Truth Rising (Open)

[nonune]

Glee Anselm. Home. Or it had been.



Before she had committed patricide and killed her only link to the Sith Order. Now she was homeless. And in that depth of despair and pain came Power for one willing to embrace the Dark side of the Force. Deep in the depths of a coral reef on the world that birthed her, Amois was becoming more than just a fallen Padawan or Acolyte of the Sith.



Hatred towards her old Master swirled heavily in her mind, stronger than the loss of him. He was blinded by her meek nature, until his jugular was in her teeth. Floating almost serenely behind her were his wings, almost giving her the look of some dark angel with her tendrils floating around her as she used old Jedi Meditation techniques to try and figure out what to do next.



Malar’s plan had been a bold one, if it could have worked, but an unpopular one. Because even without her betrayal it had little chance of working. Glee Anselm’s defenses were too well engineered for such a brash attack. A Sith Knight and a squad of commandos lost was something Someone was going to have to answer for. Reaching out with the Force she looked for any other survivors, and with satisfaction she found none. With trepidation she mounted her plan. She would return to the Sith, the Jedi would merely lock her away. Yes, she would have to answer for the loss of the commandos and her Master, but there was Truth in pain and retribution.



Floating nearby was her Master’s old lightsaber, calling it to herself with the Force she slowly disassembled the cylinder, using the tubes like bangles and secreting his purple crystal in its place amongst her tendrils. First, she would need to make a stop. It was time to make her own saber, and her own Crystals.





By the time she would reach Korriban she had a brand new double bladed saber at her hip, its four synth crystals humming with whispers of power and rage, coursing with her pain and despair. The path had taken twenty jumps, stealing first aboard a cargo ship to escape Glee Anselm. For most of them she used her abilities to sense through the Force to remain undetected. This last jump she came from her old Master’s stronghold.



Malar’s hidden base was not much compared to that of a true Darth, hidden on some backwater planet where they had worshipped him like a god. The winged man had truly fallen to his egomania. When she had arrived in her stolen shuttle, she had set its cores to overload as the populace rushed to greet their Master. Upon only seeing his acolyte return, they made the most foolish mistake of asking where their Master was.



Purple light exploded from her fingertips as she called on her new connections to the Dark. Arcing energy fried the primitives and sent them scattering as it arced from being to being. Filth that was beneath her notice or time.



While it did not hold a Holocron, it held many of his own writings, and a geological compressor. One that she had used under her Master’s tutelage, now his knowledge was hers. And while she found enough to forge herself the Lightsaber, she wanted… She found the rest of his writings… Lacking in guidance, for he had regular writ of his own significance and plans for his own rise to Power. Fantasy did not interest the young Sith, Truth mattered.



For days and nights that blended the materials needed to form herself four crystals of violet hue, stopping between each to rest. But even with rest, forging something so special took a toll. Especially as she forgot to eat often.



Sating her hunger as she took one last stroll through her past, she found not only her blade but her new name. An ancient name from Glee Anselm. Firinn. A word of some ancient forgotten language of her people’s past. She named herself for Truth.



Korriban.



The dust annoyed her even as Malar’s shuttle carried her into the atmosphere. It was dry and hot here, not a place for an aquatic based lifeform to feel at home. Not that she would ever call this place home. The autopilot had brought her here and now smoothly brought her down to the landing pads. Without much training in flying she let the droids do what they were meant to, serve without notice or praise. While she adorned herself in the robes she had found, black on black with a jade badge at her breast.



She came to claim her place in Renata’s great Empire. As a Knight of Truth. An Inquisitor and hunter of the liars within the Empire and without.



Wrapped in his old robes, she tied her old Master’s wings to her back, a warning to all of the bloody path she was willing to carve. They had begun to stink, a smell she did not now mind, rank and old rot. The message was more important than comfort.



Black robbed and hooded she descended the ramp below the Great Sith Temple and began her climb through the red dust and howling winds. Almost like Korriban itself screamed against her betrayals.



Up through the temple she worked her way, acolyte and Sith alike avoiding her, even as they scrambled to report in hopes of some favor to this or that Master and Mistress. She made no attempt to hide her path, it was straight as it could be into the sanctums of the Cult of Truth.



Who she was supposed to report to she did not know, Malar’s teachings of the ways of the Empire were… lacking at best. She was his toy, his prize, not the Empire’s. A thinking that had gotten him killed. Stepping past an acolyte she stepped to the first official looking desk she could find. Always start at the beginning she supposed.



The slimy sweaty male that looked up at her, taking in the black wrapped wings like a trophy. This was perhaps the most exciting thing that would happen in his week. A single eyebrow raised as he spoke, “Name and rank, Acolyte.”



The temperature in the room dropped as Firinn blistered at the lack of respect from the man. Fear coursed through his body as her Power reached out and he tasted someone far more powerful than an Acolyte.



Throwing Malar’s wings to the man’s desk they crunched with a sickly sound, she was done with their rot, and it was time she stepped out from under his wings. With a bit of the Force she lowered her hood, her bangles cling clanging softly as she stood as tall as she could, “Acolyte Amois no longer exists. By right of blood and conquest I claim the name Firinn and the title of Knight of Truth. Malar is no more; his follies shall bother the Empire no more.”



She let that hang in the air and filled the room with her Dark power, challenging anyone to challenge her claims.

[Rugs]

The Cult of Truth’s facilities weren’t one of Karn’s usual stomping grounds. Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly close to any Sith associated with Truth, and present life under Darth Viren kept him quite occupied with his own affairs. But things changed, somewhat, after returning from his trip to Agamar-turned assassination mission to Rhen Var with his impromptu, insufferable partner Moor. That shitshow of a diplomatic show of good faith to an aristocratic family turned touched on just about all aspects of the Order’s four cults by the time he’d squeezed the last life from Lady Syko’s fetid body.

And visit Truth he did, to share some finalized reports on the happenings at the Vikar estate on Agamar the night Moor broke in to kill them in their sleep. He’d only been too happy to share that bit of information, if only to further sow seeds of doubt around the elusive assassin.

After an hour or so of meetings, Karn concluded his business and was making his way out. He walked with hands the pockets of his dark grey coat, closed up with bronze buttons that matched the Cult of Strife’s sigil at his collar. Most of the afternoon was his, until a meeting with his Master later in the evening. Time for training, perhaps, after he grabbed some food.

As he wandered through the winding halls out of Truth’s wing of offices, training rooms and so on, he felt the Force stir. His gaze followed, more on instinct than acute interest, to see a Sith, with what he could only assume were wings of some sort held to her back, causing a fuss for some poor clerk.

Outbursts were hardly rare — he’d caused no small few himself — but Karn couldn’t help but sneer as he watched the Nautolan deposit the wings in front of the clerk and deem herself a Knight. What would you expect from one of them, he thought, looking at the man’s stunned expression. An uneasy silence held over the room as the man looked unsure of what to say to the display before him. Karn might have let it pass, but the Arkanian had never seen a tinderbox he wouldn’t throw a match into.

“Bravo,” he said as he sauntered by, offering obviously-feigned applause. “You’ve got heart, and I love it. But...” Karn’s face twisted with a sly smile as his milk white eyes settled on the short Nautolan, “that’s not quite how it works here. See, you’ve got to find someone to Knight you. Another Knight, a Lord. It doesn’t matter, really, as long as they find you worthy. Otherwise any old idiot could just proclaim themselves a Knight, you know?”

Karn walked to the desk as if he owned the place and took in the wings the Nautolan had put out for all to see. They looked well past their prime and smelled like meat left to rot out in a Tuk’ata den. “I’m sure,” he said, turning to her again, “that if you’re truly worthy you shouldn’t have any trouble getting your promotion. Though, friendly advice from me to you?” Karn motioned at the wings at shook his head.

“I’d leave those out of the act.”

[nonune]

For a long moment none dared answer her, what she claimed was the way of the Sith at one time. But the Sith had been reformed into something else, more cooperative and competitive all at once. Still, for many present to challenge her could mean death. For too long she wanted the Truth, and her old Master’s teachings of the new Order was… Blasphemously lacking.

This one's voice’s sharp arrogance preceded her noticing his approach so affixed was she upon someone who could not deny her. Nor could the man, barely more than a clerk, give her what she wanted. As snide as his comments were though, he reeked of telling the truth. Besides the obvious sarcastic remarks at least. At least it wasn’t just the latest fashion of cologne.

Hands in his pockets, she never would have guessed who exactly he was. But the Dark rolled from him to her senses just as much as she could smell he was telling the truth. Frustratingly so.

“It seems Malar’s teachings about the workings of the current Sith Order were about as useful as his rotten wings. Though, they served their purpose.” Golden eyes blinked once as her entire demeanor changed as fluidly as the waters of her homeworld. So steeped in the Dark this one was she could easily recognize that outright challenge might end with her death. The same with simply playing the meek foundling.

“They attracted someone at least who can speak.” She gave a sharp sideways look at the clerk who in his fear had become quite useless to her. It was interesting how his stink of fear ratcheted up with Karn’s approach.

Clasping her hands before her she let her shark sharp smile show, “Since you are such a fan then, and the old ways of conquest and death no longer apply, perhaps you can direct me to someone who can Knight me. Or shall I begin at the bottom and carve my way up again?” The pale Sith would either be an enemy to achieve dominance over or a stepping stone to her path within the Sith. So she mirrored his attitude, arrogant but calm, her old Master’s wings forgotten for someone lesser to clean up.

[Rugs]

A sardonic smile split Karn’s face as the Nautolan Sith — Amois, Firin, whatever she was calling herself — turned her attention toward him. “Such poor instruction, and yourself worthy of being called a Knight?” Open amusement, mixed a twisted, mocking perversion of pity, flickered across his face. “You’re ballsy, I’ll give you that.”

His presence served little purpose other than to prod at the other Sith, who he could only assume was recently returned to Korriban from some journey to who-knows-where in a far-flung corner of the Galaxy. Karn’s word might carry more weight than some of his acolyte peers because of his proximity to Darth Viren, but he was still just an acolyte — in rank, at least.

No matter what he said--what front he presented — he couldn’t Knight this woman. A blessing in disguise, perhaps, he mulled, sizing the Nautolan up. Even if he could Knight her, he had no desire to do so at the moment.

“Of course,” he said to her closing question, shifting his weight from one leg to the other to stand casually. “Any SIth of the rank Knight or higher can do it, if they wish. Some might even be impressed by the theatrics and the,” he motioned at the decaying wings left before the stammering clerk, “whatever those are.

“But,” he went on, stretching the word out thoughtfully as his milk-white eyes resettled on the Nautolan, “why should I help you? I don’t know a thing about you. For all I know, you just wandered in out of the desert and it’s your first day here.” That was plainly not the case. This woman had the feel of the Order about her, to Karn’s meager senses, and that was a very hard thing indeed to replicate. “What makes you worthy of my time, let alone the knighting you crave?

“Besides,” Karn’s smile turned malicious, “is it not the way of the Sith to stand on your own feet? To set our own path and find your way? Break chains? Wouldn’t my help just weaken you?”

[nonune]

Golden eyes blinked up at the far taller Sith as Firrin cocked her head at him. Finally someone who didn’t cower in fear or was no more than a guard. And that made him a puzzle to be unmade, his truths laid out for her. Not merely a stepping stone then. “I wasn’t aware that social niceties were necessary for ascension… Though if it helps one such as you…”

Her own skills far surpassed those in the pits, and while part of her understood that might have been the Proper place to start… It was not her way to follow Proper anymore.

Words floated past her like so much flotsam in the tide, and from it she gleaned the bit she wanted to know. A Knight and a reason. The Force would bring these things to her.

Looking back and down she found herself surprised she had forgotten the wings, useless things now. Just a pile of bones and flesh that had served their purpose. “I don’t think I’ll be needing those anymore…” Oddly she turned her head back to the pale bit of Darkness before her, tendrils tasting the air around her. Something about him made her feel slightly queasy.

Ignoring most of his casual quips she purred in a calm voice, “This one has been most helpful. Mayhem it is.” Her golden eyes flashed with mischief and a bit of malice.

“It's not me you are helping, it's the acolytes in the pit.” It was not a boastful brag, she had trained with the Jedi in the use of her saber, and had the trappings of that Jedi-hood stripped from her.

“They are meant to die, but I was led to believe our new Empire isn’t keen on the slaughter of resources. I would think that would be a good reason to help me.”

[Rugs]

Karn watched the Nautolan with interest as she made observations, muttered something to herself just below the reach of his hearing. She’d looked at the wings again. Karn hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were, or where they’d come from — nor did he particularly want to know, he suspected. But if they’d served their purpose, whatever that was, all the better for her.

And the rest of us, he added silently, just barely wrinkling his nose at the thought of the smell of the rotting things.

The wings were unimportant, however. The Nautolan, inferior creature though she might be, was fascinating. She spoke to him again, speaking of acolytes in the pit. A wry little half-smile tugged at Karn’s pale face. He was keenly aware of his own rank as an Acolyte, no matter how much he yearned for Viren to raise him to the standing of a Knight of Strife. He knew those ‘pits’ — actual and metaphorical — well. They were the proving grounds where Acolytes challenged each other, seeking superiority and demanding attention from their betters so that they might begin their own path to the mountaintop.

“You are right,” he conceded to her last point. Deaths were not completely unavoidable, but all who joined the Order knew of Renata’s expectation of a competitive brotherhood among the Sith. Strife, struggle to reach the top — that strengthened the Sith. The senseless killing of their own did not — not when they had conquest yet unfinished against the Republic and the Jedi Order.

“But see,” he went on, folding his arms over his chest as he looked cockily at her, “if you go making messes of the other Acolytes, well, that’s your problem to explain to the Cult of Ascension, isn’t it? It sure isn’t mine.” Karn laughed and motioned at the Nautolan, grinning darkly. “By all means, friend, go, make displays of them. Impress the right Sith, and the path will open for you. Anger the wrong one, and well,” he shrugged, “that’s another competitor I don’t have to worry about nipping at my heels.”

“But I’ll humor you, Amois,” he leaned on the name just so,, denying the use of the name she’d claimed for herself. “Let’s say I help you and find a Knight who will hear you out. What makes you worthy of joining Truth’s cause?”

[nonune]

As the pale Sith talked his pheromones filled the space and moved across the dead air to the receptors on her tendrils. Perhaps others might have begun to try and challenge his abilities in the Force and sneak into his mind to steal a secret, when you had a nose to rival the best canines it just seemed rude. Golden eyes shot between him to the rotting wings.

Perhaps they served more of a purpose than she intended. Death surely didn’t bother the man. Writhing a bit like a den of snakes in winter, her tendrils hunted for more molecules brought to her on the air, as those deep eyes latched onto the pale Sith.

Things shifted in her mind when he said she was right. Her Sith Master had yearned for a return to the more combative and passionate violence of the past, one of the reasons for his absence from the Empire. What he had taught was myth and legend, mixed with his criticism of Renata’s new ways. Senseless killing was discouraged. Good, people learned from pain, not death.

Already helping her without knowing, this one was a fount of knowledge as she balanced on her knife's edge. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy, she had prepared for it on the long trip back.

Musical laughter that was just off in the open dry air of Korriban, meant for much wetter climes, filled the chamber when he tried to goad her. “Impress the Right Sith, don’t anger the Wrong Sith… Good to know somethings never change, I wonder if you are one of the wrong ones or inconsequential ones? Since you know, you can’t really help me...”

Find someone else. So this one couldn’t. Perhaps she should have gone straight to Dromand Kaas… No. Sith Start on Korriban. This was where her own rise would begin.

“As for why do I belong to the search for Truth?” Inhaling sharply and using the Force to pull a bit of the air around her in. “Why is someone who tastes so Sick with the Force bothered by rot?”

Almost birdlike her head cocked to the side as her mind latched onto a thread, “Tell me it's not just simply vanity, I hate when curiosities are so simple.”

[Rugs]

“Which indeed?” Karn asked, a hint of laughter lurking under his voice. “Since you seem quite unable to help yourself, it’s readily apparent which camp you fall into.” He smiled darkly, clicking his tongue as if disappointed.

Karn was vaguely aware of the Nautolan, feeling, searching for something. His ability to sense through the Force lagged behind that of his peers — especially compared to his command of the Dark Side — but so close, he’d have to be blind to the Force to miss that she was doing something..

Then she spoke again, evading her question with one of her own, and everything became clear. The air moved around them, drawn in. It wasn’t a hostile thing — not directly — but with it came more of that stench of decaying flesh from the wings. Karn almost laughed.

“Let’s not confuse distaste for concern, hm?” Karn said, raising a hand. Sparks danced briefly around his clawed fingers tips, then jumped as a blazing jolt toward the wings where they lay. Flame ignited where the lightning struck — small at first, then growing with a whoosh until it consumed the whole of them. The stench of them, mixing with the smell of burning flesh spread into the room, carried on curling tendrils of black smoke.

The clerk, at first befuddled by Firrin’s arrival and then the almost-confrontation between the two Sith seemed extremely distressed by the flaming body parts on his counter. Karn ignored him and his fumbling attempts to put out the flame and the odor washed over them.

“Now I do believe I asked you a question.”

[nonune]

“Tsk… So quick to judge, and here you’ve barely even seen what I can do…” She had plans for more. But the lightning bolt to the wings sparked something she could not ignore. Green flesh mirrored his own pale, her arm raising to defend herself and quickly realizing she didn’t need to. Since he wanted to escalate things so, her hand stayed in the air for a moment.

The clerk’s discomfort and near outright panic at the flaming wings normally would have amused her to no end. The entire situation would have. Acrid and sharp, sickly sweet rotten smells stuck in her nose and tendrils, causing her face to twist up in distaste. Viscous now because of the smoke it clung at her and entirely ruined her pleasant mood.

With the wings gone she shrugged and opened her mouth twice to speak…

Only to be interrupted by the fumbling clerk.

Firrin’s outward stretched arm, relaxed at first, snapped taut pointing at the clerk. Grasping with the Force she found her hand could reach farther and grip far more powerfully, or so she could tell herself without looking as she gripped the man’s throat and choked him to silence.

Serpentine lips shifted from a wry amused smile to a shark sadistic smile, she could feel the man’s throat pulsing… “While I agree you asked a question, since you also admitted you can’t give me what I want, I don't see why should I answer with more than I already gave?”

With her words out she let the man go, dropping him to his knees and shooting him a sharklike look, hungry to taste the man’s blood. “Fetch a mop and bucket darling, we’ll be running along now.”

With that she walked towards Karn, giving the clerk a choice to challenge her and give her his blood or do as he was told. She didn’t have to look back to know her orders were followed as her little shoes flowed over the ground almost like she swam through the air. “However, since we ruined this hall, perhaps you would like to continue our little spat somewhere with less..” With a hand she motioned back at the room behind her.

[Rugs]

Karn nearly laughed as Amois’ face twisted in disgust as the rancid smell of burning flesh wafted over them. What’s wrong? he cooed silently. Can’t handle your own medicine? The smell was terrible but if it bothered Karn, he didn’t let it show on his face. His expression remained confident, even cocky as he smiled subtly while looking down on her.

Of course, he’d noticed her outstretched arm, and was far from blind to the fact that his use of lightning could be seen as a provocation — damn near anything could be a provocation, among the Sith. But she lowered it, briefly, before turning her ire to the poor dear clerk struggling to deal with the mess dropped into his lap.

Karn didn’t envy the man, stuck between the wills of two Sith. Even if their ranks were low, clashes between young Sith, desperate to carve out their place among the order, could be unpredictable, sweeping up bystanders intentionally or by happenstance.That the clerk had fallen victim to Amois’ attention was of little concern to Karn; the weak were ever subject to the whims of their superiors.

Speaking of... Amois was talking again. She moved too, striding past him and suggesting they move elsewhere while continuing to refuse to answer his question. Karn huffed a laugh.

“I think I’m quite fine where I am, actually. I was on my way out, after all,” he said, casually stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. It was a risky move, but he was hardly going to talk as if he controlled the situation while acting like a scared child. “Too bad that you can only see the value in direct aid.” He turned his head, just enough to look at her with a smile from the corner of a milk-white eye. “I have the ears of some very powerful people in this order. And you...” a pity, plainly fake, crept into his voice and across his face, “obviously do not, given your... display earlier.”

“Choose your next actions carefully, and word of your deeds may find them,” he said, and as he did he turned his head away from her, to the smoldering wings left behind. “Or you can keep on with your vain search alone.”

[nonune]

Well at least he’s consistent… The annoyed thought came unbiden to her mind as she turned her head to look over a shoulder at him, golden eye scanning him through tendrils that hid the entirety of her face. Annoyingly consistently annoying. But the kind she would have to deal with if she was to find a home within the Sith Empire. Or at least thats what he wanted her to believe.

Whether it was true or not was the mystery to Firrin. And that made him a necessary annoyance. One she couldn’t just end or use as a plaything. Outwardly cool and confident, internally she wondered how true his words were.

In return to his barbs she gave a soft chuckle. “Oh you think I’ve only received help from your direct aid? It was your own barbs that told me you are not who I need to see to begin my ascension. It's not my fault you gave away your limited ability to aid me so soon.”

An annoyed smirk lifted her lips in a wry curve as she turned to face him again. “I suppose you would have to have the protection of someone powerful to dress so flamboyantly and impeccable here.”

Facing him fully she let her power slip. She was not a major player, yet, but she was far more than a simple padawan or acolyte. “The Jedi lied, and the one who taught me was also a liar. So I killed them to cut their lies from the Galaxy and found my purpose in this wretched existence.”

Understanding this was a test she let her power fill the chamber, rage at the betrayal of her former brethren the Jedi burning like a maelstrom of hatred. “I will hunt down truths and excise the liars from the Galaxy. Whether I do it for this Empire or not... Well, that seems to be up to the judges.” And with her last word she pulled her power back in, closing herself off again like a fortress.

[Rugs]

Karn felt a spark of irritation, of annoyance, as Amois turned and lingered with him in the hallway. She shot back, bringing up his position, surely to aggravate him. Karn shrugged and chuckled softly, still watching her from the corner of his eye. “So limited, and yet here you are, playing my game.” He’d done nothing to force her presence, and if Amois left, Karn would simply go on about his business as he’d been before encountering her. Yet she remained. Drawn, he imagined, by the hope that what he said was true — by the possibility that he could help her ascend.

He simply snorted a laugh at her remark about his attire, as her presence began to fill the air. It was dark, heavy. Impressive, Karn had to admit to himself, even if he’d never do so aloud. Clearly, she was familiar with the Dark Side, and though he wondered if she possessed the same affinity for the dark arts as he, it was clear to him that she had the strength, at least, to rise.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Though take care,” he said as she finished, lifting a warning finger. “Your talents belong to the Body now.” He spoke, using the same term for the Order that Her Radiance, Darth Renata often employed. “Let the wrong ears hear you threaten to take them elsewhere and you might find yourself with more heat on you than you ever asked for.” Ascension had a way of rooting out the Sith who thought to turn traitor or flee. Any Sith might jump at the opportunity to drag down a turncoat — just as he had with the late Lady Syko.

“But that will do.” Karn let out a long sigh, rolling his shoulders. His mind began to work, thinking through the various avenues of power in the Order he had direct access to. “Go to the entrance to the Valley of Dark Lords at sundown this evening. You’ll find your answer then.”

He began to leave, then stopped with a laugh. “And as for my dress, well, I take pride in my appearance.” He looked over his shoulder again, another smirk spreading across his face. “Not that I’d expect a lowly creature such as yourself to understand that.”

[nonune]

The man may not have known it, but he had been a fountain of knowledge for her. Learning had always soothed her emotions, something she used to do with books. Until Master Malar had taught her reading people was far more interesting, now it seemed she’d have to extract her information.

A decadent Empire, that was what Malar had called what Renata had built, when he had spoken it was fragmented and dismissive of what the Empress had built. Karn had confirmed things that were contradicted in Malar’s teachings, turned her mind from a tremulous chaotic swirl of ideas into a river of thought. Before he had spoken, she had legitimately thought the ways of blood and might of the old Sith still had merit. And she had planned a long and bloody climb to where she wanted to be.

Fortunately, Karn had filled in a few gaps and saved quite a few acolytes from a bloody fate. She belonged to a Body now. She made a note to quietly and stealthily visit a few of the classes and listen in. She was sure she could pick up more of the Order’s vernacular, if it was this easy to get information from one as connected as him. Maybe terrorize a couple acolytes out of a few secrets…

At least those thoughts made her smile genuine, if a bit malicious as Karn gave her a destination and time. Taking his laughter and scorn and bottling up her rage at the man, outwardly she presented a calm acceptance. It wasn’t like she was going to wear anything of value on this planet, the robes she was wearing were filled with sand and would need to be discarded. All his jabs did was fuel her anger. For now..

She let him leave, even giving him a little bow with a snarky smirk. “Thank you for the information and the… Direction. You have been most helpful.” Without giving a whiff of her aggravation at the man. She couldn’t tell if she liked his sass or wanted to strangle him and that boded well. Amois preferred the calm clear cut ways of the Jedi.

Firrin preferred the chaos of emotions and the Power that came with it.

Karn’s name became the first Sith on a list in her mind, those she didn’t want to actively kill, as she made her way through the Temple. The entrance to the Valley was one place she didn’t need directions to, the Sith of ages long past had marked it with statues worn smooth by the passage of time. As she went she listened in, picking up a bit more of the vernacular.

Eventually over dust strewn rock the amphibian came to the entrance, still quite a bit early. Under one of the great statues she found a passably level rock and began to sit cross legged to meditate. No, that was… Instead she knelt down, a pose she could easily rise from and leap into battle. In her hands across her lap she lay her lightsaber and opened herself to Korriban. As the wind scoured her skin clean, so too did she let Korriban have any remaining bits of the Jedi.

When she had killed her father, that was when the light had died in her. The Jedi had been thoroughly expunged. Now she let the planet of the ancient Sith have the last bits as she waited for sundown and whatever Karn had in mind.

[Rugs]

Knight Ortus walked with annoyed haste out of the Sith Temple and into the dry wilds of the Valley. Korriban’s sun hung low, with its lower edge just barely kissing the horizon. Soon, the day would give up its last light in exchange for silent dark, blazing heat for the bracing, bitter cold of a desert night.

There were a million things she had yet to handle, but here she was, running an errand for an acolyte. Her thin lips twisted to a silent sneer. She knew this was coming. She owed Albrecht, from their days as acolytes together, and favors were currency in the Sith. Some, if used correctly, were even more valuable than credits.

She should have denied him. She would have — after all, she was a Knight now, and he’d yet to ascend — if it weren’t for his master. Albrecht was an acolyte, but an unreasonably well-connected one, ever since Viren decided to talk the walking aggravation under his wing. Better to have this done with and be about her business than deal with whatever headaches Albrecht would delight in causing her.

She looked around, her searing, yellow-eyed gaze searching for either of the acolytes. This Amois would surely be there, if she wanted so badly to ascend, and Albrecht... Well, she knew he’d be skulking nearby.

Amois was easy enough to find, waiting near one of the statues that lined the Valley. Ortus approached. A Nautolan, as Albrecht described, and the only other soul present.

“You,” she said, approaching kneeling acolyte. “You are Amois?” She eyed the Nautolan warily, then lowered her cloak’s hood. Dark brown hair spilled out around her shoulders. “Let’s be about this, then. Rise.”

[nonune]

Opening herself to the Dark of Korriban, Firrin scoured away Amois. The Jedi didn’t even scream this time, like when she had killed her father. By the time Knight Ortus found the Nautolan, there was a swirling maelstrom of Dark power sucking down into her black heart as much as she desired. For a singular extremely selfish reason. Beginning who knew how long ago, until the Knight made it to her, Firrin was using all of the power the Force gave her to try and pull Some water from the air. Some bit of Life.

Enough to barely wet her eyes as she opened them and flowed up from her pose. Start at the beginning of the Sith. At the time it had seemed like such logical sense. Shaking out her tendrils with a musical tangle of bangles ringing against one another, she snarled and released the Power out into Korriban.

Owing a favor didn’t seem like the best way to start things, but she would be even further behind in this world the longer they used her Jedi name. Anyone with connections would be able to find it, at least until she was able to scrub it from some records. More favors, for later.

For now her hands went inside her robes, presenting as little threat to the person who had come to help her as any Sith could. “I suppose this is as much an inconvenience for you… And probably a joke to him?” She didn’t bother saying his name, just raising her eyebrow. If she was right the Knight would know who she was speaking of.

So, the Empire wasn’t as structured as she was taught. And he did have the power to get her what she wanted, she would have to remember that and repay that debt.

“And your name? I remember those that help, even as a joke.” Her words were soft, her fangs hidden behind her lips. If this was a trap, there’d be time for fangs. If not, at least she’d learn some of the Order proper.