I got to fight in the Battle of Alderaan! I got to fight alongside Darth Malgus! I mean, not directly, but I was part of the invasion. I never had that chance before joining Tash. If not for him, I’d be stuck here, doing menial duties, going unappreciated. I got the chance to be a warrior, a real Sith! He gave me opportunities I’d have never received otherwise.”

 

“I can’t say the same,” Isorr muttered.

 

“What happened to you ten years ago?” Ikton turned the question back toward his son.

 

“I was in our apartment,” Isorr bitterly recalled. “Nothing to do but wait, as always, when suddenly an intruder shows up. I tried to hide, as taught, by you, but he could sense me. Vai began to converse with me, appeal to that desire to be a Sith that you had implanted in me since I first learned Basic. Promised to take me to the Academy, the institution that you had made out to be the most wondrous of places. I start to think. What about you? Why aren’t you here? But I knew what you’d say. So I went with him. We flew to Korriban. I was deposited alongside other Force-sensitive children. Some Humans. Some aliens. We were taken below the surface. Assigned to groups and classrooms. For years, we’d toil beneath the surface, only stepping outside amongst unoccupied, unwatched sectors. We were not true students. We were hidden, or at the very least, kept out of sight.”

 

“But you were trained, were you not?” Ikton asked. “Received lessons? Faced trials?”

 

“Only in the barest sense,” Isorr declared. “None of us truly faced danger. Debilitating injuries were few and far between. They weren’t weeding out the strong from the weak. They were simply pushing us forward, toward some unseen goal. For eight years, I blindly followed the instructors, believing them to be the only hope I had to become a Sith. But one day, a Sith Lord showed up to the Academy. Took only four warriors from the scores that resided in the classrooms. He gave us a test. Had us choose a partner from the same halls in which we resided, but were training to become inquisitors. The idea was odd, perhaps unsettling, but it was the first tangible chance at becoming an apprentice, and I guess I couldn’t pass it up no matter the surrounding circumstances.”

 

As the son finished his last sentence, his stern gaze softened a bit as he continued to look into his father’s eyes. In recounting his own tale, he realized how he himself had fallen for the same trappings. The promise of apprenticeship, where none existed prior, proved infinitely enticing to men such as them.

 

“This Sith Lord, this is the Syrosk you mentioned?” Ikton asked, breaking the silence.

 

“Correct. An alien, but a Sith Lord,” Isorr explained. “This was two years ago, but it was months before we found out who he was or what his purpose was. Did you ever question the means of which Vai and his master were able to track you down? How they knew of my existence, and the fact that I was Force-sensitive?”

 

“I couldn’t afford to dwell on it then,” Ikton admitted. “I considered it little more than extreme luck at first. But in time, I came to understand how capable my master was at acquiring what he desired, chief of which being information. I’ve watched him trade favors, bartering for information before. After that, I believed nothing beyond his reach.”

 

“That’s understandable, for one individual I suppose,” Isorr stated. “But Tash sought almost a hundred children across the galaxy. For that he needed someone with insight. For that, he needed my master. A Seer. Tash and Syrosk were partners. Your master used his connections to set up classrooms on Korriban, and my master used his visions to fill them. Shortly after the students were all gathered, the two came to blows and separated, Tash retaining total control of his students while Syrosk was left with nothing. For eight years Tash was free to do with us as he pleased with no interference whatsoever. Hell, aside from my master and his apprentices, Tash is still free to do whatever he wishes with those who remain in his domain. But we were pulled from the classrooms. And while we still weren’t proper Sith, at least we were being trained like them. By someone who didn’t care who we were or where we came from.”

 

“Tash is not like other Sith,” Ikton replied. “He doesn’t care if you’re an alien or not. I’ve been his apprentice for almost a decade!”

 

“Are you a Sith Lord?” Isorr asked.

 

“No…” Ikton softly answered.

 

“Darth Tash hasn’t seen fit to bestow the title upon his loyal apprentice?”

 

“No. But Vai isn’t a Lord either,” Ikton explained. “And neither of us wish to be.”

 

Isorr balked. “What?”

 

There was a pause, as the father took a sip from his coffee. “Before you left for the Academy, everything you knew of the Sith came from me, correct?” The son offered a nod. “And have your views of the Order changed since then?” Another nod. “Well, my views have changed as well. I taught you to believe in the sanctity of power, of self-interest, of standing amongst greatness. The importance and enduring nature of tradition…”

 

“You conveniently skipped over the fact that none of that applies if you’re an alien,” Isorr muttered.

 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ikton countered. “Yes, we are at a disadvantage. Yes, we are looked down upon by those who do not recognize our skill. But that does not mean we are incapable of being Sith. That we are incapable of earning respect. I can count on my hand the number of Zabrak bloodlines that stand in high regard in the Empire, but they do exists. Our strength, our resilience, our tenacity. It does not go unnoticed. We’ve made homes for ourselves in Imperial space before the war even broke out. We are capable of earning a place alongside any Human or Pureblood, we simply require more time. It may take years, decades, generations, but it is possible. A family that serves the Empire for centuries is not ignored because of their blood, so long as that blood contains the power of the Force. My father was stepped on at every turn, but he fought, ensuring that his son would have a place amongst the Sith. A small place, but a place higher than his nonetheless. I did the same, making sure that you would have the opportunity to ascend higher than I. Tash expedited the process. He catapulted you ahead by what could have taken us generations to come. He gave you a place in the Academy.”

 

“Except he didn’t,” Isorr replied. “His classrooms are a lie. The second I stepped foot outside of them, I was just another despised alien who didn’t belong.”

 

“But it’s better than what you would have had!” Ikton emphatically declared. “Before he came along, I was the worthless servant of petulant Sith Lord. You would have grown up, inherited my meager assets, and maybe start two steps ahead of where I started. Then your child would start a little further than you, and their child a little further still. But in a hundred years, little would have changed. Do you think, maybe you were hidden for your own good? Maybe you were being protected?”

 

“At the cost of strength and skill?”

 

“Yes!” Ikton shouted. “Do you know what strength and skill amounts to when you have a collective after you? A group of people who want nothing more than to see you taken down? Dark Councilors are regularly killed and replaced. No amount of personal power can save you when everyone wants you dead.”

 

“There’s always someone who wants you dead.”

 

“Does that mean you go around advertising your presence to them?” Ikton asked before releasing a low sigh. “Oh, of course you do, because that’s ‘the Sith thing to do’. You face challenges, get stronger, or die, right? Nothing else matters. Except it does. You want to know what the Sith Order’s problem is? Single-mindedness. The inability to see or even think about something other than what’s right in front of you. The inability to change, to adapt, to try anything different than what rests currently in your mind. You have to be the best. You be the best by taking the place of your betters, you take the place of your betters by being the best. I’ve fought in countless battles across countless worlds. I’ve fought Jedi and Sith. I won my master the Nebulae Campaign. I earned him the rank of Darth. Before, I would have been utterly dissatisfied. After all I’ve done, I should deserve more, right? I should try taking what I deserve, right? But I have everything I need. I have my son. Even though we had not spoken with or seen one another for almost a decade, I knew that everything I did was for you. Every bit of prestige, everything of worth I accrued, I knew it would be passed to you.”

 

“But why?”

 

“Because what’s the point of doing everything for yourself?” Ikton warmly declared. “If you have nothing to pass on, all of your accomplishments reset to null the second you die. That’s the reason we have children. Hell, that’s the reason Sith have apprentices, or rather, it should be. There are still facets of the Sith Order I have not turned my back on. A master takes an apprentice, trains them, provides them the means of surpassing them. That’s something worth preserving, worth believing in.”

 

“And you think Tash shares such a belief?” Isorr asked.

 

“I do,” Ikton answered.

 

“And what about the classrooms?”

 

“I know nothing of them or their purpose,” Ikton admitted. “And me being kept in the dark is likely because of your involvement with them. Were I informed of their existence and purpose, I’d likely trust my master’s intent.”

 

“And what of the fact that he’s lied about my status for the past two years?” Isorr asked.

 

“Would you tell a father you’ve lost his son to someone you’ve fought with in the past? The man is still a Sith and acts accordingly. Has he moved against you or your master?”

 

“Not overtly,” Isorr admitted. “And only against Syrosk. Throughout most of our training we’ve been isolated. But… we did receive a visit from Vai recently.”

 

“You did say you had spoken with him” Ikton stated. “What did he have to say?”

 

“He… offered us a place under Tash,” Isorr explained. “Said there were no hard feelings, that we could continue our training as his apprentices. We declined.”

 

“I see,” Ikton almost whispered. “I’m sure you all had your reasons.”

 

“We did. And the decision was not made lightly,” Isorr declared. “We mostly did it to stay together, considering we would likely come to blows when our masters’ paths eventually passed. I was the only one with family only the other side, though.”

 

“You must think highly of your fellow apprentices, not wanting to go against them,” Ikton stated.

 

“I suppose,” Isorr hesitantly admitted. “My partner is a capable ally, and I’d not see the others forced to die by my hand. More so than the father I’d not seen in ten years.”

 

“Understandable,” Ikton muttered with a soft nod. “What brought you here though, into the arms of your master’s enemy?”

 

“Recent events have seen me and the other apprentices exiled from Korriban,” Isorr stated. “While Syrosk was allowed to remain, we were forced offworld. We decided to put our training on hold to pursue more… personal ventures.”

 

“And you decided to come see your father.”

 

“Well, technically it was decided for me,” Isorr commented.

 

The elder Zabrak puzzled as the younger one reached into the folds of his cloak, returning with a single sheet of flimsiplast. The son placed the sheet on the table and slid it over to the father, who looked upon it with curiosity. The edges were warped, and the spots where Isorr’s muddy fingers made contact were torn and wilted, but its message was plainly visible. A series of coordinates, and the name Ikton Odrek.

 

“Who gave you this?” Ikton wondered.

 

“We don’t know for sure,” Isorr stated. “We think it could have been Vai. One of the other apprentices thinks he has a warm relationship with him despite their masters’ tensions. Thinks he was giving us a gift after being exiled. Vai told me about you when he was trying to convince me to join Tash. There’s a chance this is an extension of that. If I met you, maybe I’d change my mind about staying with Syrosk or something.”

 

“And have you?” Ikton asked.

 

“Maybe. Not really. I mean, if I was asked to fight you, I’d most likely decline,” Isorr admitted.

 

“Yeah. Same here,” Ikton replied. There was a pause as the two Sith looked to their drinks, the murky liquid growing increasingly cold.

 

“I suppose we really are similar,” Isorr said, emotion all but abandoned. “Zabrak who blindly rushed to join our masters. Who have had ideals beaten into and out of them. Who are surrounded by people trying to guide them toward what they seem to think is best for them.”

 

“Like father like son,” Ikton replied.

 

“So… were you successful?” Isorr asked.

 

“In what way?”

 

“In giving me a head start? Do you still think I’m better off than you were?”

 

“At your age? Definitely,” Ikton answered. “If I were as strong as you are back then, you’d have been abandoned in a much nicer apartment.”

 

The two Zabrak’s lips began to display small curls, almost resembling smiles.

 

“You gonna tell Tash about any of this?” Isorr asked.

 

“Nah. After all, he kept me in the dark about you. Might as well do the same to him,” Ikton explained. “What are you going to do?”

 

“I don’t know. Same thing I’ve been doing I suppose,” Isorr declared. Reaching across the table, the younger Zabrak retrieved the sheet of flimsiplast, holding it in his hands for a moment before returning it to the folds of his cloak. “You know, our talks with Vai were pretty enlightening. Perhaps you should have a chat with him as well.”

 

“At the very least, thank him for letting me see my son,” Ikton stated. “Assuming it was him who sent you here, of course.”

 

“Who else would be able to tell me I’d find you here?” the son asked.

 

“I suppose only Tash and Vai would know when and where I would be,” Ikton replied. “Although someone could have just given you the location of my home and hoped for the best.”

 

“How often are you here anyway? I thought you were this battle-hardened warrior, out fighting wars, conquering planets for your master.”

 

“True, I’m often called elsewhere, but my time here has been spent resting,” Ikton admitted.

 

“Tire yourself out easily old man?” Isorr teased his father.

 

“No,” Ikton countered. “Tash needs me rested and ready for the next battle.”

 

“And which battle might that be?” Isorr asked.

 

“Don’t know,” Ikton admitted. “Details have been sparse. Tash has been talking with the Ministry heads. Something big is coming.”

 

“Is that so?” Isorr offered before taking a final sip of his coffee.

 

“I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you or your master,” Ikton bluntly stated.

 

“Yeah, but my master has a knack for making things about him.”

 

----------

 

Passing through the polluted skies of the mining world, a motley assemblage of shuttles and transport ships raised and lowered themselves amongst the clearings between Yerrig’s palace and the dig sites. Former slaves and slavers alike stood in loose formations, each ready to depart the dreary world. Standing over the scene, Lorrik and Jresh watched as the individuals piled onto the vessels of smugglers and escorts, ready to ferry them to their world of choice for a price. A price each of them were now suitably capable of paying.

 

Holding the datapad he had received months and months ago in his hand, Lorrik received a communication from his comrades.

 

“Message from Arlia,” Lorrik spoke to his partner. “Says she’s earned us some credits.”

 

“That’s good news I suppose,” Jresh declared, casting a careful gaze over the moving figures in the distance.

 

“Yeah, she also says Isorr wants to talk. To all of us. Well, all of us except Syrosk it seems,” Lorrik explained. “He wants all the apprentices to meet up. Should we invite them here?”

 

“It’s as good a place as any,” Jresh stated. “We should be the only ones here by the time they arrive.”

 

“Alright, I’ll send the word,” Lorrik declared, tapping away at the electronic screen.

 

The Pureblood watched as the figures ahead boarded the various shuttles, slaves and their oppressors moving in tandem. “The transition is proceeding remarkably smoothly.”

 

“The right mixture of incentives I suppose,” Lorrik stated. “A new life, credits for their troubles, and the fear of the two Sith standing on a nearby hill. Are they all happy? No. Have they all forgotten what happened days prior? No. But they’ve weighed their options, and this is best one for all of them. Will some fall right back into the old ways the second they step off those ships? Most likely. But there’s only so much we can do. Or rather, only so much we should do.”

 

“I’m sure when other Sith struggle with self-restraint, it isn’t concerning matters like this.”

 

Lorrik offered a quick chuckle. “I suppose not.” Tapping away at his datapad, the inquisitor received a couple of notices on the screen. “Arlia and Kar’ai say they’re on their way. Their partners too.”

 

“What of Nesk and Vurt?” Jresh asked.

 

“No response.”

 

“You think they’re in trouble?”

 

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Lorrik warmly replied.

 

----------

 

Beneath the foggy skies and dense canopy of a jungle world, a lone Imperial shuttle sat motionless on the forest floor. Dense shrubbery encroached upon the solitary metallic object, a single column of light shining down on it from the vertical hole made by its descent. Within the cockpit, a single piloting droid sat idling. Within the passenger bay, the meager belongings of two Sith sat strewn about the flooring, two datapads amongst them. On each of the electronic screens, a red notice blinked and flashed, going unattended.

 

The shuttle was quiet, and its owners were out.

Edited April 7, 2014 by Osetto