Mechis III

[Fieldgrey]

Her Master’s former Temple. Ruined like all things he had touched. All that was left was a tomb, filled with rainwater and rot.

 

Hayley slipped from her clothing, allowing the stagnant pool’s tepid water caress the pale flesh of her legs. She placed her cloaks upon the water’s edge, careless of the rotting stench that emanated from bile-colored moss that adorned the stones. She felt uneasy about what she had planned, but it was far too late to turn back now from the brokenness she was about to embrace. The blackened algae swirled around her as she ventured deeper into the lukewarm water, the stench of it clinging to her nose and throat. As the water reached her throat, nausea began to spread its quivering fingers through her stomach. She shuddered, and let the sticky water submerge her completely.

 

There it lay within her mind, her boiling rage. Her curse. It was not the suddenness of Wrath that defined so many Sith warriors or her drunkard Father. There was no haste in this. There was no animalistic loss of temper. Her rage was deliberate and settled deep within her soul. There was no loss of control. Fieldgrey let her breath dissipate into clear bubbles that fought their way through the thick fluid, escaping her and her desperate mission.

 

Hunger shattered her seething disposition, coming from somewhere distant. Beyond the physical plane. It invited her to eat.

 

…There you are.

[Fieldgrey]

…Kriffing Hutt. Still bound by your insanity.

 

Fieldgrey let the water move around her, steeling herself against the onslaught of madness. She was his apprentice, but she had no interest in being bound to his will any longer. Without air, she formed her words within the pond.

 

“You will not consume me…”

 

She stretched out her hands, trying to grapple with the visage, but her hands found no bearing on the spirit. Her wrath burned brighter, setting her blood on fire. She would burn him from her flesh.

 

“Let me… Be…”

 

 

[Fieldgrey]

There was always a lesson with the Hutt, but most were far less subtle. Strength and power wrapped her in its embrace. She could smell the spiced pipesmoke, the perique that overpowered Sheog’s blends of tobacco. It was familiar. It was kind. Familial.

 

…Why not take his power and use it for my own?

 

Fieldgrey laughed, voiceless amongst the boiling pool.

 

“Why would I surrender myself? Why make myself a slave once more to you?”

 

She pushed away the embrace upon her naked flesh.

 

“Your gift of power… Would allow you to rule me.”

[Fieldgrey]

Fieldgrey gasped into consciousness, the Hutt’s words crawling within her skull. She felt empty, like all of her former power had been drained from her. The mud within which she lay was a reflection upon her. She sputtered out a breath and a mouthful of foul mud came with it. The grainy texture ground against her teeth, and the rancid taste of it came upon her like a flood. The girl wretched and fought against her roiling stomach and lost.

 

…Did I rely so much on that blasted Hutt for my power?

 

Fieldgrey freed herself from the mud’s embrace and wiped the sickness from herself. Her hands came away crimson. The Hutt’s influence always came at a price.

 

…Darth Awenydd

 

The girl stood, letting the rancid mud form about her feet. Her alabaster skin was dyed and cracked by the drying mud. A distant thunderclap rang through the shattered tomb. The sound stirred her mind from its confusion and the Sith’s breathing became more calmed. The world was no longer defined by her master’s corrupted will.

 

Fieldgrey stepped from the mud, leaving her discarded clothes to rot with her past. The stone was rough on her feet, weathered though it was by rainfall. She recognized Krath patterns in the permacrete and it sparked thought to her own philosophy. The core upon which she would build a new power.

 

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

 

The raindrops began to spatter across her bare back, seeping through her matted hair to run through her scalp. Peace bred weakness in all creatures. The millennia of peace for the Old Republic had brought the complacency that allowed the rise of Palpatine and the near destruction of the Jedi Order. She spat out another mouthful of mud-stained blood.

 

Peace had its purposes. Constant warfare rarely led to intellectual advancement which was the pinnacle of Krath philosophy. Too much passion was a poison. She had seen far too many Sith Warriors taken by the passion of anger, only to be reduced to a lifeless corpse by a lightsaber’s riposte.

 

Through passion, I gain strength.

 

Rain beat harder upon her skin, beginning to wash away the tomb’s corruption with the rhythmic beat of water. It was nature’s heartbeat. It was passion. Passion preserves life. Passion is what gave sentience joy. The caress of flesh or that of the knife. Strength came through the mastery of passion for the Krath, while many Sith became a slave to their baser passions. The Jedi denied passion, and through their denial, rejected life.

Through strength, I gain power.

 

As the murky sludge was washed from her flesh by the rain, it showed the perfection of her body. It had escaped the trainings of the Sith unmarred and unspoiled. She had been Sheog’s favorite, and his love for her had made her weak. She remembered the battles in Myrkyr alongside Karys. She had been weak then. No more. Craving for power was what always trapped the Sith in cycles of self-destruction. It was time for her to learn control

 

Through power, I gain victory.

 

There would be time enough to test herself against the wiles and blades of the Jedi. For the Krath, victory was often more subtle than that of other Orders. Victory was easy to express when one is standing over the bisected body of one’s opponent. For the Krath, a victory was in creating a movement in the Force, to see it influence others to a common goal. Victory was in knowledge and a mastery of the Force and one’s own demons.  The rain pelted her harder. The shattered permacrete began to get slick and treacherous.

 

Through victory, my chains are broken.

 

With a shaking hand, Fieldgrey grasped one of the rusted durasteel beams that jutted from the crumbling permacrete like the ribcage of a rotting wale. Sheog had the greatest victory over the Jedi seen in millennium and it had done nothing but bind him tighter with his insanity.

Her own sin, wrath, was that too a chain she voluntarily bound herself with? Gluttony and Sloth had been the gateways to Sheog’s power, but also his downfall. The Sith philosophy itself was a chain. With weary legs, she moved from the crumbling crater towards the dark outline of her A-wing.

 

The caress of metal on her skin cleared her mind of its fatigued haze, her fingers fumbling with an access hatch. Within, she selected a black tunic and cloak to match with her new rank of Sith Lord. Even covered with cloth, Fieldgrey could still feel her skin crawling from her former Master’s touch. Pulling the cloak tighter against the rain, the girl climbed into her A-wing, feeling the worn leather of the pilot’s seat embrace her.

 

The Force shall free me... Or did I free myself?

 

As the A-wing left the atmosphere of Mechis behind, Darth Awenydd considered her new name. Her Master’s last gift and lesson. She would head to Coruscant to join the invasion, and there find her power once more. Her new lightsaber would be built from whatever the Force allowed her to find there.