Spite Station- the Maw

[Darth Furion]

I believe your only naivete lies in realizing my full potential, miss. He said rather venomously, biting his cud to refrain from spewing out any further impassioned snap back. A part of him wanted to leap across the table a snatch her by the throat, while another couldn't blame her for her reserved nature. She had no reason to believe in him and had full right to mistrust the Sith. But that further played to what he hated so much about being part of an order at all. No one saw Julio, they saw a Sith. One of many with a long history of ignorant violence and misguided aggression. Something he wanted to change, and that not quickly enough.

 

To be honest, I do not know why I reached out with open arms toward your kind. At the moment your future is clouded with uncertainty. I cannot say where your path will lead you, or how it crosses my own, but I do know they will cross. Of that I have no doubt. As always he held himself in check, unwilling to let himself go for even an instant. He stuck to what he knew, or rather what he felt to be true to the very core of his being. The way. He eyed her up and down once, appraising the woman that stood before him. Even now, despite all his promises and actions taken she was wracked with fear and despair. She fought against it despite herself, showing only independence and distrust, unwillingness to believe in anything or anyone without unquestionable proof. She wanted something that he couldn't give her in this instant. No sign of commitment would truly persuade her. She simply needed time for wounds to heal.

 

I will instruct my kind on softer methods myself. You translate the ways of the world outside Dathomir to your clan. You and I shall show our kind the errors of the old ways. When the changes we need in the other have been made, we'll meet again. In the mean time I will search for your children and send you what force sensitive girls I can spare. Agreeable?

[Emily]

Emily was truly sad to hear about Alora's passing. Another family member lost, she thought bitterly, taken away from me by the wretched Force. "I'm very sorry to hear that," was all she said aloud however.

 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, they were approached by a Sith she didn't know. But his presence was familiar; it was the man who had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Nishant and Lucifer. She nodded a greeting. Draken had a scathing reply, but Emily was more interested in the latter part of his statement. "Forget?" she asked.

[Tobias Vos]

Tobias looked at the new modification to his body. So he was now branded. Like a common Nerf. How... quaint. The ceremony was over. Now what was there to do? Mingle? He wanted something to do. He reached out with the Force to summon an apple. There he ate it, and watched the crowd. Tobias knew of most of these people. But never interacted with any of them. Not about to go out of his way, he simple sat on a crate and people watched. It was a fun hobby. Especially with the Sith and all of their little quirks. Very different from his time with the Jedi. Biting into his apple he enjoyed the show.

[Hou-Jo Poleb]

Cadivus chuckled. "I will offer a bit of advice, brother. I would recommend not questioning Lord Furion's actions behind his back in hushed voices. Powerful men tend to have a way of discovering dissenters among their ranks. As for wasting resources, I've seen previous Dark Lords expend much more on their seat of power. Hell, the Jedi have a mobile space station that nearly rivals this facility. It is of the Sith's nature; making displays of power. Par for the course. If you'd rather have the Sith scratching their existence from rocks in poverty until the Jedi are cut down to size, I'd suggest pitching your more fiscally responsible tactics to our Dark Lord."

 

He bit his lower lip. He never met Shadowlord in combat, but he knew of him. This girl, however, was unknown to him. She asked him a question, a question that his words demanded be asked. "There's so much going on right now. There is so much splendor in actions and scenery that you almost forget that the very ground on which we stand is being constantly pulled. Pulled in every direction by massive gravitational force of multiple black holes. Maybe it's due to my time away, but I was uncertain of many of the Sith of this day. It is something to be said, however, that everyone can go about their business seemingly ignoring the fact that with one tiny flux in position or gravity will bring everyone here to an event horizon. It's very much encouraging that everyone is either unafraid or able to remain willingfully ignorant to, pardon my pun, the gravity of our situation. I did not, however, come over to impose my particular brand of ideology. Though I know of many of the Sith here, I am largely unacquainted. I know of you, Darth Shadowlord. You, Miss, there is something faintly familiar about your presence, but it is not you. If you don't mind me asking, are you somebody's daughter? And before you answer, I will introduce myself. Darth Cadivus, of the Dark Lord's Trinity, at your service."

 

[Qaela]

Qaela smiled at his sharp response, but didn't let on anything else. It was good to see that he had control enough of himself and wouldn't just go off like the other Sith she knew. She might even come to enjoy working with him, if the Dark Lord had the time for her. He would likely be rather busy taming his brood just as she would need to do for hers. She found it almost odd that there was the tiniest flecks of disappointment at that prospect. Just a week ago, she would have loved nothing more than to stick a rather dull and rusty knife into the side of any Sith she came across. Now, she had the smallest of hope that perhaps one of them at least had the brains and the fortitude to actually do something useful with the Sith instead of letting them fight among themselves.

 

"No need to limit it to just girls," she said. "While males might not enjoy the same status among my kind as they might like, I can always find use for even those males with the weakest Force potential. Though it may seem odd to you, in the spirit of your new non-murder edicts among the Sith, perhaps instead of slaughtering all of those who prove unworthy in your eyes, you should send them to me and mine. Believe me when I say that the weak will not find respite or mercy from the Nightsisters, but perhaps they could prove to be of at least some use, even if it is as canon fodder.

 

"As for my children, there is no need to search for them. I know precisely where they are. They are on Dubrillion in the palaces of Vigo Delta, or at least, that is where I last left them. I haven't sensed their deaths nor do I think they have been moved off planet. I was considering going there after them to deliver a gift and hoped they could be attained peacefully. Still, I have no ship and do not think that you would be exactly keen on me knowing the location of your secret station here."

[Darth Furion]

So you would like an escort? If you like, I can send you with a small cadre of my acolytes. However, I would be remiss if I ignored your reluctance in going yourself. Something is.... He closed his eyes for a moment, as if to recall something. Waiting for you? Or perhaps you anticipate a less than warm welcome? Either way, as I promised I would see to this matter personally if you'd prefer. I have need to speak with the criminals anyway. Picking up your children would not displace me too dearly. And as you know, I do have a way with little ones.

 

He smiled warmly at her, pushing aside his unease in light of her much more pleasing tone. The passive aggressive remarks still littered her thoughts, but as much could not be avoided with this one. Her disapproval of the Sith and her concepts of their ways were just visible pangs of the wounds. Julio couldn't help but feel somewhat satisfied with himself, taking the moment to understand this potential ally rather than simply giving in and cutting her down for ego-manifested insolence. The disbelief wasn't entirely on her, but created in his own expectations of others. If he simply let her be, rather than set in his mind what he expected of her she became a much more transparent creature.

[Qaela]

"I would be. . . pleased to travel with the Dark Lord of the Sith," she responded almost casually. "I understand you will have business here and will spend my time tending to my six Sisters. Whenever you are ready to leave, we could join you, along with whatever escort of your Sith you think necessary. Assuming they are in any sort of rational state, it might be a good opportunity for you to show the other six that the Sith can possibly be trusted and worked with. That would, in turn, go a long way toward gaining the trust of the rest of the Clan." She headed toward the door and tossed out over her shoulder, "Though, I would hope we would be in a ship larger than the one we arrived on. While I might not mind being snuggled that close with you, I don't think you want to be crammed in with six others, they would just spoil the mood."

[Emily]

Emily smiled. "When you put it that way, you're right. It is easy to forget where we are. I was looking out a viewport before the ceremony started, marveling that such a safe haven could even exist in the midst of the Maw." Her first impression of Cadivus was positive; he seemed well spoken.

 

As he mentioned the familiarity he seemed to have with her, she smiled again. It had been some time since someone had put two and two together, and she never minded being known as her parents' daughter, for they had been Sith of much renown and power. She gave Cadivus a graceful curtsey, her gown crumpling elegantly as she did so. "I am Emily Skywalker. Indeed, I'm sure you must have met my parents. My father was John Skywalker, and my mother Sirvani Zsahra. Both were Sith Masters of renown before they died. How did you know my parents. Lord Cadivus?"

 

There was something to this Sith's aura that she found curious. He was different from many of the others. What that signified, she didn't know, but as someone who had always felt herself different from the majority of the Order, she had a positive curiosity towards the reason.

[Tobias Vos]

Subtle rage swam through the veins of the Kiffar. His fist clenched, he decided to put it to good use. Walking out of the room he left dozens of Sith behind. Sooba was like a heat seeking missile- straight to Tobias's heel. The pair ventured across the station looking for a certain room. A training room. Being around the rest of the clan has fueled his fire for just such training. Already intending for blood to be spilt, his own. Vomit and sweat would be among the other liquids he was planning to spill. It had been months since he had a good training exercise. It had been before he left on Trials. The Jedi hadn't even tested his abilities to the maximum. Of course he had to play it low-key around them. He had to learn a new way of using the Force, and thus couldn't reach his full potential without months of training. Adenna had done next to nothing, Dahar was pointless. He did learn how to heal, as long as he stayed more towards the Light. If he stayed in the middle... Which would be hard. But it was worth a shot.

 

He was a Lord now. Regardless of what any others said. He had done what was told of him, he had found the secret hide-out of the Jedi. But now... No one cared. Maybe someday he would go there, just to make sure that the Jedi knew they weren't safe.

 

A flash of Adenna's face appeared before Tobias. Tensions rose. Where was that training room? His muscles flexed beneath the robes he had on. The giant of a man was ready for exercise. His right hand went for his lightsaber. A cheap copy. He didn't want to interrupt Emily in her conversation. He would acquire the location of the weapon later. It never got to Slicer, that he was sure of. It was no big deal now. But Vos would get it back at some point. In his other hand, kinitite collected, if but for brief seconds before it dispersed back into the artificial atmosphere.

[Raia Montar]

Over the next several minutes as the others continued their own battles, Raia took the opportunity to quietly observe the other assembled Sith, taking care to to constantly keep her eyes moving so her observations wouldn't be mistaken for any sort of challenge. The drying blood, both hers and her late assailant's, began to feel sticky against her skin, causing her to shift slightly at the disquieting sensation. Her ankle still throbbed from her hard landing and it was becoming evident that the joint was beginning to swell. Getting her boot off would be even more painful when the time came to nurse the injury. The pain reminded her of the mark she now bore on her chest and she wondered what sort of people these Sith were that seemed to thrive on others' pain and suffering.

 

Many were still hungrily watching the bloodshed before them, but there were those who preferred to settle into small groups and talk amongst each other rather that watch the struggles of the combatants in front of them. This had been a spectacle that had been decreed for their viewing pleasure and either they had not the stomach for it, or, as she more suspected to be the case, they'd become so desensitized to it that it had become so common place they cared little to expended the extra energy to observe the death matches. It angered Raia to see so much indifference among the higher ranks to those spilling blood for a chance to remain alive, and, possibly, to one day stand among the on-lookers as fresh blood was brought before them when the time came for a new set of inductees to play their role in this macabre ritual. The thought sickened her further, planting the seed of contempt for her new surroundings within her mind. 

 

She knew that she'd been noticed by some of the on-lookers as more than a few glances came her way, though, it could be that she'd distanced herself from the rest of the combatants and they were waiting to see if she was going to overcome her injuries. Their expressions were not congratulatory, nor were they inviting. A mixture of blood-lust, feigned indifference to right out apathy was intermingled throughout the audience. 

 

Her breathing was shallow due to her broken ribs, because deeper breaths just added to the pain and Raia didn't want to supply these vultures with anymore that was sourced from her. So many males, she thought in wonder. And they can all use the magic without prepared spells...

 

Males were inherently violent which is why her ancestors had needed to control them if any sort of society was to be forged on the unforgiving planet of Dathomir. Those that didn't comply and accept their new role had been fed to the rancors. It was no wonder that Qaela had apparently suffered so much at the hands of the Sith she'd encountered. 

 

Suddenly a realization hit her - she'd used magic to kill the man who'd caused the worst of her injuries, and all without uttering a word of a spell. Was it really as possible as Qaela had said? Had not the male she'd come to the station with, the very one that sat tallest on the dais now, levitated the vial of what now lay beneath her olive-skin without any words other than his spoken claim to rule? Raia almost refused to believe it, but she couldn't deny the evidence before her. 

 

Even Rose had seemed to defer to her champion. The other Nightsisters had been enthralled by the Sith that had paid such a discourteous visit to Qaela's quarters, slaves to him rather than the opposite. Were these males actually stronger in the magics than her own people? Had  Matala known of all of this when she'd sent Raia along with Qaela? 

 

There were two things that Raia was certain of now. First, she'd killed a man. Even in her clan, males weren't killed, not even for sport or for fathering sons. They were simply exiled to the forests for any infractions. Had all this happened through some strange set of circumstances at home, she'd have to go through a cleansing period before being allowed back with the clan group. Though her actions were in self-defense, it would have lightened her sentence to careful guard on the outskirts of the settlement rather than full-blown exile into the woods. Taking a life was a serious offense, especially for the daughter of the healer caste. It was one reason that, as a general rule, they weren't trained to fight. She suddenly felt sick. What had they made her do? What had it cost her?

 

The second certainty was that, in her desperation to survive, she'd somehow managed to harness great magic against the brutish male with no words or incantations. Had the brand done something to her? Never before had she ever been able to do anything on that scale and had never seen the other Witches perform such a task without large numbers and hours of preparation. Even now the air around her still seemed to hold the powerful charge that had sparked with Rose's male's words. That had to be what she'd tapped into, something in that greater consciousness that had driven her to instinctively do what she had to do to live.  

  

Her thoughts were brought from trying to make sense of things to the gradual shift in the room around her as Qaela walked past her and made for the central dais. Raia looked up at the throne where Julio now sat, watching the rest of the fights, knowing that Qaela was headed to speak with him. She saw him give a single nod to the blond-haired girl, who'd apparently put what training he'd given her to quick and deadly use. Again the question crossed her mind, Why does her Champion make her fight? Should he, instead not rise to protect and defend her?

 

Grey eyes snapped back to the Dark Lord as Qaela ascended the steps, joining Julio and another male with two-toned hair and curiously gold skin. The three departed for some hidden room behind the throne and were gone, suddenly leaving Raia feeling very alone in this strange place. 

 

It was now that she found herself looking at all the various species that were represented among the amassed crowd. A large hulking blob of a creature clad in armor, the woman that had greeted Rose with the ebony skin etched in beautiful designs, beings with horns adorning their heads, skins of various colors, extra appendages, the list of strangeness went on furthering her own sense of isolation among so many.  Raia knew that she was well beyond her element, and Qaela's warning about inadvertent offenses was still very fresh in her mind. She didn't like not knowing what she was to do next, especially in an environment where one misstep could lead to her downfall. Though her own stomach growled in hunger, she stayed put until she received further instruction. 

[Karys Narat iv-Adas]

Lucifer continued to look at the fight as his words were seemingly ignored. Fine by him. If they could not take note of the newcomers , he certainly would afterall it was always best to seek out those who held the potential to be something great, if they so chose it for themselves.

 

Leaning his back against the wall momentarily, the kiffar sat down near the thriving battle and placed himself close to the action. He noted one in particular who seemed to show some promise, a Dathomiri Witch by the look of things, most likely she came with Qaela whom Lucifer also noted was present. He had not forgotten what she had done for him, and not forgotten the debt he still owed albeit grudgingly. He was a man of his word, in a galaxy this corrupt that was a rare commodity to be valued highly by some.The wampa-man was getting on his nerves, despite the fact his apparent earlier failure to act had spurred action within him. It seemed he had finally thought it prudent to save himself. He watched as the crowd moved about. Biting his lip, he glanced at the faces of the people, searching

the battle and keeping his eyes transfixed upon those fighting.

 

He seemed less interested in the wampa-man now and instead had come to start watching the Dathomiri woman. She seemed fairly young for her age, and like Qaela seemed to have found it more prudent to step out of the shadow of the witches and become her own person by joining the ranks of the Sith. It was then their eyes met. Lucifer simply stared at first as the battle unfolded before he noticed that she slew her victim. It was impressive at least. It was grim and solemn, not a hint of anything

pleasant was in his expression as he died. Shock did wonders to many people at the moment of death. He stood near her as he noted she started to let her eyes wander.

 

Lucifer approached and spoke giving a nod of appreciation.

 

“ You've some skill, it speaks highly of your potential. Keep that up and you will go far here. A useful tip, if I may---give in to your emotion that is the key, all that hate and anger within you release it during a fight and you will be nigh unstoppable. That said I will be keeping a close eye on you.”

 

It was with that moment that the Sith Lord walked off looking for a few others he might recognise and wished to speak to. With that he headed over to the young girl whom he had briefly spoken to before they answered the Dark Lord's call, he wished to complete the conversation and perhaps even offer a few suggestions as to a sith name that would make her a possible legend. Spotting her (Emily) speaking to a man he had seen before but not spoken to directly the kiffar approached, he also noted another unknown man nearby whom she was also speaking too at the same time. His presence seemed...odd, even for a sith which intrigued him.

 

Catching part of the conversation, he heard something about wasted resources which made him chuckle inwardly a little. It was somewhat true, the display did nothing but waste time that the sith could not afford to loose yet Lucifer also understood the need for it. To weed out the weak and invite fresh blood into the order.

 

He man nodded when he approached the group in respect bowing it a little, upon feeling the immense power coming from the two beside Emily. It was then he ushered his reply again respectfully as to not unjustly anger them.

 

“Good Evening gentlemen, mi'lady. I hope I'm not interrupting and if I am I apologise, I meant no offense by it. But I was hoping to continue a coversation I and she were having earlier today before we were interrupted abruptly by our illustrious host. That is you you would permit it.”

 

Lucifer waited for his answer with baited breath. He knew how sith were, some simply popped at the slightest interruption or inclination. Yet he had become accustomed to it after all these years and indeed accepted it as part of the risk of being part of something greater than simply himself.

[Rezjal-el]

The only response given to Furion’s invitation was a silent nod. Vaegir did not know just where he was being lead, though as they moved to a far more secluded section of the station, he found himself more and more on edge. Every face he passed, every visible person present was viewed as a potential threat. Even the woman that accompanied both he and Furion. She was seen as little more than as an obstacle, something that kept him from driving a blade straight into Furion’s heart.

 

Though as they walked he kept silent, going over a long list of grievances in his head just to ensure that his emotional level of ‘murder the jerk who ruined your life’ remained at an all-time high. For the most part he tuned out the shared words between the Dark Lord and his female companion, that is until the mention of a certain someone from his past.

 

“They generally lost their ability to operate in the shadows a long time ago and you can thank Palpatine for that.”

 

Palpatine, that was a name he’d not considered in some time. The last Vaegir was aware, Palpatine was still emperor, though these two spoke of him as though he had been gone from power for quite some time. Needless to say, Vaegir’s list took a seat on the back burner; for once, he was listening.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

So much gleaned from the conversation… and all he had to do was pay attention. Answers were coming to him bit by bit, though they in turn only lead to further questions.

 

If Palpatine is gone, who’s the emperor now?

 

Who is this woman, and what does she represent that makes Furion act carefully around her?

 

Regardless, as the unknown woman takes her leave, Vaegir offers only a small wave of his hand before he steps forward and addresses Julio directly.

 

“Well now, Furion, it appears you’ve been moving on to bigger and better things. Why is it that I’m just now joining the party?” he asks, doing his utmost to keep his anger at a slow boil

[Darth Furion]

His golden eyes were left on watching Qaela leave while Vaegir spoke, curious as to why she seemed so reluctant to join him yet seemed flagrant in her caddy offer for shared physical warmth. It wasn't as if he was without baser instincts, but such thoughts had long been discarded in Julio's mind as trivial and unnecessary. Gratification on any physical level always seemed to transient, too 'in the moment' to have any lasting benefit. As the last of her swaying hips fell away to the closed door, he looked up at the young Firrerreo with a quizzical look that held that same satisfied smile as always. The Dark Lord could feel the malicious intent on the cusp of every thought, on each note of Vaegir's bitten tongue. Not entirely unjustified, though the cause of it really mattered little to Furion. Of course the boy would be mad. He had his freedom taken away for two years through lies and deceit, yet those two years were but payment for the much needed hardening that molded the young man that stood before him. As angry as he was, Vaegir simply didn't see the forest for the trees.

 

Curious. Two years and you have not given any real thought as to the why of it. How useful did you think a half frozen daddy's boy was to me? You needed to learn a few things. Things that people spend a lot longer to learn than I asked of you.

[Rezjal-el]

Vaegir was incapable of hiding a subtle twitch of his brow as Furion spoke, particularly when the answer seemed so simple and without a deeper, more complex meaning. Oh, so it was simply to toughen him up. Right. That answer was not good enough, it lacked any real emotion. It was pure, simple logic. Coming from someone previously viewed as a friend... it was unacceptable.

 

"And so I needed to be marooned on a gods forsaken ball of mud with nothing? Oh, I've thought of many 'why's and 'how could you's, though I fear spending a pair of cycles with little else to do but run, hide, and eat moss left me a bit ambivalent as to looking for deeper meaning in the world..." he says, doing his best to keep from shouting at the human on whom he'd focused so much hatred.

 

"I knew you did not want me dead, though... some level of forewarning... training even... would have been bloody well nice!"

 

"I nearly died, Furion! Every day. And what then? What if I did? Would it have mattered to you that you sent me to a grisly, toothy, clawy, starving death?"

 

The more he spoke, the more he drew dangerously close to yelling, falling into the momentum of his angry tirade.

[Darth Furion]

No, not at all.

 

There was something amusing about this one, even in his seething fury. The smile, no not growing in anticipating for any rash action his answers would illicit in any sane being, but didn't wane either.

 

What training did you expect? How to forage? How to track? How hunt, and stay silent? How to hide? All of these things you now know, and you learned them why? Not because I taught you, but because you needed to learn them to survive. Tell me, do you think toughening up was the only reason I sent you there? Was survival the only thing you learned?

[Rezjal-el]

No? Not in the least? Furion sent him there fully knowledgeable that he could die within a matter of minutes.

 

Another twitch made its way over Vaegir's brow.

 

Survival seemed just about the only thing that Vaegir had learned, at least as far as he could figure. Though, Furion wanted an answer and an answer he would get.

 

"Oh? What else did I learn? I learned fear, Furion. I learned how to spend my every day and every night constantly looking over my shoulder because some big claw-beast could leap from the woodwork and kill me at a moment's notice."

 

"I learned that swamp monsters don't make for good conversational partners."

A moment of silence passed as he thought more thoroughly about his answer. The more he spoke, the more he began to understand. Understanding, however, did little to calm his already rising anger. The fate thrust upon him was entirely wrong. Furion's methods needed work.

 

"Loneliness. Half the time I was talking to myself just to hear a humanoid voice. That my existence apparently means nothing to anyone. That people who I had considered allies were all too happy to dump me on some backwater planet and be done with me. "

 

Another pause

 

"Betrayal. Even someone who seems to be my friend is entirely capable of sending me off on a suicide mission and not even care."

 

That realization, when spoken aloud, chimed within his mind. The thought of it plagued him, ate at him as he spoke.

 

"I learned hatred." speaking it aloud and so directly made it all too real. He had used the term 'hate' before, though in a more childish sense, the way one dismisses a bad song or a particularly annoying commercial. But he had never used it and truly meant it in regards to another person.

[Darth Furion]

He was six years old again, back to a time when he was not unlike the boy before him. The first true dark feelings, the lack of understanding, the directionless fear that was ever present in every day life. He could see it in Vaegir's pensive, detached stare as he searched his mind for articulation, meaning beyond sensation.

 

But that isn't all you learned, is it boy? He said knowingly, his grin fading to a reluctance that was not often visible in the man that walked the righteous path. You learned how small you really were. How insignificant the world made you feel. How your value, your true value seemed to only come from within through a desire to live.

 

Julio searched Vaegir's face and felt only pity. These first steps, more than any other, were the hardest. Most who chose to join the Sith did so out of a desire for power or purpose, but he wasn't giving this one those ideas. They were but for children who didn't understand the things the two of them now did, or at least Vaegir would soon begin to. Unlike many of the others, Julio would show this one the true path, one far greater than mortal needs for power or egotistical justification.

 

I did not just dump you on Dagobah and forget about you, Vaegir. And though I say I would not have cared if you died, which is true I would not have, do not think that I sent you there to die. I do not do anything without reason. If I did not think you would survive, I would have given you that training you think you needed. Yet, despite that here you stand. Alive not because I gambled with your life and won, but because you wanted to survive. You think anyone could have done what you did? Hardly. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred they curl up in a tight little ball and wait for death after a while, and after that the one percent tend to die off because their stubbornness simply was not enough.

 

You have done something amazing, profound even, as sad as I am to admit it. You stood as but a boy who was given everything and had it ripped away from you. And when I found you on that derelict ship up in flames, even then you yet held so much potential. Inquisitive, clever, self disciplined, willful. I saw all of this not moments after you woke from cryogenic sleep. But that was not enough to walk this path. There was so much more growing you needed to do before you understood how this life really works. I could have kept you by my side these past two years, but I could not have taught you what Dagobah did. Those were hard earned experiences gained through no other means but by simply living them. I know.

 

He stood up and made his way around the desk, turning his back toward Vaegir to search through a bookcase on the opposite side of the study, though not particularly looking for any one thing. He wasn't about to spill his own sob story of Kashyyyk and how Vaegir's two years paled in comparison. How he felt just as isolated and lonely surrounded by people not of his kind. How he was abandoned, used, beaten, and forced to fight for his life constantly for thirteen long years. Now was not a time to reach out and empathize. Perhaps in time the stories would be of use, but now they would likely be seen only as lies told for the sake of persuasion. Truth was the only thing that could speak to the quivering beast in the young Firrerreo.

 

You could live a happy life, away from this place, away from the Sith and myself. Unlike most of the broken souls that find their way to me, you are still functional in society. You can find a snug little place to fit into. A home, a wife and children of your own, a job working a third of your day away to the gains of someone else. Live, breath, and die. All anyone ever asks for. But do not lie to yourself and think that it will be any different than Dagobah. You are alone, you will be used by those with power over you, you will be betrayed, and you will spend every day of your life watching out for those who seek to take everything away. Everything you do will be toward preserving what is yours, and it will never, ever be enough. I have shown you but a taste of darkness, something which you will never let yourself forget.

[Qaela]

After leaving Furion's library, Qaela found her way back to the medical bay where she had left her other six Sisters. They had started treatment on their physical injuries, but there was not much that could be done other than to wait for their bruises to heal and to counter their malnutrition with nutrients and better food. She tried talking to them, but found they were all more or less crazy and not very coherent. It was a disappointment to be sure, but at least they were out of the hands of the Sith, more or less. She didn't know if they would ever become productive members of the Clan again, but if they couldn't, then at least they could be given the opportunity to die in combat against their foes.

 

With little else to do, she began to cautiously wander the halls. As she had done during her time in the Sith Temple, she tended to avoid the brighter spots in the Force that she knew to be masters. It was never good to cross paths with someone as potentially volatile as one of them.

 

She did find herself among an area that seemed temporarily abandoned. Most of the Sith seemed to either be remaining at the banquet, pondering what happened, or plotting their next moves in this new regime. Only one appeared to be interested in training at a time like this. She saw one particular man [[Tobias Vos]] who seemed wrapped in his own hatred and frustration, pushing himself to exhaustion. It was intriguing to see him pour out his energy into what he was doing. It had been some time since she had seen a Sith truly training because their regimens were far more violent and, in her opinion, regimented and theoretical. Nightsisters and even Witches tended to be more practical in their training and endeavored to teach survival skills instead of repetition and drills. It wasn't that she objected to the drills for she knew their value, but learning of how Sith trained was one of the more important and valuable bits of information she gleaned during her time with them.

 

She watched the man in silence, neither interfering with his workout nor hiding her presence.

[Keenava Dira]

The proceedings moved beyond Lallu’s consciousness in a blurry haze of forgotten feeling. She couldn’t recall the moment she got off her knee, but the room seemed to explode all round her in a flurry of color and movement. She couldn’t really tell what was going on. The only thing that was potent to her, the only thing that was right in her world, was the burning sensation she felt deep within her heart. A crimson fire billowed, ignited by the catalyst of her master’s voice and there was nothing that mattered more.

 

Lallu didn’t even notice the clouds of smoke above her or the beautiful chandelier cracking above her head, but the pain from the ink digging its way into her skin did register in her mind, even if it was for but a moment. The splinters of sensation etched within her and harvested the crimson fire to their bidding. The symbol was the same for all, but Lallu’s burned with the new found zeal of her independence; the flames of her emerging confidence. Each stride she took in emotional control brought her further and further until the catalyst of change rest firmly upon her face, scarring her, marking her, and showing her the depth of her future.

 

A small tickle of curiosity tugged at her hands, begging her to touch the symbol as it blistered, fresh upon her face, but she released the temptation.

Something was going on…

 

The spectacle before her was understandable. She looked on with respect toward the hopefuls that fought for their right to be part of something greater and silently rooted for Rose when she went out to fight. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the lingering questions that slipped into in the holes of her confidence. She looked toward the throne off and on for several minutes, until she caught Furion leaving with a small cadre of individuals that Lallu couldn’t really see. She thought one might have been the man she saw earlier, but there was nothing to confirm her assumptions. It didn’t really matter who he was anyway though, because Furion was moving and the direction of his group was unique. His group was headed away from the festivities and although her master’s intentions were his own to create, she couldn’t help but accommodate her baser feelings. Lallu’s questions for Furion hung, baited in her throat, but she couldn’t give rise to them in front of other people. If Furion was isolating himself from the party, she might have a chance.

 

Following her instincts, Lallu lifted up her dress a little bit and left her heels behind on the ballroom floor. She proceeded across the hard floor of the ballroom barefooted and shadowed the group as they made their way past the commotion and to what seemed like an empty wall. Furion’s hand rose and fell over the wall in a pattern Lallu didn’t recognize, but when he was finished, the wall opened into a door that the group proceeded through. It was an interesting mechanic and one that Lallu had considered using for the house on Talus, but she didn’t really have too much time to admire the architecture, because right after the group headed through, the wall started sliding back into place.

 

Thinking quickly, Lallu shot through the crowd like a red blur, tearing her tress down the middle up to the waist and somersaulting through the wall crack before it could fully close behind them. Only she didn’t. Instead of tumbling through the crack, like she expected, Lallu collided head first into the wall and sat a few moments to massage the tender spots on her head and lekku. She was trying to reason with her consciousness to maintain clarity, but there were a few moments in the haste of her action, that black spots rose to cover her vision.

 

She scolded herself for her impatience and accepted the pain as a deserved punishment, but just when Lallu was about to walk away from the ‘door,’ it opened again. She didn’t look directly at who came out, but by the posture, and the cadence they used, they weren’t Furion. Lallu looked toward the door and saw the wall threaten to swing back into place. Lallu wasn’t too far away though, so the convenient walking distance made the transition relatively simple.

 

It was quick though, so the wall managed to snag a little of Lallu’s dress on her way out, but the dress was already damaged and she had better things to think about at the moment.

 

She immediately stopped breathing loudly, siphoning her breath in controlled but silent intervals and held position on the wall of the hallway nearest to the door they just came through. Then, when she though that it was safe to proceed, she made her way on the balls of her feet, skirting the wall and taking care to stay shrouded in the blackness of the spartan hallway.

 

Breathe... Step... Breathe... Pause...

 

The conversation she could hear emerging from the room at the end of the hall was none of her concern. She ignored it mostly, deciding instead to focus on keeping herself hidden. She had something important to her that she needed answered and she knew she might not get another chance. She knew that her master would know she was there and that was all that mattered. She would wait for however long it took…

[Rezjal-el]

"Those were hard earned experiences gained through no other means but by simply living them. I know."

 

What was he doing? What the hell was this? For so long the Dark Lord was little more than an object of Vaegir’s hatred, and now… he was weaving words like thread. And what a tapestry they did make. What was once pure, blind hatred was now being argued away with logic and reason. In a way, Furion seemed more genuine now than he had ever been. Certainly the man had his reasons, though did the ends justify the means? Certainly not. Vaegir’s life had been Hell and this man was to blame. The Firrerreo found himself attempting to recite the list of grievances visited upon him, tried to hold so dearly to that burning hatred that had nourished him for the past two years. But Furion’s words… the genuine tone of his voice, they played at the already conflicting emotions in the young man’s head.

 

“You could live a happy life, away from this place, away from the Sith and myself. Unlike most of the broken souls that find their way to me, you are still functional in society. You can find a snug little place to fit into. A home, a wife and children of your own, a job working a third of your day away to the gains of someone else. Live, breath, and die. All anyone ever asks for. But do not lie to yourself and think that it will be any different than Dagobah. You are alone, you will be used by those with power over you, you will be betrayed, and you will spend every day of your life watching out for those who seek to take everything away. Everything you do will be toward preserving what is yours, and it will never, ever be enough. I have shown you but a taste of darkness, something which you will never let yourself forget.”

Vaegir’s hand was upon his knife the moment Julio turned his back, drawing it free little by little in order to keep it silent. The man’s words fell upon him even as he positioned the tip of the blade between his index and middle fingers, arm rising in preparation of a solid, swift throw. The time was now, that much was certain. A single motion of his arm, a flick of his wrist, and Furion was a dead man. He had to act, he had to make this evil, treacherous being suffer for his crimes.

 

“agh…. bastard…”

 

A sudden, loud ‘thunk’ resounded throughout the room. The knife was indeed thrown in Furion’s direction, though it found itself lodged deeply in the back of a rather unfortunate chair. Vaegir simply couldn’t do it. The drive, the once justifiable pact of revenge had lost its steam and now lay wedged in a mahogany coffin.

 

For someone so used to hiding his emotions, so used to keeping up a mask, he was in turmoil. The battling feelings played themselves out rather plainly over his face. He had hesitated, and he had failed. Furion had managed to best him again.

 

“I hate you, Furion.”

 

“I want to, at least.”

 

“For years I had thought of little more than driving this knife into your chest. I had fantasized about watching you die a slow, painful death at my hand. And now… that all… it seems so trivial.”

 

A part of him was keenly aware that Furion just may be playing upon his vulnerable emotions. They so rarely saw the light of day that when they did rise to the surface, it took very little to provoke a response.

 

With his hands clenched at his sides, the young man pondered reclaiming his blade and simply finishing what he had initially intended on doing. Though, those thoughts held no merit. What was the use? He’d already disarmed himself and given the Dark Lord plenty of time to react. And at this point, did he really want to harm the man anymore?

 

Remaining where he stood, Vaegir continued to speak, though he let his voice relax into a more controlled tone. Or, at least, he attempted to keep himself from sounding as truly shaken as he was.

 

“Well now. I am here and I am listening. You have my ear, Furion. What is your intent? What grand schemes have you to share?”

[Darth Furion]

Mindful of all that went on within his station, the Dark Lord didn't waver as the knife was drawn. Even at this short distance it would never find fleshly purchase if he didn't want it to. The boy's ire was no where near strong enough to conflict with the will of such a Sith Master, but of course he didn't know that. He had no real understanding as the the vast scope of awareness one achieved when devoting their life utterly to a single idea. Even Lallu, breathing softly waiting for her turn on the other side of the wooden door could not escape him. One soul, a thousand, they were all taken in and let go as simply as breathing.

 

My intent? The words were soft and curious, as if the weight of the question pulled him in several directions at once, and the answer swayed in their own gravitas. My intent lies transfixed upon my own fate, as it should with everyone else in this verse. However, I assume you to mean your specific place in the matter. How am I to use my power over you to my own ends, yes?

 

He paused for a moment looking down at the ground in thought. As he passed by the damaged chair he pulled out Vaegir's knife with little effort and began playing with it in his hand. Flipping it about, twirling it between his fingers, seemingly oblivious of the razor sharp edge like it was a child's toy. I honestly don't care about any of my other brothers and sisters. I don't need any of you. I don't need this mantle as your Dark Lord. My personal struggle and growth does not have to come at the hands of my aspiring kin. Yet if there is one thing I hate more than anything else, it is the Order that I belong to behaving as absolute fools and carrying their sins on to me. It really messes with my individuality in a way, trying to carry on the ideas of what it truly means to be Sith, yet having my kin shit all over that moniker.

 

Stopping a few feet from Vaegir the Sith stopped playing with the knife, holding it by the blade toward the young apprentice. The offer was nothing grand, just returning to him what was his. As if the boy hadn't just threatened murder.

 

But really that is my ego talking. What does it matter if I am called Sith or not? I yet walk the path. I will yet transcend beyond my fate and stand above the Force itself as a venerable god. So, again, what use could I have of you?

 

As Vaegir outstretched his hand to retrieve his knife the dim light in the room flashed brightly against the blade as it flourished again in the Dark Lord's hand. Handle in hand Julio drove the blade to the hilt through a four inch slab of stone that was his desk in a single downward stab, not once looking away from Vaegir's face.

 

I want from you nothing less than I want from any other who walk the Path of the Sith. I want you to kill me.

 

Truth sang from those gilded eyes as they bore into the boy's own, reflecting within the terrible beast lying just below the surface.

[Rezjal-el]

“I have been wondering much the same. Surely you would not have summoned me back or even bothered to free me from that prison ship unless you had something in mind, Furion. Need or not, I am still here due to your influence.“

 

That was true enough. Vaegir had begun to understand the way in which Julio worked. The Dark Lord never acted, never did anything without an ulterior motive. The fact that Vaegir was in no way needed seemed all too clear, given Furion’s apparent sway over Sith politics. But, the human had seen fit to release him for one reason or another and that much spoke volumes to the young Firrereo. There was something up the Sith Master’s sleeves and it was likely more than a fancy wrist watch. Though that too would be a pleasant surprise.

 

The knife was offered in return, and foolishly Vaegir did indeed reach out for it. For a second he had thought the gesture to be a simple enough returning of property, but like most things involved with the Dark Lord, there was a second purpose.

 

Wordlessly, he watched as Furion ripped the blade from arm’s reach and slammed it home into the desk, leaving it there as a show of strength and perhaps just what Vaegir could hope to achieve one day.

 

“I want from you nothing less than I want from any other who walk the Path of the Sith. I want you to kill me.”

 

A moment passed where the two simply stared at each other, their gazes locked, their bodies unmoving. Needless to say, Vaegir did not speak for a few seconds more before he managed the will to so much as form a word.

 

“…k…kill you? Why would you ever want something like that?”

It did seem like an odd thing for a self-appointed deity to wish for, unless of course it was part of some draconian ‘become a god in 5 easy steps’ ritual.

[Darth Furion]

Please... He sighed sarcastically, like an inside joke had been told between old friends. That classic smile spread again, though his eyes shone with an unnatural luminescence in the dimly lit study. As if you needed anymore motive.

 

The Dark Lord shifted his weight ever so slightly on instinct, wanting so badly to strike at the boy for ever considering murder, but stilled his hand to the purpose. This is not a request to euthanize me, boy. I do not want to die anymore than you do. I do, however, want to see someone, anyone grow strong enough to provide me with a proper struggle to where my life is legitimately on the line. You see, I'm at a point in my...career....that I am constantly forced to escalate the threats against me to continue growing. Ascending to the standing of Dark Lord has keenly placed me in the target zone for every other member of the Order with any real strength and the backbone to challenge me. As you saw in the ballroom, none yet stand to oppose me. So while I use my position to cultivate my brothers and sisters to a position where they may one day offer me that struggle, I have to also turn my attention outward at the galaxy. I need to escalate things even further and draw more enemies against me. Someone who will stand up against me. Our brothers and sisters have the luxury of choosing when they think themselves ready, but we will not give our enemies that chance. We will force their hand through a war of misdirection and subterfuge so they cannot sit idly by and simply wait for us to strike at them. I will use the Sith as bait for my enemy, lashing out at what they hold dear and precious until they follow the breadcrumbs back to me. Perhaps then will I see my challenge realized. Then I will either fail and die the final death, or I will complete my transcendence and break my final chain.

 

Turning to return to his seat, just the mention of any long term plan drew out another cascade of splintered visions, causing him to take pause at the corner of his desk faced away from the boy while the moment passed. Eyelids fluttered and his lips moved wordlessly as he held himself up with support from the desk. Fleeting as the incidences were these days, they still struck him without warning. When he regained himself only half a minute had passed, but it was enough of an awkward pause to give notice. As he continued toward his desk Julio didn't look up at Vaegir, his mind still lost in thought to the new series of images fresh in his mind. It wasn't until he sat down and breathing became regular again that he remembered where he was and what he was doing.

 

Your part in all of this? I want to personally train you. Not simply about the Force or the Dark Side, but about freedom and self realization. I want you to realize that the very same will to live that you discovered on Dagobah extends far beyond anything you have ever conceived. I want to show you the galaxy for what it truly is. But in exchange I demand everything you are now. I could use anyone for the tasks that I would assign you, but I feel the experiences they offer would benefit your growth greater than any other. I salvaged you so that I may cultivate you, but if you're a seed that does not wish to grow you have the option of returning to the mundane soil of infertility. Give yourself over to me completely, let yourself become an extension of my very will so that I may help you break those first few chains that tie you to everything you think to be truth. Accept and truly internalize my lessons, and one day you may grow strong enough to be completely free. But you have to decide, here and now.

 

Likely the boy had resigned himself over to the will of Julio already, though not by his own means. Thus far he had simply been surviving, doing only what was necessary to maintain the reward he had fought so hard for back on Dagobah. Coming to this station, kneeling along with everyone else, accepting the brand of an Order not his own. These were all simply what had to be done to continue on living. Now, however, Julio was giving him the freedom to choose. Perhaps the very last freedom he would have for a long, long time.

 

So what is it going to be, Rezjal-el? Return to the dead ground, or thrive in struggle?

[Rezjal-el]

Vaegir listened to Furion speak on and on about creating enemies for the sake of the challenge they could create. Razing nations if only to spur others to act in retaliation. The idea was a troubling one for the young Firrerreo, though resigning himself to a life as a simple civilian, working some menial task and enjoying a mundane, unfulfilling life seemed akin to suicide in his mind. The offer extended to him was not one a person receives on a daily basis. Hell, it was likely not one that a person received more than once in their life… and Vaegir was nothing if not an opportunist.

 

But no, it was not that simple. It wasn’t a desire to simply grab at some semblance of power or authority. It was a desire to transcend his current, meaningless existence. Vaegir had lost everything. He had no home, no family, no friends, and a dark feeling in the back of his mind told him that his planet was no longer available to him as well. Indeed, he may very well have been the last of his species. Given that line of thought, he certainly wasn’t going to be content with letting the Galaxy pass him by. He was meant for more than that. His potential to be part of something greater than himself, something that actually mattered, was on the line. And Furion’s offer, laced with words of freedom and ascendancy, rang too sweetly within the younger man’s ears.

 

“So what is it going to be, Rezjal-el? Return to the flock, or shepard the galaxy?”

 

His name? His real name? Furion just spoke it naturally, as though he had known it for quite some time. Instantly, Vaegir’s brows shifted into a dangerous glower. Amongst his people, true names were not something freely given. They were gifts, signs of trust, and if nothing else, a true name held power over its owner.

 

“I…. never gave you my name.” He finds himself saying, trying to speak in more than a low growl.

 

The immediate anger at the usage of his true name soon waned, leaving him standing there, confused, upset, and on some level his privacy was greatly violated. Furion was in his head. The Dark Lord simply reached in and perused information in his mind as though it were little more than a magazine detailing Vaegir’s life. Oh gods, every moment of fear and insecurity was Furion’s to read over.

 

A moment passed, a few awkward minutes of silence as Vaegir considered his options. Despite his initial anger, he knew full well what was at stake. And despite Furion’s complete disregard of respect and/or common courtesy he was offering the chance of a lifetime. That much could not be ignored.

 

And this talk of breaking chains. He would break his chains while Furion hooked yet another about his neck.

 

Freedom, but at what cost? He thought, truly considering the question

 

Oh, the cost of your property, life, and possibly savings account. Countered the sarcastic voice in the back of his mind

 

My savings? Joke’s on you, mate, I’ve got nothing.

 

Well, you could always reject his offer. Live a life of another insignificant cog in the machine… I hear some of the bigger cogs even get vacation days. Ooooh, how appealing.

 

Stuff it. You know damn well we’d likely be more than any worthless, replaceable bit of machinery, metaphorically or otherwise.

Oh? And you have what going for you? Your planet’s gone. Your family’s gone. Your fortune and birth right, gone. You’re going to just show up on some random planet without any knowledge of current events and suddenly set up shop? Oh yes, I’m sure they’ll make you emperor within a week.

Indeed they will. Who can resist this charming smile?

 

Cool guys. People with an IQ greater than 80. You know, most anyone with half a brain. Need I go on?

 

Well, I wasn’t asking for you to be such an ass about it.

I’m you. You’re an ass.

 

Valid point.

 

I thought so too.

 

Damnit, focus.

 

You know, you really should just take his offer.

Oh? Should I? I may enjoy being part of a flock. Wool is always going in and out of fashion…

And why not? You know you’re better than that. You’re meant for so much more. This man, despicable as he may be, is willing to teach you his ways. He’s willing to give you his time in order to make you greater than what you are otherwise. Dagobah may have been hell for you, but consider what all you’re capable of now.

True, and I did get to kill a snake monster beast thing.

It’s more than that, you dolt. Why is it you were finally able to kill that thing when at first you could do little more than run and scream like a sissy?

 

Well, I learned how to survive.

 

And?

 

I…. well… I… found the will to continue living. I found that I could learn to overcome my circumstances when I took the time to understand them...

Oh? Did you now? And now that you’re done simply coasting through life… don’t you think it’s time for bigger and better things?

 

Yes, but the offer scares me. There, I admit it.

Of course it does. It’s servitude in return for unparalleled ability. Sway over the universe. Influence beyond what you can do with simple flesh and bone. Perhaps you’ll even get a lightsaber. One that’s real and not made of plasteel.

 

Oh, I loved that toy as a kid!

Yes, yes you did. But damnit, this is important. Given the choice between a mundane, inane, and pointless life as a sheep or an exciting, educated, and insightful existence as a Sith, what would you choose? Do you choose to exist as every other pointless slob or are you going to have a legacy?

 

Sith, I suppose.

 

You suppose? That’s hardly good enough. There’s no turning back from either path. You either will or you won’t transcend from your current position. Choose a life of servitude without gratification or a life of servitude with great moments of self-realization, power, and achieving things beyond what you may be otherwise capable of.

And what if I don't like what I become? What if this changes who I am fundamentally?

 

That's just another risk you'll have to take. Furion may take things from you as freely as he would anyone else. But you cannot let him change who you are. Never lose touch with what makes you inherently Rezjal-el. You may be a different version of him in the end, but do not lose yourself. You survived two years on Dagobah and returned with your sanity in tact. You did not become a beast, you became the beast's master. You're far stronger than you know.

 

True. I suppose that this will simply be another test of character. I'll grow stronger in both body and mind, and in the end, perhaps I'll even have to give Furion a thank you card.

 

Oh, yes, one with a happy kitty on the front. He seems like a cat person.

There was no use hiding his mental processes. What perhaps may have otherwise been a moment of stonefaced resolution was indeed quite a show should anyone be watching for even the slightest of facial twitches. The decision was not one made lightly, and Vaegir took his time in settling upon his decision. His lower lip even twitched as though speaking his inner debate aloud.

 

“I will gladly shepherd the galaxy, Furion.” He says, finally breaking his internal monologue long enough to speak.

 

“I….” and he could not believe the words as they came from his mouth “…give myself to you.”

[Raia Montar]

Raia saw the figure approaching from the corner of her eye, and immediately rose from her position on the wall, her ankle protesting painfully. She felt her fight-or-flight response kick in, unsure if this male's intentions towards her. With a quick flit of her gray eyes, the witch noted that he, too, bore the mark inflicted upon her. Though, from what she could see, his was far more ornate and larger in size than the simple emblem that marred her chest. Instinct told her that it meant that he was considered to be above her in this topsy-turvey counter-changed hierarchy, and therefore, a deadly magic user himself.

 

Qaela's warning words from earlier came back in a rush, putting Raia even further on her guard. They view us with disdain and even animosity...You are in danger whenever you are among Sith... I encountered an overly arrogant male Sith master who decided that I wasn't humble enough because I didn't bow at his feet. Beat me senseless and broke many bones...

 

Being among so many volatile and unrestrained males made her uncomfortable, but she knew that if she were going to survive here, she'd have to play by their rules. She bit her lip as she returned his nod with one that was longer and deeper, quietly listening as he spoke.

 

"You've some skill. It speaks highly of your potential. Keep that up and you will go far here. A useful tip, if I may - give in to your emotion. That is the key. All that hate and anger within you, and then release it during a fight and you will be nigh unstoppable. That said, I will be keeping a close eye on you.”

 

Raia had seen the remnants of what unbridled surrender to darker emotions could do, and she did not doubt his words. Honestly, she wasn't sure how she was going to proceed. Qaela had certainly become stronger from the Sith training, and had even gone so far as to confirm that the Dathomir witches were inherently weaker than these emotional magic users. His advice only confirmed what the elder Dathomiri had imparted to her just after they'd arrived at the station. Raia chose to nod back to him, letting him interpret the action how he would as she took the opportunity to study him.

 

He was roughly the same size and build of the male she'd just bested in what she suspected was the first of a series of trials that she was going to face. His eyes were to distinctly different colors, one orange and the other blue, which led her to suppose that one or the other was some sort of artificial enhancement had been made to replace a defect. The thought of integrating something so unnatural into her own body made Raia inwardly cringe. Other than the Sith marking he bore, his face and arms also carried other bands of color that looked as though he'd borne them for a long time.

 

He had apparently deigned to acknowledge her further, his advice having already been given. Perhaps he didn't like the level of scrutiny the teen was giving him. Either way he didn't seem to give her a second thought before he'd moved along to another section of the crowd, their encounter seemingly forgotten. That was fine by her. She couldn't quite shake the uneasy feeling that he'd given her.

 

While Raia continued to study him from afar, the young witch noticed that the others seemed to be moving about more freely as though some unspoken signal or command had been given and they were no longer assembled under the previous summons. Cautiously, she limped forward, opting to seek out the one other person she knew.

 

It wasn't hard to find the curly-haired blond amongst those still standing in the morass of the aftermath of the paired combat. The girl had been dressed in a white tunic and pants that seemed to clearly set her apart from the rest, though now the outfit was thoroughly ruined by the semi-wet and darkening stains that now covered the front of the exquisitely decorated top. Something about the younger girl's blood-stained appearance suddenly made Raia think of a ritual sacrifice she'd once heard the Nightsisters talking about. She shook her head, willing the image to go a way, but it just made her head swim more.

 

The pain in her side was steady and she knew that she needed to treat herself before she actually managed to puncture a lung with one of her broken ribs. She didn't know what herbs and plants they kept hear for healing, and once again she suddenly felt homesick. Everything was so different here, and it hurt knowing that there was no one that she could truly count among her friends. Qaela had been nice enough, but Raia wasn't sure about her. The woman had many enemies, and that is what made her dangerous.

 

Looking over the other girl, whose size and build matched her own, she couldn't help but assess her for injuries of her own. Thrown into this alien environment, alone, she fell back to what was most familiar to her in this context. None of the blood appeared to belong to the young Sithling, and she didn't even have so much as a scratch on her. At least her champion had shown her how to fight.

 

Raia's steps towards her were careful, more due to the fact that the floor was slick with blood from Rose's kill, than any actual trepidation of the girl. "Rose?" she began, still not sure whether or not to trust the girl whose supposed champion had abandoned her to the blood-sport of the Sith. "Herbs, medicine - for healing - where are they stored?" Most of her life had been spent in the village, and while she understood most Basic, her own vocabulary and ability to speak was severely limited and mostly revolved around the trading of remedies. Somehow, Raia knew that Rose would know where things were kept on the station, and hoped that the other girl would offer at least that much aid. Raia was more than capable of treating her own injuries if she had the supplies that were needed.

[Darth Furion]

At first the little girl didn't hear the witch call out, blood drunk and in a daze from her first ever kill. In the back of her mind she expected some technicians to come out and pick up the body like all the practice androids before, only to see them again the next day, patches where the blows form the day before had struck true. All of the lessons from her father, target areas on the body, autonomic reactions, bone density diagrams, all of it had seemed so mechanical until this very moment as the pool of blood just seemed to spread further and further out from them.

 

"Herbs, medicine - for healing - where are they stored?"

 

Cold eyes cut at Raia to the bone, threatening to sheer away flesh at a glance. A heart beat and ferocity softened in recognition. Rose came to her senses slowly as she blinked, at first looking around quickly, the back to Raia's pained face. It took her a moment to realize she was still holding the sword, and somehow the that fury driven moment of panic it had flipped about and found its way mere centimeters from Raia's inner thigh. Instantly ashamed she dropped the sword in a clatter and stood up quickly.

 

"Oh, Raia! I'm so so sorry! I..." The threat was lost as Raia came more into focus now, and the pain she carried became more obvious. "Let's go get you patched up, huh?" She said in a hurried voice, wanting nothing more than to get away from everything, get away from the body, the crowd, just get away.

 

She took the witch by the arm and pulled it over her neck to support the weight of the damaged ankle and together the pair hobbled as swiftly as they could out of the ballroom to the turbolift that lead to the medbay.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Most excellent. Julio said, beaming. As amusing as Rez's internal thought process was, now was not the time to tease the boy anymore. Everything was happening much too quickly for him to get any humor for the moment. You will be by my side at nearly all times. I believe you clever enough to learn from observation much better than those who require more direct instruction. I want you to observe everything, take it all in. My actions, the words I choose, who I talk to and how. I could tell just from my exchange with the Nightsister you are more than keen at picking up new information simply by listening. That, and the observations he was making in his mind were sharp, indeed. But for now, you need to take some time for yourself. Rest, eat, read, do as you like until I summon you again. I want you to really think on this decision, what it will mean. What changes will and may occur, and how you think you will handle them.

 

Leaning forward in his chair, Julio ripped his apprentice's knife free of the desk in a quick jerk and slid it across the smooth, unladen surface toward him.

 

No one should give you any trouble here unless you cause it. As the Dark Lord's apprentice, you'll be given a wide berth, but do not mistake my kindness for friendship. I will do as I see fit to make you stronger, no matter how terrifying, painful, or degenerate that may be. Always remember that everything I do has purpose, whether I say it openly or lie to you. I can teach you, force you to experience new and trying things, and will always test you, but I can not give you understanding. That comes from within. Any questions, apprentice?

[Raia Montar]

Somehow, she managed not to flinch away as Rose wheeled around and bringing her blade to bear, as though expecting an attack from the witch. It was her stillness had kept her from further injury, because moving at the wrong moment would have caused the blade to connect with her flesh. As it was, the girl had stopped the swing just short of connecting with the very vital blood-way that ran along the area.

 

Raia observed the girl for a moment, wondering what was going through her mind. She knew that Rose's bout hadn't lasted long, as she'd caught brief glimpses from it while she'd been perched high above the fray. Even in the length of time it had taken Raia to best the Brute, Rose had remained rooted to the spot as though she'd been watching the light go from the slave woman's eyes.

 

For a few tense moments gray eyes locked with cold blue as the two teens silently stood, neither one of them yielding. Raia chanced a quick glance over to the accumulating blood on the floor near the woman that Rose was standing over. The amount of blood told Raia that once the wound had been inflicted, it hadn't taken the woman long to die at all; a far more quick and peaceful death than hers had been. She only had to look a little past Rose's kill and to the right to see the contorted and mangled face of the man she'd killed by magic. Her eyes closed as a wave of nausea washed over her. She was now a healer that had killed.

 

The sword clanging to the ground was a welcome amelioration, and brought Raia's attention back to the present as Rose seemed to come to her senses. It had been almost as though Rose hadn't initially recognized her, and was still lost in her own mind as Raia had been, attempting to process through their first kills. For a moment the Dathomiri girl wondered if this had truly been Rose's first kill. From the glance she'd gotten, the girl's movements had been swift and sure, as though they'd been drilled into her very being.

 

"Oh, Raia! I'm so so sorry! I..." she broke off as though she weren't quite sure how to explain what she'd nearly just done. "Let's go get you patched up, huh?" Her tone was abrupt and quick as she took Raia's arm and helped support her weight as the two of them put the ballroom and gruesome scene behind them as quickly as possible.

 

The dark-haired witch could hardly blame her younger counterpart. The face of the man she'd just killed still floated on the edges of her consciousness, her guilt beginning to gnaw away at her as the turbolift sped on its way. Healers don't kill. It's not our way. I broke the law. I can't go back now. Healers don't kill. Healers don't kill, the mantra repeated over and over in her mind until she couldn't stand it any more. "Rose..." she moaned as they entered a new area of the station.

 

Giving no explanation, she pushed away from the girl and hobbled over to the nearest potted plant, emptying her stomach contents in the ornate vase, rather than all over the main floor. As she tried to catch her breath, she found it far more difficult and now became acutely aware of the sharp pain in her lung. The muscle contractions had shifted one of the rib fragments, then jammed it into the lung wall and now the lung was collapsing.

[Darth Furion]

Panic thrummed into her heartbeats as she rushed over to the collapsing witch. Her breathing was ragged, garbled. So much was happening so quickly, but the young girl didn't freeze. Inaction was death, stillness would befall nothingness. Rather than give into the confusion and uncertainty of the situation, Rose screamed out at the top of her lungs as she had always been trained for triage. "Code blue!" echoed down the hallway in her shrill, childlike voice and within seconds a team was rushing down the hallway with a crash cart and a gurney.

 

"Her heart is still beating, left lung having trouble. Get a tube in and drain it while we..." The voices were lost in the static, so many machines chiming on and rushed voices colliding together as Rose hurried alongside the stretcher, clutching Raia's hand with all her might, not daring to let go.

 

She couldn't take this, not now. It didn't matter who this girl was, or how they had barely known each other for more than a couple days, and distantly at that. Rose couldn't take death again so soon, no matter who's it was. All the years her father was away she had spent them studying the lessons he left her, but she threw in first aid when she could in case he ever showed up wounded. It was a loving daughter's pipe dreams, to be sure, but she always wanted to be useful. Now, when for whatever reason it really mattered to her, Rose found herself helpless, idly standing aside while everything she feared in that moment came to pass.

 

At some point she became pushed out of the way as one of the acolyte-staff pulled her aside to free up room for the others. "I'm sorry, young Master, but you must let them work."

 

Rose struggled a little, wanting so badly to give into that rising anger and break this fool for holding her back, yet knew it to be rash. After but a moment, she instead fell to the floor just on the other side of the wall where a team was frantically working to save an apprentice. Just above her was a window where she could watch them if she wanted, but all of that was thrown away as Rose simply hugged her knees and began to cry. For Raia, for the woman who's blood yet stained her clothes, but mostly for herself, not really understanding why.

[Raia Montar]

Confusion swirled in her mind as she tried to make sense of what was happening, why the air wouldn't fill her lungs, and why she was tasting blood. Then she heard the loud call from Rose and the subsequent flurry of activity as she found herself surrounded by even more unfamiliar faces, instruments, and smells. Was this "Code Blue" some sort of Sith signal for attack? Raia's brain was having problems processing the translation as the words around her dissolved into indistinguishable gibberish.

 

Her fighting spirit found her again as she struggled against the hands that now fought to keep her still. How far had Matala gone to ensure that she died?

 

Strong arms shoved her back down onto the gurney and held her there. She cried out as something sharp cut into her skin and something foreign shoved within her. In that same moment, Raia was vaguely aware of a small hand clasping hers, and she seized on it scared to let go.

 

Suddenly she felt lighter, her mind grew fuzzy, and the sounds around her seemed to become more distant. The grip on her hand lessened then was lost altogether and she feebly fought to get it back, but instead it was replaced my one that was much larger. Is this what death was like?

 

Finally she slipped into unconscious bliss, and the medical staff was able to conduct their work unhampered.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Not even a half an hour later her eyes opened, blinking at the bright light above her. The gentle and rhythmic tones of the various monitors met her ears, bringing the confusion once again.

 

What just happened? Where am I? The young witch struggled to piece together what had happened. Had everything been just a bad dream?

 

Slowly she sat up, and looked down in surprise at the medical scrubs that she now wore instead of her leather and cloth garments. What surprised her even more was the lack of pain that she felt in her side and ankle.

 

"What sort of magic is this?" she whispered to herself as one of the acolyte-staff approached her. In a flash she rolled backwards off of the medical bed, in the process painfully removing some of the leads that had been connecting her to the machines. As though in protest, a general whine emitted from the array of computers, distracting the staff member. She tore the rest of the leads and needles from her body, and ran through the medical wing, skidding to a halt just as a set of doors closed in front of her, cutting off her escape. Panicking, she whirled around in a low crouch and found herself already surrounded by the rest of the staff.

 

Breathing heavily, she finally found her voice again as she called out the only two names she knew could help her, "Qaela! Rose!"

[Darth Furion]

For the entire duration of the procedure, Rose never moved. She only sat there, sobbing silently, waiting. That was why, half an hour later, when Raia came bursting through her room door shouting her name, with a cascade of warning tones and buzzes screaming at her from the room came blaring out after her, Rose jumped to her feet frantic. But as soon as Raia spun about, Rose was there, confused and happy all at once.

 

"Raia!" She leaped at the girl, throwing her arms around her neck in an unquestioning embrace as she was flooded with relief. There was never any real doubt in her mind the girl would be alright, but just seeing her seemed to wash away all the bad thoughts that had been plaguing her for the past half hour. As quick as she jumped in for the hug, she sprang back out, realizing instantly what had just happened, or something of the sort.

 

"What are you doing?! You should be in bed, resting! Your wounds aren't healed just yet, the bacta takes a little bit of time."