Bishop Of Battle

*What started as a black speck in the sky that dropped from hyperspace, ended as Bishop's Sith Infiltrator landing in the deserts of Tattooine a ways from Mos Eisley. Sensing impending doom with animal like instincts, the primitive Tuskan Raiders abandoned their stoops and picked up their nomadic camp as hastily as they could. When he approached the burned out and ravaged remains of a farm, it was devoid of life. Charred fire pits still smoldered and trash remained, but nothing living peaked at Bishop as he entered through the twisted and broken front gates. Explosive marks, now thirty years old, were worn but still recognizable on the broken metal doors that had once protected the villa from idle raider attacks. The souls of the restless still loomed strong to his heart, but they remained locked in the shell of the place. He climbed through the shattered house, up to a distantly familiar room. A bed, torn to shreds but still recognizable, stood in the corner. A stray explosion had knocked out a portion of the wall by the window, destroying a play chest. What toys remained were in shambles within the drawers. The rest had been destroyed or stolen. He sat down on the edge of the floor of his old room, looking out over Tatooine's dunes.*

*Assuming Sauron's lapse in cognitive ability to be a temporarirly permanent state, Bishop bid him goodbye and moved towards the Sith hangers. He passed briefly through the training halls to see the end of Kakuto's trials and watched Abaddon's own task continue. His craft was exactly how he had left it when Kaylynn had returned him to Mimban. The rear ramp extended to meet him. As he cleared the top the ramp shut again. A few more feet in he suddenly collapsed to his knees. The Force left him entirely and he was devoid of sight and sense given to him through it. He recalled a moment later that he had left a Yassalarmi strapped to a nutrient frame in the center of his ship. Just enough of its presence shrouded the ship from nose to tail. It would hide his presence wonderfully in space. However he lacked the ability to fly his ship in such conditions. He regained his composure and judged his position. A few hisitant steps later, he found the nutrient frame and moved it towards the back of the ship. He shook his head as he cleared its sphere of influence in the cockpit. Refreshed, the Force inspired view of the cockpit filled his mind and his hands flowed easily over the controls. With a subtle burst, the engines came to life and he lifted off of the landing pad.* "First stop, Tattooine." *Gracefully, the modified Sith Infiltrator lifted through the storming clouds. The electro-shock plating absorbed the numerous blasts of lighting that struck the hull, scattering the charged electrons in a neon blue haze that pulsated over the ship. As it broke free of the upper atmosphere, the lightning tendrals trailed upwards in his wake, pulling back down into the clouds like a reaching hand falling back into the watery depths. Scanning the immediate area with his senses and instruments, he turned the ship in the direction of Tattooine and cued the hyperdrive.*

*The Sith Lords and Masters departed their seperate ways. Only Sauron and Bishop remained in the room. He turned to the Dark Lord of the Sith and hesitated a moment before speaking.* "Lord Sauron. How is it that Tarrian came to be with you, again in the living plane? Last I had made contact her, she was still firmly entrenched in death. That's not something you usually just shake off and have a cup of coffee to clear up." *He let his arms and hands relax a bit, and one hand drifted over his waist where Tarrian and Kaylynn's lightsabers had hung immediatly after their deaths. Kaylynn had returned, and now she had her own saber back. Tarrians was gone as well, resting in the center of the table in his room. He knew she could feel it there, it was a piece of her, radiating her presence that knew how to look for it.*

ooc: Dude... I wish we had a rancor. We should go catch one and train it as a pet. It could be the Sith mascot. *Sauron's old presence was strong as they entered the room. Like so many things, it was the same but changed. The one time apprentice of Barohm Zar, Abaddon, also stood in the room, apparrently approaching Sauron with his own concerns. They entered as he finished his request for master hood. He nodded greetings to the two and began at Sauron's request.* "I have just finished presenting to Master Raynuk, an idea for preperation for our inevitable move into the galaxy. Currently our strongest alliance is in the Imperials, however our bond has grown weak and atrophied from lack of use. I proposed to him that we reestablish that bond through the form of a Sith Ambassador. By strengthening our ties with them directly, it would set us up to aquire their aid in personel and military strength when we make our own advances against the Jedi. In the meantime our own fingers can become wrapped in their proceedings, making it all the easier for us to take control away from them and become their masters, just as in the days of the Empire." *Bishop paused a moment, taking the time to cast his mental attention towards Abaddon and then returning it to Sauron.* "I would suggest that the position of Ambassador be presented to one of the older, more experienced, and advanced members of our brotherhood. An apprentice would be obviously no good to us and even most of the knights and lords would be as likely to shoot their mouths off than bide their time as they should. Unbridled youth has its place, but that is more on the battlefield than in the negotiations room. Perhaps Lord Abaddon here would be interested, if he can prove himself worthy of becoming a Master of our order."

"Yes, indeed." *The two walked a few more steps in silence before Bishop finished his thoughts.* "It has been a long time since the Sith as a whole have been active. I do understand the need for precise timing for when we move and so I am content to wait. But there is still much preperation to be done for that day. Currently the Imperials are our strongest allies and hold political power. We should be able to manipulate them for our own ends. When the Sith do make the move we prepare for, then the Imperials must be made a part of that. To that end, I propose that we send a... ambassador of sorts to the Imperial head." *He allowed the statement a few moments to register before continuing.* "Such a person could approach Rhiven with the desire to see the 'bonds between Sith and Imperials strengthened.' The approach may require a certain amount of following where they lead at first, until we have fully cemented our position. Then we can begin to use their aid in streching out our reach in this galaxy." *Raynuk and Bishop had reached a junction in the passage, and he waited both for a response and to see which direction the Sith Master now turned.*

*Raynuk's returning presance to the storming world was a welcome one indeed. Bishop remained on his seat upon the golden carved throne, unmoving as he allowed Raynuk time to take care of his various menial tasks. Deeming enough time spent waiting, he rose from his seat and left the temple. The stones arround him had muffled the sound of rain that now cascaded upon his cloak as he walked. He left the rain behind in the facilities that made up the training rooms, science labs, medical stations, and docking bays of the Imperial installation that had been assimilated. The water drops ran and dripped from the black surface that enclosed him. He stopped at the side of one of the main halls where he knew Raynuk would eventually bring himself on his duties. He waited, blindfolded eyes turned upwards to the lighting of the hallway, though the edge of the cloak and black strip of cloth kept most of his face shaded in darkness. Eventually the Sith Master came around. Perhaps on his way to perform one of his many tasks or perhaps because he sensed Bishop's desire to speak with him. In any event, Raynuk signaled his ever vigilance and knowledge of Bishop's presence through his slight body signals. Leaving the wall, Bishop joined his longtime friend as he walked down the hall. Saying nothing at first as they walked together.* "How did your 'vacation' away from this place fair?"

OOC: *cough* *Finally abondoning the self imposed walk, Bishop allowed himself to meditate. Something he had all but abandoned since his days at as a Jedi, casting himself instead into long periods of self turmoil to reach the truths he sought. In life, Tarrian had been his guiding post. She had changed him as a Jedi, and taught him the light of darkness as a Sith. For her and with her he had endured a great many things. Her death had torn him apart. Her return failed to knit the seams together again. She had changed greatly in death. Perhaps as much in spirit as he had in body. Or perhaps it was he who had changed too much. The answers were no more clear when she approached his position than they had been when he sat there. When he had completed the pointless task of reflection, he turned his sightless eyes upon her. Unable to see her behind the blindfold and sightless eyes. Only his sight in the Force illuminated her to his mind. An almost black hole to the senses. The voice was the same. Silky smooth and inviting. Calling to him of past days. And from that voice brought chills to his body. Like kissing the lips of a dead lover and singing your skin on hot ash pasted to their mouth. The sense was full of longing and pain. And so he found himself with out words. Without a response of any kind. The Sith, arguably one of the oldest and most powerful Sith Lords who had not yet moved on to the rank of Master, found himself perhaps afraid to speak and accept what had come to pass. Tarrian left. Full of dissappointment? Maybe. But uncharictaristic none-the-less. Alone now again, Bishop stood. The forest about him was silent. The screams of birds did not fill the hallow canopies and the rains above failed to illuminate the ground below the thick leaves. Even the predetors kept to themselves away from his path. Unable to comprehend further his situation with the one he had loved, Bishop's mind turned to simpler matters. The Sith as an order seemed to be failing. They were not what he had come to know in his darkest times. Once the great Sith Masters had ruled the galaxy. He recognized that times change, and leadership fell into cycles. Some days the Jedi ruled while others the Sith would stamp them down. Such was the way of things. Some day, the Sith would again take their position as Lords of all. Some day further, the Jedi would pull them down again. Now such truths seemed so clear to him. So evident. It was the way of things which he had fallen for. Which provided meaning for his life. Even among hated enemies their was honor. Sly Stevenson had been a thorn in his side since the beggining. Since he had left the order. But he had also been drive. Drive to succeed and a purpouse to hate. But that hate was gone now, with the passing of the Jedi's life. The others of his life that had been his icons had left as well. Barohm Zar had fallen. Lord Ar-Pharazon had not been seen in some time. Even his great master, Darth Hatred, was no longer among the Sith. Perhaps it was pessimitisic old age, perhaps clairvoyance, but the Sith no longer seemed to be that which he had wedded himself to so faithfully. His steps were filled with purpous as he crossed the forest and broke out of the tree line into the compound the Sith had taken as their own, though wandering thoughts filled his head. The feeling of age had permeated his bones now. Tarrian was with her master now, her trials had only just begun. Raynuk had left, the one Bishop finally thought to seek out. He would have to speak to him when he returned from his own ordeals. Lacking another activity, Bishop went to his quarters and clensed himself from the soot that still covered his body from the furnace room and had been streaked by the falling rain. Changing into a fresh cloak, he left. He considered going to Brook, one of the remaining Sith of old. He felt somehow strangely connected to her, though they had never shared much time. In fact their time on Naboo had been one of the longest and closest moments between them in his memory. However, she seemed caught up with her son. Perhaps she would seek him out in her own time. So instead he retired to the largest temple on the grounds, the one where the thrones of Mimban's gods shone brilliantly on their rests. He moved through the entrance hall where profecies were carved eloquently into the stones. He could not see them but he could feel them. Even the craftsman who made them seemed to have controlled the power of the Force. They seemed infused with its energies, though their meanings were as archaic and mysterious as the physical runes. He entered the throne room, closing the massive and finely crafted doors behind him with little more than a thought before sitting on the throne set just to the left of the center. In the light of the fire twisting in their bowls, he brooded in his darkness.*

"You still have much to learn my young apprentice. But it is nothing you will learn from me. Experience and your time here among us will teach you what you need to learn. Now, return to the Sith compound and establish yourself a room. You are now, truely, a Sith." *Bishop turned and dissappeared into the forest. Much had come to bother him now. He could feel the returned presence of one who should have brought him happiness. In a fairytale the prince's kiss, the lovers prayer, or some other motif of love would have been required to ressussitate the dead. But this was no fairtale, and life moved on as it choose without care. The longing remained, but something had changed, become cold and hollow. He moved through the forested trees in deep contemplation. The order of his life was compounded by changes and mysteries. Things that might never truley make sense, ponder them though he might. But there was one certainty.* "I'm getting too friggen old for this."

"Perhaps when you answer my question. Though you should know that for yourself by now."

*The presence of Master Prophet was disturbing. A long time enemy fallen, not even by Bishop's own hand. Externally he shrugged it off, though it would bother him for awhile.* "Now I get ready to leave this planet for awhile. I have only one more question of you." *Bishop stopped walking. They were on the edge of the forest, looking out upon the temples taken by the Sith for their own.* "What is it to be a Sith?"

*Fire twisted and spouted from the tunnel entrance behind Pyre. The flames receded to reveal Bishop stepping from the twisting strings. The hatch slammed shut as he walked away. The firest that had once consumed his robes were long gone. The hood drawn up again over his head and the lightsabers gone. The rain hissed and steamed off the black cloth.* "Imperial technicians will handle the repair of the furnace room. Follow me."

*A low rumble precipitated the sudden vibrations of the furnace control room. The fire treated windows bent and flexed as an explosion of fire consumed the air just outside of them. The vibrations increased, threatening to shake the teath from Pyre's skull. The fire died down and the windows promptly exploded inward. The remainder of the door Pyre had cut his way through wripped outwards as though sucked by a tremendous vacume. A flash of red tore his glance back to the windows, where they had been a moment before. A lightsaber hurled through the new hole, followed by a wave of flame licking at the window sill. The saber dove towards Pyre, grasping at the ladder as he attempted to move up it towards the emergency hatch so many feet up. The weapon was deflected away easily, sailing out of sight back through one of the empty windows. The sound of sweet rain sounded down the shaft as it beat upon the metal door. Water that dripped down through leaks sizzled upon the floor around Pyre. Another flash of red and a saber, either the same or the second, dove through towards him again. Deflected with the same ease. Another flash. Between each clash he rose one more rung on the ladder. One more step to salvation. The fire shot inward through the empty door, falling short of him as the heat wave crashed about the room. The flames burned for the ceiling before receding out the door. A lone saber appeared from the flames still burning in the entry way. The flame walked forward into the room, red burning before it. The very folds of Bishop's cloak seemed to emit the flames. A veritable fire man, the element of man's greatest achievement and greatest destruction harnessed and alive. The fire outside that burned called to Pyre, offerring an easy way out. Away from the pain that stood flaming before him. To wrap him in its sweet warmth.* "You haven't gotten out yet." *Bishop's second saber arced to his hand. From the far side of Pyre, ripping through the steel bars that held the ladder in place in the control room. Pyre came down from the wall to the floor with the piece. Still grasped by one hand.* "Look how close you are. And about to fail. Only fifty meters to the top of the shaft. And you're on the floor before me. A pity." *The fire clawed through the air outside the room. Waiting to be unleashed inside. As Pyre scrambled to move the ladder on him and stand, Bishop hurled his first saber. It pierced through his ankle, passing through the concrete and steel beneath it easily. Flames licked underneath Pyre's leg as they reached through the newly created hole in the control room.* "You don't have much time now." *Fire crawled underneath Pyre's leg, burning into the cloth between it and flesh. The tounges licked through the door and windows. Bishop burned like a torch before his apprentice. Everywhere the fire loomed, ready to move in and attack. Held back as it consumed the rest of the furnace room. Bishop let it go.*

*The catwalk tilted sharply down from the lightsaber cut, though the railing held it aloft still. Bishop's feet did not shift while his body moved, undetectably underneath his cloaks, to redistribute his weight. He raised his arm and hurled his lightsaber square with Pyre's back. The apprentices Sith-sense tingled madly and he moved enough for the blade to miss him completely. However, it continued on target and penetrated the door keypad, securely locking the thick door in place.* "You'll have to do better than that to get out of here." *The metal creaked beneath him as he stepped surefootedly along the grating towards his apprentice. Without missing a beat he stepped cleanly over the slice though he could not see it.*

*Bishop doubled fully over as his leg muscles tensed. His shoulder dropped as Pyre's boot returned to the catwalk. As it touched down, he drove his shoulder into the apprentaces chest. The inside of the sternum rebounded against his heart, pumping vigerously in excitement. Standing up fully again, he seemed to tower over Pyre.* "Now that you have found it, you most control your anger and focus it. Rather than let it flow freely, spending itself at its own whims, make it aid your tasks. Against an evenly matched opponent, you will find your strength wain after a long fight, as will their own. It is then, at the very end, that you must release your anger fully to destroy them. If you let it all leak from your body at the starting line then you will have nothing more to give." *Back at the same position he had started with, Bishop raised his two sabers up on either side. Gracefully the beams crossed over his face, his arms stopping as they touched over his chest and the blades sitting over oppossite shoulders. He moved forward towards his apprentice and watched the saber on the right swing towards him. His left arm unfolded to block the attack with his own saber, clashing with it and holding in air. His right arm lifted, the saber tip dipping behind his back as he swung it around his head and down. For a spare moment, his facial muscles tightened into a scowl out of their normally set position. Coinciding with the strike against Pyre's blade. The weightless energy beam was knocked free of the clash and sliced downward, cutting through the catwalk railing and being stopped only as it began to singe the catwalk floor itself. Pulling his saber back across, Bishop swung back away from his strike horizontally. The strike would have cleaved Pyre's head from his body if he had not ducked. Bishop followed with a downward swing of his left saber which was quickly blocked and held between them.*

"You must hate your opponnent. Whether that be with personal hate directly attributed towards them, or using hate of others on them." *The hood of Bishop's cloak had dropped back in the fight, reavealing a number of what looked like self inflicted scars over his face and extending down his neck and out of sight. Ancient Sith runes. His apprentice paused in his fight, dropping his concentration to try and look through the blindfold over Bishop's eyes. The moment he did, Bishop's forhead slammed into his face and room was cleared between them.* "You must hate because that is the only way. You must find a reason to hate me. Hate me because I was once a Jedi, like the weakness you have worked so hard to clense from your body. Hate me because of the pain I have caused you. Hate me, because you know what I will do to you if you do not." *Bishop moved forward steadily, swinging quickly with his two blades. As one blade moved in the other pulled back. As one blade clashed the other reached its climax. As the hammer fell the other drew back for its rebirth. He backed his apprentice up, over the center of the furnace below and onto the other side with his swings before changing the pattern and landing a kick to his chest, throwing him back onto the hot catwalk.*

*Darkness across Bishop's face revealed nothing of his thoughts as Pyre displayed his lightsabers. His arms remained crossed over his chest as his mind caressed the weapons. The crimson red blade ignited at Bishop's command, the tip shooting forward towards Pyre's chest. At the same moment the single saber that had ignited flicked up into the air. The tip passed Pyre's shoulder on its upward arc. Bishop listened silently to the hum against the backdrop of machinery and the smoldering furnace not far off. After several moments of listening, the blade twisted sharply through the air, the red blade passed cleanly through one of the two handrailings for the catwalk. No energy cascade. No flow disruption. No problem at all. The battery did not explode. The gyroscopic effect of the blade was not disrupted. The blade performed flawlessly. It deactivated and dropped through the air in one instant, Bishop turning his attention fully away leaving Pyre to quickly react and grab the falling weapon. He walked down another section of the catwalk. Not the side they had entered by. Nor the side leading down to the furnace. They took several flights of stairs up on their path until finally they were moving directly over the furnace itself. Hot air rose from beneath them, the tips of the rocket like flames ending fifty meters below them, and the circular opening in the ground floor where Pyre had stood to create his saber another hundred below that. The sixty meters of catwalk spanned the fourty meter wide flame, leading to the furnace control room. Bishop's cloak billowed around him in the updraft. It was in this flurry of movement that Pyre noticed his arms were no longer crossed before him, but down and out slightly from his sides. The sleeves dropped just below his longest fingers, concealing his arms totally. He turned back to face his apprentice, just on the other side of the furnace center when he stopped. The red glow underlit his face, countouring what was revealed of his sculpted face. The wrinkles of the black wrap that covered his eyes created sharp contrast of red highlights and blackest shadows. From the tunnles of his sleeves, two thine, white bone spears emerged, clad in a bloody glow. The duel sabers hummed in harmony. Singing the song of death and war in their firey centers. Crashing metal in the distance caught Pyre's attention for a moment before it was ripped back to listen to Bishop.* "At the far end of this catwalk lies the furnace control room. All other doors have been sealed now. At the back of that room is a ladder that will take you back to the surface. Your goal is to get to the surface. If you do not, you will die at my hands and your training will be over. Considered a failure. Your training as a Jedi will be of little help now. It only serves to save me the trouble of teaching you basic saber skills. You must now apply what you have learned of the Force to your skills. That is the only way you will be able to pass me. Only your rage can save you from the fires below and the fury ahead. Otherwise one or both will consume you." *On cue, the dial in the control room rotated to Bishop's manipulation and the furnace roared within its core. Such a large machine would take many minutes to reach its newest setting, but it would be creeping steadily larger until it reached that point. When it would be flaring around the very catwalk they stood upon and toeing the critical heat level of the facility.*

*Bishop nodded respectfully to Brook as she left. Lord Ar-Pharazon seemed lost in himself in the dark. He left the Sith Master and walked silently with his apprentice. Out of the Sith compound and towards the Imperial mining facilities. The clank of machinery ground into the background as they walked along metal catwalks. Their boots sounded hallowly through the hellish glow that served as light in the foundry. Down to the blazing furnace they went, closer to the searing flames than any of the workers dared go and closer still than many of the robots would while the machine was in action. The heat boiled around them for quite awhile before Bishop spoke.* "You now where a mask, a physical display of your hate and anger. Now we build you a weapon. A weapon with which to make others understand your hate and anger. You must build yourself a lightsaber. Your prior training has allready taught you the intricacies of putting together such a blade, so I expect when it comes time to show me you will have something far superior to that which you constructed fo the Jedi. But first you must build your crystal. The Jedi prefer to find their crystals in nature. Natural and, as nature is, flawed. We construct our own crystals building them to our exact needs. Flawless. Perfectly designed for our goal. You must build your saber crystals here, in the heat of this furnace." *From beneath his robes, Bishop produced a leather bag. Inside was a mound of sand, glass, metal, salt, and assorted elements. Ground to tiny granules and thrown together for the apprentice to sort through. He handed it to Pyre, allowing him to look inside before he continued.* "You must construct your crystal from these elements. Combining their pure forms to create comples interactions that will ultimately make your blade powerful. Also mixed in there are the shattered remains of your old saber crystal. You may take that icon of your past life and cast it aside forever or bind it within your crystal, sealing it within the hate and anger. The choice is yours. But. You will need one more thing." *Pyre felt his legs lift from underneath him as Bishop's foot swept through. The same leg lifted and stepped upon the top of Pyre's left hand. The palm burned against the flaming deckplates as he held it in place. The surface skin melted and clung to the metal as he was finally allowed to lift his limb away. The tissue underneath horribly burned and blood flowing from his cracked flesh.* "You will need your blood. Pour it into your crystal and make your crystal a part of you. Take the hate of what I have done, hate of the Jedi, hate of Sly and make the crystal an extension of yourself. Build the structures through the pain of your hand, the pains you have sufferred, and the pain the Jedi have done to you by weakening you. When you have completed it, we will begin the next portion of your training."

*Bishop left his apprentice standing and waiting for some time before turning to face him. He could sense the mask held in Pyre's hands. The Force carving a glowing image of the mask in his mind. It was obviously the same mask. No fake could generate the power the lost souls had left embedded in it.* "Wherever you go, that mask will shine like a beacon. Proclaiming your presence to those accursed Jedi. Now, put it on."

*Deathly silent steps carried Bishop through the hall. He came upon Ar-Pharazon, standing in the shadows as he regarded Brook, and Viano clinging tightly to his mothers arm.* "Masters." *Bishop gave a general nod to the two as he entered the circle of now four. Viano looked almost older than the last time he had seen him but a few days ago.* "They age fast, don't they?" *He glanced at Brook, sharing with her a statement that only parents could truly appreciate. Kaylynn was around there somewhere as well. He had not seen much of her. Continuing the unstated chasm that had cracked to life between them since his death.*

*Displaying no response to Pyre's answer, neither approval or chastisement, Bishop continued walking. The trees that had, for a time, created a ceiling against the rain parted before them and the drench came down upon them again. The entered the temple grounds where the stone pillars, testemant to ages past, stood against the black sky. The wind was forced around, bending to the will of the buildings and creating howling channels across the gravel surface they walked on. He stopped squarly upon a stone tablet, lined in the center of a courtyard. The image of a flame was cast upon it in amber gems set within the stone.* "To the south, exactly six hundred and sixty six meters from this point, lies the entrance to a cave. It was used to imprision inmates of particularly heinous crimes up until the last century. They were allowed to live in their so long as they were able to kill and canabalize one another for food. In particularly dry months, it was not uncommon for an inmate to die in an attempt at consuming one of his own limbs. The souls of many of them linger in their grave. Perhaps the bastard children of the many raped by the 'gods' of their time who controlled this world who were driven mad by the uncontrolled ramblings in their minds. The whispers of the Force they could not undnerstand. Instinctually they clung to the flows of power as their bodies withered and died. Now they haunt the cave. Non-corperal though they may be, their minds are sharpened by their madness. They will poke and prod and twist your mind until they consume you. "Care" as the Jedi would teach is far too weak to withstand time in their presence. Only your hate, hate of them, hate of the Jedi, even hate of yourself, can bring you through unscathed. At the back of the cave lies a mask. Constructed by one of the inmates of human bone. A skull front, mandable jaw strap, and fingers toes and long bones of all sizes strung together to finish the dress. Worn by time, stained with blood, filled with hate, it is a symbol of the very ways the Sith live. You will not return to me until you can bear it back upon your shoulders. Linger too long in that dark cave or allow yourself to be weak and without hate for a time, and you will not return. You will be driven mad and contained within the cave though no seal bars your way. Trapped by the spirits you seek to take from. Left to starve and die, lest you can chew away at your own arm for a time. Your spirit will become nothing more than the play thing for their mental raping." *Bishop's blind gaze continued out past the temples back towards the Imperial compound. Behind him, to the south, lay the cave where Pyre looked. He had this task before him before he would be able to return their. When he glanced back upon his master, perhaps to state his acceptance of the task, perhaps to ask a question, or perhaps simply for whatever visual ques he might drop, he discovered the black clad form was gone. Allready on his way back. Mentally, Bishop tracked his apprentice's signature, as he would be able to do until he entered the dark cave. He entered the main complex, a short time later to find Raynuk, Brook, and Ar-Pharazon. He could sense them a small distance away and headed in their direction.*

*Allowing himself a smile, concealed from Pyre by his back, and a silent laugh, Bishop continued along on their journey.* "Yes. I supposse you shall. But the Sith are not a mere band of rag tag rebels who pass out power to those who simply wish to run amok in the world. While your spirit may lend easily to the darkside, becoming a Sith is to become much more. Anyone with a nack for the Force can become a user of the dark side. To be a Sith is to truly be a god amongst men. *The two now began up a steep slope. Each step brought Bishop higher seemingly without difficulty, though the path steadily became more tangled and steeper.* "The Sith are a brotherhood. Singularly, we could reak much havok but to no end. Together, we weild power unimaginable. To be a Sith is to be a part of that brotherhood. Until you are a part of that brotherhood, you are no Sith. You are simply a boy with the power to control the Force. The Sith fight for one another. The Sith die for one another. The Sith live as one, bound to eachother through our common courage to live as we are. Surviving on our hate and emotions as real people, rather than emotionless hunks of stone the Jedi would ask you to. It is not untrue, the Sith did nearly wipe themselves out a millenia ago. Bound by the ideals of power, they lost sight of the Brotherhood that made them strong. That is why the Jedi nearly controlled the galaxy for those many years. Darth Bane, the "saviour" of the Sith, only served to prolong their failed ways. It was not until after Palpatine that we truly came to know ourselves. And it is us and our ways that you seek to join." *Ahead, the top of the hill and the tree line neared.* "What do you hope to bring to our brotherhood?"

*The energy being realeased from Viano, son of Barohm, tugged at Bishop's conciousness. He made a note of it as he continued through the burning forest. His apprentice had finally errected his sheild. His hate protecting him from the flames. No longer needing his own sphere as a beacon for the young Sith, Bishop allowed the flames to swallow the ground around him, consuming the very air as they clawed up his robes. The flames swirled around his limbs, though they did not burn his body or clothing. A few steps further and they began to emerge from the fire. Somewhere during his leadings, Bishop had turned them back in the general direction of the Sith stronghold. The rain had increased ten fold and was beggining to make head way against the forest fire in that area. Steam rose through the drowning air as Bishop's form removed itself fully from the flames.* "Now you see what the Jedi have truly taken from you. In hiding your hate, they stole from you life. The ability to protect yourself and to bring harm to others. They taught you that the only way to control your power is to hide your hate, when in fact the only way to power is to hate." *Bishop allowed the words to be heard within Pyre's own ears a moment before he continued.* "What is it you propose to do with the power that the Sith could offer you?"

"The Jedi cannot drive the hate from you." *Bishop turned rather quickly on Pyre, stopping his forward stroll through the valley of fire. Around them the fire consumed the trees, the grass, even the animals so unfortunately caught in its blaze.* "The Jedi seek to hide the hate. To pretend it is not there. But it is no more gone than a bird that hides its head in the ground to pretend a predator cannot see it. It is only through hate that you can know what you love. Only through caring can you know what you despise. For what is one without the other? I hate the Jedi for trying to take away from me that which I loved most. Now you must be reminded what it means to hate." *A swift step back nearly dropped Pyre from the circle of protection that seemed to magically travel around his master's form. Even as he stepped back towards the center, Bishop was moving again, drawing away continually to leave his apprentice struggling the line between pain and safety. With each step he took to keep up, the flames burst forth under foot, licking hungrily towards his back in an attempt to catch him. They were seemingly lost in the inferno, the only safe haven leading him along an intricate trail which he could only barely stay up with.*

"Good." *He continued past his apprentice, walking towards the trees edging the facility. Towards the sulfurous smell that rose to greet them. Before long, a small fire was raging before them. The rain and wet wood kept it from spreading far, but the violent bolts of lightning that had struck the area had forced the wood into a blaze. Bishop continued on, unhindered, the fire seeming to bend away beneath his footsteps. Black earth met his feet as each step was placed where licking flames had once smoldered. The orange tounges strayed away from him, respectful to his approach while the body of the burn seared on overhead as a resentful slave awaiting its chance at freedom. Pyre was forced to keep up with his master through the inferno as the path Bishop trode closed in again behind him. When he spoke, his voice was as passive as normal. Seemingly unaffected by the inferno around them.* "What do you hate?"

*Leaving the door to slide shut of its own accord behind him, Bishop walked down the halls towards the exit where his apprentice was waiting for him. He opened the door and stood in the metal frame as he inhaled deeply.* "Ah, what a glorious day." *Double strokes of lightning crashed into the forest on cue, the stench of sulfur mingling through the war torn air. Rain pounded the ground around them, casting miniture craters in the mud. He walked forward, towards Pyre's rising form.* "How did you sleep?"