Where the Grass is Greener (Yarkar)

[Professor Mors]

***Yavin IV, Gordian Reach, Grid Coordinates P-6***

***Northern Massassi Temple, Upper Catacombs***


Sa’ato carefully tracked his steps as he traveled toward the center of one particularly large antechamber. Around him, reserve warbots were hurriedly setting up large construction lights, several of which were already online. They cris-crossed from various points in the room to converge on a single structure situated in the ceiling: a crystal, comparable in size to a small starfighter. Though long-since ‘dormant’ as far as Dark Side foci were concerned, the white-green gem still possessed a sinister glow at its core, which was accented by the occasional glint of chains and shackles that dotted its surface.

Down on the ground floor, striated clusters of ash and other particulates made strange, but orderly patterns so far as the eye could see. They were in fact the thermal shadow of many a cultist and otherwise, offered up in countless rituals, and vaporized on the spot by the power of the looming crystalline stalactite. It was this feature that the professor was particularly keen to preserve for future study, and what had doubled his travel time on the way to the center of the room. Finally reaching his destination, Sa’ato furrowed his brow at the malignant growth of rock, and began to probe it with his thoughts.

He received little in the way of a response, but the broadening of his mind delivered an unexpected revelation. A signature in the Force, powerful if not at least distinct. And it was on the move- drawing near…

[Yarkar Edetar]

Anger and death, that's what lie in these catacombs. He grumbled to himself as he practically hissed, looking at the walls, there was something down here. There had to be. He heard there was a Sith taking the time to clear the old place out, perhaps there was some wisdom hidden on Yavin IV that he was yet to know. His mind ached as the world cried out to him like a dying wail, humming through the Force with faint whispers that seemed to demand something in a language he didn't know.

Shielding his mind only got him so far until his defenses shimmered into ripples of disruption in the Force as he staggered around, searching for something, who knew if it was really still here. As he slid along walls, his fingertips and cloak stained lightly with old ash as he practically fell on the slightly lowered platform of the antechamber, staggering as his vision doubled. He stared to see two glowing crystals, both with a plantlike humanoid reaching towards it as Yarkar almost felt like his own mind was split in two. The whispers seemed to quiet as Yarkar grabbed his head and focused, pain fueling him trying to shield himself against the dance of sound along the Force as he let out a tiny whimper before rubbing his hand along his face. He pulled his hand off, seeing nothing on it, despite having felt the distinct nature of blood pouring from his nostrils. Nothing felt real anymore since the Force crashed onto him a few days ago, the entity in front of him did not help this fact. A humanoid seemingly made of wood, rustling as he reaches out, sensing the darkness he was accustomed to within the humanoid before him.

"So, I suppose that was an entrance to behold." He lets out a few coughs, clearing the ash from his lungs as he straightened his back as the pain simmered down and he brushed off his cloak. "My name is Yarkar Edetar, former apprentice of Darth Tormentous. I hope I can know your name such that I would not have to call you by taxonomy, I would prefer to be less crass."

[Professor Mors]

Sa’ato hadn’t been sure what to expect from the nearing presence: surely, he wasn’t expecting the ash-dusted youth that now stood before. Normally, the Neti would have been more cross that his unexpected guest had dashed the final remains of so many cultists to the wind. However, for two very specific reasons, the aged professor was completely stupefied. Firstly, manners: while Kress and some of the acolytes had a measure of decorum, this young man, in spite of his rough entrance, had shown the most propriety the academic had seen since joining the Order.

Secondly, and even more striking, was the poise and refinement with which the youth spoke. When enough time had passed for the Neti to sufficiently recompose himself, he could not help but crack a smile at the introduction of his new acquaintance. “Sa’ato Mors”, the professor announced, bowing his head slightly as he returned common courtesy, “Former pupil of Darth Tormentous, and current aide de camp to the Lord Sovereign, Silas Karn. I have heard your name in passing- it is a pleasure to finally meet the boy wonder whose reputation precedes him”. The retired teacher let that last comment hang in the air, his eyes narrowing as he looked Yarkar up and down.

Yes, the boy was undoubtedly strong in the Force- his energy field practically bristling against the Neti’s own as he made a cursory examination with outstretched thoughts. There was perhaps a lack of refinement- the absence of honed discipline in Yarkar’s psionic signature, but that could always be remedied in time. For the moment, it remained to be seen how the Neti might be of use to an aspiring acolyte. And in turn, how a more developed student of the Force could be an asset to Sa’ato and the Order. “Tell me Young One”, the professor spoke up at last, “What led you down into this sacred place? Are you seeking something in particular?”...

[Yarkar Edetar]

Yarkar mused over the agricultural marvel known as Sa'ato. He'd almost figure that someone like him would prefer sunlight to dimly lit catacombs and ash-coated hallways. However, there was a sense of home in the voice of the Neti. Sa'ato, a name burned into his mind like a brand of magma. Something about him was familiar, something about his mannerisms. That was it, the voice, or rather, the cadence. The strict pulses of language upon his ears; it was calculated, refined. Every word had a million thoughts firing upon it, like the world itself formed ears in these old halls to listen, out of sight to keep its animation to the words of a sage secret. Yes, Sa'ato had the thing Yarkar's mind itself took comfort in despite himself. The voice of a Lord he had not heard in an age, yes. The voice of his Master.

"A reputation you say, and boy wonder? I suppose you could call me that but I believe you're above the musings of those that watch over the arena upstairs. After all, you seem a bit more refined than watching a masterless apprentice humiliate a poor acolyte with too much fire in his breast. I do wonder what became of him." Yarkar mused, knowing very well that he was the reason the man now laid a corpse in the jungle. "But I do hope that I can live to your expectations. After all, great men are not great, they make grand things happen. I would like to consider myself a great man in that regard."

"In reference to why I am here, I will not lie, I was not sure that I even staggered into here, I just wanted to get out of the light. I did not heed the warnings of the Force, and it punished me for not listening to whispers on the wind. Perhaps some day I will learn my lesson, but today was a day to fight off an onslaught of the Dark, not to muse in what brought it upon me. After all, the Force will bring me where I need to be regardless. My chains have been broken, now I divine with the pieces."

"Although I bring to you a new question, what brings you down to these catacombs? What slivers do you hope to find in old halls encrusted with dead Sith? You don't seem like the type to sit in the dark and stare at skulls, musing about your right to exist."

[Professor Mors]

Sa’ato blinked thrice as he processed the flood of information and commentary that Yarkar unleashed. For a moment, his throat made a strange noise, which to the uninitiated might have appeared as a groan or sign of injury. As the seconds ticked by however, it became clear that the Neti was actually resigning himself to a fit of deep, guttural laughter, which shook him from his shoulders to his shins. “Your powers of investigation and reflection might just rival my own”, the academic commented half-seriously as he finally recovered himself, “How I should have liked to have you as my student back when I was tenured-”.

The professor shook his head and let an air of seriousness fall back over his features. “I have a great respect for our mutual mentor”, Sa’ato started to explain, “But I confess he unintentionally created quite a task for me by the time I joined the Order”. The Neti gestured at the ash marks, and the interior of the chamber in general, “The sacrifices here have long since passed- but those who kept the records only perished a short while ago”. The retired teacher sighed, and tapped a finger pensively against the side of his face, “When the Lord of Torment came to power, the ceremonial priests and the council of lords refused to legitimize his status as Darth”.

The Neti paused, and cast a smirk down at the young man, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell how our former sovereign rewarded their impudence. Still, the fact remains, the hierarchy of Order has been gutted. The chain of command is brittle, and there are few defenses in-place to ensure the key texts and resources of the Sith remain intact for future students of the Dark Side”. Exhaling, Sa’ato gave his newest associate a moment to process his tirade. In the interim, the professor lowered himself to the floor and sat, legs-crossed. “So why am I skulking around underground?”, the Neti moved to conclude, echoing the query from before, “Because I wish to see the Order survive us both”.

“In truth, these labors have kept me from witnessing your victories in the arena”, Sa’ato added, looking somewhere past the young Edetar, “And perhaps stalled my own studies in the Force- but that does not mean my struggle is without merit-”. The professor stopped, and brought his gilded eyes to bear at Yarkar’s, “I wonder if you find value in my milling about. Perhaps the Force has decided I’m in need of an assistant”...

[Yarkar Edetar]

Yarkar looked strangely at the man who made that awful noise as it morphed from an odd guttural exclamation into a flood of laughter, smiling as it did so. He lavished in the praise from the man who called himself Sa'ato. However, his face turned grave at the prospect that what the professor was studying in these catacombs. He cocked his head. "The Order shall survive no matter what it knows, that much is certain. Your work is indeed admirable in these crypts, but let it be clear that I speak from a point of worry for you, Sa'ato. After all, for all the knowledge these Lords may have had, they still came up with a stupid decision. Of course, everyone can make a poor decision, but be careful that delving into old things doesn't bring you to their conclusion. After all, to question our master is to lead the Sith to ruin faster than anything, that much is clear to me."

"However, in terms of being an assistant to you, I feel I may be useful in matters. Call me a voice of reason when all you have to speak to are ghosts, no? I can both aid you in your work, and aid you in keeping a right path. I feel a kindred spirit in these ruins may give you a light in the dark." He holds out his hand, producing a glowing orb of light, his rage compressing the Force into a screaming ball of agony as he punctuates his statement. It illuminates his face in a sickly glow, showing off the scars that scattered across it along with his smile that was equal parts uncanny and genuine.

[Professor Mors]

Sa’ato blinked profusely and growled under his breath as Yarkar produced a phosphorescent flash in the palm of hand. “Certainly, the old lords made their mistakes-”, the Neti bit out, calling on the Force to envelop his fingers while he pinched off the unnatural light like a candle (Absorb Energy), “It is just as vital to catalog their failures along with their triumphs”. The professor had to repress a slight scowl at that youth’s other phrase. That the retired teacher should need spiritual- much less academic guidance from what was essentially an infant by his metric smacked of indignity. Still, infant or no, his powers were proven, as was his curiosity.

And, despite Sa’ato’s momentary spike in ego, the boy had agreed to assist him, and it would be folly to let pride stand in the way of progress. The Neti exhaled, and let his shoulders relax. “I am grateful for whatever help you are willing to provide-”, the professor began again, regarding the young Edetar with a small smile, “It will be nice to get some fresh air, and to have someone pleasant to discuss our findings with, as they appear-”. The moment of enthusiasm passed, and the academic’s complexion was once again doused with its usual, muted intensity. “Tell me”, Sa’ato moved to conclude, “What do you know about the former lord of Almas: Darth Rivan?”...


***Almas, Cularin System, Thaere Sector, Grid Coordinates P-14***

Sa’ato had waited in orbit for night to fall on the forested side of the planet before landing. Disembarking a worn landspeeder to ferry Yarkar and himself into the lone city of Forard, the Neti regarded the overgrown landscape with muted caution. Whether the Dark Side terraforming of this world had rendered it a prison or paradise was still yet to be seen. Many secrets dwelt here, some of which, the professor hoped, he and the youth might uncover. “Rivan’s fortress lies on the other hemisphere”, the academic began to explain as the looming urban center grew larger up ahead, “But at one time, the Jedi operated a temple here”.

Of course, said temple had been ravaged by both Separatist and Imperial agents in their time. No Jedi remained- but that didn’t mean some of their research might still be tucked away in the archives. Rivan citadel, what little of it was recorded in the galaxy at large, was considered impregnable. If there were any old leads to follow, they would be found amongst the ramshackle tomb of long-dead Jedi researchers. “Here we are”, Sa’ato announced, dismounting from the vehicle to scout the worn, blasted walls of the old academy. What entrances remained were taped off- but that was no bother to two aspiring students of the Dark Side.

Sa’ato negotiated the ‘barricade’ swiftly, and reproduced Yarkar’s trick from earlier (Create Light). “Come on”, he beckoned quietly, “Lets see if our spiritual antithesis managed to discover something useful”...

[Yarkar Edetar]

"It's nice to know you have some skepticism to your work, Sa'ato. I feel we can get along quite well, after all." Yarkar's grin was almost inhuman in its excitement as Sa'ato snuffed out the light he made. He had hoped to taste the power that the Neti held, and he felt it lap upon the shores of the tortured Force, bringing it to rest as the energy Yarkar was pouring into it was sapped by the root-like creeping of Sa'ato's presence. Yarkar's eyes took time to adjust to the dark. Yet, as they adjusted the words of Sa'ato brought curiosity to his face. Despite his outward bravado, his face softened and lit up as Sa'ato began to tell of old things. In the dark caverns as they went towards a ship, a whisper of "I don't know much, tell me more" crept from Yarkar's throat, as if scared to overpower the lecture of the professor about ancient things.

CULARIN SYSTEM, THAERE SECTOR - ALMAS

Yarkar listened intently, both to Sa'ato and to the wilds as they braved them. His senses in the force glided around the surroundings (Surveillance), seeking out anything that moved too quickly through the dense forest. It was odd, it felt like Yavin IV's creeping darkness, but with a different twinge, like it was a different beast to tame entirely. Who knows what may be kept in these ancient halls?

"Spiritual antithesis, I would call them not. After all, they do the same as us. They have left me to suffer more than the Sith have, and I imagine from your naming of them, you're not the most fond of them either. The Jedi are our antithesis in only one way; they've proven themselves time and time again to never stick to their word." Yarkar's voice drips like venom as Sa'ato produces light the same as the young Sith did prior. His mind was filled with curiosity, but the idea of entering a Jedi temple did not please him as much as it likely did Sa'ato. It brought back memories of a time before power, a time before his self-sovereignty.

[Professor Mors]

“Perhaps my use of ‘antithesis’ was a touch dramatic”, the Neti admitted freely as his eyes quickly adjusted to the dim interior, “As to how similar our two orders may be…”. Sa’ato trailed off momentarily as he scanned ahead for any immediate threats. For the moment, nothing leapt out to offer any hostility. The air was humid, and offered a light but sour mustiness when inhaled. To the professor’s knowledge, it had not rained in this particular region for a month or so. He assumed the resident vapors and condensation were the work of a half-dead environmental control system.

Overhead, synthetic lamps flickered hysterically with a pitifully dim light blue tone. Emergency lights, the academic surmised, or what was left of them. “As I was saying”, the professor began again, slowly negotiating the curved hallway that lay ahead, “You claim that we share more similarities than not, and that the great fault of the Jedi is deception. Permit me a retort-”. Sa’ato stopped short once again to observe the occasional gaping holes that dotted the floor. They were more than sufficiently large to drop down into, not that the Neti was keen to see the lower levels as of yet. Even with the aid of his own light, he could discern their origin.

It was more curious than troubling, but ultimately, the retired teacher shelved the matter for later. “Both our kind and the Jedi engage in deception”, he continued on, glancing back to ensure Yarkar wasn’t lagging behind, “But for the Sith, such acts are merely a tool for our own aims. If and when the Jedi lie, it is most often to or among themselves to preserve their dogma”. Sa’ato let a gilt eye fall on his young companion’s face, eager to see what he made of Neti’s counterpoint, adding, “If you had asked me for the fundamental difference between our organization and their’s, it would be as follows: to an extent, both seek a sort of freedom-”.

The Neti half-smiled at the irony of it all, before concluding, “The Jedi chase after enlightenment by limiting themselves- whom they may love, what they might do, what they might learn. The Sith, in contrast, do not believe in limits. We challenge the very boundaries of what is possible, and become a more pure, superior version of ourselves-”. The Neti scowled in reflection, and turned sharply back around, gesturing with one hand, “The evidence is all around us! This was a place of teaching- but also a prison for knowledge deemed ‘dangerous’ by the Jedi of old. The mind cannot taste true freedom if it chooses to live in a cage of ignorance and ‘safety’...”

[Yarkar Edetar]

"Ignorance and safety are a prison indeed. I was kept 'safe' by the people that raised me, yet I was not improved. The only thing it granted me was the hatred by which I use the Dark Side. One could argue that was the best thing they have ever done for me. It shall spell their undoing, regardless. Hate is a powerful thing, the Jedi try to know it not. That is why we live and the people who lived here are now fertilizer."

The morbid-toned teen was in a bit of a strange mood indeed with this place. He could feel the shimmers of the Light in these halls, but not actually witness them. Like they were hiding, flicking right out of his vision as soon as his senses caught the slightest hint of them. Rage coursed through his veins at the indignity, but he didn't bring it up. He wasn't about to show weakness in front of the professor, nor any Sith. Weakness was for the Jedi who died here.

He followed Sa'ato, making his way deeper into the ruins as much as they taunted him. He almost felt sick, there was something here that just felt wrong. Had it really been that long since the incident in the caves? The lingering taste of the Light was like licking tar, sticking to his tongue and coating his throat. It felt entirely wrong, the Force not pressing upon him like a crushing hand made his shoulders feel out of place and his eyes feel uncomfortably open. It may be a haven for some, but it was a prison to him.