An Unlikely Ally - [lion]

[Harukei]

Korriban was as much as she had remembered. A death rock littered with ruins and tombs that had being largely defiled by previous Sith, but that somehow was still alive. The potency of the darkside had being exhilarating as always as the ship in which she traveled made it's way to the birthplace of the ancient Sith. Even with the meddling effects of hyperspace travel, as the distance shortened the small hints of the power that the world became easier to detect. And it's invigorating effects would enhance her.

Syrin supposed that this was some sort of pilgrimage that she always took. Perhaps there ancient echoes of long lost Dark Lords of the Sith would speak to her through time and death. Or perhaps it was to study some of the vast contents that the archives of the academy offered, many of which were know accessible to her after her ascension to Sith Knight. Whatever was the reason this time, the memory of the disposal of her old teacher by her hand brought a pale figment of what joy was within her mind. Being one of the few select times in which she had enjoyed dispatching an individual and breaking chains that still held her. 

Her thoughts consumed the time that it took the transport to enter the atmosphere and land into the temple. Through the images displayed in a holo-screen, she could see the massive temple, new and untarnished, erecting itself in the middle of a valley of orange-red sand and rock. As the ship touched down in the hangar, the wine of the hydraulic system was tacitly heard. The Sith Knight stepped from her cabin, marching towards the main edifice, noting new initiates, young and old being marched out of the ship. 

They did not matter. At least not until years to come. With calm she passed security and made her way to the archives, noting the new hanging banners of the Order that adorned the cavernous and pristine hallways. However as she made a turn to take the door that would lead to the hall, her boot seemed to produce a feeble crack. Stopping, she would raise her feet, her stoic eyes scanning the polished floor to only find what seemed to be dried tissue and a small trail of the same origin. Perhaps a reptilian member of the Order was shedding it's skin? 

With some curiosity she followed the trail, noting that the remains grew larger as she progressed, until she finally reached an empty and darkened room that was likely used as storage, filled by darkness and the sound that she could only qualify as if someone scratched dried leaves under the autumn sky. Syrin remained there in silence, awaiting for the being who had made the certain mess to realize of her presence.

[lion]

Shedding was far from comfortable. Even in maturity, the process took its toll on the mind and the body, days of grating pain and discomfort bringing on a sense of mental frustration that bordered on the near psychotic. Trandoshan children undergoing shedding were said to be the ultimate test of parenthood, for their multiple-per-year instances could bring on the wrath of a tazed Wookiee as they tried to scratch and claw their irritation away in blind rage, trying to understand just what was going on.

For the grown, however, it was more a test of patience than pain-tolerance; the process lengthened with age as the body slowed its growth-cycle. The gift that maturity brought was the knowledge that shedding was, at its most frequent, only yearly at best, but such a boon was not without its flaws. Without the added impetus of a growing body to 'force' shedding, the process would only drag on, relying more on the secretion of enzymes between skin layers to separate the old flesh from the new. What would take hours or even a single day for a youngling would take days for a fully-grown Trandoshan, perhaps even longer still for the unhealthy.

For Sarkh, the process was far from pleasant, and for the past six days he had tolerated it. Korriban's dust-blown heat was far from the ideal environment for shedding to take place; the lack of moisture in the air had left the outer skin layers hard and inflexible. The dull green, near grey-hued outer layer of skin had long since taken up a texture not unlike rough sandpaper, and with a new net of still-sensitive scales still growing and hardening beneath, the Trandoshan was subject to the abrasive touch with each motion he made.

The pain was minimal but indescribably agonising nevertheless; like taking a grinding wheel to a bruised bit of skin, there was little in the way of severe damage but the sensation was enough to bring down almost anybody. Every step, every gesture, every breath dragged the old skin against the nerves of the newly-formed; walking was a taxing effort and sleep was practically impossible, further draining the Trandoshan's patience. Further still were the pieces that had shed; the skin beneath exposed to the elements for the first time leaving the reptilian man sensitive.

For six days, Sarkh had tolerated the shedding as best he could, seeking solitude from his new allies in the Sith as a means to not invoke violence. Frustration was a bitter thing to deal with, trying to channel it to constructive ends as his new instructors lectured, but six days of what could only amount to an agonising full-body itch that refused to die was all the reptilian could think about.

Worse still, knowing he could do nothing but wait had given Sarkh all but the absolute shortest of fuses. Skin-shedding was a process among his kind that everyone wished to rush, the temptation to scratch and claw and peel out of the dead layers of flesh right away was known to all, but to be strictly opposed. Many impatient youths and elders alike had learned the hard way what their lapses in judgement could bring on; scale damage, scarring and tearing of the new skin were all common afflictions.

Solitude among the Sith had been difficult to find; the dark-siders were not in the habit of giving their initiates privacy from one another. It had been desperation that had led Sarkh to the storage bays by the hangars, unused by the powerful robe-clad mammals and instead left to the menial labour droids, in his search for a sanctum into which he could retreat; peeling the whole way as if a dying flower discarding its petals.

There, in the pitch-black recesses of the storage chamber, Sarkh had made himself at least somewhat 'comfortable', if the word could be used. The floor was drenched with water in large puddles, the aftermath of desperate splash-bathing as the molting lizard doused himself from what bottles he could find. Crates lay toppled as if shoved over, some of which had spilled their contents upon the floor from the force of their fall, as testament to the towering reptile's desire to scratch and rub the skin against himself loose; three hundred and fifty pounds of powerful, desperate Trandoshan more than a match for some of the storage vessels.

It wasn't until the hiss of the door that the reptile, pressed belly down against the largest of the crates as if trying to merge with it, snapped to attention. What little light streamed into the storage bay revealed enough of the mess to the darker figure in the doorway, showing the sheer extent of Sarkh's desperation; even the reptile's clothes had been discarded in a messy pile, a further layer of discomfort removed.

The animalistic hiss that seethed in from the dark, however, was more than what words could have conveyed to the interloper, without a single syllable uttered suggesting that perhaps their continued presence came at great risk, as Sarkh drew a slow breath. Baser instincts always came out in shedding, a desperate time brought on a desperate mindset, after all. But maturity shone through after a moment; shock fading and common sense beginning to prevail.

"What do you want?" The Trandoshan muttered, his gravelly voice losing none of his hostility and unwelcoming tone, as the door of the storage bay slid closed, once more bathing the room in the inky-black darkness. The lack of light only adding a stronger sense of foreboding as the trandoshan's rough voice rumbled from the dark. "Out with it; human."

[Harukei]

"I was looking for the source of this waste." Syrin said with matter-of-factly tone. "Seems I found it with you, Trandoshan." 

Even in the dark, she could recognize the snarls of the reptilian species. In her time as a slave she had seeing many of his kind. Always as enforcers of some crimelord, or bounty hunters seeking to sell their services and skills. It was not unsurprisingly that there were some individuals of his species who possessed the ability to wield the Force, although like their Wookie enemies, she believed these were hard to come by. To have him here, among the Sith was a rarity indeed. 

That being said, she would sense him through the Force. There was anger and hate within him. The darkside coursed as a powerful storm within him. But it was not tempered, not directed and with a purpose. For all intents and purposes, he was the wild beast that he appeared before her. Bare and hiding in the darkness as if this was a jungle from his world. With little thought she would find the switch and with a flick of her finger, prompt it telekinetically to dispel the shadows of the storage room. 

Syrin would only rise an eyebrow at the confirmation of the Trandoshan as it hid behind crates, bare and shedding his skin. Not the image one would expect to turn one's opinion on the other way. In fact she would contain herself before releasing an uncharacteristic smile. But where she saw humiliation, she also saw opportunity. 

"New to the academy I believe?" She asked as she came closer. "To show weakness like this is unbecoming of a Sith."  

[lion]

As the light emerged, banishing the shadows to the darkest corners of the room and revealing the contents of the storage chamber, the extent of the Trandoshan's body process was laid bare. Patches of scaled skin, haphazard and flaky, hung from the towering body of the bare reptile; larger sections bent forward under the influence of gravity. Other sections of the faded, scratchy skin clung to Sarkh as if loosely tied to him; shifting with each breath the Trandoshan hunter took. The small patches along his body that had become free of the shedding process, along his face and limbs, bore the more stereotypically vibrant colouration the lizard-men were known for; a deep, almost emerald-green net of scales shining under the artificial light.

Discomfort was evident from the reptile, as was his anger and frustration, and it didn't take the Force to see it. Wide, rending slashes were evident along some sections of his outer chest skin, as well as his legs; broad cuts no doubt from his claws in a desperate effort to drive the shedding process along spoke of the young man's irritation. Patches of dried blood, little drabs here and there, spoke as to the price the reptile had indeed paid in his desperation; like peeling a scab, it was unhealthy to speed the process but few heeded the advice.

What wasn't evident, however, was the sense of shame that many would have experienced at being exposed. Standing stark naked before someone you didn't know was a common nightmare among the sentient beings of the galaxy, but if any sense of embarrassment at his lack of cover under the feminine figure's eyes came from Sarkh, it was incredibly well-hidden. Indeed, the powerful cold-blooded hunter seemed to even turn to regard the Sith, the look on his face somewhere between disgust and barely-held-together tolerance; his reddish eyes staring into the Sith as if burning holes into her.

If was if her presence was an affront to him, rather than him submitting outright to her.

"New, yes. I was offered teaching only some days ago." Sarkh started, his gravelly-toned voice still giving little indication that Syrin's presence was welcome, letalone tolerated, but his demeanour at least shifting to match her matter-of-fact statements gave some headway. Each motion the reptile made scratched; his footclaws against the floor, his skin against itself. "This is no weakness, Sith; merely natural. Shedding is...Not an enjoyable process, mammal."

[Harukei]

The disgust from his part was palpable. The use of the Force would no give her such insight. She didn't need it to discern how the Trandoshan felt. It was all printed upon his face. The eyes matched contempt with a chained ferocity waiting to be unleashed at a prompt. Either a misplaced word or an attack from someone. Yet for all the danger he embodied, somehow the Sith was not having a sense of worry about a most likely confrontation. 

"So I've heard." Was her response to the reptilian. 

Whether this shedding was natural or not was irrelevant. Causality was something in which she didn't believe. Perhaps he was the reason he had being brought to Korriban this time. After her ascension to Sith Knight, she had considered to take a student of her own. Not as the assassin that could be used as she wished like her master had done with her, but as someone she could mold and could have some degree of trust in. Of course if the use of said individual had came to an end she would promptly end the relationship.

Yet she doubted that the Trandoshan could be that candidate. He didn't have skill, just a primal rage that seemed to shape every action he took. As for his recent induction it was more than likely that he was not skilled in the elegant combat forms of the lightsaber, in fact she could possibly be certain that he only knew how to swing the ancient weapon as if it was a cudgel and nothing more. On another note, the way as he referred to her, mammal, was not surprising, doing no effect on her psyche.

"Forgive my species incapacity to feel that burden." Syrin said with a faint smile. "However, you will refer me with more respect from now on, Initiate."   

[lion]

"Respect you? Your abilities, your station; certainly." Sarkh retorted with a wave of the hand, the reptile-man's posture shifting as his tone adjusted, surprisingly more hospitable if still somewhat standoffish, as his displeased expression began to soften. Nevertheless as cold as ice, however, the Trandoshan gave little ground nor offered hesitation; going so far as to even take it as he strode forward to close distance with the human woman, as if to put an exclamation point on their differences. A full foot separated the two, and at twice her mass, the Trandoshan practically dwarfed the higher-skilled Sith.

"But for a single second, do not expect me to kowtow or prostrate myself like the other initiates here, human, at a command. I'm far from interested in playing lap-dog to try to curry favor." The reptilian voice hissed, far quieter than before, the low rumble backing his voice clashing with the slight slither-tone that the scaled man's voice brought forth as he leaned in close, emphasising his point. Tilting his head down to maintain eye contact with the human before him, the hardened scale plates along his face shifted into an expression still determined, still bitter, but nevertheless somewhat less agitated.

Sniffing subtly at the air, the Trandoshan could only offer a slight little smirk; a half-second of amusement crossing the man's face that quickly settled back to a chilling cold. The human wasn't scared, that at least was commendable. Her presence was entirely unwelcome, but at least somewhat more tolerable than before. The two were at an impasse; neither feared the other, neither backed down from the other, but both felt themselves the superior in the situation.

"At least you've better control of yourself than the humans I've encountered thus far. Unless expelling urine is a defensive reflex your kind have." Sarkh started, a slight rumble of a chortle escaping the reptile's 'lips' as he turned, backstepping slightly to once gain give some distance between the two; the gesture surprisingly casual in turning his back to a Sith Knight, however temporary, though perhaps somewhat presumptuous. "Though your social skills could use work; failing to introduce yourself is a deep indignity. Your name, human?"

[Harukei]

The Sith was glad to know that the Trandoshan was more civilized than he actually looked. Not that the prospect of a skirmish bothered her, quite the contrary in fact. After all conflict only served to sharpen senses and abilities. Without it there would be no progress. Although what would victory taste in defeating a shedding and nude humanoid reptilian was in question. Most likely it would not be worth the time, neither the bloodshed. 

"My name?" She heard herself say upon his query. 

In truth she had no reason to give away her name. After all he was an Initiate, while she was a Sith Knight. A superior both in terms of overall prowess and strength in the Darkside. Such demand was odd as well. She had never believed to give the name unless a superior asked it from you. And in all case she never gave her name unless she had a good reason to do so. 

"Why should I give you my name, when you haven't offered yours Initiate?" She said nonchalantly while she took a seat on a crate. "As for the show of weakness of those of my species, it is easy to discern. They are fools feared death." 

Fearing death was pointless. This much she had learned during her training and for the most part of her life. She had seeing death, had being at it's threshold as she had her father's massive hands around her then feeble neck. As a Sith, perhaps she was unique that she had accepted her mortality whereas others would flee from it, believing that the power they could learn or amass would save them from the inevitable. 

"I suppose you become like this when you gouge your father's eyes as he tries to strangle you." The Sith said in an uncaring tone.  

[lion]

"Because you sought me, human; do you not introduce yourself then, or do you wait to be spoken to?" Sarkh replied with a slight chuckle, his gaze turning from the feminine Sith Knight to the small pile of clothes that had been discarded; the small heap of cloth and nerf-leather sitting beside a loading crate as if having fell from it. Were he human, Sarkh might very well have attempted to dress, but between the shedding causing frustration and the lack of embarrassment about being bare before a mammal pretty much ensured the Trandoshan would stay his hand.

After all, what was the issue? Were she a fellow Trandoshan, maybe, but even then, being bare was not exactly taboo in the reptilian culture. A Human, though? Fleshy growths on their chests, narrow and frail figures that could break in the hands like a twig? There was no appeal, and thus, no embarrassment or nervousness. Turning his gaze back to the superior Sith, Sarkh mirrored her gesture, leaning slightly against a two-high set of duraplast loading crates, feeling the cool press of the metal against his dead scale-layers, as he continued to speak. 

"My name is Sarkh, human. " Offered the Trandoshan with that same lizard-like gravel-tone in his voice, as if his vocal cords scratched rather than vibrated, as the reptile's scaly arms crossed his chest. The announcement was simple and plain, free of bragging or ostentation to better himself in the Sith Knight's eyes or announcement of lineage that others may have relied on to better themselves in the eyes of others. 

Silence fell shortly afterward, however, as the human relayed her hinting statement of violence. Fratricide? The eye ridges on the lizard-man rose slightly in a facsimile of human surprise for a half second, only to fall once more. Was it in human culture to kill one's parents? Certainly not from the examples Sarkh had seen, of course, but it was difficult to know; so many versions of the bipedal mammals in the galaxy led to some confusion, after all.

"Good; the man was a fool not to recognise the threat. Why was your father trying to strangle you? Did you fail him in some way?"

[Harukei]

"He sold me and my sister as slaves." Syrin said abruptly. 

The Sith could still remember the day on which she was sold. How the Zygerrians had placed slave colors around their necks, placing them on cages as if they were animals and fed scraps. Yet for some reason, the Zygerrians had not sold them the first chance they had. A part of her supposed it was most likely to see if the two of them grew into beautiful woman to sell either as dancers for a Hutt or a crimelord, or either to keep them as prostitutes for a profit. 

"I was set free and I managed to track my father." She continued. "I tried to murder him with a fragmentation grenade. It failed and thus he attempted to choke me." 

Syrin could remember his oozing woulds and face full of wrath as his massive hands would wrap around her neck, choking the life out of him. Her sharp nail would go against the flesh of his face, leaving their marks upon his wounded features. She could remember the pain as and numbness as air began to grow shorter. And then how her thumbs had found the blue of his eyes, piercing them slowly as his screams of pain found her ears. 

"I gouged his eyes and used the Force to kill choke his miserable life." The Sith Knight said nonchalantly.

With the story concluded she would gaze upon the bare reptilian. Despite their animosity, she had managed to get his attention. Despite the hatred that the memory of her father brought, she would maintain such controlled, under her total control, waiting to be unleashed. She supposed that if she was to make him an ally, a name had to be given.

"My name is Syrin Elar." The woman said, reclining in the duraplast crates. "I suppose you have no story like mine, do you?"

[lion]

There were few words in any language that were so effective in gaining the attention of a Trandoshan any more than the word 'slave', for no sooner had the two-syllable utterance left the woman's mouth, Sarkh's 'brow' perked in curiosity. A slave-girl? Now that explained much, the brash attitude and matter-of-fact confidence that came from defiantly taking one's own freedom from an oppressor. Yes, the collar marks were there; not as physical scars but in the woman's eyes, in her mind, that almost all slaves seemed to bear. It was simply what came in the submission of servitude, one more wound among the beatings to break spirit, and even in her defiance and power, the Trandoshan could practically see it all play out before him.

"Better you to use your hands than a bomb. Too quick, cheapens the hunt." Sarkh offered, his scaled shoulders rolling in an abject expression of mild disinterest. That certainly explained the familial transgression; if nothing else, being sold into servitude was grievous insult enough to warrant some form of lasting revenge. Death was perhaps too quick an example, but in the heat and struggle of a failed attempt, where hesitation would forfeit one's own life, it was understandable. "Especially to one who zeroed you."

Whether or not it was out of simple societal politeness or a sense of bridging the gap, the woman revealed her name, and with that, Sarkh at least had a moniker to refer to. The Sith had proven little to the Trandoshan through her defiant stance and speech, but the fact she could kill and that they were on similar paths was enough to at least bring the reptilian man into some civility. She might not have been close to Trandoshan, of course, but at least Syrin was further along than most of her warm-blooded, soft-skinned ilk in that she was willing to take a life where necessary and bear no shame upon her person.

Her story, Sarkh knew, wasn't far uncommon in his own culture. Many times, even the most famed of huntsmen and slavemasters had fallen prey to indignity and shame in their tasks; a failing that the Scorekeeper could not tolerate. Capture or ignominy was considered worse than death, as one's place in the afterlife was considered forfeit just the same as their mortal works, remedied only by the death of the one who caused disgrace. In Syrin's story, Sarkh saw the parallel; she had suffered shame in being sold, and thus, killed the source of her shame.

Were she Trandoshan, the human might very well have earned a smile from Her holiness.

"Me? Similar, but on the other side of the story. My ancestors owned the hunting ground on Kashyyyk when Czerka developed the planet; we made many credits hunting and selling the wild beasts unsuitable to our needs." Sarkh started, adjusting his legs slightly as he pressed against the crate with his back, positioning his balance to better lean against it and relax. It was tempting to just shove back against the metal box and rub until the scales began to tear away, but restraint when in company was a virtue not to be overlooked.

"I learned to fight when I could walk without falling, learned to use a sword, learned how to properly prepare captured pelts for ritual offerings to Her. As soon as I was old enough, I partook in hunting jaunts and killed the most challenging prey I could find to earn Her favour. When I began to transition into adulthood, I came to learn I had been blessed with a gift by Her, the Force, and developed it myself."

There was a pause as Sarkh took a breath, a slight little smile beginning to cross his face, as if the very notion of telling his story had brought it all flooding back. It wasn't until he spoke again that the expression took on a far more sinister appearance, as it became clear as to the source of the nostalgia. "Then the prey changed. Began to hunt stronger prey to prove my worth to Her; I hunted Jedi. Killed my first five years ago, and have continued since."

[Harukei]

The woman accepted what she thought were his complements. At least they had seemed to be something similar to that. In her mind she had considered perhaps that from the death of her father there had being born insight. As a child she had never comprehended why she could do things that many could not. There had always being whispers, hints of the power that was locked in her blood and spirit. But it had being his death that had catalyzed all. 

Hearing about him being a slaver was not something she felt particularly surprised about it. Nor the fact that he had skinned wookies before for their pelt. The animosity between the two species was something well known in the galaxy. However despite the fact that she had being a former slave, she could not feel pity for the furry giants that lived within the forested world of Kashyyyk. If they were not strong enough to defend themselves, then their freedom was not something they could keep. It was as simple as that. 

It was hearing about him slaying Jedi that did brought some surprise. For someone who had practically trained himself, to kill a trained Force wielder not once, but many times as he claimed was something to be commended. She had killed her first Jedi after two years of training under her master, and even then it had only being a boy just a year older than her, a padawan learner that would ultimately find himself overtaxed by the superior power that the Darkside offered to her. 

"I must congratulate you then." She said in a void tone, yet truthfully. "To slay a Jedi is not something to do lightly." 

She wondered though, which levels could those Jedi have. Padawan's were usually easier to take, their inexperienced fueled their fear and anxiety. Knights were harder, they stood their ground despite their intermediate level. Master however where the unlikely kill he had claimed, unless those masters had turned their backs against him.

"It is not that I do not trust you, but I hope you have trophies of your victories over the Jedi?" Syrin asked in curiosity.  

[lion]

The acknowledgement of his skill brought a subtle nod from Sarkh; the twenty-seven year old Trandoshan quietly accepting the compliment in the spirit it had come. It was impressive for a human to have the moral view to commend such skills, of course, but the Trandoshan had come to find himself dulled to the shock when it came. Syrin was no Trandoshan, that was far too obvious, but if she at least held an appreciation for his activities and capabilities, perhaps she wasn't entirely a lost cause, like so many of her kindred warm-bloods.

"It took work; planning each detail carefully. Jedi are like all animals; habitual and bound to make assumptions based on those habits." Sarkh offered, his tone of voice and choice of phrase both careful to bring up yet strongly suggesting similar vulnerability among the Sith. It had been true that the darksiders he had faced prior had been similar to the Jedi that had fallen to him, Sarkh knew; using their fears to disrupt their connection to the Force had been paramount in ensuring success. Habitual reliance upon the Force, knowing it would be there for them, had been the key trait Sarkh had relied on in that disruption; without it, it was a far simpler matter.

The question that seemed obvious, however ,was that of trophies; no sooner did it come did the Trandoshan male offer an amused little chuckle. What fool wouldn't keep a momento of the event, even without the tenets of Trandoshani faith to practically enforce it? Few would believe such encounters without proof, after all, and whilst it seemed that Syrin was a practical woman and expecting proof, Sarkh could only find it proving his former point. Predictability in one aspect of behavior opened the door for prediction in others, and amused, Sarkh could only wonder how the conflict would have went had he hunter her.

Reaching out with the Force and his right hand, Sarkh felt his senses grip the small pile of clothing beside himself, hoisting it up with his mind against the pull of Korriban's gravity. Ever so slowly, with soft clatter of ivory-esque bone clinking against itself, did the tabard raise; the robe-like weaving of bone and sinewy rope binding the dull-white plates hovering in place as if adorning a spirit. Lifting the tabard up to his height, it took little to gently nudge it closer toward Syrin; allowing the Sith Knight to pluck it from the air and inspect it herself.

"The bones of a Talz Jedi Knight I killed on Dosha. My first kill, unarmed; I cornered him unsuspecting on a night stroll, fought him to the ground, and crushed his trachea. The pelt I offered to the Scorekeeper, the lightsaber I kept as a weapon; the bones I took to inspire the same fear that had separated him from the Force into the next victim." Sarkh explained, gesturing lightly toward the same small pile toward the small tube of metal, undoubtably a lightsaber, as his grip of the bone tabard relaxed. Nostaglia, or at least the excitement of his first hunt, played across the scaled man's face with obvious effects; darker shades of green began to lighten and those thin lips parted in something of a smile. "Like your father, I felt the fear as the Jedi died. I realised it was a potent weapon; I'd pulled the teeth from the Nexu and left it powerless."

[Harukei]

"I see." Was her only response of his tale.

There was no lie in what he had said. Or none that she could perceive coming from him. The pride and reverence he took describing the affair with the Talz left little shadow of doubt of whether the bare reptilian before her was lying or whether he spoke the truth. However she could not say the same about slaying her father. Now in her adulthood, she could say that there was little pride in having murdered a drunkard whose only accomplishment was siring herself and her sister. She could only take her acts as retribution. A well earned retribution.

"I remember the first Jedi I killed." The girl commented. 

Syrin was barely growing into a woman. The teachings of her then master showing in both the scars upon her flesh and her prowess with the Force and her lightsaber. Although the duel between her and her adversary, a padawan of her age, was something laughable at this point of her life. The exhilaration she felt taking control over all her body as both blades clashed against one and another made it something worthy of remembrance. 

"He was a boy... a Kiffar, maybe my age back then." The Sith began her tale. "Jedi were looking for me and my then Master, so we lured them. At first I felt fear, the same I felt before I killed my father." She continued, speaking in remembrance, reminding herself that during the clash the boy did mentioned that she resulted familiar to him, although he had never seeing him. "I sliced the hand that held his weapon and plunged the blade unto him. He died weeping." The woman could remember as how he held the fabric of his robe tightly, as tears began to pour from his eyes and the fear of death took him until life had finally faded from him.

In the past there had being pride for such victory. But now it felt hollow and incomplete. Perhaps it was due the realization that the enemy had being weak compared to her abilities at that time. Perhaps it had being for the mention of her resulting familiar to a complete stranger, maybe he had information about Asra, who had being taken by the Jedi. Information she could have used to track her. 

"Tell me Sarkh." Syrin spoke dispelling the silence that had settled between them. "If you have siblings, would you slay them?" 

[lion]

Whist his attention remained ever focused on the smaller human and her tale, Sarkh began the modest process of re-dressing before her, shamelessly striding to the bundle of loose cloth by the crates to dig out his trousers and under-shirt. Dry, dead scales crinkled and scratched with each step, and as the muscles beneath the scales shifted, so too did the flaps of peeling skin layers that had not fully detached from their former host. 

"A good kill; you set a trap, closed it when the prey wasn't wise enough to see it. Were you a Trandoshan, you would have made your hunts-master proud. Likewise, I presume you kept a trophy?" Sarkh offered, his gravelly tone carrying a sincere level of politeness and civility to it, if slightly leaving off the subtle hinting of racial superiority that seemed to linger in the air. 'But you aren't', it seemed to say, though at face value the notion seemed as far as possible to be considered; the Trandoshan showed no hostility nor aggression.

As the Trandoshan dressed, silence once again took hold; aside from the occasional click of clawed foot to steel flooring, and until Syrin spoke again, the pair of Sith remained completely speechless. But then, between the two, it seemed there was little need for speech; understandings were beginning to be formed at least from Sarkh's side of things. Wordlessly studying the woman as he would a target, it became far easier to process what she had said, and left unsaid.

"Depending on the situation, yes. Familial ties are important to my people, but it extends only so far. Shared blood can still be spilled if it becomes necessary. Would I? No, unless the situation demanded it." Sarkh replied, the reptile's broad shoulders rolling softly as he slipped into the undershirt, covering his upper body much in the way his trousers had for his lower half. The expression along the Trandoshan's face however darkened significantly, as discomfort became evident. "If, say, a grievous offense were committed such as patricide or apostasy, then yes; without hesitation."

[Harukei]

The racial differences between them would have made it difficult. But the human understood what he meant and thus was able to formulate a meaning behind his words. Her reasons were vastly different from those that he had laid before her. It could not be said that she had done apostasy nor she didn't know whether her sister had in some way. Patricide was perhaps a valid reason if her sister had to initiate a confrontation between the two of them. Although, in consideration of whether she became a Jedi or not, any feelings of love towards their father had being culled by the life she had led. 

Perhaps it was only matter of time that the two would clash against another, they stood on opposites of the war and the very Force itself and thus conflict between them would happen whether they liked it or not. Syrin would carry out her duty even if it meant slaying Asra, and she would do so without hesitation. Or so she kept telling herself as a part of her, one that even darkness had not managed to drown, felt a certain level of reticence that she supposed that it was shared with the Trandoshan male.

"I see." It was the only thing she could mutter as a response.

Syrin would shift her gaze to the now dressed Trandoshan. Despite the clothes that he wore, he would still stand in a crowd. The flakes of shed skin still polluted the shiny floor of the maintenance room they were in. A part of her supposed that there had being an understanding between the two of them as it seemed that the initial verbal clash they had was forgotten. She supposed that being allies with him was productive.

"You might consider going to the sub-levels. The moisture generators there keep the atmosphere relatively humid." Syrin explained. "I understand this would help you with your shedding and only maintenance droids go there."

[lion]

The lingering silence that followed his response brought a sense of curiosity to Sarkh, watching intently as the smaller human seemed to struggle with the concept of what he'd said. There was little the Trandoshan could feel among the Force, both from the overbearing shroud of the Temple and the woman's own latent defenses, but it was more than evident from her physical expressions alone that something was amiss.

A loaded question, perhaps? Sarkh mulled the thought over in his mind; it wasn't unlikely that the question had been asked as a probing test to gauge the limit of how far the reptilian would go, but perhaps it wasn't him under examination. Whilst his scaled face showed none of his thoughts, practically motionless and free of the micro-motions of facial muscles that so exposed the smooth-skins, Sarkh could only find himself wondering perhaps a bit more toward Syrin's motivations.

Was there some sibling issues among Syrin's mind, perhaps, that had required another's thoughts to help combat? It was tempting to ask, but Sarkh held his tongue; he could suspect and predict at the nature of Syrin's queries, but to ask directly would have been far too presumptuous. No, instead it was merely simple to carry on the conversation, and with his dead skin once again pressing against his freshly-knitted scales, not a moment too soon. The irritating rubbing at every breath would soon grow into agitation if left unchecked, and with the promise of actual privacy, it was quite the tempting offer.

"The sub-levels? I wasn't aware the Temple had them. Where would the nearest access be?"

[Harukei]

"Few know of them." The young Sith said. "Where do you think the ventilation and irrigation systems are?"

Of course, the underlevels were supposed to be a secret. Acolytes and Initiates were supposed to obey and train not to think the why's and how's of how the basic amenities in the academy came from. Truth be told, she wasn't curious of whether or not there was something beneath the academy beyond the sand blasted ruins of the Valley of the Dark Lords of the Sith that most likely had additions built deep on the rocky crust of Korriban.

And besides, she supposed that it was better to keep the pipes and ventilation system hidden like a veins in a body. It would not be the same if the academy had all it's basic inner workings exposed. She supposed that sleeping next to a pipe that had waste, sludge and whatever other organic discard was a deterrent for anyone who isn't a slimy Hutt. Same would pass with the moisture vaporators. Few apprentices would take the academy seriously if they saw them outside. She reckoned some of the farm boys whose discovery of their Force sensitivity would feel right at home.

"The nearest access is two levels down." She told him. "You need a code to enter though."

Although she was sure that the Trandoshan would consider hacking his way in, no doubt due the bother he felt as he shed his skin, it would be most unwise to do so. She might not care, the headmaster of the academy however, was another tale. After all, initiates like him were not supposed to leave their chambers during curfew and punishment could be most severe, or so she had heard. She supposed that there could be a favor in hand if he was willing to come to aid her in the future.

"Luckily for you, I happen to have a key." Syrin said with a faint smile. "For a price of course."   

[lion]

Of course; who would dare offer such things out of sheer civility?

No sooner had the human woman mentioned the prospect of a humid, secluded place to conduct his bodily processes and shed his aged skin did the Trandoshan find himself suspicious; the higher-ranked sith had no reason to assist him, so the notion that she would merely offer such a gift for nothing was more than enough to draw a red flag.

They said there was no honour among thieves, after all, it seemed the rules of the galaxy and profit weren't that far removed from the Sith, either.

"Of course; I'm sure were the roles reversed, you'd be just as keen to offer whatever you could. Am I right?" Sarkh replied, the gentle hint of sarcasm in his hissed tone somewhat less subtle than intended, as the uncomfortable reptile shifted his weight across his feet, feeling his skin press into the newer sub-layer. Whatever the cost was, a healthy shed would be worth it; the ability to have some time to himself to consider things and begin anew seemed almost like a gift of gold.

"And just what cost would such a code have? Credits? Training? If you're wanting me to teach you to skin your prey, you would be better served asking elsewhere." The trandoshan continued, his eyes closing for a moment as his lungs drew and expelled a long pull of the dusty Korriban air, in an effort to calm his body down. It didn't take a deep connection to the Force to feel the young man's stress, the discomfort evident in his stance alone. "The former two, perhaps, the latter is sacrosanct; it is not for your kind, human. I'm sure you understand."

[Harukei]

"Something as mundane as credits is something that I do not seek." The Sith replied. "And I would appreciate training but that was not what I had in mind."

Certain she did not have in mind learning how to skin a prey. She might respect the culture of Sarkh's people, but it did not meant that she would seek forward to make a trophy out of the epidermis and fur of a vanquished rival. Her assassin training dictated that victims were to be disposed, their remains hidden lest she risked potential tracking to one of the personas she assumed when she was sent out of Sith space in order to dispatch a traitor or dissident.

Shaking aside the prospect of skinning a corpse, and being thankful that the Scorekeeper would not care for the apostasy of a human on that regard, her mind returned to the business at hand. She had a price to lay down before the reptilian. Hoping that he would accept so as she rather wished not to gut someone whom she had a certain level of understanding and also, she would rather not weaken the Sith Order, even as if someone like him, barely trained would be a detriment barely noticed. 

"I'd suppose the concept of having an ally in the Order would be alien to you." She said plainly. "Quite frankly, there is much potential in you, greater than many who are barely beginning." 

After all that was the truth. Not many acolytes, young or old, could presume of having slain several Jedi with the casual ease in which he referred to each of his hunts. At least not in actual combat. Perhaps there were some scattered ones that had murdered their masters or a criminal while hate poured through them. 

"And well. I might call on a favor from you." She continued. "Seems as a fair deal for helping you and providing you with the codes." 

 

[lion]

Of course it wasn't credits; the notion was amusing but ultimately far from what even Sarkh knew in his limited experience what a Sith would be seeking. Credits and wealth here were nothing more than a concept of power; assets bought and controlled lesser beings but were ultimately powerless to influence those of equal footing. After all, wealth was not a figure in an account among these shadowy Jedi-types, Sarkh had come to learn swiftly, but instead the currency was knowledge and power; potency and ability were the valued commodity.

Among the morbid meritocracy of the dark side, credits seemed almost valueless.

A slight nod of the head from Sarkh was seemingly the only acknowledgement of the compliment paid to him, but whilst the external remained stoic, inside the confines of the reptile's mind there was a surge; not quite elation or true joy but certainly a small rush of excited energy that threatened to burst forth. Acknowledgement among the Sith was indeed rare; admission of skill or even the rudimentary potential of it, was practically as rare as platinum among the Order. To be considered by an experienced Sith to have potential, indeed, was something to be proud of.

Not bad for a self-trained whelp, as they say.

"One favor for another? Very well; when the time comes, name your task and consider it done." Replied Sarkh with his typical hiss, however devoid of aggression or agitation befitting someone backed into a corner. A favor seemed reasonable enough, it wasn't as if Syrin had been asking the world, and whilst Sarkh had indeed attempted to gently reach out with the Force and attempt to pierce the veil, he had only managed to scratch the surface. Whatever Syrin's defenses were, they were strong enough to ward off the brutish mental probing Sarkh could manage with little effort.

"Now, the code would be...?"