Destiny Unmanifested

[Rugs]

“Alright, alright, enough,” Karn backpedaled with one hand raised. His lightsaber burned in the other, emitting twin crimson beams from both sides. Sweat dampened glistened on his skin, and his hair clung damply to his forehead.

He wore a sleeveless black training shirt, with matching pants. Fresh welts from a lightsaber set to training intensity marred his arms, along with some older bruises that hadn’t quite fully healed. Karn shook his hand out, gritting his teeth to keep from swearing at the sting of a fresh burn along his wrist. “You’re a hateful little fucker, you know that?” he growled at his training partner for the past few days.

It was Moor.

Karn’s favorite Sith.

The Arkanian could only deduce that Viren and Aurelius hated him or found the friction between Moor and himself entirely too entertaining. He could fathom no other reason why the Dark Lords would pair them up again, when their opinions about each other had been quite loudly established. In all likelihood, their masters simply didn’t care; there was work to be done and Moor and Karn were, unfortunately, quite capable together.

They’d put quite the burden onto the young acolyte’s and knight’s shoulders, this time. Mandalorians were interfering with Sith shipping, and attacking convoys that ventured too close to the a portion of the border between Imperial and Mandalorian space. The two young Sith were being sent to investigate the matter, surreptitiously--on a freighter ID’d belonging to some independent operation out of Hutt Space. Once they found some leads, they could act more aggressively, if needed.

Of course, to complete the ruse, they had to first leave Sith space for Hutt Space, then travel to a space station at the edge of Mandalorian space.

All of this meant that Karn and Moor were stuck together on a freighter for a few days as they made their roundabout journey out of Sith space and then to Mandalorian Space proper. For the first few days, Karn happily kept to himself and used the prolonged downtime to read, to train. But slicing at the air could only do so much, especially with his newly-upgraded double-bladed lightsaber.

So he enlisted Moor for help. They agreed upon some basic ground rules — minimal uses of the Force, limited hand-to-hand blows, sabers set to training intensity — lest a ‘spar’ erupt into another drag-out fight with the two Sith trying to kill each other. Even with those precautions, the initial training session nearly spiraled out of control. Lightning scars from one of Karn’s enraged outburst marred part of the wall in the cargo space-turned-training room. Subtle dent in the wall opposite and ugly bruise on his back served as reminders from Moor’s venomous rebuke.

He’d never admit it aloud in a thousand years, but Moor was a good training partner. Even contained, the assassin came at Karn with a malevolence that was impossible to replicate otherwise, and it demanded that he learn quickly or get lit up. Unfortunately, learning the saber staff was hard — and Moor seemed entirely disinterested in going easy for Karn’s sake — so he got lit up anyway. Frustratingly.

Karn took it as a small victory that he wasn’t getting quite so overwhelmed now as he had in their first couple of spars. Not that Moor lacked for any new tricks.

“That shit fucking hurts,” he complained, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt up over his head and tossing it aside. As he walked toward the far side of the room and bent over to pick up a clean, long-sleeved shirt, a pair of intersecting scars were visible on his side. One was old and faded, left behind by a tuk’ata’s claw.

The other was fresh, a burn scar left by a lightsaber’s touch much like another one that crossed the front of his chest horizontally. It was a memento of his last real fight with Moor, back in the Sith Temple, and Karn was still sore about it.

“There’s being aggressive, and then there’s being petty,” he grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on his wrist. He spoke carefully these days, trying to avoid addressing Moor in any way that'd require the use of a name. “I’d think a Knight would know better.”

[Blue]

This is not a punishment. This is an opportunity to advance. I must ensure that I remain useful to the High Archon, that I outperform even the senior assets at his disposal. Others have begun to know of me; I must show them that they cannot remove me from the Chain, that to try is to invite disaster and death... But why did it have to be HIM?! In both encounters, they had tried to kill each other. It made little sense to the assassin that they would be forced together for a vital mission if the risk of betrayal was so high. Perhaps... that is the point? These thoughts flickered idly through Moor's mind as he delivered a kick to Albrecht's chest, forcing him backwards. That he had time at all to think such irrelevant musings spoke of the acolyte's unfamiliarity with his new choice of weapon; a double-bladed lightsaber. Flashy, aggressive, difficult to master... probably why he chose it in the first place. Another thing to try and hold above others. They had exchanged as few words as possible as they made their circuitous way through the stars. In that silence, Moor trained without pause. A blaster pistol and a vibroblade; a combination he had not used before, but felt familiar enough for him to ease into in order to avoid standing out as clumsy or unusually skilled. Using them while reducing his presence in the Force was difficult, however, and reminded him all too harshly of his dependence upon it. It is my greatest strength. It is my greatest weakness. The invitation to spar was something that Moor's paranoid mind was unable to accept as a simple avenue of training. It was another chance for Albrecht to attack, to hurt, to insult. But in truth, the pale man truly did wish to improve his skill, even setting out ground rules to prevent what happened at the Temple. Of course, it did not take long before the acolyte broke those same rules in a tantrum. The pain of the lightning grazing his side was a valuable lesson. Never trust any rules but your own. Naturally, the assassin's response was as swift as it was harsh, and beneath the featureless visor his ruined mouth twisted into a sneer as he caught sight of the dented bulkhead. After that, Albrecht had surprisingly reined himself in, but the Knight only became more brutal. He punished every tiny mistake with a sharp strike with fist or lightsaber, and the acolyte's new weapon of choice was difficult to learn. The pale man made many, many mistakes. 'If you want coddling, perhaps you should leave the Order and return home to your family,' the assassin responded, the mocking tone thick in his raspy voice. 'I am sure that they would welcome you back with glee, even if you did fail on the path of a Sith.' This was, of course, not true. Moor had done enough research to know that the Albrecht family only expected the very best from their children. To return as a failure was to return as if dead to them, he wagered. 'Besides, it is one of the oldest tenants of our Order, is it not?' Moor continued, clipping his now deactivated lightsaber to his belt. '"Pain is the greatest of teachers".' It certainly taught me very well. Moor reached out, and a sheathed vibroblade and a plaster pistol flew to his hands. He attached them both to his body, before detaching his lightsaber and dropping it into a backpack. "Now, put away your new toy and clean yourself up. We'll be arriving at our destination soon, and I want to be prepared to move out as soon as we land so that we can finish this mission as quickly and quietly as possible. On that point, at the very least, I am certain we are of one mind," the assassin stated, turning and leaving the cargo hold for the cockpit before the acolyte could attempt a witty retort... or at least what passed for wit in the pale man's mind.

[Rugs]

“Oh fuck off” Karn growled at Moor as the Knight responded to his complaining with sharp barbs. Moor’s responses were perfectly fair, given Karn’s petulance, but he’d never in his life admit that. Just like he’d never admit how easily Moor got under his skin. Such back and forth games were common among the Sith “brotherhood,” but not even Janse was so adept at hitting nerves.

“And fuck you, what the fuck do you know about my parents?” Karn demanded, stalking after Moor after the smaller Sith left their makeshift training room. He’d spent no small amount of timing figuring out the best ways around whatever Moor had put into his head.

He could swear at Moor — “fuck you,” for example, didn’t trigger the fear buried deep in his mind — but he could not call Moor a swear. An attempt to get his attention by calling out “Hey, asshole,” had ended embarrassingly.

“Whatever,” Karn muttered after a tense moment before he split off to his small quarters on the side of the ship opposite Moor’s to prepare for the work to come. Given their imminent arrival at the space station at the fringes of Mandalorian and Sith Space, and the delicate nature of their investigation, the two would be disembarking not in their role as Sith, but as a pair of spacers. Their freighter carried a load of mundane cargo that’d do well enough to pass any needed inspections while they searched for clues.

Karn was “Kenth Corrus,” the self-appointed captain and team leader and Moor was “Maren Gallik,” his ill-tempered and woefully ugly assistant. At least that was how their roles shaped out in Karn’s head.

Once in his room, Karn took a quick shower in the refresher and changed into appropriate spacer attire — sturdy pants and boots, a simple shirt, and a dark coat, with a blaster on one hip and a collapsible staff on the other. He hid away his double-bladed lightsaber in a biometric locking compartment built into the shp’s wall and hid the ancient lightsaber recovered from the Agamar mission on his person. He’d prefer to take his lightsaber, but it was too bulky to properly hide.

The ship’s navicomputer pinged that they were five minutes away from dropping out of hyperspace as Karn left his room and headed toward the cockpit. A droid occupied the pilot seat, given the combined lack of any real flying skill between the two Sith — Karn could get from point A to point B, and that was about it.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Karn muttered to the droid, aware that Moor was probably lurking somewhere. “Sooner this shit’s done, the sooner I can get away from that fuckface.”

He tensed briefly, waiting to see if the fear surged up. It didn’t. So referring to Moor as a fuckface was okay, as long as he didn’t call him that directly. Karn smirked, pleased with himself.

[Blue]

In response to the acolyte's inquiry into what the assassin knew of Albrecht's family, Moor's head turned to look at the pale man. Beneath the visor, he grinned that lopsided grin, until Albrecht limped off to clean himself up. What do I know, indeed? he thought to himself. I know names. I know occupations. I know locations. I know enough to ensure that you would have nowhere to turn to should you abandon the Order... or to hurt you. As he entered the cockpit, Moor pulled the Force around himself, reducing his presence to nothing and dulling his senses to it. It would serve him well to adjust to using as little of the Force as possible; one could not be too sure as to who on the fringes might be a rogue adept, a fellow Sith spy... or worse, an undercover Jedi. Best to avoid the attention of all, one of the reasons that he was planning on having Albrecht move to front and centre once they landed. There was no better distraction than a squawking peacock, after all. As he was thinking to himself, the navicomputer beeped. Moor stood from his leaning position and gazed into the void, spotting the speck that would soon grow into the space station they were bound for. Before he could move forward, he heard Albrecht stomping toward the cockpit and pulled back again, watching as the pale man strode in. The crude words that flew from his mouth did not surprise Moor, but the tension that followed it was amusing. Still trying to find ways around your conditioning? 'Perhaps my first lesson was too lenient,' Moor rasped from behind the acolyte. 'When this mission is done, maybe I should just render you mute? If I do, there's a good chance I would be promoted to a lord, such will be the Temple's utter joy at your enforced silence.' Without giving Albrecht the time to respond, Moor's blank visor turned to watch the swiftly approaching space station. 'Since you are so keen on incessant chatter, when we arrive at the station you will present yourself as the captain of the vessel. Under the guise of looking for new cargo, or simply because you are such a social butterfly, you will engage with the dregs aboard and try to find any information about the Mandalorian attacks. I will do the same, but in a more... subtle manner,' Moor stated. His gaze returned to the acolyte, the frost in his voice more pronounced than the cold of space. 'If you are forced to call me by name on the station for whatever reason, you will refer to me as "M". Anything else will risk our cover, and I will see it as an attempt to purposely sabotage the mission. And I'm certain that your master will not take kindly to that, acolyte.'